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slipper007 · 3 years

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p ☀️art museums: what’s your favourite museum, or type of museum? 💕💕

☀️art museums: what’s your favourite museum, or type of museum? (doing this)

Word Count: 1,864

Also on AO3 [masterpost]

Two years after the world didn’t end, Team Free Will 3.0 started traveling.

They didn’t always stick together, or even stay in the United States (Sam and Eileen made the trip to Ireland), but they knew they all still had a home in the Bunker.

It was simultaneously freeing and terrifying to be in control of their own fates, something that Sam, Cas, and Jack had all taken in stride. While Eileen struggled at times, Dean was the only one held back by it, as much as he tried not to be. The moment he had first realized that his life was not his own, he’d fought against it out of instinct and righteousness, but now that he had it…

As much as Castiel and his brother both assured him that he was who he was on his own terms, rather than whatever Chuck’s machinations had wanted to him to be, he worried he didn’t know himself. He was just as adrift as he had been in his teens and twenties, desperately trying to emulate his father in order to find a sense of self; as he had been freshly back from hell, violent and afraid of everything he had done and become; as he had been standing in that graveyard with God telling him to kill when he knew revenge wasn’t what his mother would have wanted and wasn’t what he truly wanted.

Castiel had told him in his confession, his brother in several passing speeches over a lifetime, and Dean himself had said it straight to God’s face, but was it true? Who or what was he outside of saving people and hunting things, outside of the narrative Chuck had constructed his entire lifetime?

The vastness of the question was enough to make anyone spiral, so he tried to avoid it.

Charlie helped when she came over. With Sam and Eileen abroad, and Cas all too willing to have deep conversations Dean wasn’t ready for as much as he loved him, she and Dean became closer. She had been staying at the Bunker for a time, not long after Jack and Billie brought her back. She, too, was finding it difficult to adjust to the new world they found themselves in – she had tried for a full year and a half to get her legs under her on her own, but the world had changed in the six years before she had been brought back. Even though she had managed to reinvent herself numerous times before, it was difficult. The Winchesters were more than willing to offer her a place to stay in the meantime.

It worked well for everyone, though it was particularly chaotic now that Sam and Eileen were taking a brief vacation abroad. Dean was constantly with his two best friends (one of whom was his lover), as well as Jack. Charlie and Cas had become close, something that Charlie had deemed “WLW/MLM solidarity” (neither Dean nor Cas knew what that meant). To Jack, Charlie had taken the role of cool aunt, which was both wonderful and terrifying in equal regard, especially given that Jack was, at this point, back to being in a body his own age with his original powers rather than those of a god. The combination of a super-powered six-year-old and a nerdy LARP-enthusiast was certainly an interesting one, especially given how their energies fed and built on each other’s.

It was this merry band that found themselves inside an art museum one hot August afternoon.

Charlie and Dean wandered the lower gallery for a short while as Castiel took Jack through a more kid-focused section, and for a time they wandered in silence.

“So how are you today?”

“You live with me,” Dean responded, only to be faced with a shrug. “How are you?”

“Today’s been good,” Charlie said with transparency. “I woke up again. Started sewing more of my Triss costume – from The Witcher video games, not the show, you know? Now I get to hang out with friends and see some pretty cool art. Maybe I’ll apply for another job today, or bake some bread, or we can finish getting me all caught up on Game of Thrones.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Dude, spoilers!” She looked straight to him, and Dean shook his head. “Anyway, you’re dodging the question by asking about my awesome life. Not cool, so spill.”

Dean sighed as he walked by another painting of fruit. “I don’t know, Charlie. Could be better, could be worse.”

“Figured out who Dean Winchester is yet?”

“Do any of us truly know who we are?” Dean quipped back.

“Really?”

“Lil’ existentialism never killed anyone,” Dean said with a shrug. “But no, not yet. It’s all still just a big…mess…of what’s him and what’s me.”

“Well, here’s a start for you: Dean Winchester is my friend, and always will be, regardless of whatever some crack writer says.”

“Pretty sappy, but I’ll take it.”

“Shut up.”

Dean Winchester is a friend.

When Cas and Jack rejoined the pair a little later, they all wandered up to the 12th to 19th century European gallery. Jack and Charlie broke away when they came across the tapestries. Castiel, however, was drawn to a painting a little further in. The gallery was still and quiet as Dean joined him.

“St. Sebastian, huh?” Dean said, reading the label. “Know him?”

“My memory of 200 BCE is muddled at best,” Castiel said. “I don’t think so. The painting is beautiful, though, if tragic.”

Dean looked at it again, trying to see what Castiel saw. A beautiful mouth was twisted in pain as arrows lodged in the body, unstoppable. The arms were contorted and restrained, rendering punishment inescapable. The eyes were wide and dark, looking upwards as if begging for divine intervention that would never come.

In it, he saw himself. He saw his struggles with faith in a higher power, with the needless suffering he and his little family had been put through. He saw his loss, his fear, the control he lost when he realized he would never be free from Chuck. What he didn’t see was the anger.

Beyond that, however, he saw Castiel. He saw Cas’ expression when the Mark had worn Dean down, when he had thrown Cas to the floor along side the corpses of the Stynes. It was the same loss, the same fear. The expression was akin to brokenness yet not shattered. He was still faithful, still true. It was the same look on his face when he had confessed in the dungeon. Beautiful but tragic.

What had Dean ever done to deserve that resoluteness, that level of trust in spite of the fear.

“I’m sorry,” he started, words catching in his throat. How did he even begin to make up for all he had done? Yet, it was as if Cas had read his mind. Hell, he was an angel. Maybe he just knew.

Castiel turned to him, a familiar softness in eyes not tainted by pain or prayer for intervention. Dean could lose himself in the deep blue seas.

“You’re forgiven. You’ve been forgiven.”

They stood side by side, listening to Jack’s squeals of joy only a room over, for several minutes before Castiel spoke again.

“You’re unsure of who you are,” Castiel said. It was a fact they both knew, even as Dean started to protest the topic. “I’ve already told you what I think, but let me remind you. You’re the single most loving person I have ever known. You love in spite of Chuck. You care about this broken world, even when it seems hopeless. You always have.” He paused for a long moment before saying, “In plainest terms, you’re a lover, not a fighter.”

“I don’t know about that one. Can’t I be both?”

Castiel let out a long-suffering sigh at that before wandering away to look at the other paintings.

Dean stayed by the painting of St. Sebastian for another few minutes, trying to see what Castiel saw in it before hearing Jack call for him a little way away, his high, childish voice carrying through the halls.

Dean Winchester is a lover.

Downstairs, there was a special exhibition on the history of dance. Jack practically dragged Dean in, his eyes wide and excitement palpable. Charlie and Castiel laughed and promised to catch up in a few minutes – Charlie wanted to grab a print of an art piece from the museum store. Dean and Jack wandered from exhibit to exhibit, looking at everything from classic vinyl to tap shoes. Despite the artifacts and objects, news clippings and sound bites, Jack was fascinated by a video of people swing dancing projected on the wall.

“What’s up, kid?”

“I wish I could do that.”

“You can,” Dean said. “You just have to do what they’re doing.”

Jack looked up to him, eyes wide and a broad grin starting to cross his face.

“Will you show me?”

It took a little bit of practice, and they missed more of the moves than they got, even with Jack standing on Dean’s shoes, but they both enjoyed what they were doing, which made it worth it. Jack’s smile as he danced up to Charlie and Castiel a few minutes later made it all the more precious.

“Come dance with us!” he called out before rushing back over to where Dean still stood.

“Having fun?” Cas asked as

“Cas!” Jack called. “Come on, come on, come on!”

Castiel smiled and shook his head before turning to Charlie and taking her hands. They instantly fell into sync with the video, matching the moves in perfect synchronicity. Dean felt himself stop in shock as Castiel flipped Charlie over his shoulder as if it was no great feat.

“Woah, when did you learn to dance like that?”

“I do have some memories of watching humanity. I was even on Earth when this dance was invented.”

“And I took dance lessons a few years ago,” Charlie offered by way of explanation.

“I guess we’ll just have to up our game, huh Jack?”

Jack giggled, his gap-toothed smile looking all the more excited. They busted out a few new moves, even improvising for a while.

“Dude, you dance like a dad!” Charlie laughed, twirling Castiel as she did so.

Dancing there in the museum, Jack on his feet as Castiel and Charlie watched on, Dean came to a final realization of the day.

Dean Winchester is a father.

As the day drew to a close, the group started to head out. Jack clung to Dean’s back, wiped out after a long day of dancing and wandering the museum. He watched the birds fly overhead in the golden light as they wandered to the car. Cas took the backseat with Jack, who promptly fell asleep.

“This was fun,” Charlie said, setting the bag with her art print on the seat between her and Dean. “It’d been a while since I’d gone out like this.”

It had been fun. It was nice to enjoy the world rather than save it.

Even if he was still working on figuring out who he was, Dean finally felt content.

#fluff #domestic fluff #supernatural #spn fic #dean winchester #castiel #charlie bradbury #jack kline #kid!jack #spncreatorsdaily #creativecavier #userdee #userstarry #userpris #rambleoncas #tuserari #usershey #slipper007writes

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nerdyfandomimagines · 7 years

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Off-Screen

Word Count: 1837 Warnings: Fluff Here's your order, miss." The lady at the counter said, catching my attention. With a quick thanks, I grabbed the three cup trays and the bag filled with food and headed back to my car. I hated being on lunch duty, it was a five mile drive from the studio and it always took forever, with the insane traffic, the waiting in line during the lunch rush. Then waiting for them to make it all, then checking to make sure it's all correct. Lastly, I have to make it back with 11 drinks and a bag of food, with out spilling any of it. In stop and go traffic. Fun, right? If only. The guard let me in without a second glance. At least he didn't stop me, I'm already late. I park close to the door amd decide I'm going to have to make two trips, I grab the bag and two of the trays, leaving the third for later. I bump the door open with my hip, while trying to balance the trays. I drop the food on the snack table and run back out to my car. Once I get back in, everyone's crowded around the table grabbing their order. "Oh, good, there's more, I thought you forgot my order." British accents are the best. "N-no, I just couldn't carry it all, sorry it took so long, lunch rush, and the traffic was crazy." I stuttered, feeling bad. "I told you it'd be faster to walk." Followed by a hand being slung around my shoulder. I was one of the personal assistanton the Marvel set, I worked a few different jobs here. They hadn't started the actual filming yet, so I wasn't as busy, just prepping. That's why I was sent out for lunch. "No it wouldn't, the sidewalks are just as crowded, and plus I wouldn't have been able to carry it all." "Hm, that's true." "Of course it's true, Mel, you really think I hadn't thought of that." "C'mon we have to finish the last set, remember." She pulled me along, towards the back where we had to finish one of the house-like sets. *** "Hey! Melissa! Dammit, now I have to go change." She had flung paint at me, to get my attention. The walls were almost finished anyway, she could do it by herself. I stated walking back to my car, before I realized that I didn't have a change of clothes. Well, fuck. I really don't want to walk around with paint all over me all day, not that it's a big deal, I'm always covered in paint, but I hadn't put my smock on yet, and this was my favorite shirt. "Woah, what happened?" My head snapped up at the question that was obviously addressed towards me. "I- uh-" I found myself at a loss for words. I couldn't think straight, sometimes I wish I interacted with the actors more, maybe I'd be less shy. "Shouldn't you have a smock on?" Something clicked and I was able to form a sentence. "I just got back from the lunch run, I didn't have time to put it on. The girl I'm working with flung paint at me to get my attention." I felt my face heat up and I knew I was red. He was obviously amused. "Sebastian St-" "Stan." I finished for him, taking his outstretched hand. "I know who you are. I work on your set, plus, you're famous. Its kind of hard not to." I state, feeling the blush come back. I ramble when I'm nervous. He smiled. "Well, you know my name, it's only fair that I know yours." "Oh- uh, my name's Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N" "I like that name." I feel the blush coming back, so I look down and mumble a quiet thanks. "Are you going to change?" He questions. I blush even redder, this time from embarrassment. "I-well, I forgot a change of clothes, so I really can't." I stutter. He laughs again, his blue eyes filled with amusement. "You could borrow one of my shirts, although you should put a smock on this time." He smirks. My eyes widen. "No no no, uhm no, thank you, it's fine. I can deal, you don't have to let me borrow your shirt. I probably won't see you again soon anyway. I'm always busy and I rarely see the actors, unless we're filming, because I work with the set and uhm..." I trail off, realizing I'm rambling again. "Hm, that does seem to pose a problem. You can just keep it. It's fine." "No, no really I'm okay, I don't need to steal your clothing." "How about we make a deal. I let you borrow my shirt. And since you insist that you can't keep it and that you won't see me, you give it back to me when we go out to dinner. Saturday at 8, sound good?" I'm at a loss for words. I stand there gaping at him. He takes a pad and pen from the table I'm front of us, and I realize that we're at his trailer. He writes out his name, phone number and the details and hands it to me, along with a maroon colored shirt. He smiles and ushers me into the bathroom to change. I stare at myself in the mirror for a few seconds before stripping off my shirt and putting his on. It's big on me, but that's to be expected, I'm pretty small. I walk out with my shirt in hand and Sebastian takes it from me. "Hey!" " I'll wash this right now, and we'll exchange shirts on Saturday. See you then, Y/N." He says with a smirk ushering me out the door. I head back over to the set to finish cleaning up. This time I put a smock on, just in case. Mel did a great job finishing the wall, but left a mess for me to clean up. After I finish cleaning, I look around for Mel and find the studio almost empty. I check the time and realize how late it got. I hop into my car and drive home. God, it's been a long day. When I get home I do my usual routine, eat, shower, brush my teeth, watch some TV, and go to sleep. I threw Sebastian's shirt in the wash before I showered, so I wouldn't forget. We talked for five minutes tops, and he managed to organize a date. Honestly, that scared me. Was he always like that? I mean, was he just looking to hook up and I was an easy target? My mind was piling questions on top of each other and I couldn't think straight. Eventually, it went blank and I fell into a dreamless sleep. The last three days of the week passed slowly and quickly all at the same time. I did my best to avoid, not just Sebastian, but the rest of the cast as well, which wasn't too hard. When Saturday came around, I was all too happy to sleep until noon. The only problem was, Sebastian wanted to meet up. I mean, he didn't have my address, so I could just ignore the date and go about my life, right? I'd drop his shirt at his trailer, but what about my shirt? The familiar Star Wars theme played from my phone. I groaned and picked it up off the nightstand. "Hello?" I answered, a bit hostile. A deep chuckle sounded from the other side, followed by: "Did I wake you up, Y/N? Sorry, I didn't think you would still be sleeping. You never texted me, so I took it upon myself to get your phone number from that tech you're always with, Melony, right? No, that's not it.-" "Melissa." "YEAH! That's it. Thanks. So, about tonight. I wasn't thinking fancy, you don't look like that type of person. I was thinking maybe we could go out to that little diner in town and then head to my place for a movie?" I hesitated. At least at the diner, there were other people. I didn't know how to feel about being alone. "Y-Y/N? Are you still there?" "Oh- y-yeah I'm here." "You didn't answer. I was talking to Mackie about it, he told me that he overheard you say something to his makeup lady about the diner." "Did everyone else give their input as well? What about Chris? He's like your other half." I know he couldn't see me, but you could definitely hear the smirk in my voice. "You know, Chris and I aren't as attached as people think we are. Sure we're close, but we're not 'I would die for you' close. I mean I spend just as much time with Anthony." "I've noticed you spend time with Anthony. The diner sounds nice, and for the movie, we'll cross that bridge when we get there. It depends on how much work I have left to do." "Alright, be ready at 8, and text me your address. See you tonight, Y/N." "See you tonight." I repeated, hanging up and going into my messages. I typed in my address and hit send. The work lie was an excuse. I really don't know if I want to be alone with a man I just met, although its not like I don't know who he is. You get the idea. °°° Knock knock knock Shit. I dropped my pen and grabbed my bag. I practically jumped over the back of the couch to reach the door. "Are you ready for an adventure?" "Sebastian, we're going to the diner. Is that really considered and adventure?" "Yup." I sighed and followed him outside. "I decided, since it's a really nice day, that it would be nice to walk. It's not too far. Two blocks. Do you mind?" "Of course not." We walked in silence through the busy city, making sure to keep our heads down as to not draw attention. At the diner we were shown to our table and we ordered our drinks. The conversation stayed light as we talked about our jobs and the sheer contrast between the two. After dinner we took the streets once more, but instead of going to Sebastian's house, we walked through the park, keeping the conversation flowing. We talked about everything from past to future. By the time we left the park, it was already midnight. Sebastian walked me home and when we reached the door to my apartment he handed me my shirt and left me with a hug and a smile. I stepped in the door and locked it behind me, dropping the keys on the table. My shirt smelled like him and it made me smile. I put it back in my drawer where it belonged and my phone buzzed on the bed. I picked it up and read a text that brought a smile to my face. You up for date #2? Friday for coffee?

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angel-gidget · 7 years

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Stars Unearth Your Fires (ch4/?)

Title: Stars Unearth Your Fires (Ch 4/?)

Fandom: DCU, Teen Titans, Red Robin (preboot)

Rating: PG | Words: 2800 | a03 link

Summary: Tim Drake never thought of himself as a troublemaker as far as Robins go. But a passing accusation quickly escalates into a case of stolen memories, technologically backwards clues from his past self, interdimensional hijinks, reflections on the good old days, and possibly the rekindling of a foregone romance. Eventually Tim/??? Mystery ship!

Ch 4: Tim has to look up an old friend or two before he can dig up his (hopefully existent) clue.

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for the lateness of this chapter. It’s ended up becoming my longest one yet. Thank you so much for the amazing reviews! While there is sadly no Core Four in this chapter (Bart tried to elbow his way in, he really did), they will make more appearances soon. It’s time for Tim to reconnect with a few non-caped companions. My lovely beta Kiragecko took a much-deserved break this week, so all mistakes are 100% me. Sorry if I missed anything!

He and Ives were still friends. He was pretty sure. Mostly. At least, the guy hadn’t taken it too personally the last time Tim had visited out of the blue without speaking to him for over a year.

If anything, Ives had been shocked that Tim wanted to hang with him when he was in the middle of cancer treatment, as so many other friends had flaked out when things got too intense. Tim had just been grateful to have warning, for once, that one of his friends might die. He wasn’t usually so lucky, though he didn’t know how to tell Ives that without telling him way too much.

Two rings. Three. And then—

“Does my caller ID deceive me, or is this richest and dorkiest of my foul weather friends?”

“Don’t you mean fair-weather friends, Ives?”

“No, no, I don’t. You should brush up on your Shakespeare. And cheap surfer-stoner productions in the park don’t count, by the way,”

There were voices in the background, and music too. If anything, Tim would have sworn Ives was in the middle of a… club?

Ives continued, “I do mean foul-weather. That’s what you call people who stick with you when life is sucking but unexpectedly ditch you when it’s time to party. Case in point: I’m throwing a party and you’re not here. Because you never pick up your damn phone, you ass.”

Oh. OH! “Congratulations on your remission, man.”

He could hear the smile through the phone. It wasn’t the same as being totally forgiven, but Ives wasn’t the sort of person who could be happy and hold a grudge at the same time.

“Thanks. It’s my one-month anniversary of the big NED. Looks like for the time being, I’ve rolled a twenty on breathing. It’s worth celebrating.”

Smooth opening. Here we go.

“Feel like doing a more personal celebration too? Maybe something nostalgic? Like digging up our time capsule from the 8th grade? I’ll buy the pizza.”

“Oh, man. Yes. You better, Prince Midas. Hold up.”

He was distracted, clearly talking to somebody else at the party. Tim took a moment. It was just as well that he’d caught Ives when he was distracted. The guy didn’t do parties much. Introvert that he was, they took a lot out of him, including his tendency to say no to things. Even before he’d been sick. Tim didn’t have many childhood friends, but they were bookish gamer geeks, the lot of them.

Ives voice came back on the line.

“I got a friend who wants to come with. The dude’s curious about everything, a real Nancy Drew. Wants to know about my nerdy little 8th grade self. I told him the biggest difference was that I was little and in the 8th grade, but he’s bored and I promised to include him in more stuff.”

“That’s cool. Saturday, noon?”

“That’s high noon to you, buckaroo. And yes.”

——-

He’d outgrown his best nerd shirts.

Tim didn’t even know when it had happened. It wasn’t that they didn’t fit him through the arms and chest—he was wiry enough that they did—but he’d gotten so long in the torso, that the edges of his shirts rose up obnoxiously from the waist of his jeans, constantly baring strips of skin.

When this had happened to Cassie, she’d embraced it and pulled off the sexy belly-shirt like a pro. Tim… couldn’t do that. Or rather, he couldn’t do that without pulling out a persona.

Ives had an meet-up with Tim Drake, not Mr. Sarcastic. So belly nerd shirts were a no-go.

He’d yanked out what appeared to be his least-expensive hoodie and Alfred-purchased designer jeans, and hoped for the best. This was supposed to be about nostalgia for Ives, though Tim had mixed hopes.

What would be worse? Finding nothing but exactly what they had buried years ago, and pretending to laugh with his friend while secretly pulling out his hair over a dead end of evidence? Or finding the evidence he needed in its place, but then having to somehow cover for the oddness of whatever they found by lying to Ives again?

It had been a while since he’d had to lie to someone he loved, and Tim wanted to keep it that way. (And lies of omission didn’t count. Especially to Bruce. And to Dick. And to whomever else he’d been lying to by means of omission lately.)

“Best not to overthink it,” Tim muttered to himself. He had been ten minutes early to the discolored tree that had been the site of his and Ives’ 8th grade paint-ball fight. Also, the site of their only paintball fight, because apparently nobody had told Ives that there tended to be bruises from such a thing.

If Ives was anything like his old self, he’d be five minutes early, and… yup.

Tim smiled and waved as Ives’ old Chevy pulled into the park’s lot. He was about to say hello, when a second person slid out from the car, following after Ives with a growing Cheshire grin on his face.

Tim gasped, “F@*#$ing hell.”

Bernard Dowd.

Ives new Nancy Drew pal was Bernard. Fragging. Dowd. The nosey-est (and therefore worst possible) person to have on a dig that might or might not yield incriminating signs of inter-dimensional antics.

“Why Timbo! With a greeting like that, one would almost think you weren’t pleased to see me.” Bernard bumped the car door closed with his hip as he balanced a brand new shovel on one shoulder.

Ives blinked, “You two know each other?”

Tim scratched his head, “You two know each other?”

“As I’ve told you both,” Bernard set the shovel down by the largest tree root, “I know everyone who’s anyone.”

As if to prove the solidity of his nonchalance, Bernard took his best guess as to which patch of dirt housed the capsule, and made a sweeping ‘you first’ motion with his arm at Tim and Ives.

Tim pulled out Alfred’s trusty gardening hoe, and braced himself as Bernard began to snicker. Because he’d brought a hoe. Because, for all his eloquence, Bernard was emotionally twelve. Ives stared at them both like they had doubled their number of arms and limbs and turned green.

Tim felt his eyes narrow in suspicion in Bernard’s direction, “You knew I’d be here.”

Bernard pulled back his laughter into a finely-controlled smirk, “When dear ol’ Sebastian told me he had an eccentrically neglectful, ridiculously rich childhood compadre named Tim… well, I did the math. But I waited for a face-to-face to be sure,” He winked, “It’s more fun that way.”

Tim purposefully and carefully ignored that entire description of himself as he stared incredulously at Ives.

“You actually let him call you Sebastian? Him?”

“It was the only way to get him to stop calling me ‘St. Ives’ along with several other unholy variations of my surname,” Ives took a deep breath and pitched his own shovel into the dirt, “Now lets get this show on the road.”

Once the digging began, it was a simple matter to let Bernard dominate the conversation, explaining to Ives that he and Tim had gone to the aptly-named Grieve High for a semester together. Until the Aquista gang war had come to their front door step.

Tim’s mind remained vaguely on Bernard’s story, but mostly on the ground they were unearthing. There was a reason Bernard had been able to see the digging spot. It was especially uneven compared to its surroundings, overgrown with grass that was clearly seeded, a slightly different color than what was surrounding it.

Which was suspicious, considering Tim and Ives hadn’t laid down any grass seed when they were kids. Not that someone responsible for the park couldn’t have laid something down, but it didn’t look quite right. It had been what? Six? Seven years since he and Ives had buried the thing? It should have blended with the rest of the milieu perfectly. But it didn’t. Not quite. As though it had been dug up again at least once in the interim.

“Earth to Timinator,” Ives poked him in the forehead, “Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

Ives looked like he wanted to smack Tim with his shovel and Bernard looked… oddly serious.

“Did Bernard’s dream girl turn into a super villain and try to kidnap you?”

And this was why he didn’t want Bernard here. There was the guy’s ongoing conspiracy theory habit, and then there was the fact that he had actually seen way too much.

“No,” Tim heard Bernard begin to protest, but he continued, “Darla didn’t try to kidnap me. She tried to make me into her personal moral compass and I told her where to get off.”

Bernard stared, “You what??? But she—you—she dismantled my car! She had these… these…”

Ives jumped in, “Phenomenal cosmic powers?”

“Yes,” Bernard continued, “And you just told her to go jump off a cliff? And got away with it? What the hell, Timothy!”

Tim blinked. He had forgotten about that. When Darla Aquista had died and returned from the dead with dark magic powers via one of Robin’s enemies, she had sought out her friend Tim Drake out for “advice.” Tim had forgotten that she had gone to Bernard first. He had never bothered to call Bernard and let the guy know he was okay. For all Bernard had known, he’d sent Tim’s untimely demise to his door when he told Darla where to find their former classmate.

Tim put the shovel down for a moment.

“I’m sorry I scared you, Bernard. I meant—I meant that if Darla wanted to be a hero, and she did, she couldn’t rely on me to tell her right from wrong and hold her to it. Heroes take responsibility for their actions. She gets that now. She went off with a superhero team called Shadowpact. She was okay.”

“And you?” Bernard exhaled.

Tim grinned.

“I’m always okay.”

Neither of his friends looked like they believed him.

Ives returned to digging, “See this is why you should call me more often,” He grunted as his shovel finally struck metal, “Your life gets really, really weird without me. Dating undead superheroes, Tim? Really? Oy vey.”

“We didn’t… never mind.”

He could have pulled the chest from the remainder of the hole without grunting, but watching Ives and Bernard wheeze and strain from the physical activity set a good bar for Timothy Drake Wayne’s level of sluggishness. So he panted along with them.

“Makes..nnghhh… a lot of sense in hind sight, though.” Ives breathed.

“What does?”

“Cancer probably doesn’t look like so bad of a boss battle after you’ve seen the fire and brimstone.”

“I…” He could be honest about this much. He could. “It made me glad for the people who are alive. However long they’re alive. Y’know?”

Ives gave him the most earnest smile Tim had seen all day.

“Okay, geeks! And Tim, for all your previous disguise, I see now that you are—in fact—a geek. It’s time to unbox this baby.” Bernard crowed.

Their “time capsule” was less a futuristic tube and more pirate-chest themed lockable luggage from the nearest department store. It had space for stuff, and it looked cool. Even as an adult, Tim felt he could stand by that choice.

Three seconds to blow off the dust. Forty-two to smash the lock. (He and Ives could both remember Tim swearing when they were kids that he would remember the combination, but well, he hadn’t.)

“A moment of silence for the defunct game boy who’s grave we have disturbed.” Ives mock-solemnly intoned, as he pulled out the old system preserved in plastic.

Tim blinked, “You buried your game boy? You loved that thing.”

“Exactly,” Ives poked him in the chest, “I was committed to this project. Unlike you.”

Tim frowned.

“I was too committed. Behold,” he lifted a green mud-crusted travesty that had not aged well, “Rusty the water pistol. Never got in a water gun fight without him. And look! My pog collection.”

“You mean my pog collection.”

Tim shrugged, “Our pog collection.”

“You are both the nerdiest nerds who ever nerded in the eighth grade. I don’t know why I expected differently.” Bernard sighed.

“I did warn you, buddy.” Ives laughed.

Bernard muttered something unintelligible, but it set Ives off on a lecture about the impact of popular culture. Tim took it as a much-needed distraction.

It wouldn’t have done Tim any good to have remembered the lock combination anyway. The lock wasn’t as old as it should have been. And while the capsule was filled with mementos from younger years, there were two small evidence bags at the bottom that were Batman standard issue.

They were hair samples.

Easily researched. Easily pocketed.

Tim breathed a sigh of relief as he quietly slipped them into the back of his jeans.

That had… not gone nearly as badly as he anticipated. He reminded himself that it wasn’t quite over yet. After all, he owed Ives pizza.

Ives and Bernard were still arguing amicably.

One of the reasons Ives never had too many friends as a kid was because most people couldn’t understand that the guy’s favorite form of conversation was a heated debate. When he felt like conversing at all outside of Wizards and Warlocks.

Bernard… well, Bernard just decided when someone was his friend and treated any attempts to escape his friendship as an amusing joke. It worked for him. But he also had a tendency to look down his nose at people who fit too neatly into a category, and Ives tended to wear his categories loud and proud. So it was… curious.

“So, how did you guys meet?”

Ives and Bernard paused and then grinned in unison.

“Elizabeth Spillgrave.”

Who? It took Tim a moment. Right.

Elizabeth Spillgrave. Real name: Jodie Weise. Internationally recognized alien conspiracy theorist, and one of Ives favorite authors. Or least favorite, depending how one looked at it. He always holed up in his room on the day one of her books released, reading voraciously. He would spend the next two weeks debunking her entire book paragraph by paragraph. Sometimes with charts if he was feeling particularly zealous and homework wasn’t challenging him enough.

Tim blinked, “And you became friends over this?”

It didn’t seem possible. Because while Ives was the sort to spend two weeks disproving the sort of theories that were the woman’s bread and butter, Bernard was just the sort to spend the same amount of time proving it. Or perhaps editing how such events would be possible, turning each paragraph into a spring board for his own theories. He would stop short of making charts, though. Bernard thought excessive chart-making was for nerds.

Ives shrugged, “We were both late to her book signing last year, and had to team up on scalping tickets to get into the VIP meet and greet.”

“We shared mutual disappointment that she could but spare us two minutes each, even after all that hassle.” Bernard sighed.

Ives rolled his eyes, “And then he started going on about his idea that the UFO’s mentioned in her last book might be Kryptonian. From a hundred years ago.”

“Magic is a thing, Sebastian.”

“They’re aliens, Bernard. Superman is vulnerable to magic. He’s not going to carry around something that could kill him.”

“Humans do it all the time.”

They continued on as they packed up their tools and piled into Ives’ car. Tim didn’t get a word in edge-wise to ask where they were going, but he quickly recognized the route Ives was taking. Pizza Planet, appropriately enough.

He pulled the clear evidence bags from his pocket to glance at them once more.

One contained extremely short snips of dirty blond hair. The other contained a single jet-black lock that looked like it had been curled around someone’s finger before getting cut.

Both sets were sufficient for a DNA database search.

Tim sat back in his seat.

First pizza, then catching up with the two civilian friends who were still speaking to him, maybe some nostalgic passing around of ye olde Game Boy, and then…

Answers.

#stars unearth your fires #tim drake #Red Robin #fanfic #gidgeblog #batfic #Sebastian Ives #Bernard Dowd

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