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rason-rodd · 3 years

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The Boy Who Didn’t Like Christmas - Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: You decide to surprise Jason with a Christmas tree but things don’t go as planed. Did he really just call you a friend?

Warning : Fluff, Humor, Slight Angst

Author’s note: A new Bat-Christmas one shot, this time with Jason (the last one will be with Dick). I tried to make Reader as general neutral as possible. Hope you’ll like it

“You’re clearly not from the Hill … or the Narrows.” You were pretty certain the rebuke would have hurt ten times more if Dana Harlowe had said everything she was keeping well hidden in her badass heart. But there was no need to say more. It was clear she didn’t hold you close to her heart. To her, you were the pain in the ass from Uptown Gotham, the one who certainly knew nothing about striving to get out of the dirt and who had certainly always get what she wanted by simply twitching her nose. In a nutshell, everything she was happy not to be. But you had one thing in common. Or at least, one person. Jason Todd. Dana had known him for over a decade. You had known him for a couple of months. But you as well as she had learned to deeply care about him, except that one of you had let things go way beyond friendship quite a couple of times. That one being you. “I was just suggesting bringing Jason a Christmas tree to decorate his apartment, Dana. That’s it.” You tried to defend yourself as you buried you hands in your pocket. “And how many times should I tell you that Jason hates Christmas?” You sighed as you both could barely keep your annoyance to yourself anymore. “No one really hates Christmas.” “So what you’re going to show up to his place with a goddamn tree, all dolled up, flutter your eyelashes and hope he won’t be mad at you?” You shrugged. “That’s an idea”

***

And Dana hadn’t been able to stop you. So, one Sunday afternoon you showed up to Jason’s place with a bag filled with brand new Christmas decorations and a heavy tree that had made you sweat streams to carry in the old staircases and, with a tired sigh, you rang at Jason’s door. He opened it without waiting or looking through the spyhole, apparently not thinking (or caring) about the possibility of a lunatic waiting on his doorstep with a deadly weapon. “You know I could have been a very angry elf with a gun. You should use that little peephole” “ Y/N” He looked astonished to see you here, especially with all that Christmas stuff “I…” “By the way, you should also write your co-ownership trustee and ask for an elevator. Yours stairs are a living hell.” You declared to make sure he wouldn’t have time to realise or protest against what you were planning to do. “Give me a hand, would you?” You asked as you tried to drag the tree by the crown inside the apartment, sprinkling the ancient wooden floor with pine needles. “Explain.” Jason demanded as he helped you carry the Christmas tree to the corner of his living room and erect it. “There! Perfect.” You clapped your hands, proud that the tree was still looking good despite the mistreatment you have given it and also because it was standing in Jason’s apartment, contradicting all of Dana’s sayings that “a Christmas tree will never cross Jason Todd’s doorstep”. “Suck it, Dana!” “Alright. You’re weird today. What’s with the tree?” Jason’s face seemed a bit twisted, as he didn’t know if he should smile or be worried. “Next week, it’s Christmas. You can’t celebrate Christmas without a Christmas tree.” He frowned, definitely looking for the right words in his beautiful yet tortured head of his to be sure he would not kill your excitement or hurt your feelings. “Y/N. I wasn’t planning on celebrating Christmas this year.” “I know. Dana told me about you being Scrooge Jr.” You joked, not caring at all, as you opened the plastic bag full of decorations to empty it on the couch. “That’s a bit overstating things.” Jason scratched his head. He had never heard anyone compare him to Dicken’s famous character. “I mean. Not liking Christmas doesn’t make me a miserly bitter old man.” “Were you planning on spending Christmas alone sitting on your couch with cold noodles, watching Netflix and calling Christmas humbug?” He waited before answering, trying to see how he could debunk you little argument. But there was no way. “Not Netflix. Cutthroat Kitchen.” “Oh my god. You’re Scrooge.” You sighed, exasperated before showing a beautiful transparent Christmas ball with little snowflakes inside. “Look how cute!” Your enthusiasm made him smile discreetly but not discreetly enough to go unnoticed. “I guess there’s no way I’m gonna stop you, right?” You shook your head. “You can still try but no. I’m going to give you some Christmas spirit, choke you with it if I must and I won’t leave this place until you love it. And mark my word, I will use string lights if needed” You threatened as you showed him the lights. “You would really tie me up to the tree? You know BDSM is not my thing.” “ No I would tie myself to the tree. Because as much as I know you can throw that tree away once I’m gone, I’m sure you won’t be able do so if I’m tied to it.” “And why so?” He smirked, curious to know your reason. “Cause you like me too much.” Was he really an open book? He never thought so but there was something with you, something weird and unusual that could make him act in strange ways. Perhaps was he getting soft. “And also, because you wouldn’t get my very special gift if you kick me out.” Jason squinted and you played with your eyebrows as you bit your lower lip so that he would get the naughty message. That eventually made him laugh and he tried to remember when was the last time he thought sexy could be funny. “Ah. The things I would do for you.” He kissed the top of your head softly, making your shiver and close your eyes and for a second you tried to resist the sudden urge to catch him by the neck and kiss him on the lips. Not that he would have minded, you thought. But there was a difference between occasional sex and displays of affection. “Let’s do this. Before you decide to make me sing Mariah Carey.” “Oh …” You pretended to think about the idea with a finger over your lips. “Don’t push it.”

And so you ended up decorating the Christmas together, laughing and chatting about some random stuff until you dared ask. “Why don’t you like Christmas?” Jason froze for a moment and you saw him close his eyes to take a deep breath. “Well it’s difficult to like Christmas when you’ve got a family like mine.” He finally declared as he hung a Christmas ball on a branch. “You mean Bruce …” You supposed though you were not sure of you should continue this conversation. “If only there was just Bruce.” You decided to be quiet when you noticed his sudden bitterness but he chose to keep talking. “I never had a proper Christmas as a kid. When mum wasn’t completely stoned on the bathroom floor, dad was in jail. And when we were finally together, well … Let’s say Christmas spirit wasn’t something the Todd family knew about.” “I’m sorry.” You said, wondering if you should hug him or at least caress his arm as a sign of comfort. “Don’t be. Plus, it’s not like I cared that much about Christmas as a kid anyway.” You could tell it was a lie, a huge bad lie only made to mask some deep-rooted wound, a lie Jason had learned by heart as if it was a mere line and had probably served to anyone around him for as long as he could remember. It wasn’t hard to guess. You just had to see how hurt he looked deep down in his beautiful tortured eyes. “I mean, there are other days to offer gifts.” “Sure.” You had a light smile and you focused again on the decoration of your tree. “But I appreciate what you’re doing, Y/N” “By what I’m doing, you mean … making you celebrate the event you hate the most without complaining?” You tried to joke. “That.” He chuckled. “And being a good friend.” A friend? Was friend really the right word? Well, maybe … in a way … or not. After all, what friends occasionally end up fucking when the sexual tension becomes too hard to handle? “I know you’re doing this because of your permanent worry about me. But you don’t need to worry. I’m fine.” “I’m sure you are.” You sighed and Jason caught your hands in his. “Hey. I’m a tough guy. I’ve got thunder thighs and sharp abs. You said it yourself”. You chuckled briefly, remembering the time when you told him this. Pretty sure you were naked and drunk by the way. “I know you’re tough Jason. Actually, you’re certainly the toughest person I know. But I’m not stupid. And I know there are things that you’re hiding from me.” He suddenly frowned and you felt his grip around your hands loosening, as if he was ready to run away from you. “And I’m not asking you to tell me what it is. I understand that you have your secrets. I do to. I just … I just want you to be honest with me, to tell me when you feel low, when you need me.” You added as you grabbed his arms to keep him close. “We’re … friends after all, aren’t we?” You hated that argument but you decided to use anyway, just to see his reaction. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.” Jason whispered after a second of heavy silence. “We’re friends.” Not the reaction you wanted. “Good.” You let go of him and went back to hanging Christmas balls but you both could feel the weird tension, the awkwardness and you couldn’t help but blame yourself for ruining that moment which had begun so well. You should have listened to Dana. “Maybe I should go.” You declared as you resigned yourself to get the hell out of here before making things worse between you two. “No!” Jason almost shouted. “No. We … Let’s finish the tree first okay? Please” You sighed. “Plus you mentioned a gift, right?” Normally that comment would have made you smirk but not today, not now. “That’s not a gift you give friends, Jason”

***

“You played the friends card? Not cool.” Jason suddenly remembered the little mental note he had left for himself the last time he had talked to Dick about his love life. ‘Never again.’ But Roy was gone and so were Artemis and Bizarro or any other friends he could have confessed to. “But we are friends.” He tried to justify himself. “I think.” Dick shook his head, slightly exasperated yet amused by his little brother. “You saying ‘I think’ makes me believe you don’t see Y/N as a friend.” “Why does it have to be so complicated?” Jason sighed as he tried to remember when was the last time he had seen you as merely a friend. “Because it’s love and nothing is ever simple when it comes to love. No need to be a relationship expert to know this.” Jason glanced at Dick who was smiling at him. “I hope you don’t consider yourself an expert considering the failure that is your love life and your on and off relationship with Babs.” Dick shrugged. Yes, apparently he was. Cocky boy wonder. “I’m expert enough to know you don’t call someone you have sex with a friend.” “Oh come on! Ever heard of friends with benefits?” Jason harrumphed, slightly annoyed by his predecessor’s judgemental attitude right now. “Jason please. You guys are not friends with benefits and you know why? Cause your relationship is not platonic at all. You like Y/N and Y/N likes you. But you are too unconfident or too scared to admit it so you end up having sex when you don’t know how to handle your feelings anymore. Now can we take care of that bunch of lousy criminals before they escape with the money?” As much as it hurt Jason to admit it, Dick was right. He liked you. He liked you a lot. Maybe he was in love with you even, he didn’t know. But what he really knew right now was that he had screwed up, bad, and that he wanted to fix things between you two.

***

You turned your key in the keyhole, exhausted by your long day at work and blaming the snow that had literally frozen your toes and fingers on your way back home. “Maybe I should ask for a ugly pair of Uggs for Christ…mas” You couldn’t move, your limbs as frozen as your fingers and toes or maybe worse. Eyes widened you looked around you and at the thousands colourful lights illuminating your entire apartment and the Christmas decorations scattered all over the furniture. “What the hell happened here?” “Do you like it?” You yelled and jumped and, out of pure reflex and fear, punched hard the person standing right behind you before you could realise it was actually Jason. “Oh my god, Jay.” He groaned and put a hand over his nose to calm the pain. “Damn. I think you broke it.” “Let me see.” You tried to remove his hand from his face to see how badly injured he was. “No! Don’t touch it. Don’t touch it.” He cried out as a sign of protest but eventually let you take him inside right to your couch where you left him an instant to go fetch some ice in the freezer. “What are you doing here that late?” You asked as you came back to sit by his side. “I wanted to surprise you. I guess it worked.” He hissed as you finally put the small bag of ice against his nose. “You did this?” You asked as you looked again around you. There were probably at least dozens of flickering string lights hanging from the ceiling above your head as well as fake snow all over the floor of the living room and miniature Christmas trees and other lovely decorations carefully placed on the furniture. “Yeah.” “How? When?” You couldn’t believe he had done this. “This afternoon while you were gone. I entered by the window. You know you should check if they’re close before leaving.” You smile when you understood the nod to what you had told him last you saw each other. “Why?” “ Well. Because it’s dangerous of course. I mean a lunatic could enter and turn your place into a Christmas shop. Oops too late.” “ No, I mean. Why did you do this?” You asked again, not really in the mood to laugh at his joke right now. “It’s Christmas, isn’t it? … And I like you” He said while looking at you right in the eye. “And not as a friend. Cause clearly we’re not friends and we’re not …” You dropped the bag of ice to catch Jason by the neck and kiss him passionately. How long have you waited for him to finally say it. “Ow. Ow. Easy.” Jason complained right against your lips when your nose pressed too hard against his. “Sorry.” You whispered with a smile. “Don’t smile at my pain. I’m really hurt.” “Aren’t you a tough guy?” You teased, using his own arguments against him. “Not when I’m with you.” He confessed and approached your face again, slowly and carefully, to kiss your soft lips with a delicacy that made you shiver. “There are so many things I want to tell you, Y/N.” “ Then say them.” You whispered still close to his face, feeling his hot breath against your skin. “It would ruin Christmas’ spirit.” “I thought you didn’t like Christmas.” “I lied.”

#Jason Todd #red hood #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #dick grayson #nightwing #dana harlowe #bat-christmas #one shot #jason todd one shot

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rosesgonerogue · 4 years

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How to be a Dad 101

Chapter Six - Modeling

Jasonette July Day Eight

Masterlist

When Jason was a kid, his family was too poor to take any sort of trip, which at the moment he was missing. He didn’t have any concept of how normal people travelled, but it turned out that even if you were travelling to Paris in a private jet, doing so with your entire family was a downright nightmare.

“Does everyone have all of their bags?” Bruce was calling above the din. “And passports? We need to act like a normal family, so you need to exchange your money for euros when we get there, we shouldn’t just show up with them.”

“B, you’ve already said that at least fifteen times,” Stephanie complained.

“Why exactly is she coming on a family vacation?” Damian demanded. “She’s not even dating Drake anymore.”

“Face it, Damian. Your family chose me, they were stuck with you.”

“Father, you need to choose between Brown and Drake. I cannot be expected to tolerate both for an extended period of time.”

“Oh calm down, Little D. It’ll be fun!” Dick said, slinging an arm over his youngest brother’s shoulder.

Jason sidled over to Cass and whispered, “How many weapons did Bruce say we could bring?”

She looked at him with her unreadable dark eyes. “None.”

“Okay, that’s what he said, but how many are you bringing?”

Silently she held up seven fingers.

“Damn, I have eight. Do you think I can get away with that?” They looked at each other a moment. “You’re right, B definitely has more than that.”

“If you all don’t get yourselves and your belongings on the plane within the next five minutes you’re finding your own way to Paris!” Selina called over the noise.

“Move it, suckers!” Babs yelled, running at least three people’s feet over with her wheelchair in her haste. Despite the pain she caused, once she got to the plane, she was able to expertly maneuver herself onto it, letting Dick struggle aboard with both of their luggage. Jason kept himself as far away from the eldest Wayne child as possible. Every time Dick looked at Jason, he could see the apology in his brother’s eyes, which only served to piss him off all over again. Maybe he was being irrational, and maybe he was just on edge because they were heading to Paris, but Jason couldn’t really find it in himself to care.

He slept fitfully on the flight, doing his best to ignore his family, be it Dick and Babs being the disgusting newlywed couple, or just Damian being… Damian. His dreams were strange and disjointed, filled with blue eyes and whispered French.

After dealing with customs and getting checked into their hotel (which was almost exclusively inhabited by their party, because of course it was), Jason had no desire to ever go on another family trip ever again. The thought of doing all of that without skipping lines and cutting corners they were able to thanks to Bruce’s money was almost painful. But then again, people with less money also didn’t have to deal with Damian and Tim in the same space for an extended period of time.

Thanks to the nap he’d had on the plane and the fact that he was in Paris, Jason found he couldn’t sleep. He found himself wandering the hotel, taking in the opulent surroundings. He thought he would only see hotel staff if he were to see anyone, but on his way to the hotel’s twenty-four hour gym, he stumbled across a blonde dressed vaguely like a bumblebee who was arguing with someone on the phone.

“Listen, Dupain-Cheng, you are not taking advantage of these clients. No! You’ve been staying up at all hours of the night – don’t you dare argue with me, you’re up right now, aren’t you? And you have to take care of gremlins in the morning. No, she agreed to do it, it’s not exploiting them, it’s allowing them to pay you back for the giant favor you’re doing them! Fine, I will give her a discount, but this is not how you build a brand! Now go to sleep, the photoshoot is tomorrow. Don’t give me that, we both know you’ll finish things up with time to spare. Now go. To. Sleep.”

After a few moments the blonde hung up, and she seemed to be in a foul mood when she saw Jason. “And what do you want?”

“To get to the gym? You’re blocking the door.”

“And you were just eavesdropping. Your French isn’t bad for an American,” she said, flouncing away with a hair flip. “But your accent is horrible.”

“It can’t be as bad as your attitude,” he sneered under his breath before shoving into the exercise room.

Once inside, Jason ran himself to exhaustion, grateful when he collapsed into bed and fell asleep almost immediately. His dreamless sleep was fleeting, though, because it felt like only moments later that he was jolted awake by the sound of his phone ringing.

Glaring at the offending technology, he considered silencing it, but when he saw it was Selina, he thought better of that.

“Yes?”

“You have an hour to look awake and presentable. Meet up in the hotel lobby.”

She hung up as abruptly as she had called, leaving Jason blinking at his phone. He considered rolling over and going back to sleep, but he’d probably need the entire hour just to get his hair to Selina’s standards.

Cass was already in the lobby when Jason was finally ready, and thankfully Dick was nowhere to be seen. Sidling up next to his sister, Jason asked, “Do you know what we’re doing?” His level of concern grew exponentially when she shook her head. Everyone knew Bruce was weak for Cass, so if Cass didn’t know, that meant that the scheme was entirely Selina’s.

Unsurprisingly, Grayson the peacock was the last person to make it to the group. Babs was too annoyed with him to even make some sort of innuendo, she just complained about how long it took for him to do his hair.

“So what’s the plan, Selina?” Stephanie asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“You’ll find out when we get there. Follow me, we have a ways to walk,” Selina said, smiling wickedly.

The family obediently trudged after Selina, grouping up as they moved. Jason saw Dick make a beeline for him, but Babs caught his arm. “Babe, will you stick with Damian to make sure that he doesn’t maim any Parisians?”

“Sure, babe,” he said, deflating a bit.

As expected, only moments later Babs rolled up next to him. “Listen here, you giant. If you’re going to make me catch up to you, the least you can do is push my wheelchair.”

“Whatever,” Jason said, doing as she asked.

“I hope you know you’re killing my husband, by the way. He’s goingi crazy because he doesn’t know what to do to apologize to you.”

“Good.”

“I know you don’t mean that, Jason, and I know that because we both know I’m the one you’re actually mad at.”

“Am I?”

“Bringing up the French girl was a low blow. You told me about that in confidence, and I threw it in your face. I’m sorry, Jason.”

“That did piss me off, I just… Babs, why did you marry Dick?”

“Is that a trick question? Because I love him, stupid.”

“But how did you know that you loved him that much? Because ever since I met my ‘French girl,’ I can’t even think about looking at someone else. It’s insane because I knew her for like a day, but I’ve never… I’ve never felt like that with anyone before, but I didn’t feel right trying to make anything more out of what we had because of how royally screwed up our lives are. How could I subject someone who is possibly a literal angel to our lives? I’ve never questioned my decision on that before, but lately I can’t stop thinking about her, and now we’re here, in Paris where she lives.”

“Wow.” Babs said. “I didn’t know… That’s a lot, Jay.”

“Thanks.”

“Give a girl some time to process, okay? Geez. I don’t know if I believe in fate and that kind of crap, but this feels eerily like destiny. Maybe you’re meant to meet her here in Paris. If you do, then don’t run away. Stick it out for at least as long as we’re here. You wouldn’t be the first of us to have a relationship with a civilian.”

“But what if—”

“Jason, bothering yourself about all of the ‘what ifs’ is only going to drive you crazy. We don’t even know if you’re going to meet her here. Let things run their course.”

He sighed. “You’re right, thanks Babs. And I’ll tell your husband that I forgive him, the sap.”

“That’s all I ask.”

After a few blocks more, Selina abruptly stopped in front of a building. It was clearly some sort of business, but the doors only said, “MDC” across them. “This is it, kids. Come on in.”

Tim could be heard freaking out about something or other, but Jason found himself hoping that whatever was happening would be quick and painless. Inside, curiously enough, the same blonde from last night was waiting for them.

“You must be the Wayne family, here for the photoshoot,” she said in flawless English. “MDC had some personal affairs to tend to, so she will be here shortly.”

“Photoshoot?” Bruce asked, looking at Selina.

“This is the shop of the designer who is making my dress,” Selina purred with a winning smile. “Ordinarily she wouldn’t have been able to fit me, you and all the kids in with how little time we gave her, but she’s releasing her first line of clothes to the general public, and her normal models are away. It’s a fairly sizeable line, and she wanted diversity, so I volunteered our beautiful family.”

“We’re going to be modeling?” Damian asked, disgusted.

“We’re going to be modeling for MDC?!” Tim asked, nearly bouncing with excitement.

“Dude, you’re a CEO. Have some shame,” Babs said, elbowing him.

“You’re already booked and committed. Once MDC gets here she’ll decide who will be wearing what, and then we’ll get started,” the blonde said. As if on cue, there was a crash in the back room, and the blonde sighed. “That will be MDC now.”

Jason was only mildly curious what this designer might be like, but it seemed that things would be at least a bit entertaining. Even before she burst from the backroom, she was spewing frantic French to the blonde.

“Chloe, I’m so sorry I’m late, Jules kept spilling things on himself on purpose, and then the babysitter was sick, so I had to find someone else, and then I missed the train and –”

Emerging from the backroom was a beautiful pixie-like girl, a girl who had starred in almost every dream Jason had had since they’d met. Jason was completely frozen at the sight of her.

Marinette. Marinette was MDC, the only designer Selina would think of wearing on her wedding day.

She stopped at seeing the mass of people in her store, but she immediately smiled sincerely, eyes flitting from person to person. In English she said, “You must be the Wayne family, thank you so much for agreeing to model for me. It really—” she cut off mid-sentence, eyes wide. “Jason? Is that really you?”

Taglist:

@jasonette-july-2k20 @ira-sairain @myazael @pawsitivelymiraculous @nik-nak-3 @dast218 @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @vixen-uchiha @momothefemur @toodaloo-kangaroo @marinettepotterandplagg @goddessofthewestwind

Note:

In case you haven’t noticed, I haven’t done yesterday’s prompt yet. It’s in the works, but my life is complete chaos, and it will just have to be late. Even though it was such a fun prompt, I have been having some severe writer’s block. Anyway, I’m super excited for the next few chapters, it’s happening!

#jasonette july 2k20 #jasonette #jason x marinette #maribat #mominette

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octalove · 4 years

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V: Letting Lie

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: There’s a breakthrough in the case, and Reader takes things into her own hands. Part one, two, three, and four.

The hospital was white. All white. Like a dream. White walls, white floors, white curtains, white stretchers, white papers fluttering around on clipboards, doctors in white coats. Mr. Wayne’s suit was black, so I focused on him. Black suit, blue tie. Black hair, blue eyes. He was filling out whatever paper the nurse had given him. Something about seeing it all play out, despite the face he had put on for me, made my eyes well up with tears. He was afraid, so I was afraid.

“Mr. Wayne?” His eyes shot up as he looked desperately at the nurse. He was so helplessly at the mercy of whatever news they brought us. We both were. “Will you come with us? We’ll have a nurse stay with the girl.” The nurse looked down at me with a warm smile. White teeth.

“We need to borrow Mr. Wayne for just a second. That okay, baby?” I just nodded, not really considering it something I could say no to. No, please, I want him to stay. I’m scared and I want him to stay. A male nurse came and sat by me. He talked to me about school, my favorite subjects- science, math. He asked me what I wanted to be, and I shrugged.

“People who like science and math make good doctors.” He said. I shrugged again, but then considered it more.

“Is it hard?” I asked.

“It’s very hard. Not a lot of people can do it.”

“…”

“But it’s worth it. You help people, you know?”

Mr. Wayne appeared from around the corridor. The look on his face made all the papers stop fluttering. Made all the doctors stop rushing. Made the world stop where it was. Somewhere, maybe, in retrospect, I knew before he said it. I kept my eyes trained on his face, even though I wanted to look away.

“Y/N…” He said, taking a seat beside me. “Listen to me, sweetpea. Your parents-” His voice was cautious, considerate as he tried again. “Your moms got hurt really badly tonight… They- they’re both…“ A tear landed on my hand as the memory grew into a reality, which was bigger than I was. White sheets, red blood. He took my hand, and wiped it away.

“They’re gone now.”

They didn’t talk about Jason Todd.

And since they were the only people in his life at the time he died, nobody talked about Jason Todd. We met a couple of times, before Bruce took me in. I hated my expensive gowns, and he hated his expensive obligations, and we hid together at parties, all the while Dick insisted we’d get married. He lived, albeit briefly, as a smart, capable boy, and died as a smart, capable Robin. I had trouble looking at his face- pictures and old year books. When I did, I was looking into the face of a boy who died an untimely, tragic death. That was it. That was his story. Jason Todd died alone, afraid, and probably in a lot of pain. I went to his funeral.

If at all he came up (I could only think of one or two occasions), Bruce would tense, his eyes falling away, and Alfred’s gaze would cloud with memory. Dick, at least, could share a story or two, coveting the fondness and pride he had for his brother without dismissing the whole subject. Tim and Damian didn’t ask. They just tried not to die with the uniform on.

So walking into the cave and seeing Jason Todd’s face plastered on the central monitor seemed like the single most unlikely thing to occur in the Wayne household. I would’ve placed Bruce adopting another child before digging up and displaying dead ones.

Tim, Dick, and Babs were huddled close, faces wound and tight, while Bruce looked distracted, fascinated with his W.E. ballpoint pen. I dragged my feet a little to alert them all of my entry, but only Babs looked up.

“Y/N.” She said.

“Hey. What’s going on?”

Everyone just sort of concluded that someone else would explain, or take the lead, but no one made any attempt to do so. Finally, Bruce sighed.

“Come here. Sit down.” Okay. If there was anything in the world that could make your intestines feel like they were getting turned to ramen noodles by a paper shredder, it was Bruce Wayne telling you to come here, sit down. I searched the others’ faces as I did so.

“What happened?” I asked quietly, trying to fill the chasmic silence.

“I’m going to go over everything. Do you remember…” He trailed off- just for a second. It wasn’t often I saw him battle with something like that. His face was tired, and his eyes revealed a struggle as he fought whatever emotion he was grappling with. “Do you remember Jason?”

I nodded. “Sort of.” An echoing memory passed. Lacy table cloth curtains and chocolate covered strawberries as we camped under gala snack tables, whispering and laughing. Bruce watching me when my parents went out of town, and Jason giving me a tour of the library. The red roses on his burial. Sure, sort of. His blurry picture was on the monitor, anyway.

“Okay. Very good.” Bruce began again, perhaps relieved he would have to go into detail to refresh my memory.

“We’ve been putting a lot of information together regarding the Red Hood. We’ve been able to deduce his origins were The Viper House, but before that, Arkham. He began working out of the Asylum, and contacts there had a lot of information about him.”

That, I didn’t know. I supposed I wasn’t the only one slinking around in shadows. He was addressing everyone now, going through visuals on the monitor.

“He began to placate what was left of Joker’s operations in Coventry before he started on general crime. Oracle was even able to get some information from Harley Quinn.” I looked at Babs with some surprise, and she just nodded along.

“The very first sighting of him- in Coventry- was April 27th, seven months ago. The fifth anniversary of…”

I nodded. I knew what April 27th was. A vapid, despairing day in the manor that Bruce spent in his office and Dick didn’t call. I didn’t follow, but if Bruce had linked Jason’s death to Red Hood, I knew he must have something big.

“All of the information we gathered, on top of his intimate knowledge of us, vigilante or otherwise, has lead us to a clear conclusion. The encounter in Crime Alley on the 21st was just another confirmation.”

I almost flinched as my eyes flew to Tim, but no one seemed particularly interested in me. I texted him quickly, careful to avoid Bruce’s eye.

You told him?

- I told him I was the one who saw it. It was important information.

Shit, Tim. Was he mad?

He didn’t answer, looking back up to the briefing. I slid my phone into my pocket, guilt weighing in my chest alongside the other myriad of emotions building.

“He’s been around longer than seven months. Much longer. And it began with Jason’s death.”

I furrowed my brow, putting together a puzzle with with bent, broken edges, like trying to fit a triangle into a square-shaped hole- just one angle missing.

“Are you saying… Joker didn’t kill Jason? That this guy did?” My body felt cold.

Bruce looked at Dick, who didn’t return his gaze. Then, he turned back to me.

“I’m saying... that Jason is Red Hood.”

I let confusion twist on my face. “What? How? That’s not possible. You think he lived? We- I mean, we had a funeral.”

Dick shook his head, answering on Bruce’s behalf. “He did die, but… are you familiar with the Lazarus Pit?”

I went over my tangling thoughts. The crime scenes. The anger. The vigilante justice packaged in a case of blood and bullets, shipped right to Gotham’s largest looming criminals. The warehouse, the alley. The button. The leather on his gloves as he ran his fingers along my face and pressed it, leaving me all alone.

Tell Batman,

It was all falling in line; bubbling up and searing together like hot, melding flesh pulled together in the burning waters of the Lazarus.

I’m getting impatient.

“So… what are you going to do?” I asked.

Dick’s face was pained. Solemn. “I… we want to try to talk to him. There’s a reason he’s doing all this, and there’s a reason he chose now. If we want to figure it out, we have to find him.”

I swallowed. “I can help.”

“No.” Bruce declared swiftly. “Absolutely not. The only thing we know about him is that he’s dangerous. Red Hood may have Jason’s DNA, but we need to work under the assumption that he isn’t the same person.”

I could answer that. He wasn’t.

“Do not look for him. Do not engage him. Is that clear?” He was talking to me, Tim, and Damian. We all nodded.

“Any unapproved interaction could jeopardize the case, and give him more insight into our movements. We want to try and remain one step ahead. That is all.” The explanation was for Damian, who operated on bargains, not orders. Again, we all nodded. After a moment, I sighed.

“Well… I have school in the morning. Will you tell me if you learn anything else?” I asked. The three of them nodded, and Dick muttered a ‘goodnight’. I turned, mind working against the grain of what I should do and what I wanted to do.

Just go to bed, I willed myself.

Just go.

Night fell, black and smoggy. The sea was hissing and writhing, unsettled with the gale of a promised storm. I wasn’t entirely certain what would catch Red Hood’s attention. It seemed that our history comprised of him finding us, and not the other way around. Gotham Docks seemed like a good place to start. Ever since Kuznetsov was found in his watery grave, his men belonged to Hood. They moved drug imports that came to Port Adams- actual drugs- pharmaceuticals, over-the-counters, hydrocodone, acetaminophen; all legal things. But Gotham City taxed the living hell out of medicine imports, so people like Kuznetsov (may he rest in peace) smuggled them in fishing vessels for cheap, and got them into the hands of big pharma and medicare companies for a lot of money.

I’d picked a cozy spot on the roof of a bait shop that made me feel safely invisible as my eyes swept over the docks. Batman didn’t typically prioritize crime of this caliber; over the counter meds weren’t going to blow anyone’s heads off the way crazy clowns and mafia bosses were. It made the busy henchmen on the boardwalks nice and blatant. It wasn’t hard to find tonight’s operation.

I needed to make a scene. Make some noise, throw out some names- one name in particular. Wherever he was, I hoped it’d be enough to make it worth dropping in. I was used to making quick, efficient work of criminals, not stalling. Making a scene meant no disappearing in shadows, or quieting the sound of my breath.

There were a couple of men dollying crates in and out of a packaging plant. Disguised as fishermen, naturally. As they approached the building, several feet from the propped-open door, I dropped. Embracing the momentum, my weight striking the old wood made a salient sound, and sent the startled men gasping and staggering backward.

“Holy shit!”

“B-Batma-

“B-B-Batgirl?” I clipped. “Were you gonna say Batgirl?” It didn’t really matter which bat they thought it was. The fear all worked to the necessary effect.

“Jesus, Joseph, and Mary,” The man muttered, scooting backward along the wood as I let my step fall heavy against it.

“Where is he?” I asked, drumming up my vicious, raspy voice, like smoke on the sea.

“Where-where’s who?” He stuttered. The other man was taking advantage of my focus and scrambling to his feet. Any second, he would bolt into the building. Perfect.

“Red. Hood.” I said, loud enough that the fleeing man would hear.

“I don’t know! Hand to god, I don’t know!” The man on the ground pleaded. I looked down at him, letting the fear and shadow distort my face.

“I don’t believe you.” I kicked him in the chest, sufficiently knocking the wind out of him, but left him there, turning my attention to the packaging plant.

Adrenaline was in my limbs, pushing and pulling with the running blood under my skin. When was the last time I had a good fight? Carjackings and bank robberies felt so small, and predictable. Everything was always stable. Batman always had it under control, watching dutifully from rooftops, appearing in split second if I needed help.

Tonight, Batman wasn’t here. I felt no eyes on my back, no voices in my ear. It was under control, but it was my control.

The men inside had already sufficiently scattered. I didn’t bother to hush my footsteps as I entered. The icy breeze from the open door made my cape flutter, despite its weight- and that was the only sound.

Suddenly, boots on concrete, and a man let out a defiant cry as he shot toward me, with a rusted tire iron raised above his head. I moved on practiced instinct, side stepping and leaving him stumbling, before delivering a hard, well-aimed kick that he wasn’t getting up from. Two other men concluded (incorrectly) if they went together, they could take me.

It was a blur of fists and make-shift weapons comprised of packaging tools, but they were easy to parry and subdue. I kicked the second one back with enough force to send him through a thin wooden partition, which cracked and splintered under his weight. I swung my eyes around the scene.

“Anyone else?” I knew they were there. Tucked behind conveyor belts and crouched low, using fish barrels for cover. No one answered the call of duty.

“I’ll ask again,” I called. “Where. Is. Red. Hood?”

Suddenly, a flash of color, and I went backward and downward, catching myself enough that my arm slid across the concrete instead of my face. I let out a sharp breath just in time to dodge another blow.

“All this,” The computerized tilt of his voice couldn’t smother the anger in it. “For little old me?”

I kept my eyes trained on his hands, because I could entertain close combat, but knew I’d need to bolt if he drew his guns. That didn’t appear to be his intention. I dipped away from one of his swings, but he swiped at the fabric of my cape, grip closing, and used it to heave me into a barrel. I gasped at the force of it as I reckoned with shattered wood. Barely recovering, I rolled out of the way as he swung low. I went for the door, figuring I could use a little more space, since he had a hundred pounds and a few feet on me.

Outside, a frigid wind was cascading across the docks, biting my skin and casting droplets of salt water all around. Red Hood moved imposingly slow-paced, attending the cuff of his jacket sleeve, while I put a hand on the railing and tried to find my footing again.

“There are easier ways to get my attention, sweet thing.” Drawing to a halt, he didn’t look like he was going to attack me again, so I wiped the blood from my lip and straightened.

“Sorry. You forgot..” I was still breathing heavily. “To give me.. your number… last time.”

He laughed; a terrible, beautiful thing. “I guess I did, didn’t I?”

I fought to remember why I was here, and consequently, tried to pull together Jason Todd with the faceless man before me. They seemed to foil one another- a triangle through a square-shaped hole.

“So what do you want?” He asked, more serious this time. Though a reasonable question, it almost sounded rhetorical for the sheer lack of curiosity in it. I swallowed.

“Show me your face.” I said. It was so quiet, so hushed by the jeering sea that I was surprised when he tilted his head in response.

“Liked our little game that much? Had to crack a few skulls just to play it again?” I was frustrated, wishing he would come close, like he had in the alley, and let me touch him. Let me push away the helmet and know.

I tried to convey my seriousness with a look, but he just rolled his shoulders.

“Is that all, little bird?” He seemed annoyed; like I’d dragged him here only to concern myself with the small matter of his secret identity. The secret identity of Gotham’s most prolific crimelord. I wanted to make him understand, but I didn’t know what to say. He didn’t say anything else, either. He didn’t say “no” or “whatever” or “goodbye”. He just started walking away.

Jason.

Suddenly, I stopped myself. What if he wasn’t? What if Bruce was wrong? I’d throw out a name- an accusation- at a monstrous stranger who had no connection to me or my family. He’d laugh his terrible laugh and know that the world’s greatest detectives weren’t so great after all. Nervousness consumed me, tightening around my throat, placating me while I watched his form get smaller as he walked away, the darkness threatening to swallow him up.

“Jason!”

He stopped. His boots dragged to a jarring halt on the wood. Slowly, then, he turned around. The shadows were long and cast over him, turning his helm the color of old blood.

“Come back.” I said. “Please.”

His body language was unreadable, a mix between relaxed and hesitant that left him standing there, looming, and left me unsure as to whether he was going to leave, or pull a glock on me. Then, he lifted his hands. His thumbs dragged beneath his jaw methodically, until there came a hiss from his helmet, and he pulled it off.

“Jason.” I repeated. My voice was tight. It shook. His gaze followed me in the dark before he approached, gate slow and heavy, and sat down on a fishing crate.

“What? Do I look different? Put on a little weight?” Maybe he was joking- I couldn’t tell. The soft rasping of his voice startlingly contrasted the voice scrambler, and blended with the bubbling waters below our feet. But something eerie laced it. It was still foreign to me. “It’s okay. You can tell me.”

I had previously thought I might be able to do this; face him. After all- I should be happy to see him again, alive after five years of Bruce’s grief and wretched hollowness. Years of operating in the long, dark shadow cast by his headstone. But somehow, the man before me was instead a confirmation. A walking death certificate. Jason Todd- the other Jason Todd- was still gone. Bronze skin, of which small, light colored scars adorned. Midnight hair mussed from his helmet, leaving a couple strands to fall over his dark eyes; eyes that used to hold warmth, and now held a malefic coldness. When I drank in the features of his face, I found my chalice empty. He didn’t approach me this time- didn’t draw near enough to feel his heat. Just sat there, elbows resting on his thighs, leaning forward and looking at me. I had trouble holding his gaze, but I did. Then, he gave me a chilling grin.

“Did you miss me?”

His voice knocked something loose, as my mind placed him as a memory. Someone I’d actually known. I had a million burning questions. “How? What happened?”

He pulled out a cigarette, shrugging. “I’ve been busy. Dying’s a lotta work.”

“Why- why are doing this?” This being spending seven months as the most prolific crimelord in Gotham. There was a spark of his lighter. Using his hand to shield the flame from the winds and misting water, it nurtured an orange glow on his face, bathing his skin in auburn light for just a moment. I blinked, and it was extinguished, replaced, again, by the blue darkness. He took a deep drag.

“Know how I died, dollface?” He asked. I did, so I nodded.

“Remember what happened to the bastard who killed me? After.” I studied him, still reeling a bit from accepting the man before me as the boy he’d been. I remembered there was another attack after Jason’s death. Joker took forty pounds of C4 to a shopping center in Fashion district at the beginning of May. Amidst the rubble were Robin: Missing posters. Bruce didn’t make them. Joker kept up his streak thereafter. He didn’t stop until his death, last year.

“Nothin’.” Jason supplied the answer. A hard, bitter, sorrowful nothing. It burned cold, like an inverse flame.

“Batman doesn’t kill. He doesn’t kill, and killers do. So they walk, and keep killing, and he calls it justice.”

I let it all sink in. Batman was the only thing standing between Gotham and complete corruption. I saw, in my memory, all the people I’d helped. All the victims who’d ever clung to me or thanked me through tears. All the pride I’d ever felt carrying the mantle. Batman didn’t kill because you can’t go back from killing. If he did, it wouldn’t be vigilantes against criminals- it’d be dogs eating dogs. Domestic war. Jason had been Robin. Surely he understood the philosophy of it?

But, then, what did it get him? He took those philosophies to the grave. When he finally crawled back out, he did what anyone with a vendetta might do. He overcorrected.

“Tell me somethin’, little bird.” His eyes leveled steadily on mine as I looked back up. “You call that justice?” I swayed under the intensity of it. I was afraid to disagree with him, but I didn’t even know if I wanted to. There were a lot of times I watched Joker slip through Batman’s hands, free to blow up another shopping center, when he could’ve stopped him if he just-

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

He got up, cigarette hanging from his lips, gaunt eyes burning through the blue dark.

“I think you do.”

The sea hissed, and the wind writhed, and I watched as the night swallowed him up.

128 notes · View notes

meterokinesis · 4 years

Text

No Grave Can Hold My Body Down

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 12,032

Fandom: Batfamily, DC Comics

Characters: Tim Drake, Ra’s al Ghul, Tam Fox, OFC, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Fasir Nasser

Pairings: Tim Drake & Ra’s al Ghul, Tim Drake & Tam Fox

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, Chose not to use archive warnings

Tags: Canon divergence, Lazarus Pit, Lazarus Pit Madness, Evil!Tim Drake, Blood and Gore, Psychological Trauma, Survivor’s guilt, Unreliable narrator, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Post-Battle of the Cowl, Bruce is dead, Tim is not having a good time right now

Summary: When Tim Drake leaves to find Bruce, he doesn’t expect to get stabbed. He doesn’t expect to die. And he certainly doesn’t expect to be resurrected. However, the Tim who goes into the Lazarus Pit is not the same Tim who comes out. This Tim is ruthless and unguarded in a way he never was before. And when Ra's starts to take him under his wing... well, what's a disgraced Robin to do?

Author’s Note: This work is part of the Batfam Big Bang! (@batfam-big-bang) I couldn't have done this without my lovely betas, @bisexualoftheblade, @crystalinastar, and @houser-of-stories. There's also some amazing art for this fic that I’ll be posting soon!

Read it on AO3

The desert night was cool, with a breeze that shifted the sand beneath Tim’s feet like waves. The stars gleamed overhead, and for a second he was caught up in how clear the sky was. It had been years since he’d seen stars without a haze of light pollution around them.

Owens and Z were in front of him, his babysitters for the night. Pru was off to his left, fiddling with the safety on her gun. The ride here had been as light-hearted as was possible, given the circumstances, but that jovial tone had ended quickly. Their off-roader had died on them maybe half an hour before, and the small group was still huddled around the machine, waiting as Z checked the engine. Every few seconds, Pru glared at Tim, as if blaming him for the hold up. Though the others had made it very clear that this was a fool’s errand, Tim knew that Bruce was here, somewhere. He had to be, or Tim had thrown everything away for nothing.

That was the issue, wasn’t it? Tim might be the world’s greatest detective, now that Bruce was… out of commission. But his hunches could still be wrong. What if- no. He couldn’t afford to think like that. He would bring Bruce back, he had to.

“Hey, Drake, are you done brooding yet?” Pru’s voice echoed over the empty land. Tim huffed noncommittally and looked up to see the bald assassin twirling her gun on her finger.

“I’m a Bat. We’re never done brooding,” he quipped, before fiddling with the little radio receiver he had brought along. It didn’t do more than give off static when it was on, but having something to do with his hands helped.

Rolling her eyes, Pru gestured over to a precariously balanced pile of rocks. “Wanna see if I can hit the top one off without knocking over the others?”

Tim sighed heavily and dragged himself over to her, Owens trailing behind. Out of the corner of his eye, he even saw Z peek out from behind the hood to watch.

Squaring off, Pru brought up her gun and fired off a shot. To no one’s surprise, the top rock went flying and the others remained still, albeit with a slight wobble.

“Fuck yeah! Z, did you see…” She trailed off, her face blanching. Tim followed suit, only to be greeted with Z on the ground, chest bleeding in a way his medical training told him was too much. His brown eyes were already glassy, and his chest wasn’t moving anymore. It was then that the rest of the image came into focus, and Tim’s eyes finally latched onto the cloaked man holding two bloody swords.

“I am the Widower,” the man said, his voice low and bone-chilling. “And here I was, thinking you’d put up a fight.”

Tim drew his bo staff, eyes tracking Pru and Owens as they rushed toward the Widower, guns at the ready. He had barely taken a step, but they were already on the ground, Pru bleeding from a large gash in her neck and Owens trying in vain to keep pressure on the wound in between his ribs.

Quick--what were his weaknesses? No visible limps or injuries, no issues handling the weapons. He moved like a snake through grass, smooth and precise. The Widower’s blades gleamed in the moonlight, and Pru’s blood dripped onto the sand. Tim lashed out with his staff, catching one of the swords right as it flew toward his throat.

“I guess dead birdies tell no tales,” Widower whispered as he drove the second sword, the one Tim had forgotten about, into Tim’s stomach.

The vigilante staggered back, and fell to his knees, clutching his abdomen. The blade slid out and even through the gloves of his suit, Tim could feel his blood, warm and sticky. Was this how he was going to die? Mission incomplete, estranged from his family, bleeding out into the desert sand? He had never assumed he would survive in this job, but he’d at least thought he’d die as Robin. Oh god, he was never going to be Robin again.

The ground rushed up to greet him, sand in his mouth and eyes and hair. He supposed that it didn’t matter--it’s not like corpses care anyway. With his last ounces of strength, he rolled onto his back. Somewhere, some last shred of knowledge told him that this would keep him from bleeding out, but deep down he knew it was too late. Tim just wanted the stars to be the last thing he saw.

As darkness encroached on the corners of his vision, his mind drifted back to Bruce. This was it. The only father figure he’d ever had, or at least the only one who liked him as he was, would be doomed to never return. And it was all Tim’s fault.

The afterlife was dark. And cold. Tim had never been religious, aside from that year of Hebrew school his parents insisted he take in middle school, but even he knew that this wasn’t right. It took a second, but the cold and dark sharpened into something Tim knew well, his kitchen at home. Well, at Drake Manor.

The marble countertops gleamed, as did the floors, and Tim recalled tiptoeing around in his early childhood, so not to dirty them. The kitchen--really, the whole house--had always felt like a mausoleum. Cold, impersonable. Lonely. In some ways, a lot like Tim.

He drifted through the house, looking pointedly away from the family portrait that hung above the fireplace. It had been painted a few months before his mom was killed, right after he became Robin. They all looked so stiff, like actors playing a family in a movie. Actually, actors would probably do a better job than they did. That portrait had been the first thing Tim had put in storage when his dad died.

The curtains were drawn, letting in the gray sunlight Gotham was so well-known for. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his lawn, except… not. Gravestones dotted the otherwise pristine lawn, some new and some old and worn. He hesitated at the door, fingertips just brushing the doorknob. He was dead, it wasn’t like he could get hurt. Maybe this was some kind of purgatory that he had to deal with before he could move on. He pushed against the door, anticipating the old hitch in the hinges that had been around for years.

The air held the same chill as the house, pulling at Tim’s breath. Front and center, practically in the doorway, was Bruce’s grave, the one they’d buried him in just over a month ago. But now the death date was scratched out, in its place a sticker like the ones Tim used to put on his skateboard. It read: Eternally Damned To Disappointment. It’d sound like the name of a band Tim might’ve listened to, if he didn’t know that the disappointment was in him.

The next grave was older, cracked and crumbly. The ground in front of it was disturbed, and dried blood streaks marked the bottom of the headstone. Here lies Jason Todd. Well, that didn’t last long. And unlike Jason, Tim knew he wasn’t coming back. He wasn’t that lucky.

Next was Steph, or at least the grave she pretended to fill. It was covered in flowers, some of them bouquets Tim had left himself. Tim had spent hours in front of it, telling her how much he missed her and loved her, praying for the first and last times. When she came back… well, they were more distant than he would’ve liked. That wasn’t Steph’s fault, at least not entirely, but it did make him wonder. What if he never took back the mantle? Would this have been easier? He could’ve been a semi-normal teenager, living with his dad and stepmom, mourning his girlfriend and being blissfully unaware of the shitshow that was heroism. But he wouldn’t have been happy.

And speak of the devil, there’s his parents’ graves, right next to each other. It was almost funny how they were closer in death than in life. A boomerang was lodged in his father’s gravestone, with an old flip phone opened at the base. It listed Tim’s number as the last call. His mother’s had a sticky substance that a voice deep inside Tim told him not to touch. He lingered at these graves for a moment, breath caught in his throat. It’s not that he didn’t miss his parents--he did. But he had only known a piece of them, only just deeper than surface level. They weren’t parents as much as guardians with high expectations. And for the most part, he had met or exceeded every goal they gave him. But it never was enough. There was always another class to ace or language to learn or party to schmooze at. Worst of all, they were cold. If Tim was the chill night air, his parents were Antarctica.

The next grave stopped him in his tracks. Bart. One of his best friends, his ally in all things. Gone, but not in the way Bruce or Steph were. Bart wasn’t coming back. There would be no more Hawaiian pizza and donuts shared over a comic book, or sleepovers on the floor of Mount Justice. No more Wendy the Werewolf Stalker Marathons. There was no more Bart, and it stung in a way that Tim didn’t have a name for.

He turned around, expecting that to be the end of it, but there it was. Conner. All at once, the weight of the world fell on Tim’s shoulders, like his own personal Kryptonite. His best friend, someone he had been more than a little in love with once upon a time. He knew Conner was safe now, alive and saving people once again. Without Tim. Conner’s death had been the one that broke him, more than any of the others. Because if Conner Kent, Superboy and heartbreaker extraordinaire, hadn’t made it, what chance did Tim have? Well, obviously not much. How was Conner going to take this? He wasn’t like Tim, this was the first time he’d be alone.

Aren’t you tired of losing the ones you love? Aren’t you tired of being the one left behind? A quiet voice murmured in the back of his skull.

Yes. No. Yes. A sob tore from Tim’s chest, and his hand flew to his mouth. This was so stupid. He had dealt with loss before. Hell, the past year had been one unending funeral. Of course he was tired, who wouldn’t be?

This had to be Hell, but that felt like even more of a betrayal. Even Jason had made it to Heaven. Was this his punishment for toeing the line? Had he not suffered enough? Biting back another sob, Tim ran blindly toward the door, slamming it shut behind him in a way that would’ve made his mother shriek. When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t in his living room anymore, but the Batcave. Even with his eyes full of tears, he would know it anywhere. And there was Dick in the Batsuit. And the demon in his Robin gear. Tim opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Dick looked up, expression weary.

“Tim, I already told you. Bruce isn’t coming back. I’m Batman now, and that means I get to choose the Robin. It’s about time you accept that.” It sure sounded like Dick. “Besides, it’s not like you were doing a great job anyway. You let Batman be killed on the job.” Damian sneered, leaning against Dick’s chair like a bully in a high school rom com.

“That-That’s not my fault!” Tim cried, heart pounding in his ears.

“Look, there’s an heir and a spare. There’s a new Robin now, you can be whatever you’re calling yourself now. Go do whatever you have to on this suicide mission, but leave Gotham out of it.”

Damian smiled like a demonic cherub. “Yes, Drake. Not even Grayson wants you anymore, if he ever did.”

Tim stood in shocked silence, unable to find words. Sure, Dick was focused on Damian, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t care anymore. After all, they were brothers, right?

He’s taken the only thing you had left. Don’t you want revenge? He took your mantle, you should take it back. The voice sounded like Tim, but contorted--like it would on a recording.

Tim--no, not Tim, something else--reached back for the bo staff. As his hand gripped the metal, something flew toward him, hitting him directly in the stomach where he had been stabbed. It clattered to the floor, and through his pain, Tim realized it was a Batarang.

Don’t you want more, Timothy Drake-Wayne? It coaxed.

Yes.

The new Timothy Drake-Wayne took his first breaths in a cave deep in the Iraqi desert, hundreds of miles away from the house and the graves that had haunted his dream. It was cold here, nearly as cold as that dream had been. If he was in Hell, it would be hotter, wouldn’t it?

Tim swallowed hard and pushed himself up. His stomach, where he was pretty sure he had just been stabbed, was free of wounds or scarring. If anything, he felt stronger than he had before. As his feet touched the stone cold floor, he took note of the ninjas scattered around the room. Okay, so he was back at the League. They must have… The prior strength he had felt disappeared as his legs gave out. Normally he would have rolled or caught himself or something, but his gaze was fixed on the other side of the room, where a glowing green pit resided.

Oh, no.

No weapons, outnumbered, barely able to stand. The disadvantages stacked up before his eyes, screaming that there was no hope of him getting out of this one. Not to mention that he was probably already on his way to insanity. Fuck, the last time he’d seen Jason, the former Robin had almost killed him. Would Tim end up like that, homicidal and cruel?

He struggled to his feet, clutching the stone table for support. He could take out two, maybe three, if he just stopped thinking. He was trained for this, he could--

“Hello there, Detective,” a cold voice purred, quiet but deafening in the silent room. A chill hovered under Tim’s skin. It had been a long time since he’d last heard that voice. Detective? Isn’t that what he calls your mentor? There was the voice again, the only remaining fragment of the dream.

Ra’s al Ghul was one of those people who intimidated you just by existing in the same space. He reminded Tim of every strict teacher and cruel board member and snotty dinner party guest all rolled up into one. Oh, and he was the leader of the world’s largest assassin guild. That was important too.

“Did you find what you were looking for, Timothy?” Ra’s said in the same tone.

The teenager opened his mouth, then closed it again, searching for words. “No,” he managed to force out. “No, I didn’t.”

Are you sure?

Ra’s smiled, like a predator that had just gone for the killing blow. “Well, I suppose that you will have more than enough time to complete your quest during your stay with us.” And just like that, he turned, a group of ninjas peeling off to escort him back to whatever pit of Hell he’d crawled from. “If you need anything, ask for the White Ghost. Welcome to the Cradle, Detective.” And just like that, he was gone.

Tim was only alone with his thoughts for a minute before a tall man with alabaster skin and medieval-style chainmail entered the cavern.

Okay, so this was the White Ghost impersonator. The League wouldn’t kill someone they’d just resurrected, so maybe once he was alone he could escape? Go back to Gotham and see Dick and Sebastian and Zoanne one last time before he truly went insane, then start going to that therapist Dick recommended. He could make it through this, he wouldn’t end up like Jason--

And then in walked Tam Fox, looking terrified but for the most part unharmed. And all of Tim’s plans came crashing down.

Tam was a civilian, and a Wayne Enterprises employee to boot. Her life, and his identity, were in danger now. He was both her only savior and her greatest danger. New plan: listen to this knockoff White Ghost, do whatever it takes to gain their trust, then make it out with Tam at the first possible chance. And do it all without going off the deep end.

Easy. Not.

“I am the White Ghost,” the shitty cosplayer said, his chainmail clinking as he moved.

“Isn’t he dead?” Tim murmured under his breath. He’d definitely seen Dusan die. But if Tim was still alive, then maybe…

“There has always been a White Ghost,” the older man responded, as if that answered anything. “Now, it is time you and your guest retired to your quarters.”

Tam looked over at Tim, big brown eyes wide with fear. He nodded once, tried to conjure a press conference smile, and allowed them to be led to lavish bedchambers. They looked like beautiful, windowless prisons.

The next few weeks blended into their own lethal monotony. Tam stayed in her room all day and Tim went to meetings with various members of the League’s regime. It was a little like working at Drake Industries or Wayne Enterprises, just with more murder. A lot more murder. But the meetings were easy enough, and Tim soon found himself getting to know the people he once despised. He didn’t like them by any means, but he wasn’t terrified anymore.

He kept looking for Bruce. The desert gave no answers.

Tam didn’t ask questions. She didn’t push too hard. She had to know everyone’s identities by now, didn’t she? Tim was just one Robin-shaped piece of the puzzle. Here he was, in the desert, yet another failed Robin. His whole tenure, he’d been trying to live up to Jason Todd, and now in a sick way he had. Wearing Jason’s uniform, having been resurrected the same way, he now dreaded catching up to the boy who had once been his hero.

On nights when he cried silently into the silk sheets, trying to forget the way Jason had looked when he first came back to Gotham, the voice soothed: You can be greater than he ever was. You can outshine all of the others. You will be remembered when they are dust.

The desert was cold. There was no comfort here.

His bedchamber was nice enough. There was a large bed with silk sheets and gold accents and an ensuite bathroom. A large mirror took up the space where a window might have once been, like some sort of philosophical conundrum that Tim was too tired to try to unpack. There was a small passageway between his room and Tam’s, and if Tim was just a little more naive he would have believed that the League forgot about it when they placed him in this room. But he knew better. The League never forgot a thing.

Sometimes Tim caught himself in the mirror and for a second he swore his blue eyes looked green. Tam came in the next morning to glass littering the floor and cuts covering Tim’s hands. She said nothing while she helped him wrap up his knuckles.

Tim had always been adaptable. It’s easier than the constant push and shove of rebellion. When his parents told him to take those classes and join these clubs, he did. When he was instructed to give impromptu speeches at galas, he did. He put in the effort, he always had. He was never the best fighter and never would be, but he was smart and quick and brave. That had to mean something, right?

Maybe that’s why Ra’s al Ghul liked him so much.

The first time Ra’s al Ghul asked for a private meeting with Tim, the ground seemed to tilt under him. The well-trained vigilante tried not to show the fear in his eyes as his vision blurred and his heart thundered in his chest. But he went, because one did not say no to the Demon’s Head.

“Detective,” Ra’s began as he sat down at a large, stately desk that seemed out of place in the rest of the Cradle. The voices--he had taken to calling them whispers--that had been clogging Tim’s thoughts preened at the nickname, ignoring its former bearer.

“Tell me what you know about my grandson,” the assassin drawled, his fingers tapping on the desk rhythmically.

“Don’t you have spies for that?” Tim responded, not quite a retort but not an innocent question either. He’d seen enough of the League’s intel that it was clear how much they truly knew about the world outside the Cradle.

“Yes, but I’d prefer to hear it from someone… familiar with him. My eyes can only do so much from afar.”

Tim had no doubt that Ra’s knew everything about Damian: from the route he took to school to the cereal he ate for breakfast to how many times he pet Titus when he got home from school.

“He’s a brat.” Tim’s chagrin even took him by surprise, like it wasn’t really him talking. “He’s rude and inconsistent and incredibly immature. He’s aggressive and undisciplined. A sorry excuse for a Robin.”

And there it was, the green monster of jealousy rearing its head again. Yes, Damian had taken Robin from him unfairly, and yes, he was all of those things. But why did Ra’s care?

“I see. Would you describe him as a leader?”

“No. If anything, he’s a bully and a mama’s boy. Leaders need to be able to listen to others.” Where was he getting this? Damian was a kid, he could learn. He still had time.

“Interesting.” Ra’s rose from his chair and paced the edge of the room. Tim refused to look back and follow his movements. That would be a show of weakness, a drop of blood in a shark tank. “Detective, what do you have in Gotham? What do you have there that keeps you from dedicating yourself to your cause?”

Nothing.

Tim stifled a gasp as he thought of the instant response. Dick and Damian didn’t need him. Stephanie hadn’t called in months, even before Bruce died. Jason had tried to kill him, last they’d spoken. The Teen Titans were getting along just fine without him. Truthfully, the whispers were right. There was nothing left for him in Gotham. If there was, he would have stayed.

“Nothing.” The anymore went unsaid.

“Then I may have a proposal for you.” Ra’s eyes glowed a dangerous green. A pit formed in Tim’s stomach, as the last few vestiges of him that hadn’t sided with the voices screamed at him to just escape.

“Oh?” Tim responded, mouth bone-dry.

“Stay.”

And Tim’s world crumpled.

“Learn under my agents. Train to become better than you are. Continue your quest with my resources behind you. All you have to do is stay and work for me,” Ra’s smiled like a hunter who had just shot big game.

This was a terrible idea. Tim didn’t kill people, he refused. He was supposed to help people, not hurt them. But he couldn’t deny that feeling like he belonged again was incredibly enticing.

Tim opened his mouth, but Ra’s cut him off. “Your friend will not be harmed. I won’t even think about putting you on an assignment until you’re up to par with my best ninjas. I will not make this offer again.”

The voice that responded was not Tim’s own.

“Yes.”

Tim thought that six months of training with Bruce was brutal. Ha hadn’t known brutal until now.

His first day of training, he showed up in his Red Robin suit, now patched and reinforced where he had been stabbed.

The tall ninja that seemed to be in charge scoffed, then sent him away. Not fifteen minutes later, a tailor descended on Tim’s quarters with a tape measure and a face made of solid stone.

“Can’t have you looking like a target, all in red. What was Batman thinking?”

Maybe he wants them to be targets, Tim and the whispers thought in tandem. He balked at the thought, but the tailor’s firm hands kept him in place. What was he doing? Bruce had loved him, did love him. He had taken care of Tim when no one else would. Bile crawled through the back of Tim’s throat, but he swallowed it down.

The tailor finished her measurements and scanned Tim up and down.

“It will have to be black, of course. Reinforced joints, kevlar, the whole nine yards,” she stated in a lilting accent. “Maybe some green accents, dark ones. Classy. Half-mask, no more cowls or dominos.”

Red, yellow, and black were his colors and had been for years. A tribute to a boy he loved and lost then loved some more. But Conner was back now. And Tim was tired of mourning, especially when no one was dead. Well, except him.

“Green,” he agreed, swallowing thickly. He wasn’t Red Robin anymore, not really. And he could always wear the suit again. This wasn’t a finale, just a hiatus.

She nodded once and then swept away, leaving a teenager clutching the last thing he had of his old life. Tim folded the suit, the way Alfred had always chastised him for, and gingerly placed it in the bottom drawer of his wardrobe. He wouldn’t need it anytime soon.

The next day, a precisely wrapped package sat outside Tim’s door bearing no signature. He knew exactly what it was.

Upon peeling back the paper, he saw the full glory of the new suit. It was midnight black, with dark green stitches that were beautiful up close, but would be near-invisible from far away. It looked like a cross between the ninjas’ garb and body armor--sleek and sure of itself. A hood was attached to the back of the neck, with the green stitching spelling out something Tim couldn’t discern. A half-mask with built in air filters covered the rest of the face. As he patted the suit down, he felt where all the separate compartments were for weapons and utilities. It reminded him a little of the costumes from high-tech spy movies.

Sitting on the floor with his new suit in his lap, Tim added another item to the long lists of debts he owed Ra’s al Ghul.

His first real day of training, Tim was beaten so badly he could hardly drag himself to his room.

It wasn’t that they had intended to hurt him, but he had gone almost a month without training. Bruises laced up his cheekbone like their own little domino mask, a little memento of times gone by. His joints screamed out in pain as he collapsed onto his bed. At least he hadn’t broken any bones. Or been stabbed. Or died.

Tim only had a few minutes to contemplate the stuntman funniest fails video that was his life when a gentle knock came from the door.

“Come in,” he groaned, flopping over onto his side so he could see his company. His mother would have scolded him for not standing up to greet a guest, but she didn’t have much sway from six feet under.

A girl with olive-tan skin and a brunette bun stepped into the threshold, her smile the gentlest thing he’d seen in a long time.

“Hello, my name is Aminta. I figured you could use some help with your wounds.” Her voice was lower than he expected, but pretty nonetheless. A dark, untraceable accent threaded through her words.

He peered up at her, frowning.

“Is this a hazing thing? Am I being hazed?”

She chuckled, then sat on the ottoman at the edge of his bed.

“Not hazing. The new recruits tend to help each other through the first few months. Safety in numbers and all that. I thought you might want some assistance.”

“So, you’re all friends?” That didn’t sound right.

“No,” she hesitated for a moment, “not exactly. Friends is too... common. We are assassins, but we have honor. When we need to, we take care of our own.”

Ah, so he was one of them now. For some indescribable reason, that didn’t fill him with as much dread as he thought it would.

You have no friends. You never did. Just those who you will rule and those who you will crush, the whispers added.

Tim smiled, the shy grin he used when he wanted teachers and Wayne Enterprises board members to underestimate him.

“Thank you, Aminta. I’d appreciate that. My name is Tim.”

She winked at him, clearly a joke.

“Believe me, I know.”

The League had a mole.

Or at least, they were going to. Tim had known enough corrupt businessmen in his time in Gotham’s upper echelon that he was well versed in the signs of someone double-dipping. At first it was little things: missing pieces of inventory, strange new guard shifts, incorrect mission intel. By the time it escalated to money being skimmed off the top of jobs, Ra’s was furious.

When he called Tim in for a meeting, something that was becoming increasingly normal these days, Tim was expecting fiery rage. Instead, there was steel-sharp cunning. It was a little like looking in a funhouse mirror.

“Detective, it appears that we have a liability in our ranks,” Ra’s began, his fingertips caressing a blade. “I assume you’ve read the data I sent to your quarters, and I’d like your thoughts.”

Tim cleared his throat. He had spent the night before reading the reports, putting together the pieces. If this was a test, it was a wicked one.

“The incidents began shortly after the attacks by the Widower. It’s a piece of misdirection intended to frame either Pru or I as a mole. However, neither of us has any reason for betrayal. Pru is, and has always been, loyal to the League. And you are well aware that I have nothing left for me in Gotham, nor would I be stupid enough to allow myself to get caught.” His voice was smooth, the prince of Gotham giving yet another speech.

“There is someone who has means, motive, and opportunity. After reading your files, it is incredibly clear. He has a family of his own that he is loyal to, and during my resurrection, he was not in the Cradle. His computer prowess would allow him to mess with the system in a way few others could. It would have been a very clean job, if he had spread it out over months or years instead of a few weeks.”

Ra’s stroked his goatee.

“You mean the Expediter.”

“Yes.”

“Very well,” Ra’s rose from the desk and clasped his hands behind his back. “Now that we’ve established the perpetrator, it is time to establish the punishment.”

Ah, so here was the test. Ra’s wanted to see how ruthless Tim could be. It was a very good thing that Tim never failed an exam.

“Kill him. It will send a message to our other agents and whoever he worked for that we are not to be trifled with.” Tim’s hands shook, but his voice was full of conviction. He had always been a good actor, but it wasn’t clear how much was truth now.

“And his daughters?”

“Bring them to the Cradle. They’re young enough that they likely won’t remember him, and we’ll be able to shape their childhood. Perhaps one will become just as intelligent as her father, and wiser as well.” The whispers hissed wordlessly in disappointment, but it was worth it. Tim refused to order the execution of a child, no matter how loud the shrieking in his skull became.

There was a beat of dead silence, then Ra’s nodded sagely.

“Wise choice, Detective. I’ll put those orders into effect at once.” He smiled, his teeth gleaming as his dagger had. “I’m looking forward to the rest of our partnership.”

Oh, how the whispers laughed.

Life in the Cradle was, well, nice. Tim was training harder than he ever had, under much more strenuous conditions, yet he felt better than he ever had. He was stronger, for one thing, but for the first time since he’d discovered Batman and Robin’s identities, he was able to rest. He didn’t need to be up until dawn chasing people across rooftops or finishing reports or writing an essay for English class because he’d been too busy on patrol. Even in a den of killers, Tim felt almost safe.

That said, he refused to let his guard down. He’d sat in on meetings with the inner circle of the Cradle for months now, trying to use his famous brain for something important. Which for his purposes, meant destroying the League as best as possible.

That was the only reason he’d stayed, or at least that’s what he told himself during nights where he twisted and turned trying to justify his choices. He’d exploit the League’s generosity to train himself and find Bruce, then take it down. Bruce would have to be proud of him after that, they all would. Maybe he’d even be Robin again.

He’d already taken out the Expediter, Ra’s’ guy in the chair. The guy confessed to the mistake of having a family and trying to work for the League at the same time. Good thing Tim didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

This is good, but it is not enough. You crave more. Do not be a coward, take it.

Now Tim was the techie for an international assassin guild, which would look moderately impressive on a college resume. Maybe it could count as an internship. Ra’s seemed like the guy who would make a relatively okay reference when Harvard came calling.

It always felt strange when he had lunch with Ra’s. It was eerily similar to the fancy lunches his mom used to drag him to, or the etiquette classes he was forced to take where he learned how to properly use a melon baller. Of course, it wasn’t like he was going to be killed for using a melon baller wrong then. Now, he knew that any wrong move could result in death.

Not his own death, of course. There was no point in Ra’s bringing back Tim, just to kill him again. Tam, however, was expendable. And that made the marrow in Tim’s bones shiver.

This particular lunch was more focused on memory lane than shop talk.

“So, Detective, tell me: what did you want to be when you grew up?”

Tim swallowed hard around his tea sandwich, his throat suddenly painfully dry.

“When I was little, I wanted to be a clown. Not a great career path in Gotham,” he began, attempting to keep his voice light. Ra’s looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

“Then, I wanted to be a photographer. Then, my father said I would be a CEO or I’d be disowned, so I wanted to be a CEO. I could always do photography on the side, you know?

“And then I became Robin.” He let the weight of that sentence sink over the pair.

“So? What happened after that?”

Tim resisted the urge to stare at his sandwich, instead choosing to meet Ra’s’ bright green eyes.

“Then, I stopped thinking I would grow up.” There it was, the thing everyone had been trying to pry out of him for years.

“I mean, Dick barely made it out. Jason died, came back, went crazy, and now murders people for shits and giggles. Stephanie died, but only kinda. Damian’s got a stubborn streak a mile wide. In the wild, robins live for a year, maybe two if they’re lucky. I don’t think anyone realized how similar we all are to those stupid birds.” Tears pricked at the backs of his eyes, but he didn’t need to cry. All that pain was gone now, replaced by something else. He couldn’t name it, but it kept all the sadness away.

Tim had been sad for his whole life. It was a relief when the roiling ocean inside him froze over. Numbness was an improvement.

Ra’s leaned across the table, his face barely a foot from Tim’s.

“You know, Detective, you remind me of myself. Not when I was young, of course, but when I had just begun to build my empire. All your life you have been told to quiet down and listen instead of speaking. You’re a fine leader because of it. You adapt when others are stubborn. You make plans while they push through without a second thought. You are a snake lying in wait, anticipating the right time to strike. I admire that.”

The air hung in silence as Ra’s stared directly into Tim’s soul.

“You know,” Ra’s finally said, “I think you could be truly great one day.”

Tim barely breathed as he nodded his thanks. When Ra’s finally leaned away, his first breath felt like the first gasp of air from a drowning victim.

“Before our lunch concludes, and I do so enjoy our lunches, I have a query for you.” This wasn’t out of the ordinary, Ra’s liked to give him riddles to keep him on his toes. “Some of our ninjas, though I will not say who, have gone rogue. A year or so ago, they got themselves caught up in some nasty business. My current intel places them here, in this compound, where they’re using innocents as collateral, should they not get what they request.”

“What do they want?”

“My head on a platter.” Ra’s’ smile was bloodchilling. “Oh, Detective? I feel it’s important to note: international news stations are currently reporting you and Ms. Fox as having been kidnapped by these rogues. Any advice on how to fix that?”

So this was the second test. Another chance to prove his loyalty. Let Ra’s’ enemies go free, or kill them and forfeit his old life for good in return.

“I assume extraction is not possible?”

“I’m afraid that those deserters are incredibly well trained. The special units from any nation’s army wouldn’t even make it into the compound. My ninjas could make it in, but there’s no way they could take out the traitors and save the civilians.”

Tim nodded, pretending to contemplate. He already knew his answer.

“Bomb the compound, kill everyone inside. It’s better to cut off the rot now than give it the chance to spread.”

Ra’s did not smile, but his eyes glimmered with pride.

“My thoughts exactly, Detective.”

And just like that, the death warrant was signed.

Tam was waiting in his chambers when Tim got home from a long day of training, his body littered in bruises and cuts that would sting tomorrow. Her crossed arms functioned as a hug, like she was the only thing keeping herself together.

“Tim,” she whispered when he came into view, the word like a prayer.

He glided across the room wordlessly, and she wrapped him in a tight embrace.

“I managed to get someone to sneak me a newspaper. Th-They think we’re dead, Tim,” she said into his shoulder, words slightly muffled by the fabric.

His hand came up to stroke her hair, the way he used to comfort Cass after a particularly long day. Tim didn’t respond, and instead let her tears soak into his shirt.

Good. Now you have the element of surprise.

The Council of Spiders had a worthy namesake, as they were just as quick and deadly as any arachnid. Somehow they had crept past the League’s defenses, disabling the ninjas that got in their way. True to form, the assassins’ deaths were just as silent as they were--shadows fading out as dusk began to form.

Tim was preparing for another day of strategy and mind games when Aminta burst into the room.

“The Spiders are here. They managed to sneak in--no one knows how. You’re needed,” she gasped, as if she’d ran a marathon to deliver this message. Judging from her state of disarray, maybe she had.

“Tam?”

“I’ll protect her. Go!”

Tim didn’t have time to question these motives or worry about much more than tugging on his cowl and pulling out his bo staff. He sprinted out the door and into the madness, moving in a dangerous dance with the assassins he had trained alongside for the past few months. The League was good, great even. But with the element of surprise, the Spiders were better.

He couldn’t afford to think about what could happen if they lost. Failure was not an option, not anymore.

A shadow glided toward one of the empty hallways and away from the rest of the frenzy, a sword glinting in its hand. Something that had dug its claws deep in Tim’s bones pulled him toward the figure, urging him to follow. To finish the job.

If others saw red when enraged, Tim saw green.

The figure purposefully stalked toward the large office Tim had started to spend increasing amounts of time in. The footsteps were near-silent, but in his mind they echoed almost deafeningly loud.

The shadow had to know he was there. It had to. Tim was good, but a few months of training could never rival lifetimes.

The shadow glanced over its shoulder, a feline-esque smile on its face. It said something, probably a witty yet scathing remark, but it was drowned out by the cacophony of whispers in Tim’s mind.

Do it.

Finish the job.

Show them who you are, who you can be.

Prove yourself.

You are not a bird, you are not a bat.

You are a demon, and you do not know weakness.

Not a Robin, not Red.

You are Green, Green, Green.

Become who you were always destined to be, Detective.

Tim struck out with his bo staff, right into the shadow’s skull. It faltered, just for a millisecond, and that creature that was both Tim and not lashed out, quicker than it had any right to be. A dagger in his hand, sharpened to a razor-thin edge. He did not remember doing that. That same dagger, buried into deep tan flesh.

Then he was across the room, bones aching from being thrown into the stone wall. If he was still human, still able to rein in whatever was drowning out his senses, he would know to expect pain tomorrow. But he didn’t, and all he felt was the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

And he was up again, throwing himself at the shadow with the conviction of a greek hero who knew that this fight would be his last. A fist full of rings connected with his cheek, and he could feel the skin tear beneath the metal. Maybe it would even scar.

The shadow leaned heavily to one side, though whether it was from the stab placed between its ribs or a prior injury, Tim didn’t know. It lurched toward him, and he stabbed it again, this time twisting the dagger until he felt the give of a lung. The shadow was down now, and deep down Tim knew that he never should have beaten it, never should have landed a single blow. In a logical world, Tim would have lost ten times over. But in a logical world, Tim would have been dead for the past six months.

As if time was in slow motion but he was at normal speed, Tim glided through the seconds, pushing pressure points with the tip of his blade. The shadow’s sword lay across the hall, too far out of reach for retaliation. This wasn’t torture, but it was revenge--for pain and sacrifice and nights spent clawing at his own skin, wishing it still felt like his. Payback for months of sins he never would have committed, for the green that clouded his vision. But most of all, it was a promise.

After minutes that held years of heartwrenching pain, Tim delivered the killing blow, straight under the shadow’s chin and into its brain. He was covered in blood, tacky and rust-toned, but where a past Tim--a lesser Tim--would have balked or vomited at the sight, this Tim stood, cleaned off his blade, and hefted the cooling corpse onto his shoulder.

They can try to revive it with the Lazarus Pit. You cannot allow that to happen. You cannot fail, the whispers urged, but he no longer needed them. They were him and he was them. Green in every breath and thought.

Tim escaped into the desert and finished the job, just as he had always been taught to do. Ra’s would have been proud. Bruce would have been proud.

That night, after the Spiders had been exterminated and the mess cleaned up, Tim sat at the foot of his bed, staring at his hands. The ninjas had looked at him with what could be called pride when he staggered back into the fray, his face bruised and bloody and sporting a wound on his thigh. His silky clothes brushed past the injuries every few seconds, but he couldn’t muster the energy to wince, even though he knew he should.

Tam had managed to hide during the clash, and Aminta had kept her promise. Tim liked people who followed through.

After being given the all clear, he stumbled back to his room to wash out his wounds and scrub the smell of smoke off his skin.

He had only just changed into his silky clothes when a knock came at the door. Without waiting for a response, the White Ghost was in Tim’s room, staring down at the teenager with an unnameable expression on his face.

“Timothy Drake,” the man said by way of greeting.

Tim glanced at him and blinked owlishly, but did not respond.

“Ra’s al Ghul is dead.”

This gripped Tim’s attention, and he finally made eye contact with the assassin, his brow creasing in concern.

“You’re going to revive him, right? He told me that you have more Lazarus Pits near here, he can use one of those. How did he die?” A million scenarios raced through Tim’s head, films of the death of the Demon.

“They burned him on a pyre and left him in his study. No trace of cause of death, and we can’t revive him. Any DNA has been destroyed.”

Tim stared blankly, processing. The Demon’s Head, the invincible Ra’s al Ghul, was dead. Gone forever.

“Ra’s made plans, should he die,” the White Ghost continued. “Those plans include a new leader of the League of Shadows. And that leader is you.”

Tim sputtered, “What? You can’t be serious. I’m seventeen years old. Why not you? Or Talia or Nyssa? Or Damian?”

“I do not make light of these things. He said you, so it is you. I am the White ghost. He had not contacted his daughters in years, and his grandson is too unpredictable to be suited to the position. You are the Demon’s Head, Timothy Drake.”

Tim stared back numbly. He was the Demon’s Head. The Cradle was his, these assassins were his, the world was his. He wanted power, and now it had fallen into his lap. The White Ghost kneeled before him and bowed his head. “I will serve you, Timothy Drake, in whatever way you see fit. I will be your eyes and ears and hands. I will obey you and carry out your orders. I pledge my allegiance to you, and only to you.” Satisfied with his vow, he rose to his full height.

Tim swallowed hard, then looked back up. “I accept your vow and thank you for your loyalty.” Then, “When… When will the rest know?”

“Tomorrow, at noon. I thought it might be best for everyone to rest, and for you to know first. We can discuss further details tomorrow morning, but for now, know who you are.”

Tim nodded stiffly and pushed himself to his feet, straightening his spine the way his mother had taught him to. He had been raised to become a prince of Gotham, one of the pretty boys that graced magazine covers and made headlines at charity events. Now, he was a king of assassins, an emperor of the underworld. If only she could see him now. Maybe she’d even be proud of him, for once.

“Thank you, White Ghost. We will speak again tomorrow. Should there be any issues during the night, I would like for you to inform me immediately.” He may be clad in silk pyjamas, but there was leadership in every fiber of his being. The whispers hissed in agreement.

“Fadir Nasser. My name is Fadir Nasser. Long live the Demon’s Head,” the White Ghost--Fadir--said as he left the room, the last remark stinging with a hint of a joke.

The door locked shut behind him, and Tim flopped backward onto the bed, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His gaze fell to the closet, where his suit was stuffed in the corner, smelling of smoke and burning flesh and the irony tang of blood. The whispers quickly supplied a description of the events, but Tim could picture them clear as day--carrying Ra’s to the desert, building and lighting a pyre, then bringing the body back and placing it in Ra’s’ study for someone to find. It was incredibly simple, almost too simple for no one to have done before. But Tim was Green, Greener than anyone had ever been before. And no one would ever know.

He’d need to invest in a new suit befitting his new role, maybe bring back some green accents. He no longer needed to mourn Conner. He no longer needed to mourn at all. He was the Demon’s Head, and he would never die.

The whispers laughed cruelly, like the audience of a poorly-written tragedy.

The transition of power wasn’t smooth, but it was quick. Assassins weren’t particularly known for their loyalty, and Fadir made it clear that any dissenters wouldn’t even make it to the door. They only had to clean blood off the stone floors once before that lesson sunk in.

As far as coups go, it was pretty successful. The whispers had quieted, just a little. Tim could sometimes make it hours without the hissing in the back of his mind, reminding him that he couldn’t rest. With power comes paranoia, and Tim was intimately familiar with both.

Now to rid himself of liabilities.

It had been a particularly lucid day, and Tim’s near-silent footsteps were the only hint of noise in the hallway. Tam had been given the option to move her room closer to his, but had refused. He didn’t blame her, it was hard being the civilian favorite of the assassin king. Tim knew this well.

Tim knocked on the wooden door, two quick raps. Somewhere deep in his memory, he wondered if this would have been his life, had everything been different; maybe he’d be knocking on Tam’s door before picking her up for a date. Instead, he straightened his shoulders, put on the shy smile Tam thought was his true one, and waited for her. Shuffling on the other side of the door, then a creak as it swung open. Tim glided in, and Tam looked at him with those big brown eyes, her expression tainted with a touch of fear. He didn’t remember her ever being afraid of him before.

“Do you want to go home?” Tim asked. No preamble, just his soft question in the quiet room.

Tam didn’t even think about it first.

“Yes.”

Tim nodded, then drew out a one-way ticket to Archie Goodwin International Airport, leaving tomorrow night. He held it out to her, that soft smile on his face and a promise in his eyes.

Tam tentatively took it, but kept looking at him. “Are you serious?”

“You’re not a prisoner. I’m sorry I couldn’t let you leave earlier, I just wanted to make sure the League was stable first. My intention was always to get you home.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

Tim slipped his hands in his pockets. “You’re my friend. I just want you to be happy.”

Tam pulled him into a hug, and for a second it felt so nice it almost hurt. Then it was over, and he could be comfortably numb again.

“Aminta will be coming with you, just to make sure you get home safe. Once you’re with your family, you won’t have to see any of my… agents ever again.”

Tam nodded, her face screwed up in an effort to keep from crying. He turned to leave and give her privacy, then paused.

“Tam? Thank you. For being my friend.”

Then the king of shadows disappeared into the night, yet again.

Tim frowned at the wall, a small comms unit tucked in his ear. He hadn’t moved from this room in a day, not since Tam and Aminta left.

“Okay, Aminta, I need you to keep close. You said that it’s just Batman and Robin? No Batgirl?”

“Just Batman and Robin. They haven’t spotted me yet. Robin’s really fallen behind since leaving us.”

Tim growled under his breath and carded a hand through his hair. It was getting long again. Who did Ra’s go to for haircuts? Did he just do it himself?

Focus.

The facts were these: Tam had been contacted by Batman and Robin immediately after Lucius Fox gave word that she was home safe. Tim had been expecting this, and Aminta was sent to follow Tam and ensure that the interaction went favorably. Which is to say that no one killed Tam because of what she knew. Aminta was currently hidden on the same rooftop as Gotham’s favorite heroes, listening in on their rendez-vous.

“What’s happening? Report.”

“She’s telling them--why don’t I just play their conversation? I have the capability.”

“Do it.”

A crackling came over Tim’s comm unit for a few brief seconds before it shifted to three familiar voices.

“It’s okay, Tam. Just tell us everything. From the beginning.” That was Dick. He sounded the exact same way he had when Tim left, tired and a little pained. Serves him right. “Yeah, okay,” there was Tam’s voice, slightly higher pitched than normal. “So my dad sent me to find out where Tim Drake was. And I managed to track him down to Iraq. So I’m in my hotel room one night, and I wake up to someone putting a cloth on my nose. Then everything went black, and the next thing I knew I was in this cold stone room. Then this albino guy tells me to stand up and we walk into this big hallway and there’s Tim. And he’s all sweaty and looks super freaked out. Then they brought us to these bedrooms and told us that we’d be staying a while.”

“Why would they take you?” A third voice asked, the snobby tone immediately registering as Damian. The brat.

“I’m not sure. Maybe my search for Tim sent up some flags? No one ever told me.” Her voice cracked a little, and maybe once upon a time, Tim would have felt sorry for her. Not anymore.

“It’s okay, Tam. After you moved into the Cradle, what happened?”

“Tim spent a lot of time training or with Ra’s. He couldn’t tell me much, but apparently Ra’s took a liking to him. One of the inner circle guys turned out to be a traitor, so Tim took his job. I didn’t see him a lot.”

“Who was the traitor?” Damian again, with a hint of anger in his voice. Or was that fear?

“Some computer guy. The Executioner or something.”

“The Expeditor?” It was definitely fear in Damian’s voice. He sounded like a child when he was scared.

“Yeah, him. I just hung around for the most part. They had books. They gave me makeup and nail polish when I asked for it. I was bored, but never threatened.” Tim snorted. Tam knew more than anyone that just because she didn’t have a knife to her neck didn’t mean she wasn’t in danger every moment of the day.

Dick cleared his throat, then spoke again, “Why did Ra’s let you leave?”

Tam went quiet, just for a second.

“Ra’s al Ghul is dead.”

A beat of silence. Tim would have paid millions to watch them right now.

“How?” Damian, his voice filled with fear, and maybe a little pain.

“I-I don’t know. There was an attack by the Council of Spiders. Tim had them lock me in my room with a guard. Some of the girls I talked to said that Ra’s was burned afterward so they couldn’t revive him. No one knew until the day after.” Tam’s voice was shaking now.

“Then where’s Tim?” Dick asked, finally caring about his younger brother after all this time. What a joke.

Tam stuttered a few times, but eventually got the words out. “Tim… Tim’s the new leader. Ra’s named him his heir before he died.”

A hiss sounded over the comms. That had to be Damian.

“Thank you, Tam. I appreciate you answering our questions. You know where to find us if you remember anything else.”

Some shuffling obscured any new words, then Aminta’s voice appeared. “They’re leaving, do you want me to follow them?”

“Yes,” Tim responded, massaging his temples. The whispers were getting louder now, to a point where it was impossible to understand any one message. It was hard when they got like this, harder than when they teamed up. At least then he didn’t feel like a helpless teacher in a rowdy classroom.

Maybe a minute ticked by before Aminta was back. “They just went a few rooftops away. Robin’s clutching Batman’s cape and crying, but it’s like angry crying. He’s mumbling something, but I can’t understand it. Batman’s rubbing his back, but he looks miserable too. Less angry, more sad.”

“That’ll be all, Aminta, thank you. You can return home tomorrow,” Tim sighed. “Our dear friend Tam has done us a favor, so we should be ready for the consequences.”

“What favor? Telling them everything?”

“Not everything. We still have an ace up our sleeve.”

“What advantage could we possibly have, other than knowing that they know?”

“Tam didn’t tell them about my little swim.”

Somewhere, there was a universe where Timothy Drake-Wayne woke up on the morning of his 18th birthday and put on a suit, ready for a day of meetings at whatever company he was interning for before he started college. Maybe he had a party with his family or a date that night. This is what Tim thought about as he busied himself getting ready. He had never been one for birthdays. Jack and Janet were rarely home, and even when they were in Gotham, they had better things to do than celebrate a child. He didn’t blame them. Before he came to the Cradle, he wasn’t worth celebrating.

The ornate mirror in his bathroom showcased his attire: a loose-fitting white shirt, tailored brown silk pants, and a dark green cape that almost resembled snakeskin. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, but he left them. They made the blue stand out. Here was the heir Ra’s had craved so badly. The old Tim would have made a joke about how he looked like a dark prince from a young adult novel, but not anymore. He was the Demon’s Head now. No, not just its head. He was its hands and heart as well. Tim Drake was a demon through and through.

His guests had landed in Iraq the day before, and he had it on good authority that he could expect them that evening.

Tim drifted around the room, preparing for the meeting as one would prepare for battle. His fingertips lingered on the rings he had inherited from his predecessor, and with a deliberate movement he chose the signet ring Ra’s used to wear. He slipped it on and smiled to himself, a snake poised to strike.

Carefully, he patted his wrists, hips, and ankles to ensure his knives were still there. He had always favored batarangs, but he was no longer a bat or a bird. He had left them behind, just as they had left him.

The White Ghost was waiting at his door, ready to escort him to his study. As they walked, Tim absentmindedly ran his thumb over his knuckles. The whispers hissed inaudibly in his ear, wailing for attention.

“Has the room been secured?” He asked, face neutral.

“Yes. I have placed ninjas along the walls and at every access point. Any familiar with the al Ghul child have been sent on missions abroad, though they remain loyal to you.”

“They leave here alive. If they attempt to attack, I want them subdued but not killed.”

“That’s not wise. It will be seen as a show of weakne-”

“Do you think I am weak?” Tim’s voice was as ice cold as he felt.

“No, of course not,” Fadir backpedaled. “But how can you justify it?”

“By the time I’m done, there will be no need to kill them. This is just a courtesy call, a reminder that my prior allegiances are no longer viable.”

Tim swept into the study, his back straight and his jaw square just the way he had always been taught. From birth, he had been raised to be a prince of Gotham, one of the many pretty boys in suits who graced Forbes covers before they could legally drink. He had been bred for greatness, and he achieved it in his own way. Here, no one would ever best him. He was finally free.

Soon you will have everything. All you have to do is make one order.

Tim’s hands shook slightly, but he tightened his grip on his fountain pen as he sat down. The day was full of reports, requests for missions, and invoices. He had been doing most of this paperwork anyway when he was just a lackey, so it wasn’t an inconvenience. It was methodical in its ruthlessness. $750k for a political assassination in France, 40% taken for the League, the rest wired to a private bank account in the Cayman Islands. $25k to kill a cheating spouse in South Africa, the same 40%, and this time headed for a Swiss bank account. A request for a league member to “take care of” an abuser, which Tim set aside. An invoice for new training blades, as the older ones had been dulled. A new Lazarus Pit that was discovered in Iceland.

The sun began to sink outside of his window, and Tim collected himself, drawing the last shards of who he used to be away from the surface. That Tim was dead and gone, and in his place was someone who was finally worthy. If the old Tim was a bleeding heart, this Tim was the knife that stabbed it.

Fadir knocked on the large oak door to signal that their guests had arrived. Tim pushed himself out from behind the desk, pulled back his shoulders, and stalked out of the room, refusing to look back. It wasn’t that he couldn’t show any weakness--it was that he wasn’t weak at all. Not anymore.

Tim walked down the now-familiar hallways, the whispers humming in happiness as others averted their eyes respectfully as he passed by. Aminta stood at the left hand of the large stone throne in the formal hall, and dipped her head in greeting when he approached. Tim took his place on the throne, relaxing into the smooth stone. Fadir took the right-hand side, his hand on his sword’s pommel at all times.

Ninjas lined the walls, all ready for battle at a moment’s notice. Most had been training for decades, long before Tim was even a thought. And now they served him. One lone ninja entered the room, first bowing to Tim and then scurrying up to the throne.

“They have arrived, sir.”

Tim grinned darkly.

“Bring them in.”

Dick looked older than he had eight months ago. His cowl was pulled up to hide his face, but Tim could see it in the set of his jaw. For a man in his late twenties, Dick looked positively weary.

Serves him right.

Damian was stiff, both an heir and a stranger in a child’s body. He glanced at the ninjas placed around the edge of the room, as if searching for a familiar face. He wouldn’t find one.

Tim did not smile when the man he had once considered his brother approached.

“Hello Dick. Damian.” His voice was colder than he ever thought it could be. “You can remove your masks, everyone here knows who you are.” Or they did now.

Dick hesitated for a fraction of a second, then pulled off the cowl. Damian followed suit with a grumble, peeling off his domino.

Satisfied, Tim smoothed a neutral expression onto his face.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked, the words pleasant but the tone as sharp as a blade.

“Is this where you’ve been all this time?” Dick burst out without preamble. It was a shame that he couldn’t exchange pleasantries, even after all of Alfred’s lessons.

“Not exactly. I was in Paris for a bit, caught up with some old friends.” An old friend, one who probably hadn’t even noticed he was gone. None of them had.

You are powerful because you are alone. Others would betray you. You can trust no one. The whispers chimed in, though they were merely repeating what he already knew to be true.

Damian hissed his displeasure, which earned him an evil look from Dick. Look, he’d already been replaced.

“Tim,” Dick began in a gentle voice, the one he used for scared kids. “Come home. We can figure this out. We’ll get you help, maybe even try that therapist I told you about. Or we can shop around, it doesn’t matter. I miss you. I miss my little brother.”

How pathetic.

“Oh, I believe you misunderstood. This is a business meeting, not an intervention,” Tim hummed, examining his fingernails. The cold steel of the knives tucked in his sleeves was a delicious reminder of who he was, who he had always been destined to become.

“In that case, I believe some clarification is in order. Following the death of Ra’s al Ghul, I became the head of the League of Shadows, a position I am very proud of. I will not be returning to Gotham, unless it is for League business, and I will certainly never fight at your side again.

“In truth, Dick, I have not thought about you or your brat once since coming to stay at the League. I understand that our previous relationship may have led you to believe that I would be a naive fool forever, but that is not the case. I have found meaning now more than you could ever dream of achieving.

“Here is my proposition: I will cease training of any assassins younger than age sixteen immediately. I am also currently updating how the League accepts jobs to minimize the amount of innocent casualties. I will waive all rights to Wayne Enterprises, though anything Bruce willed to me will remain mine. In exchange, you leave me and my assassins alone. You will not contact me unless seeking my services. You can keep your Robin, but he lost his birthright a year ago. These are my conditions, and they are non-negotiable.”

The chatty Dick Grayson was speechless. Instead, it was Damian who spoke.

“You stole my birthright.” For a child, he sounded downright murderous.

Tim smiled. “And you stole mine. I believe that makes us even.”

The child nodded, then drew his sword. Along the walls, ninjas drew theirs as well.

“Damian, no!” Dick hissed, glaring at his brother-ward. “Tim, you can’t be serious. We’re family. This is insane!”

Tim’s expression did not display the glee that bubbled in his chest.

“We were family. But you know what they say, the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.” He dismissed Dick’s other accusations with a wave of his hand. “I have given you my terms. You have forty-eight hours to make your decision. Until then, I believe you have overstayed your welcome. You should leave.”

Green pulled at the corners of his vision as the whispers shrieked, begging him to go ahead and kill them. He couldn’t, of course, that would just invite more prying eyes to the League. But he could think about it, and that was enough.

Dick and Damian were almost at the doors when Dick stopped and turned to face Tim, his posture teenagerishly defiant.

“I don’t know who you are anymore,” he spat, as if Dick Grayson had ever truly known Timothy Drake.

Instead, Tim smiled. “I’m the Demon. And you should leave before I make you see Hell.”

A second later, they were gone. Watching them go felt like getting an injection--the pinch lasted for a second, but afterward there was no pain at all.

Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon, the whispers howled as Tim’s blood sang, welcome to your kingdom come.

His hands had always been cold. Ariana used to comment on it all the time--how his touch was borderline freezing. At the time, it had been a running joke: Tim Drake, the boy made of snow, with eyes made of ice and snow-pale skin. It seemed now that even in the heat of the desert, his heart had frozen too.

Nighttime was comfortable in the desert, at least for someone accustomed to Gotham’s climate. Still, the breeze that danced across Tim’s skin left goosebumps in its wake. He couldn’t remember when he’d come out here, let alone what for. He barely even noticed how he gripped the banister of the balcony until his knuckles went stark white.

A little prickle of emotion prodded at his subconscious, but he couldn’t identify it even if he wanted to. There was no room for feelings anymore, if there had ever been. If anything, feelings had gotten him into more messes than out of them.

He had become a vigilante because he felt that Batman needed a Robin. He worshiped the ground Bruce walked on because he felt like Bruce saw him as a son. He broke the rules for Stephanie because he felt as if she could love him. He wanted to be with Conner because he felt that someone finally saw him for who he was. He rejected power time and time again because he felt that it was the right thing to do.

But feelings meant nothing. All that truly mattered was knowledge and wanting. And Tim knew more than ever. And he wanted it all.

Once, he had considered them his family. They had loved him, maybe, but they had never known him. He used to believe in a future spent fighting by their side, but he knew that was a child’s dream now--the same child who believed that he wouldn’t live to see twenty-one. Tim had no such concerns now.

He wasn’t foolish enough to believe that the League was his new family, nor did he need one. But they would not underestimate him or take him for granted. Here, he had respect and power, and that was enough.

The lights of the nearest city glimmered far on the horizon, promising happiness and gaiety somewhere in the night. He smiled, a secret only for him.

One day, you will rule it all, the whispers promised. One day, you will be king. And you will destroy any who stand in your way.

Long live the Demon.

#batfam #dc fanfic #batfam fanfic #batfam big bang 2020 #bbb 2020 #tim drake fanfic #tim drake #ra's al ghul #tam fox #no grave can hold my body down #ngchmbd #my writing #read the warnings

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heartslogos · 4 years

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mafia!verse: hunting season [5]

Tim has three surprisingly coherent thoughts as the first round of bullets begins to spray out.

One: This one might actually kill him where all other attempts have failed.

Tim’s back and arms and legs are burning, pretty much screaming, with strain. It’s already been a fucking awful day pain-wise. Lonnie wasn’t wrong about that. Lonnie isn’t really wrong about most things but Tim’s not going to say it to his face, lest he get an ego.

Well. Lonnie already kind of has one but it’s mostly tolerable in that Lonnie is Lonnie and Tim likes to think Lonnie’s sort of his friend. And friends sometimes tolerate each other with an eye roll and a sigh. Tim sometimes has to tolerate Lonnie with extra bail money and maybe a fond look of resignation when Lonnie decides he’s going to do something that’s running exactly perpendicular to whatever Tim was trying to do but it’s Lonnie so he just has to go with it.

Just like how sometimes Tim has an entire vehicle convoy going after him and he’s driving by himself when he really shouldn’t be, but Lonnie doesn’t fight that too much because he understands that Tim needs to keep his family safe no matter what. Because Lonnie understands families and really, if anything, Lonnie should be calling him a fucking hero for this.

Tim’s somehow managed to get as far as the other side of Sprang Bridge — truly is impressive considering how his vision is blurring out at the edges from the sheer amount of pain he’s in — and he has no idea how he forgot to account for the fact that Jason has recently been in a pissing contest with the Sprangs.

It’s not like they’re active players in this specific bit of Gotham warfare, but they certainly aren’t going to make this easy on him.

So Tim does what any rational being would do. Tim brake checks, mourns his car, spins it around and drives in reverse towards Grant. He’s never going to make it to WE and he might have been lying a little when he told Lonnie that’s what he was going to do — Lonnie should’ve figured out that Tim would never make it, the onus for realizing how unrealistic that claim was is on him — but he’s basically saying come and get me you bastards and if that isn’t the biggest glowing target above his head he doesn’t know what is.

Once upon a time Tim was a very, very good driver. Once upon a time Tim could drive circles around Jason and Dick combined.

He can keep this going for hours if he needs to. He won’t, though. He can’t.

So Tim takes one hand off the clutch, flips his pursuers the middle finger and smiles.

He meant it when he said he isn’t nearly as put together, composed, smart, or generally rationally minded as the rest of his family. He really has no idea why they think he is. It might be because he regularly wears a suit and tie. It might be because he’s the only one of them who can drink coffee the same way B does.

Tim’s heart pounds in his chest as he hears glass shattering. He’s already lost one rearview mirror. He sends the car spinning again so he can take a hard turn towards Monolith — he might be able to drag them close to the GCPD, make things easier. Again, he’s not actually going to get there but a man can dream.

Two: If thought one proves to be false then someone in his family really will kill him after this. And if not they’ll make him wish they did because they’ll probably attempt to smother him to death. He’ll probably be kissing his independence goodbye for the next five years of his life or something like that.

God knows they’ll never him go back to his own house after this. Never mind that the shooting isn’t happening at said house. It’s going to be the exact same reasoning as the last time he was shot in broad daylight:

The people in his territory don’t know they’re in his territory because he’s such a — as Jason would say it — subtle motherfucker. Not all of them can ride around with cherry red helmets and be known instantly for what they are. Some of them have day jobs.

The theater house is too far from anyone else for it to be really safe — Tim would point out that’s the reason he chose the property, with B’s blessing, but he’s smart enough to keep his mouth shut on that point.

It is one of the shittiest, least defensible, absolute worst place to get cornered in. And that’s mostly true. Tim can’t really argue that one. But he feels like he should be able to.

Dick might actually make good on his promise to take all of Tim’s keys away from him after this. Tim grimaces when he hears one of his tires get blown out. He doesn’t hear the screaming of metal on pavement, so it’s not a complete blow out. Yet. God he worked hard on this car.

Jason is going to be so mad. So mad. Tim’s stomach actually hurts a little thinking about it. It’s amazing that he can tell that this one is a different kind of hurt from the rest of the hurt but he can.

Damian might never speak to him again after this. That could be a mixed blessing on its own. It’s not like Tim’s going to apologize for this.

And there it is.

Tim’s car finally gives up, even though Tim’s proud of her for such a good showing. They covered about a third of Gotham in less than an hour. Truly impressive. Almost supernatural, really.

If Tim were Jason he would know the exact saint to thank for this one.

(It’s Jude.)

Tim breathes out, hands sweating as he watches the approaching cars in his rearview. Does he get out and face this half standing or does he wait here and hope they don’t hit something that’ll make the car explode? Tim can already hear police sirens so it’s not like they have long.

Three: I see you.

Tim’s eyes focus with a clarity that he isn’t sure can be adrenaline or something else — something angrier, something meaner and infinitely more vengeful — as he takes in every single detail. The plates. The make and model. As the cars stop and people get out with their guns and their shirts open at the collar and their machomismo — as Jason would say — on full display as they preen in their triumph at getting him Tim takes in every single detail of their faces.

Because if Tim survives it, and he’s rapidly realizing how heavy that word is weighing, it’s going to be with this memory. Every single bullet, every single screech of tire, every single smirk of ill-believed triumph —

Tim is going to remember it. He’s going to remember it and he’s going to hold it in himself like so much dark, hissing, fury. And when the time comes when this memory serves its’ purpose, he will release it. It will be at the worst possible time. It will be at the best possible time. It will be when these people think they are on the top of the world. It will be when they think they have nothing left to lose.

Tim is going to be there, waiting, with this memory, to remind them — gently, patiently, factually — I’m not done with you yet.

#heartsfic #c: the dreamer who always sees the stars

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itawonka-creates · 4 years

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Seabourne Burnouts: Chapter 15 - Aground

Thank you @kimihonna for beta reading and @dickisabanana for beta reading and helping with the title name.

Start [Here] [Part 14] [Part 16] -OR- [AO3]

Damian tried to dodge Dick’s most recent attempt at communication, but considering he was blocking the only exit from his room Damian was stuck. Damian’s neutral expression was becoming more and more unnerving and Dick wished he’d say more than just a few sentences a day. “Damian, come on. You should come with us. We’ll be leaving soon.” Damian just stared him down before grabbing his arm and flipping him onto the bed across the room. A small “oof” was heard in the quiet room and Dick groaned, “Come on! Work with me here!”

Damian just shook his head and started walking out the door. Dick scrambled to catch up to him, “You’re already dressed and ready. Let’s get off the ship! Walk around, see the sights, let’s just live a little!” Damian continued to actively ignore his brother as he walked down the halls. It was a fight to get him cleaned up in the first place. The boy stuck himself in his room and did his best to avoid talking to anyone. He was reminded of Marinette after the initial attack on the ship, except Dick knew what would happen once that façade broke. Once Damian’s did, he wasn’t sure what would happen. Dick sighed, “You’re being difficult.”

Damian paused and Dick briefly wondered if he finally got through to him. That was immediately proven right when Damian glared and drew his arm back to punch the man. Dick quickly blocked the attack and prepared for another, but Damian continued walking. Dick felt a bit of relief, the punching is more familiar. It meant he was starting to get frustrated and if he loses his cool then he’ll finally open up. Dick knew how to handle Damian when he was angry, that was easy. However, the silence was killing him.

“You know we still have to see them off though.” Damian didn’t respond, instead choosing to change course and walking towards the deck. Dick wondered if they’d see Marinette and her friends, but then he had to wonder about Damian’s reaction to her. He hoped his brother’s reaction would give him some kind of insight on what happened. Tim said he would go and get some information so he wouldn’t have to, but that was yesterday and none of them have seen him since.

Damian blinked as he adjusted his eyes to different lighting. It was a clear day; the sun strong and there was hardly a cloud in the sky. Perfect for a good outing, but annoying to him. Laying eyes on Jason, he walked over and leaned against the railing. Damian scanned the class, all were excited to explore but all seemed tired. If he was honest, everyone seemed tired; the students, the staff, the other passengers, and his father included. He watched as Bruce walked around, greeted the team that boarded, and tried to push through the day. Damian always wondered how he hasn’t spotted any gray hairs yet.

Some loud giggling caught his attention and it was no surprise to see who it was. He figured the girls would do their best to gather and cheer Marinette up, that’s just what friends do. What he wasn’t expecting was the change in clothes. It was almost funny, she seemed embarrassed but her outfit wasn’t anything inappropriate. It was just a bit different. Her hair was up in a ponytail, her dark jeans complemented the white off the shoulder blouse she wore, and her tennis shoes gave a casual feel to the whole thing. He recognized the glasses that Jason gave her sitting on top of her head and thought if she was ever to wear them, she’d look like the most unintimidating police officer ever. Seeing her laugh as her friends pushed her forward despite her hesitance made him feel oddly relaxed.

Dick and Jason had their eyes glued on the boy as soon as they noticed Marinette coming into view. Damian’s stone-faced façade soon morphed into one of subtle surprise, then regret, then amusement, and finally rested on a soft smile. Dick and Jason just looked at Damian with pity. The way he looked at her, the fondness of his expression, meant that Damian was too far gone and they had their work cut out for them. It would’ve been cute if they weren’t avoiding each other. Right now, they were just happy to see any emotion at all.

Jason sighed as he turned his attention back to the group of girls. Chloe looked up and made eye contact for a brief second before bringing Marinette’s attention further away from their vantage point. He knew what she was doing and he wasn’t even mad. She didn’t want to ruin Marinette’s day. Still, he did miss their company. Marinette and her friends really made the trip bearable. Besides, he was actually attached to the girl and he missed their banter.

Jason turned back to his brothers, ready to suggest they start heading out with the groups, when a shrill shriek caught everyone off guard. He turned back around to see Marinette running off the ship and jumping into the arms of an older woman waiting for her harbor by a motorcycle.

It took Dick a moment to snap out of his confusion to finally ask, “Who’s that? Do we know who that is?”

Damian shook his head, “No.”

“Oh my god, you actually spoke.” Damian didn’t respond, but Dick was too proud of himself to care. “Yes! Jason, now we can – Jason?” The two were waiting for a similar reaction from their brother, but Jason has not moved since locking onto the sight of Marinette and the woman. “Jason? Hello? What? You like the bike or something?”

Suddenly, his eyes went wide and Dick could’ve sworn he saw a lightbulb go off in his head before Jason suddenly took off. Damian and Dick shared a confused look before following. Jason was running full speed towards this woman and Dick can’t remember him ever reacting like this to anyone. Either this was going to be really good or really bad, but both were mentally preparing themselves for either option. Dick caught Bruce’s eye and Bruce looked just as confused but too busy with his clients to chase after them.

As they got to the bridge connecting the ship to the harbor, Damian stopped and instead chose to stay and watch by the railings. If Marinette was avoiding him, it was probably a bad idea to just run-up to her. Besides, he had faith Dick could hold him back long enough for Damian to catch up if things went south.

He watched as Jason skidded to a stop a few feet away from the two. Both Jason and Dick were panting slightly and Dick was ready to spring into action at any second. Marinette seemed to be just as tense and surprised to see him run up to them. Yet, instead of trying to fight this woman, they just stared at each other before Jason finally broke the silence.

“Gina?”

The woman blinked before grinning, “Jason?”

Jason ran his fingers through his hair and started laughing, “Oh my god!”

Marinette looked between the two and pointed at Jason, “You know him?”

Gina laughed, “Know him? He wouldn’t leave me alone for a good two months!” She outstretched her arm and motioned for Jason to come over. Jason immediately engulfed Gina in a hug and Marinette just looked to Dick for answers. Dick simply shook his head and shrugged. Gina pulled away and looked him over, “You’ve gotten bigger! You look tired though.”

Jason chuckled, “It’s been a long time, Gina.”

“Excuse me! Wait!” The three turned to Marinette as she struggled to comprehend the situation, “Grandma, Jason, how on earth do you know each other?!”

Gina simply laughed moved in to pinch both of Jason’s cheeks, despite Jason’s best efforts to dodge her. Gina squeezed and cooed, “I met this young man on one of my trips! He beat up some muggers and then practically inhaled all the food I gave him as a thank you.”

Through clenched teeth, Jason protested, “I did not inhale!”

Jason managed to pull away to rub his cheeks and playfully glare at the older woman, but both couldn’t help but smile at each other. Gina examined him, walking around and taking in all the changes she could notice from the last decade and sighed. “What on earth have they been doing to you?”

Jason licked his lips and diverted his attention to Marinette for a moment, “A lot can happen in 10 years.”

Dick coughed loudly, bringing back the attention of the two old friends, and motioned to Gina. “And when did this happen?”

Jason looked between the two ladies before turning back to Dick, “Do you remember when I ran away?” It took him a second to understand what Jason meant, but Dick gulped and nodded. “Well, during that time I hit a bit of a rough spot. That’s when I met Gina and she took care of me for like two months.”

“He’s the grandson I always wanted. Likes motorcycles, brave, handsome, not the brightest but his heart is in the right place, no?”

Dick snorted and Jason rolled his eyes, “Thank you, Gina.”

Marinette pointed between the two, “Wait, he’s the-“ She cut herself off and ran her fingers through her hair, “Oh my god, Jason actually is my brother.”

Jason blinked and looked at Gina, “Wait, you’re actually her grandma?”

“I’ve told you about Marinette!”

“Yeah, but you never showed me any photos or anything!” He walked over and slung his arm over Marinette’s shoulders, “So, how does it feel?”

“How does what feel?”

“To be my little sister.”

“She is not your sister!”

Gina lightly smacked Dick’s chest, “Nonsense, I always considered Jason as family.”

“You heard the lady. Siblings, bitch.”

Marinette gasped, “Language!”

Jason was ready to retort when he caught Gina’s eye. She had a look that screamed “I dare you” and Jason dropped it. “Sorry.”

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose, “I can’t believe his stupid joke was right.” He looked at Marinette and apologized, “I’m so sorry.”

“Screw you, Dick.”

“Jason!”

“No, Grandma, that’s his name. Dick Grayson. That’s Jason’s brother.”

Gina looked Dick over then shrugged and made a so-so motion with her hand, “He seems fine.” Before Dick could say anything, Gina laughed and hugged the man, “I’m joking. Nice to meet you.”

It took a moment to reciprocate, but Dick gave the older woman a small squeeze. “Nice to meet you too. We love your granddaughter.”

“That’s not a surprise, but always good to hear.” Gina walked over and kissed the top of Marinette’s head, “Honestly, I’d be surprised if someone didn’t like her.” She laughed, but when the other three laughed half-heartedly she stopped. “Wait, where’s someone who doesn’t like you?”

Marinette flinched, “Well, I wouldn’t go that far-”

“Oh Gina, there’s this evil little girl in her class. The worst. Absolutely mental. I’ve been trying to convince her to let me throw her overboard since we met.”

“Jason! Grandma, I can handle it.”

Gina hummed and looked on deck. She recognized most of her classmates from her birthday party and from pictures, but there were a few that stood out. Two kids around Marinette’s age, a boy staring at them by the railings and a girl talking a group of some of Marinette’s friends, she realized she’s never seen before. “Is it that one?”

They looked over and Marinette groaned, “One, that’s a she-“

“I vote we use ‘it’ from now on.”

“- and two, yes.”

“Okay, so that’s her. Who’s the boy staring at us by the rails?” The brothers both tensed as they watched Marinette looked around, trying to figure out who her grandmother was referring to. There was a visible change in her body language as she became rigid and immediately looked away. Dick looked over to see Damian with his back turned to them, most likely because he was caught. Gina pointed at Damian and said, “I’m going to make a wild guess and say that’s the boy your mother’s been telling me about.”

Marinette’s face flushed, “Grandma!”

“Did you two fight?”

Marinette bit her lip as she looked between the two men standing beside her before hesitantly nodding. Gina hummed before taking her helmet off her bike and reeling her arm back. “Grandma, what are you-” Gina grunted as she threw the helmet full force towards the boy. All three watched in disbelief as the helmet flew through the air and right before impact, Damian put his hand up and caught it. Marinette let out a huge breath she didn’t realize she was holding in, “GRANDMA!”

“Good reflexes.”

“You cannot go throwing helmets at people like that!”

“Sure I can. I have your helmet here too. I can probably hit that girl Jason mentioned.”

“Grandma, no!”

“Grandma, yes!” Jason quickly shoved the other helmet into Gina’s arms and pulled Marinette back.

“Jason-”

Jason harshly shushed her, “This is karma. Let grandma do her thing.”

Marinette struggled in his grip, “She is not your grandma! Grandma, don’t you dare throw that helmet!”

Gina reeled her arm back and Dick quickly jumped in, “WOAH! Woah! Let’s calm down! None of us like Lila, but assaulting a child is not the answer.”

“But it is an answer. One I am happy to go with.”

“Jason, I swear if you don’t-”

“No, no, he’s right. We should probably leave her be. Besides, it’ll dent the helmet.”

Gina and Jason smiled at each other. While Dick didn’t know Gina, he knew Jason and that particular smile meant something was brewing inside his head. He could feel a migraine coming on as he watched the two laugh as if they made some kind of inside joke.

Marinette wiggled her way out of Jason’s grip and stomped her foot, “No fair! How come he got to go on one of your trips? You promised me one!”

“Yes, but your mother wanted me to wait until you were at least 16 to take you anywhere.” Marinette frowned and sighed, defeated. Jason snickered before Gina poked his chest, “Don’t laugh at her. It’s not like I brought you along with me. You just didn’t leave.”

“You loved me.”

Gina put a hand on her hip and nodded reluctantly, “Yes, yes, but you worried me. You still worry me.”

“You know, as your actual granddaughter, I’m feeling a little left out.”

Gina rolled her eyes and hugged Marinette, “I love you too.” Marinette smiled and let herself melt into her grandmother’s hold. “Now, what do you want to do today?”

“I’m sure it’ll be fun if I’m with you.”

A notification went off on Dick’s phone, but as soon as he checked it he turned and caught Gina’s incoming helmet. The two ladies jumped in surprise while Jason just looked confused. Dick looked up at the railings and Damian sent him a curt nod, “You could’ve just brought it down!” He noticed Damian look at someone behind him and give a small wave. Dick didn’t have to turn around to know who it was for.

“OKAY!” Marinette started pushing her grandmother towards the bike, “You got your helmet back, the day is young, I’ll drive! Jason you coming?”

“You want me to come?”

“Well, yeah. You guys need to catch up, no?”

“Marinette, he doesn’t even have a bike with him.”

Jason smirked, “Gina, I always have my bike with me.”

Dick groaned, “Please, no-” Jason pulled out a set of keys and pushed a button. They watched as the crowd started yelling and quickly jumped out of the way as a motorcycle made its way down to the harbor and next to Jason. Dick pinched the bridge of his nose as Jason pulled his helmet off the bike’s handle, “And when exactly were you planning on telling us you brought your bike?”

“Can’t tell you when if I was never going to.” Jason turned back to the girls, “Anyways, where are we going ladies?” He watched Gina walked around the bike, admiring it, before holding her hand out while her back was still turned to him. Jason frowned and handed over his keys and she tossed her own keys to Marinette. Jason rolled his eyes and put on his helmet. He realized he forgot how might lighter normal helmets were compared to the Red Hood mask.

He walked over and got onto Gina’s bike with Marinette getting on as well. He could tell she was still incredibly uncomfortable based on the stiffness of her body and how tightly she squeezed his waist. He sent a quick text to his brother and, when he realized Bruce was watching him from the deck, saluted as he drove off to follow Gina into the city streets. He could feel Marinette relax the further they got from the docks and it saddened him to know she was this uncomfortable around his family.

He heard her call to him, “Where do you think grandma is taking us?”

“Don’t know. Knowing Gina, probably somewhere that’ll make us feel nostalgic.”

She hummed, “So how did you actually meet my grandma, Jason?”

“I told you, I ran away and-��

“I can tell when you guys are hiding something. I bet grandma saw it too.” He pressed his lips into a straight line as he struggled to find the right words. Luckily he didn’t have to, “You don’t have to give me all the details and if you don’t want to talk about it it’s fine.”

He relaxed a bit and smiled, “Thanks, Marinette.”

She giggled and looked around the streets. It was a beautiful day and she had a feeling things were going to be peaceful today. “Mom and Dad are going to freak out when they find out you’re the long lost son of the Dupain-Cheng family. You’ll have a whole cake and party waiting for you if you ever come by the bakery.”

Jason laughed, “Well then, I’m just going to have to book the next ticket.”

She nodded and smiled when she realized where they stopped. It wasn’t like Andre’s back home, but a nice ice cream parlor and good shading made for a close second. Jason offered to pay for everything, but Gina refused and left the two to go get ice cream for the group. Marinette closed her eyes and reveled in the soft breeze that swept through. Jason cracked his neck and hummed, “I feel like this will be a calm day, for once.”

“Don’t jinx this for me, Jason.”

He knocked on the wooden bench beneath them. He stretched and looked around, “When was the last time you did something like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like this. Something normal.”

Marinette tried to think back and realized it’s been a few months since she’s gotten to sit down and be present with people she cared about. Sure, she had the sleepovers and dinners, but those usually were to cheer her up or required by their circumstances. This was meant to cheer her up too, but instead of being a party or a loud dinner it was just peaceful. She could actually think clearly and she felt like a weight was lifted. She smiled, “It’s been a while.”

“Same here.”

Gina came back with their sweet treats and the three began sharing different stories of adventures they’ve had together. Marinette never realized how different Jason’s life was until they started talking about their time together.

“You used to sneak out and I had to wait up for you.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“You came back with new bruises every night!”

“I couldn’t sleep!” Her expression deadpanned and he shrugged, “I already told you what I was doing.”

“Fighting crime is not a viable excuse for a 14-year-old.”

“Hey, I always came home didn’t I?”

Gina opened her mouth to retort but shook her head and shoveled some ice cream into his mouth, “Just eat.”

Jason chuckled and licked his lips, “Marinette, I drove your grandma crazy.”

She laughed, “Sounds like it. What happened though? Why did you only stay for two months?”

The two adults looked at each other and Gina offered, “Do you want me to tell her?”

“No. No. I can do it.” Jason thought for a moment before saying, “Your grandma offered to take me with her. She wanted me to live with her.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He looked at his empty bowl of ice cream and frowned, “Some things came up. Things from the past. I realized I still had a lot of unfinished business to take care of and I couldn’t let go of any of it. I couldn’t pull your grandma into that, so I just left.”

Gina pulled Jason’s hands away and held them, gently squeezing and rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. “You know, I always wondered what happened to you. I saw a lot of you in Marinette too. She’s just as hard-headed-”

“Hey!”

“- and just as passionate about the things and people she cares about.” Gina softly patted his cheek, “I’m so glad I got to see you again and I’m proud to see how you turned out.”

Marinette noted how he visibly tensed before he shook his head, “Nothing to really be proud of, Gina. I’m just glad I lived long enough to see you again. I never really forgot about you either. I mean, how often do you meet an old French grandma who rides motorcycles and travels the world?”

Both Gina and Marinette laughed at that comment. Marinette couldn’t help but be curious about what could’ve possibly taken Jason away from her grandma. She’s sure it has to do with Batman and Gotham, but she knew Red Hood didn’t exist 10 years ago either. She briefly wondered what could’ve been if he just stayed. Maybe he could’ve helped her with being Ladybug.

“Hey, Marinette?” She brought her attention back to the conversation and watched Jason as he tried to tread carefully into a new conversation. She didn’t have a good feeling about this, “Can I ask about Damian?”

Marinette didn’t know if it was the ice cream, the company, or the fact that she’s off the ship, but this was the first time she didn’t feel like avoiding this conversation. She remembered what Tess said about talking to someone else and she trusted her grandmother. After thinking about it, she trusted Jason too. “You’re going to tell Dick and Tim, aren’t you?”

“No!” Marinette quirked her brow and he just shrugged, “We’re brothers, what do you expect?”

She sighed but nodded. It was odd. She still felt uncomfortable, but the emotions were underwhelming compared to last night with Nino. She gulped, “Damian told me about a bad thing he did. I wasn’t expecting to hear that from him, so I was a bit shocked. The Akuma attack made me realize something though. He didn’t ask or choose to be a part of those bad things. He was raised and convinced to do it. It reminded me of Hawkmoth in a way since he makes good people do bad things too. I figured since he took himself out of that situation and he was being a good person maybe I could stay.”

She looked down at the table and frowned, “After this week, I realized I didn’t want to lose him either. We connect really well, we can read each other pretty well, and I trust him. He saw right through me whenever I lied to him. He knows something about me that only two other people knew and he just accepted it. I wanted to do that same for him. I wanted to stay with him.”

Gina tilted her head and analyzed Marinette’s expression, “You really like him. You never talked about Adrien like that.”

Marinette nodded, “Yeah. I do.” She scoffed and felt her eyes water, “With Adrien, I could barely hold a conversation and I was always on edge. With Damian, I don’t even have to try. It was so easy to just…” Her sentence trailed off and she bit her lip.

Jason motioned for her to continue and she sighed, “Grandma, I love him. I never felt like this around another person. I don’t know what else it could be.” Jason’s eyebrows shot up meanwhile Gina just smiled. Marinette wiped her eyes and laughed, “It’s scary how easy it was. I mean, I fell for Adrien pretty quick, but that hardly went anywhere. With Damian, I was just comfortable. I didn’t even think about until after we came back from our first visit to Santander.”

Gina hummed, “You know, you remind me so much of your father.”

Marinette quirked her brow, “Thank you?”

“No, no, I’m serious. Do you think your mother was the first girl your father cared about? No. He cared about a few girls, and he thought he loved them too, but it wasn’t until he met your mother that I ever really saw him connect with someone.” She pointed at Marinette, “He had that same look in his eyes too.”

Jason grinned, “You should’ve seen them that first week. They got into an argument then too, but they acted like an old married couple.” Marinette winced, “Sorry.”

Marinette waved her hand, “You’re fine. You’re right anyway.” She thought about that night in the den. She remembered how awkward he looked when he took the chance to say, “I thought we were already married.” She wished she could go back to that moment. Sure they were confused and they didn’t know everything about each other, but at least they had each other. That led her to the dance, which led her to the fight, which led her to Adrien. She brought one of her legs up and rested her chin on her knee, “I messed up.”

“How so?”

“You remember that secret I talked about? It involved Adrien, but Damian didn’t know that. He forced it out of me and I didn’t tell Adrien Damian knew so then Adrien got mad. Adrien started yelling, I started yelling, we all got into one big fight.” She groaned, “Now Adrien hates me and I can’t even look at Damian without wanting to freak out and now I’m a mess and now everything’s a disaster!” She knocked her forehead on her knee, “I’m so stupid.”

“Hey! Hey! Out of the three of us here, the stupid one is Jason.”

Jason opened his mouth to argue, but he just nodded, “Fair.” Marinette snorted and Jason simply looked at her with pity, “She’s right, though.”

“Right about you being stupid?”

“Right about you two making a real connection. I didn’t know you before, but I know Damian.” Before continuing, Jason leaned back and asked, “Wait, are you okay with this?” Marinette blinked and realized what he meant as the question “Do you want to talk about him?” is left unsaid. Marinette pauses for a moment and thought about it. Did she want to know more?

When her mind wandered to him, there was a mix of emotions that came with it. Though dulled, she was still mad and frustrated at him for not leaving the room. Yet, she wished she could go back a few days. She missed their banter and their talks with Captain Staller. She missed their dance battles as she got ever closer to beating his high score on ‘Crazee Boi’. She missed the small touches they shared as they walked together through the ship and through the different cities. Most of all, she missed how at ease she felt when she was with him. She didn’t need to act perfect or okay around him, he’s witnessed the worst parts about her and he didn’t even give them a second thought. He was the first one to really see her for who she was; a girl three steps away from burning out due to her crazy life. He didn’t scold her for her choices or try to talk her out of it, he related to her and did his best to give her a break. Damian was the best part of this whole vacation.

She nodded and Jason continued, “I’ve never seen him warm up to anyone the way he did with you. Damian doesn’t just talk to anyone the same way he does with you. He doesn’t let anyone just win an argument or fix his clothes and hair. He doesn’t just tell anyone about his past or his secrets. And Damian would never just fall asleep next to someone he didn’t know and trust for a while.” She listened intently as Jason leaned onto the table and rested his chin in his hand, “You were the first normal person his own age that he could just be himself around. He didn’t have to be on guard. He didn’t have to be ready to fight you. He didn’t have to put up a front around you.”

He sighed and looked Marinette right in her eye, “Marinette, you brought out the best in Damian. He was getting really tired and burnt-out from everything we do back home. I know you know this already, but he’s never been a kid. He’s never had friends his own age that were normal like this.” Jason smiled at Marinette and he leaned in close, “I’m going to get really cheesy right now, but I need you to get it. This never leaves this table okay? If it does, I’ll know it was you and I’ll make you pay for it.” Marinette rolled her eyes, but she still nodded. Jason, satisfied with their pact, grabbed her hand, “He’s never had the chance to fall in love with anyone, but he almost instantly fell for you.”

Marinette’s mind fizzed out at the sentence, yet before she could respond Jason’s phone started ringing. Jason pulled away and excused himself from the table to answer. Gina moved to sit by Marinette’s side and rubbed her back, “How are you feeling?”

“I- I really don’t know.” Marinette pressed her lips together in a firm line, “Grandma, what am I gonna do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Dick, calm down. Seriously, I can’t understand you when you get like this.” The two looked up at Jason and he licked his lips, “Okay, who cares if he’s on the ship?”

Marinette got up and walked over, “What’s going on? Who’s on the ship?”

Jason huffed and nodded, “Yeah that was Marinette.” There was a pause and Jason shoved the phone into Marinette’s face, “Dick wants to talk to you.”

Marinette looked confused as she held the phone to her ear, “Hello?”

“Marinette?”

“Yeah?”

“Okay, look, I need you to get back here soon. No one else is around. Nino, Alya, and Chloe are all in their groups in the city and you guys are the closest to the ship.”

“What? Why? What’s going on?”

“Tim and Damian are arguing with Adrien’s dad.”

Marinette blinked and shook her head, “What?”

“Adrien’s dad. He’s on the ship. I don’t know what happened, but Damian found them arguing and then jumped in and everyone’s yelling. I’ve tried to step in but when they get like this they won’t back down.”

She could hear some muffled voices in the background and asked, “Why is he on the ship?”

“I don’t know.”

She gulped and took a deep breath, “Can I talk to Adrien?”

“Give me a second.”

There were a few moments of shuffling before she heard a very tired, “Hello?”

“Adrien?”

She could practically see Adrien tense up in her mind, “Marinette?”

“What’s happening? What does your dad want? Why is he on the ship?”

Adrien sighed, “He wants to take me home.”

“What?”

Adrien winced at her shrill voice, “He wants to take me home early.”

“Why?”

Adrien looked over at his father and Nathalie having a heated conversation with the two youngest Wayne sons, “Marinette, can you please calm them down?”

“Calm who down?”

“Tim and Damian. They really aren’t helping and Dick can’t seem to get them to calm down either. If I’m being honest, he looks like he’s two minutes away from jumping in himself.”

He could hear keys jingling and some shuffling on the other end of the line, “I’ll be there in 10 minutes. Don’t go anywhere, don’t pack anything, have Plagg fly away with the card to the room if you have to.”

Adrien frowned as he watched his father get more and more agitated, “Just hurry.” He pressed the end call button and handed it to Dick before jumping back in. “Father, maybe we should-”

“Adrien, you are to do as your father says.”

“The hell he is, he’s not a puppet. He’s a person who has choices.” Tim’s eye twitched and he pinched his nose, “Look, I understand you’re the parent, but your son has been having a good time on this ship and to take him away early before the whole is over seems like a waste.”

“A good time? From what I’ve gathered, that’s far from the truth.” Gabriel narrowed his eyes at Adrien, “Don’t lie to me. You’re better than that.”

Damian crossed his arms, “And where, pray tell, are you getting this information?”

Nathalie stepped in front of Gabriel, “That is none of your concern.”

“Everything on this ship is our concern. From the passengers to the integrity of the ship itself will concern us.”

Gabriel straightened his back and held his ground, “I didn’t come here to be talked down to by a bunch of children.”

“Then expect to be talked down to by fellow businessmen.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

Adrien took a deep breath before motioning to Damian and Tim, “Father, this is Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, and Damian Wayne. They are three of the four sons of Bruce Wayne.”

If Gabriel was at all phased by this information, his body language gave nothing away. He simply raised his brow and said, “Interesting.”

That seemed to just irritate the youngest more, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s interesting that Bruce Wayne lets his sons run around so carelessly.”

Adrien flinched and looked to the three brothers. This comment seemed to be the one to finally flip a switch inside Dick because he tensed up before glaring at Gabriel. “I find it interesting that you treat your perfectly mannered son like a juvenile delinquent. All that’s missing is bars over his windows and an ankle bracelet to ensure house arrest.”

“How I raise my son is none of your concern.”

“And like I said before, everything on this ship concerns us.” He could tell the frustration in the room was threatening to overflow. Adrien felt like he was watching a bottle of soda being shaken until it explodes; he didn’t when it was going to happen but at this rate an explosion is inevitable. “Look, this is getting us nowhere.”

Nathalie nodded, “Agreed, so if you would be so kind as to stand-down this process will go so much easier.” The subtle emphasis on ‘stand-down’ made Tim growl.

Tim coughed and reeled himself in before looking at his brothers. They all seemed to take a deep breath and suddenly it was like Adrien was facing three different versions of Bruce, both in and out of the suit. Dick looked the most at ease, but that was only in comparison to the other two. Dick looked like he was preparing to negotiate. Tim took a step back and seemed ready to analyze the situation, considering how he was as a person this made sense while he was trying to think of a game plan. Damian was the most frightening out of the three. Adrien was reminded of a few clips of Batman Alya showed him earlier this week, but more aggressive. Damian was playing offense and if that was the case Adrien just knew he was going to have to do a lot of damage control.

Damian spoke first and in a matter-of-fact tone said, “Let’s start this again. Gabriel Agreste, head of the Gabriel brand, husband of the late Emilie and father to Adrien. You were also ‘The Collector’ when you were akumatized some time back and you are known to make very rare in-person appearances. You are very adept at designing, business management, piano playing, speaking Japanese, and you have a history of fencing.”

Both Gabriel and Nathalie blinked and their stern exterior seemed to crack for a moment. However, Damian simply continued, “As your son stated before, we are three of Bruce Wayne’s sons. That is Richard Grayson, also known as Dick. He’s the eldest, a skilled acrobat and aerialist, great leadership skills and communication skills, and the one to talk to for an easy route.” Adrien expected some kind of scoff or come back to that comment, but Dick didn’t even blink.

“Timothy Drake, most refer to him as Tim. Incredibly intelligent, very skilled with most technology, also exceptional leadership and communication skills. He annoyingly, but accurately refers to himself as ‘boy genius’. He is the second easiest.” Tim quirked his brow and briefly looked at Damian before turning his attention back to Gabriel and Nathalie.

“The second eldest is not here, but his name is Jason Todd. Good at technology and has an affinity for weapons, specifically any and all guns. Incredible marksman. Not always the best at communication, but will fiercely protect those he cares about. He would be hard, but he isn’t an option right now.”

Damian placed a hand over his chest and his tone held a very distinct hint of a patronizing tone, “I am Damian Wayne. Youngest and only blood son of the four. I am a skilled swordsman, skilled fighter, expert with technology and weapons alike, and also the hardest of the four.” Damian stepped towards Gabriel and, despite the height difference, seemed to look down on him. “No matter who you talk to or try to negotiate with, I swear to you that you will lose. Adrien will stay on this trip until its final stop. Most importantly, he will receive the freedom and respect he deserves that he clearly isn’t getting from you.”

“How dare-”

“I would watch that temper, Agreste. Not only are Akuma running amok throughout the coastline, but there are cameras throughout the ship. Lose your temper here, yell at some children, whatever you do will be stored, shared, and exposed to the media at large.” Gabriel growled but stepped back. While Damian’s expression didn’t change, his eyes held a glint of sadistic amusement. It was like watching an owl wound their prey, but not catch it right away. Simply watching it squirm and make a feeble attempt to escape knowing very well that the shadow overhead will continue following them. This was their playing field, their rules, and Gabriel had to follow them. It was the first time Adrien saw someone talk to and bring down his father like this. He didn’t know whether to be shocked, amused, pity, or all three.

Gabriel glared at Adrien before turning away, “Adrien, I expect you to be packed and ready to go by the time this ship is ready to leave port. We’re leaving tonight.”

“We’ll see.”

Nathalie opened her mouth to respond, but Gabriel held his hand up and shook his head. The two simply left the room and it wasn’t until their footsteps faded away that anyone moved. Adrien could feel himself begin to breathe again, taking in deep breaths but they had no effect. Tim immediately walked over and snapped his fingers in his face, making Adrien look up at him. “Adrien, focus on me. Take deep breaths in and out. Four counts in, four counts hold, four counts out.” Adrien watched as Tim demonstrated and did his best to follow along. After a few minutes, the overwhelming feeling of dread stated to pass and he was just left feeling tired. “Good work.”

Adrien simply nodded and let out a weak laugh as he continued the deep breathing. Tim sent back a weak smile before looking over his shoulder. He saw his two brothers discussing something, no doubt their next step. Tim was genuinely shocked and enraged with how badly Gabriel treated Adrien. Did he curse or yell at him? No, but he treated Adrien like property and acted as if he was always doing something wrong. If he acted like Jason maybe he could see some of that behavior as being warranted, but Adrien was, by all definitions, an incredible son. Athletic, intelligent, well mannered, good heart, what more could Gabriel be possibly asking for?

Watching the anxiety practically seep through Adrien pores, he realized Gabriel was asking for a perfect model. Obedient, quiet, well built and well-mannered for good publicity, but only shown through a tightly locked frame. Never to be physically touched without proper certification, never to be altered except by those he deemed worthy to do so, and always held at arm’s length to avoid damaging goods. More orders than praises unless he does exactly as expected, but that is too far and too few in between. Most importantly, making Adrien feel necessary when, in reality, he’s being used for something superficial.

It was disgusting. Tim really hoped there were some good points to Gabriel’s character. Adrien would undoubtedly defend this man, so something had to be worth all of this. At least, that’s what Tim told himself to avoid throwing punches.

Dick walked over and rubbed Adrien’s back, “You doing okay?”

“Maybe, not sure yet.” Adrien ran his fingers through his hair and laughed, “I’ve never seen that before.”

“Seen what?”

“Seen that! Him being talked to like that! He actually stood down! I mean, Chloe’s mom kind of does that, but what you did was a whole new level!” He laughed, bleeding into the hysterical, and leans against Dick for support. He tried to hold it in, but that made him laugh more, “Oh my god, what’s happening to me?”

Dick chuckled, “Well, you just went through something super stressful and you’re still here on the ship. I’d say you’re on a high right now, but when you crash you’ll probably want a nap.”

Adrien took a few more deep breaths, “Okay. Okay, I think I’m okay. Dick, you should probably call Marinette before she tries to kill my dad.”

Dick paled, “Oh my god, she’s with Jason. If she doesn’t he sure as hell will.” He cursed to himself as he quickly turning away and dialing.

Adrien looked over at the last of the three Wayne boys, he noticed him standing further away and trying to avoid looking in Adrien’s general direction. Tim saw this and quietly said, “Hey, it’s fine if you’re still upset with him. Just because he helped doesn’t mean you guys are okay. You guys need to work this out together, but considering he just fought to keep you on the ship I’d say you have a good shot at making up.” Adrien’s shoulders fell and Tim shrugged, “Only if you want to.”

Adrien glared at the ground and sighed before calling out, “Damian?” Damian tensed and looked up at the blond. Adrien shuffled his feet before saying, “Thank you. For this.”

Damian relaxed a bit, “Don’t thank me yet, we have to make sure you stay on this ship.”

Adrien nodded and Tim simply smiled at him, “That’s a start.”

Dick walked back over and groaned, “Okay, that crisis is most likely averted.”

“Most likely?”

“Those two can be loose cannons when it comes to people they care about, can you really say with 100% certainty that neither will try something?” All three thought for a moment before shaking their heads and responding ‘no’. “Exactly. Look, Adrien, do you want to stay on this ship?”

“Yes! Yes, I do.”

“Then forget whatever your dad says. At least one of use will be with you if he tries anything. You are going to have the last of this vacation. After meeting your dad, you need it.”

Adrien smiled, “Thanks. Seriously, I’d already be on a plane to Paris right now if I was alone.”

Tim stretched and yawned, “Before we go for a round two, I say we get coffee and tell Bruce. I really want to see him rip that man a new one.”

Adrien flinched, “Maybe, not that harshly. I know he’s strict-”

“Strict?” Damian scoffed, “He reminded me of some of the trainers back before I met Bruce. They were just as cutthroat, but Gabriel is smart enough to hide and use it to his advantage. Lucky for you, you’ve got the best people on this ship to counteract that and not be intimidated by it either.”

Adrien frowned, “He’s my father-”

“The ‘father’ title doesn’t mean anything if he can’t act like a dad.” Both Damian and Dick snapped their heads to Tim and he finally seemed to realize how harsh that probably sounded. “Oh – Adrien, I didn’t mean to-”

“You did. That’s fine, I’ve heard worse come from Chloe.” Adrien rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled, “Let’s keep all of this from Marinette, Jason, and the others. They already don’t like him. I think hearing about this conversation would just add fuel to the fire.”

“You know if they find out we’re holding back, they’ll be even more pissed.”

Adrien’s eyes met Damian’s for a brief moment before both turned away from each other, “I know.”

Dick looked at Tim, but Tim simply shook his head. He mouthed, ‘Not now.’ Dick was even more confused, but hopefully Tim had some answers to his questions. Speaking of questions, Dick turned to Damian and asked, “Hey, did you mean all of that by the way?”

Damian’s eye twitched, “Mean what?”

Dick smiled, “Oh you know, ‘these are my two incredible brothers. Like, the best brothers I could ever have. Especially the oldest, Di-”

Damian growled and lunged at Dick, “You’re so full of it!”

Dick manipulated the move and managed to get Damian into an awkward side hug, “So, you finally admit we’re great to have around?”

“I’ll admit that you guys give me more grey hairs than all the villains in Arkham.”

Dick snickered, “You hear that Tim, Damian loves us!”

“You are actually going to get your tongue ripped out if you don’t shut up!”

Tim sighed in relief and chuckled, “I’m actually really glad.”

Adrien asked, “Why’s that?”

“Because what we’re watching right now is the real, true Damian Wayne. He’s always annoyed, gives backhanded compliments, ruthless, but just as socially awkward that it borders cute.”

“I swear to god Grayson, I will shove one of your batons so far down your throat that it’ll come out your-”

“Very, very, loosely borders.” Tim went over and pushed the two away from each other before roughly patting Damian’s back, “Good to have you back.”

Damian glared, but there wasn��t much hostility behind it. He knew they were worried but, if he was honest, he just didn’t know how to react. He was already going into entirely new territory when getting into a relationship, the messy break up made things ten times worse. It helped to let out some steam at Adrien’s sorry excuse for a father, but he could feel those bad feelings threatening to come back up. He hopes they were smart enough not to ask.

He pushed Tim away, “Shut up. Let’s just go talk to Father and keep Adrien on this ship. If we’re lucky, we could probably convince him to take Adrien in. God knows he has a habit of keeping athletic kids with sad backstories.”

“Hey!” Adrien was going to continue to defend himself when all three brothers turned and gave him a bored look. He scrunched up his nose and sighed, “Yeah, okay, let’s go find your dad.” Tim sent him a look of amused pity and walked over, “Can I just get some iced tea?”

“You can get whatever you want. If this goes over well, you’ll be able to help run this ship.” Adrien’s pout made him laugh as he started to walk themselves out.

Damian was ready to follow them when Dick grabbed the back of his collar and pulled back, “Hey!”

“We’ll catch up with you in a second.” Tim nodded and closed the door behind him.

“What the hell was that about?”

“So now that you’re talking, do you want to talk abou-”

“Dick.”

“Yeah?”

Damian crossed his arms, “Thanks for worrying about me, but if you ask me about it I will just go back to not talking. Just drop it and let’s focus on keeping Adrien on board.”

“Damian, I’ve seen you mad, sad, happy, murderous, and literally every emotion. I’ve never seen you this tired and now you are actually scaring me with the silent treatment. I have half a mind to get Jon involved.”

“Do that and I will make sure you and Kory never have kids.”

Dick rolled his eyes, “But you see why we’re so desperate to know, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So? Can you give me anything? Literally, if you talk to any of us about this we can help. We’ve all had girl problems-”

“That’s an understatement.”

“My point is that we can talk about it. Maybe give some advice? You can let us in.”

Damian shook his head, “It’s not that I don’t necessarily trust you-”

“Then what is it?”

“I can’t tell you, okay!” Damian’s raised voice didn’t catch him off guard as much as the message did.

“Can’t tell me? What are you talking about?” Damian took in a sharp breath before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. When he exhaled, he opened his eyes and Dick noticed he retreated into whatever void he was barricading himself in. Dick grabbed him by the shoulders, “Oh come on! Damian, you cannot do this! We were just getting somewhere! Damian!” Dick growled when Damian gave him no response other than stepping away and walking towards the door. “Damian, no! You can talk to me! Me! Dick! Your older brother, the one you can depend on, the one who – The one who really cares about how you’re doing.”

Damian paused and Dick continued, “Damian, we’ve been through a lot together. You can tell me pretty much anything and I’m going to help you through it. You know that! Just work with me here. Let me help!”

Damian sighed and turned back to face Dick, “You’re annoying.”

“I’m your brother. That’s kind of my job.”

Damian’s shoulders fell and shook his head, “Dick, know that this isn’t personal.” It wasn’t, it just felt wrong. He was already set on keeping her secret identity under wraps before she even suspected his, but afterward? The only reason any of Marinette’s friends knew was because they figured it out on their own. She would’ve taken it to the grave and he respected that. It honestly surprised him. “I just can’t tell you right now. If you want to know, just ask Marinette about it. That’s her secret to tell or not.”

Dick’s eyebrows shot up, “You do realize I’m just getting more concerned now, right? You literally compiled information on her that we all have access to. If it’s not in there, then what the hell is she hiding?”

“Something personal and something I probably shouldn’t have found out. If you guys look into it, I swear I will hurt all of you. I shouldn’t know and, quite frankly, I wouldn’t be in this situation if I didn’t.” Damian knew Dick would be looking into it if they haven’t already started, but if they were going to uncover that information he was not going to be any part of it. “Dick, promise me something.”

“Depends on the something.”

“Look into Lila. She’s has been acting suspiciously recently. I noticed something recently over the cameras and I think she’s up to something. I want you to talk to the other kids about it.”

Dick wasn’t expecting that, “How has she been acting?”

“She’s been talking to guests and wandering around every night. She avoids staff who know us like Tess and then will stay in her room for long periods of time on days things aren’t planned or scheduled unless one of the classmates goes and gets her first. For someone fighting to be queen bee of the school, isolating yourself and speaking to people outside the group you’re trying to win over seems like a waste of time.” Not entirely the truth, but Damian wanted to look more into it before assuming anything.

Dick hummed, “Yeah, okay, that’s weird. Is there a pattern to the people she talks to?”

“Not really.”

“Okay, so there isn’t a pattern and we know that she’s smart enough not to do stupid things like this.”

Damian snapped, “Unless gaining control of the class isn’t her goal anymore. She said that earlier too when we first met her in the gym after she took those photos. She said Adrien wasn’t even third place, I thought that meant she wasn’t looking to take Adrien anymore. What if she just switched up everything?”

“If that’s the case, then what’s her new goal? What does she want? She’s just a teenager.”

“You should probably ask Marinette about it. In the meantime, I’m going to go talk to Max.”

“Max?”

“Yeah, Max. He seems to have taken a liking to the computer room, Father finds him there often with his robot. I’ve been having them look over the footage just to see if they notice anything.”

“Wait, so he knows about Lila being a complete psycho?”

“He will now.”

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose, “You do realize that the last time we just sprang that information on someone there was a huge argument?”

“You also realize that Tim did it out of spite towards Alya and scolded our whole friend group for not realizing it sooner, right? I’m just telling Max to watch over the tapes. If he figures something out then that’s all on him.”

“Touché.” Damian was about to turn away before Dick shouted, “Wait! Damian, you know you can trust me, right?”

“Yes, Dick.”

“Okay, just making sure.” Damian nodded before finally leaving. Dick stood there alone for a bit while he gathered his thoughts. He started talking to himself, “Okay, recap. Your brother is going through a bad break up, one of your friends is threatened to be kidnapped by his own crappy father, and now the mean girl might not just be a mean girl. Great. Totally have this in order.” Dick nodded, “Yeah, okay. It’s all coming together.”

“What’s coming together?” Dick jumped and turned to see Damian walk back in, “What? I forgot my phone.”

“You’re too good at that!”

“At what?”

“Sneaking up on people!”

Damian blinked before asking, “You were doing that weird thinking out loud thing again, weren’t you?”

“I’m trying to prioritize.”

“Then let me help you.” He looked around before grabbing his phone off a table and typing in something. Soon a notification went off on Dick’s phone and he pulled it out. It read, ‘1) Lila. 2) Akumas. 3) Leaving me the hell alone.’

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

“I’m hilarious.”

“You’re stressful.”

Damian shrugged, “I’m your brother. That’s kind of my job.” Dick narrowed his eyes at Damian only to be sent a smirk.

“You know something?”

“What?”

“When we first got on this ship, this is what we were aiming for.” He motioned to Damian’s entire body, “This. Getting you back to acting like yourself.”

“And?”

“I’m surprised to see that even when she’s not around she still helped.”

“How do you know it’s her? Maybe I’m just feeling better.”

“Maybe, but if she wasn’t on this boat could you honestly say you would’ve actually socialized with the class that won?” His lack of an answer was telling, “Even if you don’t get back together, try to just leave on a better note. Leaving things unsaid always ends up in a bad time.”

“I know. I think we’ve all figured that out in one way or another.”

“Good. Tell me when you’re ready to talk. We’ll all help out or give advice.”

“To be fair, most of you guys don’t have the best track record.”

“At least talk to me then? Out of all of us, I probably have the best track record.”

“True.”

“Well?”

Damian paused before saying, “I’ll think about it. Just focus on Lila and Adrien for now, though.”

Dick smiled and nodded, “Yeah, yeah. Got it.” Damian held the door open and tilted his head, telling Dick to head out. Both went their separate ways down the hallways as they tried to follow they’re various missions. Dick went to catch up with Tim while Damian continued to move below deck to talk to Max.

It was weird to talk to Adrien again, but it was almost disappointing. He was so caught up in keeping Adrien on the ship that he forgot that Adrien probably didn’t want to see him either. He couldn’t help it though, something about Gabriel irritated him. The more Gabriel talked the more Damian wanted to punch him square in the face. When Gabriel began talking down to him, it brought Damian back to the first few months of living with Bruce in the manor and how he would often get scolded for his behavior. However, Damian had enough of a backbone to both take the lessons but fight against the aggression. Adrien clearly didn’t have that, at least not as himself. He’d need to look at more footage of Cat Noir to understand his behavior more.

He knew Adrien would probably be punished once back to Paris, but he figured something like that would happen with or without their intervention. For now, he was going to allow Adrien the opportunity to spend the final week free form his prison back home.

Damian supposed that was a good parallel between the two; both hated being locked up in cages. Cat or bird, both needed the freedom to strut around and live a little. Both of their worlds barred them from really allowing them to be themselves. Damian was given the opportunity to do so, despite it not going exactly as planned he still would look back on this trip fondly. He wanted to give the same to Adrien, if not as an apology then just as someone who understands what it’s like growing up with the expectation of perfection. Damian just hoped Adrien would have the courage to take advantage of it.

If not for himself, then for the people of Paris. A heartbroken and depressed Cat Noir would be of no use to Paris or Ladybug. Damian was avoiding a possible liability, but he was still avoiding her. Opening the door to the main computer hub, he was surprised when Markov immediately started pulling on his collar, “We have a feeling you might want to take a look at this.”

*******************************************************************************************

Question: Should I start posting my Maribat Hunger Games AU on Tumblr as well?

Let me know alongside thoughts on the chapter!

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kneesheee · 5 years

Text

Little Devil

warnings: cursing | vague references to child abuse | age regression

|two|

Jason stared down at the girl bowing before him. She was a foot and some inches shorter than him standing at a solid five feet. Her once milk chocolate colored hair was fanning around her face, but he didn’t concentrate on that. No, he paid attention to the white strip curling through her hair. He had no doubt that if she were to look up then her eyes would be glowing green.

“My apologies for declining to answer your messages,” she stated into the night. “I had not known that it was the Born-Again Prince that was attempting to contact me.”

“Mila,” he groaned exasperated. Jamila Al Ghul. Daughter of Nyssa Raatko and Slade Wilson after Ra Al Ghul decided to play mad scientist with his daughter’s genes. Sister to Conner Hawke/Al Ghul/Queen whichever one he was going by these days. The only friend he had made while in Talia’s care. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Did you honestly think that I was going to stop, dear cousin,” she questioned as she stood from her crouch. The two of them stared at each other before folding into a hug. It had been awhile since they had last seen each other. “Are the rumors true? Are you the new Heir to the Demon?”

Jason grimaced, “Yes. And before you ask, so are the rumors about Nyssa attacking Talia.”

Jamila sneered, “I always knew Mother held no honor. Despite my resentment of him, I am thoroughly grateful that Grandfather chose not to reveal my existence to either of my parents.”

Jason sighed and ran a hand across his face, “Despite everything, T is doing well and she’s safe. I need a favor from you though.”

His cousin slouched a little and crossed her arms, “The Big and Bad Red Hood needs a favor from mwah? Oh, whatever shall I be?”

“No need for the snark,” Jason crossed his own arms looking at her. Her own eyes glowed with the power of the pit behind them. He didn’t want to know how she ended up in such a predicament. He knew she could take of herself. He knew she could overcome the effects of the pit. If anything, it just made his skin crawl as recounted his own experience with the magical waters. “What I do need is for someone to be out there getting me intel. I need a link to the League so I can know Shiva’s process on helping T and if she needs any backup. I also need someone with ears on the ground for whatever it is Nyssa might be planning.”

“And pray tell, why you cannot do this yourself?”

“From what I’ve been told, I’m the reason that Nyssa attacked Talia. If I step outside of Gotham, then I’m going to have eyes on me everywhere. I need to keep a low profile.”

Jamila hummed as she looked him over. She ran a hand through her hair. “The wishing well near Ivy’s Garden. Whatever information I managed to get then that’s where I’m going to leave it.”

“Don’t you want to be the Heir instead, Mila?”

“Not a chance in Heaven or Hell,” she scoffed.

Jamila moved towards the edge of the rooftop the two of them were standing on. A slight breeze picked up and blew her hair through the air. She turned to look at him and the fierce expression on her face soften into something gentle, “Jason, do be careful. You may not be my cousin by blood, but you are the cousin of my heart. I will destroy the world thrice over if it meant that you keep some happiness.”

She fell backwards off the edge before he could give promise to her words. But he watched as she appeared a few buildings over and heading away from the streets of Gotham and he wonders if she can hear his silent pleads that she do the same.

When Jason made it back to the manor, he slipped in through the window leading to his old room. A quick glance at his bed and he could see Talia still lying there sleeping peacefully. Even in her sleep, she still looked like a warrior princess.

He sighed deeply. He needs to find a way to help her get back to her rightful age asap. But… but a part of him wanted to delay it as long as it was possible. He wanted to give her the childhood she should have had instead of the one she was forced to live.

He removed his boots and armor from his body before walking into the bathroom to slip into more comfortable clothing. He checked to see if Talia was still asleep before carefully moving two of the floorboards and placing the minimum weapons, he had carried on his person back in their place. With one last check on his charge, he reestablishes the rigged security system on the window that he made. Bruce and the others were so sure that the motion detectors would catch anybody sneaking onto the premises, but Jason learned his way around those from the very first moment he put on the pixie boots. At least with his security, whoever might try to break it would lose their fingers and then their life when Jason arrived to catch them.

Talia sacrificed everything for him. It’s only right that he repays the favor.

Jason made his way out the room with one more glance at Talia before softly closing the door. When he turned around, Cass was standing there. He quirked an eyebrow. “Guard duty,” was all she said.

He nodded his head and the two of them continued down the hallway. Making their way to the kitchen where the rest of the family had gathered before Jason left to make contact with Mila. Three days had already passed with Talia being stuck as a toddler and he was no close to figuring out how to help her. They had no knowledge if it was magic, science or even technology that made her this way.

“Ah, Master Jason, welcome back. Have a seat. I’ll bring out something for you,” Alfred greeted, walking off before Jason could protest. He shook his head with a fond smile and made his way to the dining room where the rest of the family was waiting.

“I’m just saying Bruce, we shouldn’t be distributing so many resources to help that-that woman after all she’s done to this family. It’ll be for the best to keep her as she is. At worst with our help, we can keep her from turning into the Talia we know today and at best, we can just ship her off to another family.”

It had been years since Jason had felt any effects from the pits. Maybe it had ignited after seeing the evidence on his cousin or maybe the anger he was feeling at Barbara’s words were strong enough to relight it. Either way, he could feel it nipping at the back of his mind... Staying there. Stagnant. It was more of a tool for him to use instead of a leash to control him.

“Look Gordon, I get you have your issues with Talia. But you don’t know jackshit about her and if you speak another word about her, then I’d happily show you exactly just how you’re not actually all that great.”

The rest of them startled not having noticed him come in, but he only had eyes for Barbara. He looked up to her. Cherished her even. She was his batgirl. But Talia was his mother and he wont stand for any ill will to her.

“Jason, what Babs was trying to say—” Dick began, but Jason rose a hand in the air. “She can speak for herself, Dick, and she made it perfectly clear how she felt. I’m making it known how I feel, and I won’t stand for any slander against her. You can speak about whatever problem you have with her on your own time, but so long as she’s here… so long as I am here, then you will keep your thoughts to yourself or leave her wellbeing to me and go back to playing with your computers.”

The two held a small staring match as she tried to gauge how serious he was, and he expertly conveyed the threat in his eyes to the next person that spoke on Talia negatively. She nodded her head at him before turning away. Jason took a deep breath and mentally pushed the pit away. He had been doing good and he didn’t need a relapse.

He kept on to his seat and thank Alfred as he placed his food in front of him. He said a quick blessing over his food just like Talia had demanded of him before he slowly began to it.

“Um, Jason, what did your contact say,” he heard Timmy ask from his seat. Jason looked up to see him typing furiously on his computer with one hand and reaching for the coffee cup that Cass was carefully keeping out of his hands.

“She didn’t tell me much and I didn’t press for much. What she did say is that the rumors about who the new Heir is and how fast the information surrounding Nyssa’s attack is spreading.”

Everyone’s brow furrowed. To know that there was someone out there that might be getting ready to start the biggest war in the criminal world was frustrating. They didn’t know who they were looking for or what to expect from them.

“Well, did she at least tell you who the Heir was,” Stephanie questioned. All eyes turned to him and he narrowed his eyes at her. He took great care of what he alluded with his body language before he answered. Heaving a deep sigh and taking on a look of exasperation, he set his fork down and ran a hand through his hair.

“I already knew who the Heir was and believe me when I say they want nothing to do with the title.”

Tim went back to typing on his computer, “Still it would be good know who the Heir is just in case they cause trouble later down the line.”

Jason scowled at the brat, and here he thought Timmy was his favorite. He then sent a silent prayer of forgiveness to Jamila and he swore he could her sharpening her knives and cursing at him. Jason sighed as if he was exhausted with the topic and didn’t want to let this particular amount of leverage go. “Her name’s Jamila. You’d probably find better information on her if you looked up Death Demon. It’s her code name, but she’s even more of a ghost in the underground world than the Winter Soldier from your comics, Timmers. But she is real. I met her a couple of times while training with the League. She put a knife to my throat and told me to stop killing all of her teachers before she got finished punishing them.”

“Am I the only one trying to figure out why Jason seems to be on first name basis with assassins,” Dick exclaimed.

Jason snorted, “I was one myself, Dickhead. I worked directly under Talia before she let my leash go and set me out on the world. Hell, in some parts, I’m still considered one. There are many places that are living in fear afraid of the Red Ronin to come back and rain down vengeance.”

“I don’t think that’s something to be proud of,” Duke muttered from his spot at the table.

Small patter of feet caught everyone’s attention and Jason looked over to the doorway to see Talia peeking in. Her features were twisted in a scowl and Jason was sure that only he and Cass could see the fear lurking in her eyes.

He rose up from his seat immediately catching her attention and then she disappeared. When he sat back down, he pushed his chair further from the table to catch the small body that landed in his lap.

“Hello, تاليا,” he muttered as he scooted back near the table. She laid her head on his chest and whispered, “Hello, Jason” in English. Jason nearly cried with joy. In the past three days alone, she had spoken in French, Spanish, German, Greece, Swahili and Chinese. Sometimes she would switch languages mid-sentence. It was nice to know that she could speak English also though he still felt like a scolded kid whenever she rose a brow at him when he stumbled from her dialect switch.

He handed her the fork in his hands and let her eat the fruit off his plate. Another thing everyone learned was that she was a vegetarian. But she had spoken to him in silence and broken words that Ra had already been training such weakness from her and forcing her to eat meat. She hates it but she won’t go against her father.

“Hi, Talia. I’m Stephanie!”

Right, despite that they had been here for three days coming and going because like hell was, he going to spend the night at the manor… Talia successfully managed to avoid everyone in the house. Everyone except Alfred and Tim that is. She had told him that watching them concentrate on their task was soothing and orderly. It reminded her of home.

She looked up at Stephanie with a blank stare before looking back at Jason. “It’s up to you.”

“Bright.”

Jason nodded his head, “Hey, Steph. Tone it down a little.” He looked backed down at Talia who nodded her head. “Hello, Stephanie.” The girl in questioned almost squeal in delight before the rest of them started to introduce themselves.

When Damian introduced himself, Talia blinked before leaning his direction. She turned back to Jason, “He looks like Mother’s brother. Family?”

Jason pretend not to notice the emotions in Damian’s eyes. He knows that the boy knows little of his Grandmother’s family. “He is my brother.”

“Potential,” she stated with a raised brow. “Worthy of Nobutora name.”

Talia smiled lightly at Damian before she disappeared from his lap and the sound of her feet were heard back in the hall as she headed back to the room. Jason turned to look at Damian who was staring after his mother with a shocked look on his face.

“She had never told me that before.”

Jason crouched down beside him, “It doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

He ruffled the kid’s hair and gave thanks to Alfred for the dinner. He walked out of the room with everyone else wondering what Talia told Damian. “Call me if you get a lead or anything,” he called behind him.

He needed to get back to his apartment and give Talia her bath before they settled in for the night. The Bats could handle patrol for one more night.

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batfam-imagines · 7 years

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Killer - Part 3

This is just really quick and really short. Don’t worry it’s not the end! I have no idea when I will be able to post next. Hope you like it! Let me know what you think should happen next!

Killer - Part 2

The boys come back from the zoo several hours later. Conner had decided to go back to the Titans so he could watch over the younger heroes in Tim’s absence.

“Kon says that he loves you and that he’ll support you. He’s sorry that he couldn’t tell you himself, but …” Tim shrugs.

“Thanks, Timmy. I’ll have to make a trip to the Tower soon. I’m sure the kids could use a homecooked meal”

Tim’s whole face brightens, “You should come live at the Tower! Damian is supposed to join the Titans soon, Dick’s always there to visit Kori, and I’m there too!”

“Yes, your presence would greatly improve my stay there, Ummi. It might make the presence of the others tolerable”

Jason’s been surprisingly quiet through Tim’s suggestion, “Jay, what do you think?”

“I’m not allowed at the Tower, Mom. Was dubbed a bad influence to the younger generation”

“That was years ago, Littlewing!” Dick slings an arm around Jason’s shoulders, “You don’t kill anymore, and it’ll be good for the kids to have a marksman to help teach them”

“Alfred can come too!”

Said man chuckles, “I believe that it would be good for me to spend weekends away from the Manor. I cannot completely abandon Master Bruce, so weekends will be the only times I am available”

“I’m sure the kids would take any time you could give them, Alfie. However,” You glance over at your two oldest sons, “I can’t have you just abandoning your father. Tim and Damian are scheduled to stay full time with the Titans, but I need you two to still keep an eye on Gotham and Bludhaven.”

Jason rolls his eyes, and gets a smack on the back of the head for it, “We’re not gonna just leave Gotham, mom. B will still have backup if he needs us for a big case. Steph and Cass are planning to come back to Gotham anyway, they’ll be able to help B. And with his track record, he’ll just find another kid to take up the Robin mantle”

“Yeah, I sure in hell hope not. Your father has never been the best at actually raising you kids. He’s damn good at training you to fight and do detective work, but he’s a little … emotionally stunted”

That sends Dick, Tim, and Jason into a fit of laughter and manages to make Damian crack a smile. “You can say that again!”

“Now that we’ve all had a good laugh, how about we order some pizzas, watch a few movies, and then head to bed?”

“Sounds like a plan” Dick grabs a pen, “What does everyone want?”

Amidst the shouting of pizza orders, you quietly pull Alfred aside, “I’ve made my decision, I can’t do it. I hope you aren’t mad at me, but this just isn’t something I can do”

Alfred smiles, “I understand, you know that I will support you”

“When the boys fall asleep I’ll head to the Manor, if they wake up will you -”

“I’ll tell them that you went out for a walk”

“Thanks. Now come on, if we don’t get out there Dick will forget to get you extra cheesy bread”

Getting into the Manor undetected is easy without a hypervigilant butler to stop you. Bruce is already in the cave, probably out on Patrol still, so you know you won’t be interrupted.

Titus and Alfred the cat follow you as you make your way around the Manor, picking up a few of Jason’s books, Damian’s swords, Tim’s laptop, and Dick’s cereal. Steeling yourself you make your way up to the master bedroom, “He hasn’t even been in here, has he?” Titus just huffs.

Everything is exactly as you left it, the bed sheets still rumpled, a pair of sweat pants tossed on the floor, even your phone is untouched. Making a quick loop around the room, you stuff everything you’ll need into a duffle bag. With trembling hands, you write out a quick note and lay it on Bruce’s pillow, right on top of a neat stack of papers that were signed and notified earlier that day.

Bruce hasn’t left the Cave in almost a week. He’s barely slept, only managing to grab a few hours here and there on a cot that’s in the Cave. He doesn’t have Alfred or Y/N to drag him upstairs into an actual bed to rest, or to eat.

When he finally does manage to make it upstairs, the Manor is ominously quiet. Like the Manor itself knows that something has changed with its inhabitants.

Bruce makes his way upstairs, and to his bedroom. He takes a quick shower, and flops down on the bed. His head lands directly on top of a stack of papers, and a note that’s written in undeniably familiar handwriting.

Bruce,

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that things have turned out this way, but I can’t do this anymore. I can’t forgive you for throwing me in jail like that, for being more Batman than my husband. I married you because I loved you, and I still love you. You made a choice that night, you chose to be Batman instead of Bruce.

I signed for the divorce, Alfred said that you’ve had the papers written up for years. I already gave it to my lawyer and he had it notarized. You had already signed the papers so there wasn’t any need for you to be there. Alfred is staying with me for a little while, just until I leave Gotham. The boys are also staying with me.

I wanted to forgive you, Bruce. I know that I broke a promise to you, and I’m sorry for that, but you wouldn’t listen. You wouldn’t listen and you threw me in jail like I was just another piece of Gotham trash. Don’t take your anger out on Alfred or the kids. Take care of yourself, B.

I’ll always love you,

Y/N

Bruce reads the note again and again, trying to make his tired mind comprehend what he was reading. Of all the outcomes he had thought of, he’d never thought that Y/N would sign for a divorce, maybe a separation, but not a divorce.

He glances down as the papers, papers that he had written up as a contingency plan. Papers that Y/N had gotten ahold of and had signed. Life as he knew it, forever changed with her neat signature on the line beneath his own.

And for the first time in a long time, Bruce Wayne cried.

Killer - Part 4

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ambiengrey · 6 years

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death

This takes place in the cartoon Young Justice universe.

Jason had been prattling on about this to anyone who would lend him half an ear, for weeks.

From the boys and girls in charge of make-up and costume to design, to the choreographers and script-writers, to the teacher in charge of production and back again – he had several stories to tell about each of them and their process; a new one after every rehearsal. To the point where Bruce had to ask Jason which department he was in, because it sounded like he was part of every one.

He’d paused, and rubbed the back of his neck, and blushed, and grinned, “Oh! I’m acting,” after which he’d immediately gone into a story about his “co-stars” and how excited they all were.

In all the time he’d regaled them with his theatre tales – of whom Alfred was eventually the only one who could stand to listen for more than twenty minutes, much to Bruce’s shame, but alas – he’d absolutely refused to say what they were performing, or the role he’d been cast in.

“It’s a surprise,” he’d insisted.

Two weeks before their performance invitations had gone out and at least now, they knew what the play was going to be, and the general theme of it.

Jason was delighted to share more information, but Bruce and Dick had claimed not wanting to be spoiled, and Jason had, pouting, been forced to silence.

“Okay, this isn’t a spoiler,” he was saying now, hands gesticulating as he spoke, “Because you’ve already read the book, but just so you know – we’re doing a lot of the original stuff with this. Like – Peter, killing off the Lost Boys,” he said, dropping his voice conspiratorially even though they were alone in the hallway. “Because it had to be scary, for Halloween.”

“Of course,” Bruce said agreeably, equally quiet.

“But you’ll never believe what happens after that, or by the end – we had to ‘up’ the scare-factor, after all. And yeah, it’s probably really stupid and a disgrace to literature in general, but…this is high school, I guess,” he shrugged, like it couldn’t be helped.

“Naturally,” Bruce said. “So, what role will you be playing, then?”

“I’ll be—” Jason started, but cut himself off abruptly. “—oh, nice try,” he said instead, a suspicious little quiver in his voice, and he jabbed at Bruce’s arm. “But I’m not telling you; it’s a sur-prise,” he enunciated slowly and firmly, giving Bruce a meaningful look. The quiver had gone.

Bruce chuckled good-naturally. Trying to trick Jason into revealing his part in the play had become a competition between Bruce and Dick – and Alfred, and eventually the Team, and even Diana (Bruce isn’t entirely certain Jason hadn’t caved and told her, actually) – besides which, it had served as a good deterrent against Jason’s theatre talk continuing on too long, less someone try and catch him slipping up. He’d been making Alfred nostalgic, and Bruce didn’t know how much longer he could listen to Alfred reminisce.

“Well,” Bruce patted Jason on the back, “I tried.”

They fell into a seemingly comfortable silence as they continued down corridors towards the school’s theatre hall, but, after a short while, Jason lagged behind, and stopped.

Bruce stopped as well, turning around, “Jay?”

Jason stood with his head bowed, fingers fidgeting.

His mood had changed so unexpectedly, Bruce had to take a quick, surreptitious breath, to keep him calm. Dealing with Jason was a difficult endeavour for Bruce, who was, somehow, prone to saying the wrong thing more often than not. On occasion, he’d gone so far as to ask Clark – who had arguably no experience raising a son, since he and Conner had decided they were rather brothers instead – of all people, for advice.

Bruce approached, settling a hopefully comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder, “Pre-performance jitters?”

Jason shook his head, “No, no; it’s…nothing like that.”

“Alright…” Bruce said slowly. “Something else on your mind, then…?”

“Um…yeah,” Jason mumbled, and touched at Bruce’s sleeve. “Can…we talk?”

“Jason,” Bruce squeezed his shoulder, caught slightly off-guard by the boy’s hesitation. “Of course, kiddo.”

“Okay,” Jason breathed, and slipped out from under his hand, pulling Bruce along by the edge of his sleeve, into a stairwell and onto the first landing before he let go.

Bruce stood with a fair view of the hallway they’d come from, and the ascending stairs. Jason took a step or two up and clutched at the railing as he faced Bruce.

“I… don’t want you to be mad,” he started.

Bruce had already repeated their earlier conversation in his head three times, looking for some indication of what he might have said to have triggered Jason’s change in demeanour, but he’d come up empty.

“Or… disappointed,” Jason added bitterly.

Bruce shifted his feet; uneasy and unsure of how to respond.

Jason glanced up at him briefly, and Bruce hoped he’d smoothed the frown from his face quick enough. He didn’t want Jason to think he was glaring at him.

“Okay, so,” Jason started again, “I’m Peter,” he looked up, eyes wary and expectant. “In the play…” he trailed off.

“Alright…” Bruce said, uncertainly, and leaned forward to whisper, half-smiling to try and lighten the mood, “Why am I privy to this information all of a sudden?”

“Because—Peter murders the Lost Boys, and I’m…Peter,” Jason explained uneasily. “And I don’t want you to be mad—”

“Jason,” Bruce cut in, gripping the banister as he came closer. “It’s a play.”

“I know, but—”

“It isn’t real—”

“I know that,” Jason nearly snapped, sounding exasperated, and Bruce thought he’d said the wrong thing again. “It’s just that, after what happened—”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Bruce interjected, knowing what Jason was referring to and not wanting him to finish the sentence. Bruce thought he had a vague idea of where this was headed, and he didn’t like it. He might have said more if he knew how exactly to continue, or Jason’s face didn’t suddenly look so startled.

“What?”

“You haven’t said that to me before,” Jason answered, hushed, almost awed, as if this was the first time it even occurred to him—

“It—” was implied, Bruce almost said, but stopped – that would definitely be the wrong thing to say. “You said it was an accident,” he said instead, “I believed you.”

“You—

“You believed me?” Jason questioned, sounding caught somewhere between incredulity and frustration. “Bruce. You hardly acknowledged me. You benched me; sent me to Dinah, and avoided me for a week!”

Bruce glanced sideways at the hallway, one hand raised, placating, before he tried to explain, “I was not—avoiding you,” he kept his voice carefully levelled. At least Jason hadn’t raised his above an angry whisper.

“Well, that’s what it felt like,” Jason countered.

“…I was working the case,” Bruce said, and continued before Jason could add something and make him feel guiltier. “As for benching you, and your appointments with Dinah—” for a moment he considered asking if Dick had not explained that, but then changed his mind. “You had a traumatic experience – not just watching a man fall while you could do nothing to save him,” Jason shifted his weight, not looking up, but Bruce ploughed through, “Not to mention the victim right before—”

“Gloria,” Jason whispered.

“Yes. Gloria. The case as a whole was taking its toll on you, Jay,” Bruce heaved a heavy sigh, eyes landing on his feet as he admitted, “It’s cases like those that make me question letting you kids into this life.”

“I’m not a kid anymore,” Jason said defiantly, however quiet.

“I know…” Bruce said, looking up again. “I made you see Dinah, because I thought you’d need someone to talk to about what you’d been through.”

“I wanted to talk to you,” Jason said, and when he looked at Bruce, his eyes were shimmering with unshed tears.

Bruce swallowed thickly, “I’m no good at talking…” he said gently. It was different with Jason – especially after this incident. With Dick, Bruce could claim some training exercise or another, and spend time with him for a few hours – or a few days. Sometimes that, and almost never a full-length conversation, was enough to get him forgiven.

But Jason, more often than not, responded better to verbal reassurance. Grandiose gestures often overwhelmed and embarrassed him. There was no good way to explain that Bruce could not have communicated well on this issue, because he had been struggling with whether or not to believe his adopted son had in fact shoved a man off a balcony to his death – and subsequently lied about it. Or, attempted and failed to save him.

Or, chose not to attempt at all.

“You could have tried…” Jason replied.

If Jason spoke to Dinah, Bruce had reasoned, he could receive more professional help in dealing with his trauma than Bruce could provide, and, Bruce could drown in the ignorant belief of his son’s innocence that came with taking the boy at his word without investigating or thinking about it further.

As opposed to treating every shared thought and feeling of Jason’s as a fact of the case; analysing, judging and questioning it – and Jason – endlessly.

“You’re right…” Bruce admitted. “I could have,” he shook his head regrettably. With encouragement from Dick, who had handled the situation a lot better than Bruce (naturally), Alfred and the Team, Jason had joined the theatre group. “I should have,” he added, and stepped closer. Bruce had thought showing an interest would be enough. He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, “I will, from now on,” he hadn’t expected it to haunt Jason for this long. “I promise, Jason. I’m sorry.”

Jason ducked his head, hiding an embarrassed smile and wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. He looked back up, “You really believed me…?”

“Yes,” Bruce said firmly. If any doubts had lingered, he was banishing them immediately.

Jason lurched forward, swinging his arms around Bruce’s middle and hiding his face against his chest. “Thanks…” he mumbled.

Bruce wrapped his arm about the boy’s shoulders and squeezed, “Of course, Jay.”

“So…if I wanted to talk to you…?”

“Anytime,” Bruce promised. “About anything,” he let go, and Jason stepped back, as he added, “And, I’m not mad about the play.”

Jason smiled, however briefly, “I’d never—”

Bruce ruffled his hair, clutched his shoulder. “I know.”

“I don’t think the play can start without you, Jay!” a voice called from below – Dick.

“Right,” Jason said, and slipped around Bruce and down the stairs. “I’ll go on ahead, okay? You can find your seats?”

“’Course,” Dick said easily – by which he probably meant Alfred already had – hands on his hips, smile on his face.

“Okay,” Jason trotted on one spot, and then sprinted down the hall, narrowly avoiding Dick catching him for a headlock, but not escaping a hair-ruffle in passing. He laughed, sounding only almost too much like Robin.

Bruce came down slowly, debating whether or not to ask Dick how much he’d heard.

“You’re late,” he said instead.

“Mission ran late,” Dick shrugged.

“Any mishaps?”

“How bout I tell you after?” Dick suggested, clapping Bruce on the back and basically steering him along.

“Fair enough,” Bruce agreed. After a moment, he said, “You owe me a twenty.”

“No!” Dick exclaimed. “He told you who he is?”

Bruce chuckled, “He did.”

“It’s Peter, isn’t it?” Dick asked, bouncing in his step.

Bruce only shook his head, “I’m not telling you.”

“Twenty bucks says he is.”

“I’m not betting with you anymore.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’ve already won.”

“Rub it in.”

“I am.”

“…B?”

“Hm?”

“You’re good, right?”

“…Yes, Dick. We’re good.”

October 30th: Death.

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holy-n-evil · 7 years

Text

Jason Todd MMA Fighter AU

Character: Jason Todd

Pairing: Jason Todd X Reader

Type: one shot, fluff

Warnings: fighting, violence, mentions of Jason’s death

Requested: hell nah, just my complexes

The lights died down as she stood behind Jason who changed his expression from passive to a cocky smile when he heard the first chords of ACDC's 'Highway to Hell'. He chose it as a low mockery not just of his death, but a mockery of where his opponent was heading after the fight. She put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze as the lights came back on and it was time to walk. They took a couple of steps towards the octagon and were greeted by cameras shoved in their faces by the camera men. Jason's face held a strong mixture of a cold and smug expression while she walked behind him with a softly narrowed look. Fans cheered for him, the crowd was going wild. They screamed louder for Jason than they did for the man he was fighting. No ordinary fighter would challenge a five time MMA Champion to a fight in such a straight forward way, but she knew Jason was far from ordinary, she has learnt that from all those years of working with him and Bruce. It made her wonder how did they end up here at Madison Square Garden just moments before the fight which will undoubtedly go down as one of the most memorable ones. It made her wonder how Jason just waltzed back into her life and how she took him back with arms wide open so easily, although she hasn't regretted a moment. She stood in an empty gym at 11.20 p.m. beating a punching bag repeatedly, not even breaking a sweat, letting the pent up frustration and anger out of her system. The sound of punches were the only thing filling the room. Jab. Hook. Hook. Jab. Hook. The door slammed and heavy footsteps occupied her, distracting her from the endless fight against the bag. The person behind her stopped and cleared their throat. "The gym is closed." she said sternly and breathed in through her nose. The shadow of the person stayed still meaning they had no intention leaving. "I said the gym is closed." she gritted through her teeth and landed a punch harder than the previous ones. "I know it is." A deep voice came from behind her. It sounded so familiar, so close that it caused a slight shiver run down her spine. "I actually came to see you, pumpkin." Her arms dropped down her sides as she closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing. Only one person in this whole world could get her attention with that nickname, with that voice. She dragged her left leg back next to the right and turned around to face him. He stood firm towering in front of her, taller and more muscular than he ever was before. His look hasn't changed all that much, the only difference being the hair which now was pushed back, instead of covering almost half of his forehead, and a single white streak which added a stark contrast. Another thing she noticed even in dim lighting was the scar on his cheek which was in a shape of the letter 'J'. A smug smile was plastered on his lips, but his eyes held much more emotion she couldn't distinct. "Jason." she whispered because she was certain her voice would shake. "(Y/N)." Jason retorted still smiling. They stood in silence for a moment before he stepped closer to her. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Just a quiet whimper before she closed it and looked at him in the eyes as she took off the gloves and threw them on the ground. "Before you get completely mad at me," he started and put one of his hands up in a 'stop' gesture, "just give me five minutes to explain some things." She sighed, and closed the space between them by wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders. He mimicked her by circling his own arms around her waist, and leaned down a bit to press his lips against her temple. "Jay, start talking." she pulled away, but they still kept their arms tight around one another, and established eye contact once more. His pupils dialeted and an unreadable emotion washed over his features. "I've been back for a while now, (Y/N)..." "I'm familiar with the fact." (Y/N) spat out. "Right. Dick told you." Jason sighed not really knowing how to aproach the subject. "But he also filled me in on with your falling out with Bruce." She tore away from his embrace at the mention of the incident, but Jason gripped her wrist and pulled her back into him. "Look, pumpkin, I'm not here to bring back bad memories, I-" "Did he tell you why Bruce basically kicked me out?" her voice started trembling with anger. "Did Dick tell you what I've become after you died? Did he tell you how much I wanted that clown dead after taking my family away me? After taking away you from me? After doing what he did to Barbara?" Jason stayed quiet, just looking at her with a guilty expression. "I started plotting Joker's murder and Bruce didn't like that. After all this time I wonder why he's letting that clown live." her voice was now dangerously low that it reminded him how fiery she can get. "So he made it clear he didn't trust you, I know how that feels. When you turned 18 he made it clear he doesn't want you on the team and you persuaded your MMA career." he finished the story. "Dick told me a watered down version so I went to Alfred for the whole truth." "What brings you back to me, Jay?" (Y/N) spoke sofly and shook her head. "Listen," he looked at his feet then back to her. "I understand if you're mad about me not coming to see you sooner, but I just couldn't, (Y/N). I couldn't. Not as fucked up as I was. Still am, in fact." Her face softened, she was hurt by his words. She put her hand in his cheek making his heart beat faster. "Jaybird, I'm not mad. I just... I wanted you back for so long and now you're here for God knows how long. I'm just scared you'll disappear again." she stuttered as she felt tears pooling in her eyes. "I'm here for a long upcoming time, babe. But I need you." he tried his best to reassure her. "I need a coach." (Y/N) sighed and rested her head on his hard, muscular shoulder. "What do you mean by that?" "I've been in a couple fights. MMA fights." "You? MMA?" she snorted, but gained a serious composure when Jason hummed in confirmation. (Y/N) lifted her gaze to him who smiled down at her. "I know how to fight, obviously." he stated. "I need you, (Y/N), to train me professionally, to keep me grounded so I don't kill anyone during the fights." "Jason, tell me one thing." "Anything." Jason said and took her left hand to unwrap the bandages. "Tell me what fighting means to you." she searched for the answer. "Anger outlet. Makes me calm." She nodded and smiled widely. "Inside this gym I respond only to 'Coach'." Jason stood opposite of Tommy Wilson, a champion who he challenged to an epic fight after beating a couple of other famous fighters. He could afford the fight since he stood undefeated and people called it a wonder that Wilson responded to an underdog's proposal. The referee gave them instructions after which Jason held his fists up for the curtsy fist bump, but Wilson flipped him off causing (Y/N) to wince because she knew that would only Jay's anger which he would then channel in a fight just like they worked on. She stepped inside the octagon for the last face to face conversation before the fight. Jason sat in front of her on a stool ans she crouched down. "You've got this, Jay. Just relax your shoulders." "Yes, coach!" he responded. "Did see them?" "Who?" "They're here." Jason motioned to his left and (Y/N) looked in the direction and saw Alfred, Bruce, Dick, Tim and Damian sitting in the second row. Dick met her gaze and sent her a little wave at which she smiled. "It's not a distraction, I promise. It's just weird they're here. Probably to mock me." "Todd!" she snapped. "They can never mock a winner. I'm down right there in your corner. Just listen to my instructions if you get stuck anywhere, okay?" "Okay." "And now for a fight you've all been waiting for." A voice came from the booth. "Go get him." (Y/N) hyped Jason up and walked out of the octagon and settled down in the corner, right in front of where the Waynes were. "A five time heavyweight champion Thomas Wilson versus a heavyweight underdog Jason Todd!" "Ready?" the referee pointed at Wilson who nodded and then pointed at Jason and asked the same thing. He threw his hands up in an orthodox stance. This is what he wanted. Jason wanted to make a name for himself in the MMA world and show how good of a fighter he is. Now he stood again toe to toe with his opponent. Wilson threw a punch at Jason who ducked, but straightened his composure and threw a clear hook at Wilson who wobbled as he tried to stay on his feet. "Again, Jason!" (Y/N) screamed at him. Jason kicked the opponent in the chest and sent him against the fence panel. Wilson shook it off and came at him once more this time managing to land a punch in Jay's stomach. (Y/N) knew Jason was now filled with anger. He turned on his left foot and lifted his right leg up which collided with Wilson's face causing Wilson to fall down still conscious. "Now, Jason. Go for it!" she guided him and he lounged at the guy on the floor, straddling him and throwing punch after punch. Wilson's whole body went limp as he fell unconscious. The referee blew the whistle and tore Jason away. The crowd screamed in delight for Jason who was enjoying it way too much than he should have. He backed up in his corner as (Y/N) ran over to him. Jason opened his arms wide and litfed (Y/N) up as soon as she landed in his embrace. "You fucker! You did it!" she cheered and Jason laughed loudly and set her down. She took his arm and dragged him to the centre of the octagon where the referee was holding a belt and Wilson' coach was trying to help him up. The announcer's voice boomed through the room over the cheers. "This is unbelievable, people. The champion's fight against the underdog lasted only 17 seconds and we already have a winner." Wilson was back on his feet and stood with his coach on referees right side as Jason and (Y/N) stood at his left side. "And the winner is..." the announcer started again, "...Jason Todd!" The referee lifted Jason's arm up as another guy clasped the UFC belt around his waist. Jason yelled out in triumph before to his coach and pulling her into another tight hug. Then he leaned down and crashed his lips against hers. She was taken aback by the action, but immediately leaned into the kiss. Jason deepened the kiss before he started to pull back. (Y/N) leaned forwards as he broke the kiss, but as soon as he noticed that, he locked lips with her once again. A person walked over to them and cleared their throat. They broke apart and saw Bruce standing in the octagon awkwardly. He opened his arms for Jason who was reluctant for a moment before deciding to hug the billionaire after all. "I'm proud of you, Jason." Bruce praised him. "I really am." That's all that took for Jason to feel like a kid again. "Thank you, Bruce." Dick followed behind Bruce and was the first one to embrace (Y/N) after the win. "You guided him well, (Y/N)." "No, he did all of this by himself." she argued, but Bruce shut her up by pulling both Dick and her into a group hug with him and Jason. "Congratulations, Jaybird." Grayson patted Jason on the back who was now smiling wide. "Let's go get something to eat, okay? All of us." Bruce proposed and (Y/N) knew he wouldn't take no for an answer. "Yeah, okay." Jason nodded and turned to her and stole a quick kiss before heading out of the room to celebrate his win.

#jason todd imagine #jason todd #jason todd au #red hood imagine #batfamily imagine

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sweetwriting · 7 years

Text

Tim Drake Week 2017 - Day 5 : Injury / Healing

Category : Gen

Genre : Angst / Family

Fandoms : DC Comics, Batman (1940), Detective Comics, Robin v4 (1993), Red Robin (2009), Teen Titans (2003)

Continuity : Post-Crisis/Pre-Flashpoint

Summary : So maybe Tim loved Dick too much, but to be fair Dick was the only person he had to love for a long time.

Author’s notes : This one’s about Tim and Dick’s BROTHERLY relationship Also I try to keep most of the fics for this Week less than 1000 words...I have failed yet again

Word Count : 2827

To read it on AO3

Tim, as can be expected from any non-powered person running around in costume fighting criminals, had received many injuries in the past four years (as proved by his asplenia). Physical, psychological (thank you Scarecrow, Darkseid and Granny Goodness, you've been some of the worse) and emotional, he went through them all. It probably did not help that he was from a rich family (no matter how reckless he could be sometimes, he still lived in as safe an environment Gotham or boarding school for Richie rich (white) kids could be) or that he wasn't very emotionally stable to begin with (he never realized it until he got the chance to open up to his friends and they looked at him as if he was the "saddest little bean" ever -Conner's own words. He hadn't known Bart and Conner were able to feel like this toward anything other than children, women or TV shows and Video Games).

So yeah, lots and lots of bad History there. Still the worse injuries had been the emotional and psychological ones (he still had nightmares about their time on Apokalips, he still sees the nightmares Granny Goodness had created for him, he had nightmares where he didn't "turn down" the Anti-Life Equation and those were often mixed with memories of a future where he became a dictator, where he had managed to clone Conner). The worse ones though were the deaths : Steph, Bart Cass. It didn't matter if some ended up not being real he was still forced to start grieving and psychology hadn't really caught up on how to react to your friends coming back to life. There was also that time he was preparing himself for Dick joining the list (he honestly doesn't know what would have happened to him if Dick had died) and Dana, though not physically wounded was pretty much unable to handle a complete conversation or even take care of herself. His mother and father were special cases themselves as what hurt the most was never knowing what could have been and knowing what never was. Then there were the harshest ones : Conner's and Bruce's. They had both impacted him so deeply he didn't think he would ever truly heal from them. Conner's because, well because he's his best friends, one of the most important people in his life (and hadn't that been an unexpected turn) and Bruce, well, because it's Bruce. Tim became Robin to protect him from himself (and barely lasted four years and a half). But everything that happened because of his death made it worse.

And that's what this is about right ?

Tim loves Dick. He has since he was 3. Dick was his role model, then his big brother, one of the rare people he could confide in (After Conner's death, when they were gone and later on learning Bart's "disappearing act" he became pretty much the only one aside from Cassie sometimes). The tragedy of Dick's childhood shaped his life.

And Dick chose Damian. He knew that he had failed Bruce but he still deserved to be Robin and yet Dick had chosen this homicidal kid for the role. And of course, Dick was the new Batman, the former Robin, of course his vision for the role is what mattered most. But...Tim was the one who had...he had to force Bruce to take on a new Robin, he worked himself almost to the death to be worthy of the mantle and it was taken from him. Dick didn't even have the gut to tell him he just...he was walking in to get changed Damian was wearing a Robin uniform. Was it that hard to tell him? Was it because of his theory that Bruce is alive? Did Dick think he was so mad with grief he really didn't deserve the mantle? What was Tim supposed to do? He just said that it was because he thought he was ready to be his own hero. But then why not talk it through with him? He didn't even have the time to choose a new name and he had to find Bruce. He didn't *have* the time for that. How could Dick do that to him. How could he suggest that Tim was mad when he was the one running away from his grief? Dick was the one who got angry at Bruce Oh so many times because he made decisions without consulting the people concerned and Dick did exactly the same with Tim.

The hypocrisy was daunting. Tim had always known that Dick was more similar to Bruce than either of them would admit. But they were similar and it made Tim so, so sad. he didn't know what to do.

Yes, he did.

He had to find Bruce. Because Bruce has to be alive. Because he needs to not be mad. Because his brother, his model admitted that Tim just wasn't enough. No matter the excuses he tried to give, at the end of the day, Tim lost his second father in a year and his brother took the last thing Tim had from him. Took the last bit of anything right in his life away from him to give it to someone who had tried only a few months prior to kill him in order to become Robin. And well Tim had just lost the two things he had left. Damian had reached his goal even if it wasn't in the way he had expected.

But Tim still had one thing to do and he couldn't actually die until it was done. He had to bring Bruce back home.

Bruce had been back for a year now. Tim…still hadn't really talked with either of them.

The truth is that he spent most of his downtime with Conner, Bart, Cassie, or any of the Titans (it turns out Solstice had actually met his father when he went out on a dig once) rather than try to talk to any of the Bats outside of Barbara, Alfred and Cass.

He and Steph had a truce and they could work together if they had to but it was still awkward. They had, after all always had this on and off relationship which only stopped when she died. Her coming back to life ended up with him being confused about which part he was supposed to be feeling : wanting to start again like they always did ? or just try and be friends ? Because it wasn't like it had been with Ariana, when he had pretty much already moved on when they broke up. His and Steph's break up was sudden to him (even if in retrospect he realized it was bound to happen soon enough) and her death only happened within a few weeks of it. He never had the time to realize a car hit him before a truck hit him harder. And this time it seemed to be truly over but what do you do when you have a history of going back to this person, even if you have realized you only did it because of familiarity? Because you missed having intimacy with someone and it was just easier to fall back into a known situation even if it wasn't an ideal one, even if you knew it was going to end badly but couldn't help hoping it wouldn't simply out of fear of being alone, out of fear of never finding anyone you could get this intimacy with.

Tim wished he had an answer to this question but the truth is that he was still struggling. He was lucky he had his friends back to keep him out of Gotham on a regular basis, to be in a somewhat supportive environment. It wasn't perfect obviously, they all had their own issues and Conner and Cassie's strained relationship wasn't easy especially for him and Bart. Because while they were all best friends Bart and him were better friends with Conner than they were with Cassie and Cassie knew it and even if neither tried to make them chose between them (it wasn't a "who to side with" choice obviously, more of "who gets to keep who" kind of choice) they all knew what that choice would be, especially for Tim (Bart might choose Cassie just to counterbalance Tim's choice, even if it wouldn't be his main choice), and it hurt because they did love Cassie. So even if they didn't talk about it, the elephant was in the room. Or at least it was until Bart couldn't stand it and locked the three of them in a room until they either "killed each other, made up or had a threesome" (the last one had shocked them, both because they didn't understand why Bart would associate the idea of a threesome with them and because, even if they knew Bart had grown up and was knowledgeable about a variety of subjects, some things were still hard to swallow and Bart being aware of sex always managed to surprise them no matter how often it happened). Of course they could have gotten out easily, between the two powerhouses and Tim's own pick locking skills, it was child's play. Only, if Bart hadn't intervened, Tim wouldn't have lasted much longer. So when his friends got ready to destroy the door, he stopped them and forced them to confront their issues (it was so much easier to force other than to do it himself). And sure, just because they talked about it, it didn't mean everything was all and good but it meant that at some point it could be.

And why was he saying this? Because he was avoiding the situation at hand obviously. He was in a coffee shop, sitting across from Dick, a cup of hot chocolate filled with melting whipped cream between his hands. Cass was right, they had to talk things through. Still, she had allowed him a few months because for once in his life he felt he had a right to not forgive right away. Sure it seemed petty but, Tim always forgave people. There were only five instances when he didn't forgive right away: when Bruce had revealed his identity to Steph, when half of Young Justice had admitted to not trusting him (when Kon and Bart had admitted to not trusting him), when he learned that Leslie Thompkins and Steph had lied to them about Steph's death, when Jason had tried to kill him and when Damian had tried to kill him. And even then he had always forgiven in the weeks that followed (it took a lot longer for Leslie, Jason and Bart but the circumstances were different...and he's still struggling with the Damian situation but it's complicated and linked to this one). Simply put, Tim had to live through hell. He hadn't been sure he would survive the emotional strain and at some point he hadn't even been sure he wanted to (actually he was sure he hadn't wanted to). And of course, he wasn't the only one, he knew that but it didn't make his distress go away. So he let himself feel it, acknowledge his feelings for once (which was actively encouraged by his friends) until Cass decided enough was enough (she was right of course it was starting to wring him down, whether he managed to bridge the gap between them or not, he needed to let go).

The thing is, Dick had never apologized.

It may seem stupid but Dick was the biggest influence in his life, along with Bruce, and he had taken everything away from him without even informing him and, and he hadn't even apologized.

This was going to be long.

The whipped cream was completely melted by now. He hadn't been this awkward with Dick since Dick had been his own Batman. It was a lifetime ago (and even then the awkwardness wasn't nearly this bad). He didn't know what to say. Dick seemed to be as lost as he was and he could see Cass hovering nearby. And he couldn't hold it in anymore:

"You never apologized" he blurted out, eyes still lost in his mug.

Dick was obviously taken aback (and why wouldn't he, they had been silent for at least 5 whole minutes before Tim started talking), so he continued.

"You took the Robin mantle from me and gave it to Damian of all people. I had to work at convincing you and Bruce I deserved it and he got it almost right after Bruce's death, you didn't even have the decency to ask me if I was ready, if I was okay for it. I get why he needed it now, but back then you just sprung it on me. You did to me what you're always reproaching to Bruce. I lost my second father in a year, most of my friends were dead and you took away not only the role I had worked so hard to fill and you took my trust in you with it. You even took the trust I had in Cassie when you asked her to come and convince me I was mad. You pretty much called me crazy."

Tim stopped for a second. Taking a deep breathe he looked up from his hot chocolate. Dick seemed to be about to say something but didn't seem to be able to form any words and Tim would have interrupted him anyway. He needed to finish what he had started or he might lose al his courage :

"I know you have emotional issues, we all do, but I thought you could at least manage to apologize. I was alone Dick, I didn't feel safe anywhere because it felt like at any point you were going to send someone new to convince me to go to Arkham. And I get that you had other things to do and that all of a sudden you had other responsibilities on top of having to deal with Bruce's death but it doesn't change the fact that I was one of your responsibilities and you chose to give up on me. You acted as if I had this, big and sudden change, like my emotional instability was somehow new. Like your actions wouldn't, hadn't impacted it. It wasn't Dick and I'm sure you know it, that you knew it, but it was easier to ignore it."

And he knew it was harsh and even a little unfair, that he wasn't perfect either but it felt good to just, lay it out there. And Dick looked horrified and he probably hadn't realized how badly Tim was doing back then. Dick was usually good at pinpointing other's emotional weaknesses but for some reason he had never seemed to really see Tim's. He tried to reach out from across the table, tried to take Tim's hands in his own because, for once, he really needed this bit of contact. But the action surprised Tim who retracted them quickly. They both winced at the reflexive movement which was oh so reflecting of the state of their relationship. Still it seemed to renew Dick's determination and while he didn't try to touch Tim again, he made sure to look him in the eye as he spoke to him :

"You're right I'm sorry. I have no actual excuse for this except that I didn't realize what it was doing to you. I honestly thought you were ready to fly on your own and that Damian needed to be Robin in order to adjust better and I didn't think about how it'd affect you. I said it was because I considered you my equal and still pulled a Bruce and took you out of the decision-making process. And you're right I should have apologized long ago but I didn't really comprehend what had gone wrong until now and I'm so sorry. I promise I'll try to work on it but, I'm not a mind reader. You also have to promise that if I ever do something like that again you will knock some sense into me. Like you usually do with Bruce"

And that was it. Tim didn't really need some long-winded apology. This was enough : acknowledging their faults and promising they'd at least try to get better

And sure, as with Conner and Cassie's resolution, things were far from perfect and wouldn't be for a long while. But as he was suddenly enveloped in his big brother's arms (which was a nice change from Bart, Cassie and Conner, no matter how much he loved the little massaging Conner did around his ears during their half hugs)…as he finally, and for the first time in over a year, truly felt that he was loved by Dick instead of just guessing, thinking, supposing, deducing…Now that he truly felt it, knew it for sure; he had hope that he could really salvage their relationship.

Author’s Note 2 : This work is un-betaed, if you have any advice or anything don't hesitate to tell me (no I'm not fishing for comments I have no idea what you mean)I didn't talk about Tim's suicidal attempts, especially not in the conversation because I don't think either of them are ready to even start thinking about it, much less talking about it.I have put some TimKonCassie again, for a ship that I don't ship it sure comes up often (then again in all of their comics versions Kon and Cassie's relationship almost always only exist through Tim. so if I write about KonCassie it's gonna end up being KonTimCassie...)There's a tiny bit of sexism at the beginning, it's because -sadly- the 90's were a quite sexist time (not that it's much better today) and some, tendencies of the heroes reflect that (except for Kon who was actually not *that* bad, for various reasons I won't get into here until around the 60-70 issues of his first Superboy series and especially Joe Kelly and Dan Didio's run at whichpoint he became a fuckboy and even a tad homophobic (oh I long for the time when he barely batted an eyelash when he learned that his then best friend was gay and thought he and his bf were a cute couple...)), it was a time full of comments that "when cute girl talking to you/you talking to cute girl = flirting even if you're not actually interested"...

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