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avaritia-apotheosis · 3 years

Text

Phantom Children Ch. 8

What's this? An update! Massive thanks to my betas for helping me get through this chapter <3

In Which: A few answers are given to the family and Danny is rudely awoken

[Side note: If you wanna know the general ages of the batfam, its listed in the AO3 version. I also talk about katanas in the end notes ^-^]

AO3 | Prologue | 7 | [ 8 ] | 9 DAMIAN INFORMED TODD—and Drake when he arrived on his bike sometime later on—that the boy whose face is plastered across the monitor was neither a picture of himself nor of Father.

Drake took one glance at the monitor and sighed, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “Just when I thought this day was getting better.”

“What, did that café on 5th finally let customers supersize their drink?”

“God that would be the dream, wouldn’t it?” Drake sighed wistfully. “Nah, but I did get a lead on where some of that stolen Cadmus tech might’ve ended up. I was gonna spend the night following up on it, but I guess we have to deal with,” he gestured to the monitor, “whatever this is.”

Todd leaned against the edge of the computer, arms crossed over the red bat insignia on his chest. “What are we dealing with this time, brat? A clone? An alternate universe counterpart? Magic shenanigans?”

Maybe. Perhaps. All of those were perfectly valid conclusions for the enigma that was Daniel James Fenton. (Why Fenton and not al Ghul? Or even Wayne?)

Damian, too, was a genetic experiment; a ‘test tube baby’ as Drake put it at times. Damian was born for greatness, created to be perfect. The perfect soldier. The perfect assassin. The perfect heir. Was this boy—Daniel—like him as well?

A failed one, then. Perhaps the precursor to Damian’s own existence. But that would not explain why the boy was allowed to exist for so long. His grandfather demanded perfection, especially from those of his own blood. If the boy was a failure, he would have been eliminated immediately, not sent to live with some eccentric scientists in the Midwest.

Damian was not naïve enough to think that his mother and grandfather did not keep secrets from him. On the contrary, he expected it. The League of Shadows dealt in secrets as often as it did in death. Certain information was worth its weight in gold, whether it was given or buried away.

But he could not help the sharp pang in his chest. A lightning strike, quick and electrifying at the notion that they kept secrets about their family from him.

His father’s face flashed in his mind. The shock turned into a slow, dawning horror. That flicker of light, of recognition, as he scrutinized the contents of the flash drive and cross-referenced it with a public database.

And grief.

Damian recognized the grief.

Alfred, too, nearly dropped his tray of fresh-baked cookies when he stepped in front of the monitor. His usual unflappable demeanor was momentarily broken at his father’s whispered “Sixteen years. Alfred— he’s sixteen years old.”

His father knew of the boy. He was allowed to know of Daniel when he was not allowed to know about Damian.

------

Grayson returned to the cave with a distinct lack of energy in his step. His mask dangled off the tips of his fingers, chin angled downwards and covered largely by his hand. For a split second, their eyes met. Grayson shifted his gaze away, scratching the back of his neck. Father told him, then. Damian wondered how much Father revealed to his favorite son.

Damian clucked his tongue and buried himself deeper into the chair, arms crossed and pointedly looking away. If it was not for his accursed ankle, he’d have headed out to the training ring to take his frustrations out on the dummies.

“Oh, thank god you’re here, Dickface. Damian’s completely out of it.”

Damian shot him a look. “Shut up, Todd.”

“Leave him alone, Jay. Is Tim back yet?”

Drake emerged from the changing room in a dark green shirt, a fresh cup of coffee in hand. He took one long sip before exhaling. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“O-kay…” He pressed his hands together, mouth thinned into a grim line. “Uh, hey Tim, glad to see you back safe. Bruce is coming down soon to explain some things.” He let out a deep sigh, carding a hand through his hair. “This kind of thing would probably be better with the girls around, but I—god, I don’t know.”

Todd raised an eyebrow. “Don’t know whether to call Steph and Cass in Hong Kong, or don’t know what’s going on?”

“Yes.”

------

When Father arrived, Pennyworth following dutifully behind him, it was with an aching slowness in his gait. His steps measured and precise, preternaturally quiet as he made his way to stand by Damian’s chair. Damian sat up straighter, shoulders squared and back an inch away from the backrest. The rest, even Todd, stood at attention; an ingrained habit among Robins and an amusing instinct even among the senior heroes of the Justice League when it came to facing the Batman.

His father kept a steady hand on Damian’s shoulder, and Damian, shamefully, leaned into the touch; his head inclined towards his father’s hand so much so that he could feel the ends of his hair being pushed up slightly as he brushed against his father’s forearm.

He spoke with his usual monotone, as if he was heading a Justice League meeting as opposed to unveiling the secrets surrounding that boy. He brought forward the few photos they obtained from the flash drive. “A few weeks ago, we were alerted of suspicious movement from the League of Shadows in Amity Park, Illinois. Their objectives are, as of now, unclear, though it appears to be tied to the death of Amity Park resident, Daniel Fenton.”

One photo was a standard ID picture people get for their driver’s license, the lighting deliberately horrible so that any attempt to look decent would always end in failure. Another photo was a little better; a candid scene of him chatting with two others his age, a Caucasian girl in gothic-style clothes and an African-American holding a sleek, but still very outdated PDA. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners, hand reaching up to his face to stifle a laugh. There were other photos like this, some candid, others posed. At the forefront of each, a boy that looked too much like his father, too much like Damian.

His father glanced at the photos. He shut his eyes and when he opened them again, he fixed them on some distant stalactite in the Cave. “Around six months ago, Daniel was pronounced dead in a vehicular accident. A body was present, but according to police reports, he was identified via his driver’s license as opposed to any kind of DNA profiling.” He leaned over Damian’s chair to pull up a profile of Masters. “Our source—Vladimir Masters, mayor of Amity and a friend of the Fenton family—indicated his belief that Daniel is actually alive. I am inclined to agree.”

“He’s your son, isn’t he,” Drake said, more of a statement than a question.

Father gave a curt nod. “I cannot say for certain until I can perform a DNA test, but I highly suspect that to be the case.”

“First the demon spawn, now this. Great.” Todd made a hand motion towards the screen. “You know, Bruce, not knowing you have a kid once might be a coincidence, but twice? How do you do that?”

“As of three hours ago, I was still under the impression that my son never made it to term.”

“What?”

“Over sixteen years ago I was involved in a mission that put Ra’s and I on the same side. During that time, Talia and I entered a relationship that resulted in a pregnancy. Though initially ecstatic, she eventually led me to believe she miscarried the child and pushed me away. For what ends, I do not know, but trust me Jason, if I knew—” He paused, the hand that was not on Damian’s shoulder curled into a tight fist.

Father pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why she hid it from me then doesn’t matter. Why Talia wants him back now is important. Judging from Daniel’s records, he was adopted into the Fenton family as an infant and has since lived a seemingly normal life as a civilian. His adoptive parents, Jack and Maddie Fenton, are brilliant scientists and engineers focused on the field of paranormal studies. Eccentricities aside, they have zero connections to the League of Assassins or any other concerning parties.”

“So why now?” Dick asked, shifting his concerned gaze from Bruce to the static picture of Danny’s tired smile. “Why, after all this time, decide that now would be the best time to recover him?”

------

Danny’s experienced plenty of rude awakenings before, but waking up at the ass-crack of dawn to avoid his kidnapper-slash-assassin-slash-biological-mom launching a surprise attack takes the fucking cake. He can’t believe he’s saying this, but thank god for all those late night ghost attacks that conditioned him to be a light sleeper. And, of course, the League’s insistence that everyone be in optimal condition regardless of how little sleep you actually got.

Danny kicked Talia off of him, ripping his blanket away before scrambling to his feet. Seriously, if the universe decided to spontaneously give him powers again, he’d really like an upgrade to his ghost senses, please and thank you. Something that works on humans and not just ghosts. Like spidey-senses. He’d really, really like some spidey-senses.

“Your reaction times have improved considerably,” Talia said.

He eyed the katana sheathed beside his bedroll. “Thanks. Who could have guessed that constantly challenging someone to a spar in the unholy hours of morning would make them paranoid to sleep too much? Really, how am I supposed to grow taller at this rate? ” If he could just get it--

She smiled, taking a step forward. “Prepare yourself.”

“Heh.” Danny stepped further away from Talia, keeping his back to the mouth of the cave. One hand stretched in front of him and the other, coated in a green light, was kept hidden behind his back. “Am I actually gonna get some answers today?”

“Let us make it interesting. Last 10 minutes against me and I shall tell you more about your brother.” Talia twirled her blade. “If you happen to draw blood, you may ask any one thing of me.”

“Anything?”

“Within reason.”

His face caught between a grimace and a smile. He’d rather be sleeping right now, but if he had to be awake, then he’d better make the most of it. “Deal.”

Talia’s smile dropped. She veered her body to the right, barely dodging the streak of bright green that whizzed from behind her. The ectoplasmic energy that surrounded the katana bled away as the handle connected with Danny’s outstretched hand.

She quickly glanced back at Danny’s bedding. Beside it lay an empty sheath. “You have telekinesis?”

He shrugged. “It comes and goes.” Yeah, no way was Danny gonna admit that seven-out-of-ten-times he forgot that he had telekinesis. Besides, that shit was hard to do when he wasn’t Phantom.

“A surprise attack from behind is a sound strategy, Daniel. Though it’ll take a lot more than that to harm me.”

Danny pointed to the side of his cheek. “Are you sure about that?”

Talia frowned. She reached up to her face. Her fingers brushed against her cheek and came away with a thin streak of blood.

Danny grinned, pointing his blade at his opponent. “First blood goes to me.”

------

Fact: most fights don’t last long. An average street fight could last anywhere between 25 to 40 seconds, and sword fights rarely last over a minute. Like Talia said, the goal of a fight was to end it with as few injuries to oneself as possible. Humans, even the most skilled ones, can rarely last long in a fight. Prolonged combat is suicide; it makes you tired, makes your muscles heavy. It’s nothing like what Hollywood would have you believe.

Even with Danny’s own enhanced stamina and Talia holding back, he couldn’t last a full ten-minute spar. If Talia didn’t finish him within twenty-five seconds, then he’d fall by his own human limitations.

But the goal wasn’t to spar continuously for ten minutes.

He only had to last that long.

Danny sprinted out of the cave. The sun barely peeked out of the horizon, a thin line of deep orange breaking apart the wide expanse of blue-black sky above. He couldn’t see shit; great news since that meant there’s a good chance Talia couldn’t either, but that doesn’t fix the fact that he can’t see.

Nearly stumbling on the ice, Danny veered to the left. The edges of the lake stopped at towering rocks twice Danny’s height, leaving little room for cover. Though if he remembered correctly, there should be a few crevices here and there to hide in.

“You’ll have to be faster than that, Daniel.”

Shit—

Danny stopped. He brought his sword up to parry Talia’s strike and twisted away, putting distance between them.

Well, so much for just avoiding her for 10 minutes.

He adjusted his grip, keeping his sword steady and eyes trained on Talia as they circled each other. Danny lunged with an overhead strike. Talia used one hand to block the downswing by gripping his wrists. She thrust her sword forward, the tip harshly poking Danny’s abdomen.

“Less than three minutes.” Talia let his wrist go, Danny’s arms slumping to his sides.

He sighed as he sheathed his sword. “Damn, I thought I’d last longer than that.”

“You made a good effort,” Talia assured him. “Putting as much distance between us at the beginning was a good strategy. You recognized the win conditions immediately and attempted a battle of attrition.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I am very proud of you habibi, especially as you managed to draw first blood.”

A warmth grew in Danny’s stomach at the words, heating his cheeks. Sheepishly, he scratched the back of his head. “I wasn’t entirely sure that would work, honestly.”

“It was clever; half a second later and you might have even killed me. You are an al Ghul through and through” She brushed his hair out of his face. “What would you like as your prize, then?”

Danny’s heart clenched. He frowned, dropping his arm to his side. If I was such an al Ghul, then why didn’t you keep me? The question lodged itself in his throat, stifling his thoughts. It was something he’d been wondering for a while, actually, in the moments of solitude he had at the compound. Talia, during their training, would always remark at his potential. How talented he was, how adaptable he was, how much greater he would have been if he had been trained at a younger age.

Well then, why wasn’t he? Why did she give him up?

But each time he tried to ask, his tongue would turn to lead and the moment would pass, the question still left unsaid and simmering at the back of his mind. A Pandora’s Box that held none of the world’s evil but all of Danny’s possible shortcomings.

He could ask the question now.

He could.

He didn’t.

“Why did you take me?”

Talia tilted her head. “It is because you’re my son.”

“No. Not that. It has to be something more than that. You had sixteen years to come back for me—or, hell, you could have just never left me.” His breath hitched, fingers mussing his hair and hiding his eyes. “Why else did you take me?”

“It is true that there was more than one reason why we decided to retrieve you from Amity Park. One of which is because you are my son and an heir of the Demon’s Head.” Talia stilled. The dark skies of dawn made it impossible for him to read her. “The second reason was to protect you.”

“You kidnapped me…to protect me?”

“Knowledge of the ghosts of Amity have spread through the more insidious parts of the world. There are many out there who would pay exorbitant fees to study one of you or to use you.”

Use him? What did she mean by—

Oh.

Ghosts—Amity Park’s brand of ghosts—were a new element that the world had to contend with. Amity Park might have a crime rate of zero but that wasn’t the case everywhere else. Theft, assault, murder; the world was rampant with crimes and criminals clawing their way to the very top. Having ghosts, even ones with the most basic powerset, would be a huge advantage.

“There’s no way that would work,” Danny insisted. “Most ghosts just want to be left alone, and the ones that want to wreak havoc would never work with humans. The only reason they even work with halfas like me at times is because they still consider us as ghosts.”

“If my sources are to be believed, ghosts might not even get a choice.”

Danny’s blood curdled in his veins.

No.

Someone’s found a way to control ghosts.

#danny phantom #batman #danny phantom x batman crossover #dp fic #phantom children.txt

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bluegarners · 3 years

Note

“I have your loved one” with Dick and Jason?

heyyy, it's finally here haha! i'm slowly getting to each request lol

here it is on ao3

I Have Your Loved One

It’s Thursday.

Time: 23:47, or 11:47 p.m.

Bludhaven has hit a rough patch in its weather, a vicious storm battering against thin windows and overflowing gutters and drains. It’s one of those storms that brings in the water but no lightning, dark clouds blanketing the entire sky, remorseless and relentless in its pursuit of smothering any light from escaping. The clouds don’t muffle anything though, perhaps amplifying instead the downpour that floods through Bludhaven’s streets and alleyways. Its citizens like to think this is a New Jersey hurricane, freshly mutated and traveled from the east coast into their humble, mildew covered city.

Dick likes the rain. Likes the way it pounds against his apartment, screaming to be let in but just barely warded off by seven inches of concrete and steel. The blinds are closed against the windows, and he has towels pushed up against the sills just in case the sealing lets up. Even if they were open, Dick is sure all he would see is another wall of gray and black, dozens of delicate raindrops splattered against his windows.

Because of the storm currently wreaking havoc in his city, Dick has elected to stay indoors for the time being. Eventually, the rain will let up, its pattern being close to about 05:00, and then he’ll suit up and do a quick patrol before work. For now, he’s content with sitting on his couch and listening to the water smack against the old building and run rivers down the sides. He’d like to sleep through it, a free white noise service at the ready, but his mind simply refuses to allow him to rest just yet. In a few hours, he’s sure he’ll come to hate himself for not taking NyQuil or some other drug to help him fall asleep, but for now… Well, it’s nice. The rain is nice. It’s also very loud.

He misses the first call.

His phone is face down on the kitchen table, about eight feet away from where he lays on the couch, mindlessly staring up at the ceiling. It vibrates, buzzing for thirty seconds, before falling silent.

He misses the second call too.

Thunder rumbles through the black sky, its force shaking the windows and only encouraging the downpour. His phone buzzes again during it, quieting after another thirty seconds.

Dick hears the third call. Hears the tail-end of the buzzing, getting up from his position on the couch and padding over to pick up his phone only to miss the last few seconds. He unlocks his phone, checking the number, and feels something cold settle into his gut when he sees no caller ID. It’s the same person though, all three times, but no voicemail.

He’s about to call the number back, just in case it’s someone he knows and they’re ringing from a payphone or something else, when the no caller ID flashes across his screen for the fourth time.

Dick answers on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Is this Richard Grayson?”

“Yes, that’s me. Who is this?”

The voice is feminine, a slight, western accent, longer o’s and a faint drawl. Somewhere from Arizona most likely. Lower register too. Older woman, mid-to-late fifties. Smoker.

“That’s good. I was starting to think I had the wrong number, Richard.”

“Yeah, sorry, I just didn’t have my phone on me. You didn’t say earlier, but who is this?”

“That doesn’t matter too much right now. What does matter, though, is this.”

She pauses. There’s shuffling he can hear on the other side. A faint, second voice in the background. No, three voices. At least two others in the room with the woman. He can hear the sounds of an air condition unit rattling.

“I think you might’ve cut off there. What were—”

“I have your loved one, Richard.”

Lightning cracks through Bludhaven.

His stomach falls onto the floor, pooling around his ankles. The storm outside grinds to a halt, the quiet louder than any thunder it’s ever managed to produce, and there’s a high pitched ringing reverberating inside his skull. Dick thinks he might be sick.

“What?” he chokes, the air in the room suffocating and weighing down his lungs. “What did you say?”

“I have your loved one,” the woman repeats, calm and slow. “Your brother, actually. Then again, he tells me you aren’t related by name nor blood, so we’ll settle for a loved one.”

“What do you want?” Dick demands, already scrambling to get to his computer, find where they’ve taken Jason. Find his brother.

“He did say you weren’t one for small talk,” the woman carries on, unhurried and unconcerned. “Your brother isn’t either, hardly said a word all this time.”

“Can I speak to him?”

There’s a small huff on the other end of the call, exhalation and a sigh leaving the woman’s mouth. A cigarette. She’s smoking during this conversation, blowing the smoke into the receiver.

“I don’t know,” she finally answers. There. Dick has his general location. Still in Gotham. He needs the tracker to be more precise though. It’s taking time though. Too much. “Your brother here was pretty convinced you wouldn’t answer after his daddy didn’t pick up. Cried pretty hard about it too.”

“What are you talking about?” Dick grounds out, fearing his phone will crack with how tightly he’s gripping it.

“Well, you weren’t our first choice to call, Richard. I’m sure you understand.”

Dick says nothing, focused on the computer screen in front of him. He should contact Barbara. This would be faster with her. Faster to find Jason.

“We called about seven times,” the woman continues, blowing another puff of smoke out into the phone. “Isn’t that right, boy? We called and called and called. His daddy didn’t pick up once, went straight to voicemail each time. A shame, really.”

There’s a sniffle on the other side of the call and Dick’s heart seizes when he realizes it’s probably Jason.

Batman was currently off-world, all communication with him being strictly between Justice League lines. Bruce Wayne was somewhere in the Bahamas, partying with Italian models and Spanish actresses.

Of course he wouldn’t pick up.

“Can I please talk to him?” Dick asks for the second time, fisting a hand into the couch cushions. “Please, I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

More smoke. “I’ll ask him.”

There’s a muffled thud, the phone most likely having been put down, and quiet voices filter through the line. He can’t hear much of what they’re saying, short bursts of comprehensible syllables before fading back to unintelligible noises. His computer dings with a response from Barbara. She’s going to use one of the J.L satellites to better pin-point Jason’s location. She’s also in communication with the police, reporting a child-abduction.

Keep them talking, she writes. Everything is going to be okay, Dick.

It feels like his heart is beating in his throat and his tongue has swollen to the size of a bowling ball. The storm outside is unrelenting. Lightning hasn’t struck again.

There’s more movement on the other side, clattering and scattered noises. The phone’s been picked up.

“Alright,” the woman says, raspy and uncaring. “The boy says he wants to talk to you, Richard.”

Dick holds his breath, waiting. There’s more noises, a transfer he thinks, and another sniffle interrupts it.

“Hello?” a shaky voice asks into the receiver. Dick feels like crying.

“Jason,” he breathes. “We’re going to get you out of there, alright? You’re going to be okay.”

“I’m sorry,” his brother rattles, a sob latching onto the end. “I’m so sorry, Dick. I-I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” Dick shushes, feeling himself get choked up at the fear in the younger boy’s voice. “I know you didn’t, bud. Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“No, not really. I didn’t think you were gonna pick up,” he admits, voice cracking. “B-Bruce didn’t. He didn’t answer, Dick, and I-I thought you weren’t gonna either. I-I thought—”

“I’ll always answer, Jason, I promise. I’m coming for you, okay? I’m going to come get you and we’ll both go home together. Does that sound good, Jay? You’re going to be fine.”

“Okay,” the thirteen year old relents. “You promise though, right? You’re not gonna leave me here?”

“No, Jay, of course not. I’m not going to leave you there, I’m coming to get you. Right now. I promise, okay? Jason, I would never abandon you. You’re my kid-brother and I love you. I’m not going to-”

“As touching as this is,” the woman interrupts, “I think that’s enough.”

“Put Jason back on the phone,” Dick snarls. “I swear, if you lay a hand on him, if you even touch him, I will end you.”

“Sure, honey,” the woman drawls, puffing into the receiver. “Here’s what’s going to happen, so I want you to listen to me.”

His computer dings. It’s Barbara. She’s got the location. It’s close. Not even twenty minutes away. Border between Bludhaven and Gotham. Motel next to the gas station connecting the freeways. Room 13.

He’s out the door and revving up his motorcycle before the woman has even taken a second drag from her cigarette. The rain is beating against him, gloomy street lights flickering through the shrouded dark of the storm. Thank god for Bludhaven sewers, only slightly better than Gotham’s. The water level is only a few millimetres high.

“Now, I don’t want to keep this kid anymore than you want him to stay here with me,” the woman drones. The streets are empty. Dick blows through every red light he comes across. The tires are new, the grip is fine. “So, I think we can make this simple.”

“What do you want?” Dick growls, transferring the call into his helmet. He prays she can’t hear the rain battering against it. “Just tell me what you want already and I’ll give it to you.”

“Don’t rush me,” the woman snaps, and it is then that Dick realizes that this is all probably by chance. This isn’t some criminal mastermind who plotted to find and kidnap the son of a billionaire. This isn’t a case of a rogue villain piecing together vague details and figuring out Batman and company’s identities. It’s simply someone desperate. Someone who saw the opening and took it. The poor planning is evident, practically spelled out in bold print that these people have no real idea what they’re doing.

“Sorry,” Dick bites out, veering through a short-cut that says, in neon orange, Danger. Construction Zone. “Please continue.”

The woman on the line is vindictive though, choosing to remain quiet as the sound of a lighter clicking open tinnies through the call. She takes her time lighting a new cigarette, taking a long, slow drag and holding it in for a few seconds. Dick jerks his bike to the right, narrowly avoiding a large pothole. A passing car blares its horn at him. Finally, the woman exhales. He can hear Jason cough in the background.

“What I want,” she starts, a new color of intrigue hitting the back of her throat. He’s barely ten minutes away now. Could probably half it if he took more backstreets and increased his speed. “Is for my son to be released from prison.”

“Who is your son?” Dick asks, cursing silently as his back tire skids, hydro-planing for a moment. Thunder crashes above him and the rain continues to pelt at his body. It feels like getting hit with a paint-ball gun.

“Landon Jennings. I want you to get him released. I know you have the access to lawyers, probably have debts owed to you from people in high places. I want him released tonight.”

Time: 00:14.

01:14 a.m standard time.

“I can do that,” Dick says, heart beating faster as he sees the sign for the motel, dim in the gray, “but I’ll need a few hours. I need to contact my lawyers. Where is your son stationed?”

An icon appears in the front of his digitized visor. It’s Barbara. She sees him closing in. Police are on route. Seven minutes out. He has the option to wait on them and keep the kidnappers on the line.

“Same place they all go,” the woman barks. “Use that head of yours and figure it out. I want my son out by tonight, or you’re not going to see your brother again. And,” she rushes, “I don’t want the police involved. If you call them, I’ll know, you understand? I don’t want to hurt the kid, but I’m not scared to. My husband is here with me too, so if you try and—”

Okay, so waiting isn’t an option. He’s going in.

“No police,” Dick interrupts. “I understand. Please, don’t hurt him.”

“If you just do what you’re told, then I won’t have to.”

“Thank you,” Dick whispers, gently getting off of his bike and leaving it on the side of the road. He can’t chance them seeing him pulling into the motel lot. “You said your son’s name was Landon? If you don’t mind me asking, what is he charged with?”

“Why do you need to know?”

Dick jogs towards the motel, careful to stay out of direct light. The general office looks closed. Most of the windows facing the lot are shielded by salmon colored curtains. There’s only one floor, thankfully. Dick sees door 13. He’s shaking. His fingers are numb.

“My lawyers said they need to know in order to file for a judge to repeal his sentence.”

“Is that so?” the woman asks, suspicion tailing her voice. She takes a drag from her cigarette, contemplating. Dick’s clothes are soaking wet and he cringes every time his shoes squelch against the concrete. He decides crawling is best, ducking under windows and avoiding peepholes. “Fine then. Landon got falsely accused of statutory rape and breaking and entering. Is that what your damn lawyers are looking for?”

“Yes,” Dick breathes. He’s at door 10. He can see a faint glow coming from behind the curtains of room 13. He’s so close. “Thank you.”

He taps on the side of his helmet, sending a series of numbers that he’s sure Barbara will understand.

23-26-8-37

E-N-T-R

He can’t wait any longer.

While crawling, Dick made sure to get a good look at the motel’s doors and hinges. They’re standard, and though both Gotham and Bludhaven tend to have better locks than most other cities, Dick recognizes the model of the door and the wood it’s made out of. They’re thin enough for him to ram through. The hinges on the sides are rusted over as well, and Dick thinks they might just be weak enough to break. The windows however. The windows are his best bet. He doubts this kind of motel invests in bullet proof glass, and on some of the sills, he can see water damage. They leak. Poorly made. Meaning, if he ran at them, he could break through pretty easily.

But, if that doesn’t work. Or if he’s not fast enough to get on his feet once in. Or if the window is directly in front of Jason and the glass breaks all over him. Or if—

Stop. He can’t think about the what-ifs right now. Dick knows he can do this. Knows how to do this. There isn’t any more time to wait. He promised he would get Jason out of there, and goddamnit, he’s going to keep his promise.

“You’re being really quiet,” the woman mutters. “What’s going—”

Dick takes a deep breath and tenses. The light behind the curtain flickers. He needs to move. Now. Now.

Lightning splits across the sky and Dick can’t tell if it’s the glass shattering or the thunder that makes the other-worldly crack but it doesn’t matter because Dick lands feet first and is tucking and rolling before the occupants have a chance to react.

“Oh my god!” someone screams, but Dick isn’t paying attention to them because his gaze zeroes in on his brother, tiny, thirteen year old Jason, who’s tied up on one of the beds and staring right at him.

He can’t linger long though because he hears the words, “Get the gun!”, and he’s up on his feet again, rushing the closest person. It turns out to be the husband, a balding man with a patchy neck-beard, and Dick bunches up his fist and swings, socking the man in the stomach. He doubles over, wheezing, and Dick can see the small pistol in the man’s right hand, and Dick strikes down on his shoulder, kneeing him simultaneously. The pistol drops and so does the man, groaning, and Dick turns to the woman, who is staring at him like an animal cornered.

“Don’t come any closer!” she yells, pocket knife trembling in her grip as she shoves it in Jason’s face. “I’ll stab him, I will!”

Dick holds up his hands, sidestepping the groaning man. “Put the knife down.”

“No!” the woman argues, a strand of black hair falling into her mouth. “Now I told you- stay there! Don’t fucking move or I’ll kill this kid, you hear! I’ll fucking slice his throat open!”

With how scared the woman is, and how precarious she holds the pocket knife, which Dick can see is dull even from where he’s standing, he knows it’s not an idle threat. Scared people will do anything to get out of the situation they’re in. Scared people are unpredictable and dangerous.

But so is Dick.

So is Jason.

“I’m not going to move,” Dick reassures, eyes flickering towards his brother, “so, please, drop the knife. We can talk this out.”

“Talk?” the woman shrills, jerking the knife closer to Jason’s jawline. “You just killed my husband!”

“I didn’t kill him,” Dick corrects. “He’s just unconscious. Come on now. It’s just you and me. Let’s talk this over. I can still get Landon out if you give me back my brother. It’s as easy as that, alright? Just put down the knife, and we’ll talk. Does that sound okay?”

The woman looks like she’s considering it, the hand holding the knife still trembling, when the first sirens enter the lot. Red and blue light flash through the broken window as rain seeps into the curtains.

“You rat!” she screams, furious and terrified and desperate all at once. “You fucking called the cops! You broke—”

She doesn’t get a chance to finish before Jason snaps his head back, headbutting the woman directly in the nose. He falls to the side, getting out of range of the knife, and Dick takes his cue, leaping forwards and gripping the woman’s wrist and squeezing, weapon falling from her grasp. There’s blood spurting from her nose and Dick throws her to the floor, getting her on her stomach and hands behind her back. He sits on top of her, his weight overpowering any strength she has left, and in the next few seconds, police are banging on the door.

“This is the GCPD! Open up and put your weapons down!”

“You can come in!” Dick shouts, holding the squirming woman in place. “We’re unarmed!”

Things happen quickly after the door bangs open, several officers pouring in like the Bludhaven storm. As soon as an officer handcuffs the woman he’s on top of, Dick is rushing to Jason’s side, another officer cutting away his bindings. His younger brother turns to him, about to say something, but Dick cuts him off with a crushing hug, cradling the back of Jason’s head to rest against his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” Dick whispers, gathering his brother more fully into his arms. “I should’ve been there sooner. God, Jason, I’m so sorry.”

“I-I thought you weren’t going to come for me,” Jason confesses, hiccuping. “When Bruce didn’t pick up, I thought it was because he didn’t want me anymore. I-I told her that, I told her Bruce wasn’t coming but she wouldn’t listen and-and I—”

Dick wraps his arms more securely around the sobbing preteen in response, gently rocking back and forth as the mattress springs squealed under the pressure.

“I know I haven’t always been around,” he says, uncaring about the snot dribbling into his shirt, “and I’m sorry you thought you couldn’t rely on me to come and get you. You’re my brother, though, and I will always come running when you call. No matter what. I promise, Jay. Anywhere, anytime, I promise I’ll be there. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jason wheezes, the adrenaline from before slowly releasing its hold. “I trust you.”

Dick presses his face into his brother’s hair, relief washing over him as his heart slows. He’s never had a sibling before. Things were still tense with Bruce, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a big brother. There isn’t a thing in the world he wouldn’t do for this kid in his arms right now.

“What’re brothers for, right?” he mumbles.

The rain doesn’t stop and pours and pours and pours. Dick just holds Jason tighter.

The real storm was over.

Five months later

It’s Thursday.

Time: 11:47 a.m.

The stone is nice. White marble. Shiny. Expensive.

There are fresh flowers. Roses and yellow daisies. The dirt is still new too. Evidence of freshly upturned earth. Dick reaches down and pulls out a weed that’s sprung up at the corner of the stone. Tosses it away.

He doesn’t have flowers. He has a newspaper in his left hand. Reads: Mourning billionaire sets off on trip to Europe.

Jason died a month before he got back from across the universe.

Anywhere, he had said. Anytime. I promise I’ll be there.

He crumples the newspaper into a tight ball and shoves it into his pocket. Stares at the stone. The sun is out. There are no clouds in the sky. It’s nice.

It’s a nice day.

“Fuck,” Dick mutters, a familiar burn in the back of his eyes. “Fuck.”

Anywhere, anytime.

Dick Grayson is an only child once again.

#bad things happen bingo #i have your loved one #dick grayson #dick grayson is nightwing #nightwing #jason todd #jason todd is robin #robin #hurt/comfort #angst #kidnapping #well the hurt/comfort didn't really work out in the end but eh #my fic

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justcourttee · 4 years

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could you do another fic where mari has too many overprotective relatives (batfam, jason in particular, adrien, luka, kagami, chloe, jagged, bruce, penny, clara, tony stark and the avengers maybe lol) and all the boys who want to date her are scared away by them until she starts seeing damian or someone else i love your writing and thanks! ♡♡

I loved this prompt immediately and I really hope I did it justice! Hope you like it!

The Never-Ending Cycle of First Dates

“No! Wait! He’s just kidding!” Marinette ran out of the building trying to grab the boy's hand before he could escape, but she was too late. Her hand slapped her forehead in defeat as yet another man hurried off before they could even order drinks. Turning her attention to where her target stood, she couldn’t help the bubbling anger directed at his smirk.

“Why must you ruin every date? It’s like you guys have a pool of names and you just reach in and see who's in luck to scare off the next guy that tries to date me!” She threw her hands into the air, only earning a chuckle.

“C’mon Princess, if the man can’t handle a little threat then how is he gonna stick around for the long term? Hmm?”

Marinette wanted to argue, but she knew it was pointless. Jason and the others were firm in their beliefs; Marinette must be protected from heartbreak at all costs. She tried arguing with them that if she never got hurt in the first place then she could never learn, but alas, her words seemed to fall on deaf ears.

“How did you even find us?”

Jason’s smirk widened which only fueled her rage.

“What? You thought meeting at the restaurant would actually change anything? I can find you anywhere and everywhere. Plus Adrien totally snitched.”

Marinette made a mental note to lay into Adrien later after she found the poor kid that Jason scared of.

“One day I’m going to find someone who isn’t scared by you lot and he’s gonna make it through the first date.”

She turned her back on Jason’s boisterous laughter. She was determined to prove her point. After all, there had to be one man in Gotham City that wasn’t afraid of her, right? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The rest of her week had gone as smoothly as Monday had to say the least.

Tuesday’s date was crashed by Kagami’s foil. One look at her slicing the bread and he didn’t even make it to the table.

Wednesday’s date was a double date with Luka and Chloe. Marinette begged Tikki to lend her a little luck, but the small God would do no such thing. At least this guy made it past drinks. Marinette almost cheered until Luka donned his infamous stare. She watched as her date squirmed uncomfortably before excusing himself for the bathroom, never returning.

Thursday’s date ended with the man strung up by his ankles, none other than Nightwing and Red Robin dropping in to apologize, claiming they thought he was trying to mug her.

By Friday, she was ready to cancel her date before it even began.

“Adrien, you guys are making it impossible to even think about dating.” She collapsed on the couch, letting out a small whine.

“I think that’s kind of the point Mari, besides, you’re a working woman now, shouldn’t you be focusing on your career-”

Adrien paused as his eyes narrowed in on Marinette’s hand mocking his lecture. Her hand paused as she noticed his now silent voice. Meeting his eyes, she simply shrugged.

“You sound like my mom. She’s worried that I’m too worried about dating but guess what? I kind of missed out on that experience in high school pining after a guy who wasn’t even interested!”

They both chuckled as they remembered the awkward dance they both did from the time they were 13.

“So what are you going to do about the date tonight?”

Marinette shrugged once more as she pulled at a piece of her hair, twirling it around her finger.

“Who is on date duty tonight?”

“First of all, it’s not called date duty,” he waved off the pointed look Marinette gave him before continuing, “and it was supposed to be Jagged and Penny but in case they fail, Tony is on backup duty and Jason is on backup, backup duty.”

“Not date duty my ass.”

Marinette sighed longingly as she pulled herself into a sitting position.

“I’m giving this one more chance before I swear off dating forever.”

Adrien chuckled before offering his hand to pull her into a standing position.

“Well, guess you better prepare to look good. After all, they always say if you’re gonna go out, at least do it in style.”

Marinette rolled her eyes as she pushed Adrien to the couch, ignoring his protests. If this was going to be her last date, then maybe he had a point of going out in style.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Marinette pulled at her dress nervously as a black limo approached her outside of her apartment. She had checked the perimeter once as Marinette and once more as Ladybug; there was no sign of Jagged or Penny. Somehow though, that didn’t calm her nerves.

As the limo pulled to a stop, a man stepped out of the back seat causing her breath to hitch in her throat. As if him being drop-dead gorgeous wasn’t enough, her worst fears stepped out from behind him, wide grins on their faces.

“Oi, there she is Penny! Marinette, we tried calling you but you sent us straight to voicemail, that wasn’t very rock n’ roll of you. Luckily, this nice man right here was there to give us a ride, right Penny?”

Penny nodded sweetly as if the two of them were innocent victims of Marinette’s forgetfulness. She wanted to turn right back into her apartment and never leave again, but a small hand grasped hers, pulling it up to their lips, as soft and gentle as his movements.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I have heard many stories of you from my brothers and father. You seem to have impressed many powerful people such as the two strays I picked up off the streets earlier.”

His smile was playful as it coaxed a small laugh from her. It helped even more to see Jagged panicking in the background at the sight of the small gesture. This man, no, his name was Damian. Damian had already broken through the first wall without even knowing it. Marinette let herself feel a spark of hope at the thought of finally making it through a first date.

“Anywho, now that we have arrived, I must apologize for leaving you two here, how does the saying go? ‘High and dry?’ but I do have a date to continue.” He nodded to Penny and Jagged leaving them both with their jaws almost touching the ground.

If she had a moment, Marinette might’ve taken a photo, but she instead quickly grabbed Damian’s arm, shutting the limo door before either could protest. She didn’t bother to release the breath she had been holding until the apartments were gone from the rearview mirror.

“I am so sorry about them, they-” she tried to let the apology spill out of her mouth but Damian simply shook his head, that same playful smile monopolizing his face.

“I am fully aware of the so-called ‘date duty’ your friends have. After all, my brother is in charge of the scheduling.”

It was Marinette’s turn for her jaw to drop. This was Jason’s brother? The literal spawn of satan as Jason had put it. There was no way. He was so nice, and such a gentleman, there was no way they could be the same person.

“How come nobody ever told me you were in town? Last time Jason introduced me to the family, he made sure to wait for when you left on a business trip. I’ve only ever been invited over when you’re not there!”

Damian chuckled as if this was a normal occurrence.

“They knew I had a crush on you ever since I watched your alter ego take down an akuma three times your size. It was only a matter of time until I asked you out, but with Jason observing your every date, he made it quite difficult.”

Marinette felt her face flush as his words washed over her. A man that was actually interested in her and was willing to take on the trouble a date with her could mean? She lightly pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

“You know it’s only going to get worse from here right? Like, Jagged and Penny were only the first round worse.”

Damian leaned in, placing his hand overtop hers, that smile of his killing her slowly.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Marinette nodded as she leaned closer, nearly closing the gap between them, her heart racing from the distance.

“I borrowed his rotation schedule and have prepared for every incident that could occur tonight.”

Marinette couldn’t help the words that slipped out of her mouth.

“I think I might love you.” Immediately she slapped her hand over her mouth letting out a string of apologies as she scooched away from the red-faced man. He cleared his throat, trying to overcome his shock as his smile pulled into a small smirk.

“Don’t apologize, just tell me again if you feel the same after we’ve finished the date.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Somehow, they managed to make it through dinner without a single hiccup. It was suspicious, but she was having too good of a time to care. She fell in love immediately with his animals as he showed off his many photos, commenting on whichever one seemed to make her melt the most.

They talked about where they had gone to college, where they were working now and what they were hoping for their futures. Marinette felt her heart swell with excitement for how compatible they were, it almost made tonight ending that much more painful.

As they stepped out of the restaurant, Marinette heard a familiar voice that made her blood run cold.

“Do you know who I am? I could buy this whole place and then you’d have to let me in! I’m the damn Ironman, doesn’t that count for something?”

The poor hostess was shaking her head, trying to apologize to the other guests for the wait he was causing. Marinette let out a defeated sigh as she took a step forward to intervene, but Damian’s hand intertwined with hers pulling her in the opposite direction.

“There aren’t too many places in Gotham City that Tony Stark isn’t banned from. However, you can thank my father for that. He agreed for me to host my dinner at his restaurant to nullify backup number 2, Tony Stark.”

Marinette almost wanted to laugh at the irony of a billionaire being banned from a small Italian restaurant in Gotham.

“There’s not much that Uncle Tony can’t fix by throwing money at it, but I suppose that’s pointless when it’s another billionaire causing the said problem.”

Damian sent her a wink that warmed her to her core. They decided to ditch the limo in favor of walking home, spending more time with each other coincidentally. Marinette felt her mind racing like she was in middle school once again planning her imaginary wedding and their future hamster.

He was everything she had hoped to find in a man and so much more. She honestly regretted not meeting him sooner, it would’ve saved her so much trouble over the years.

She opened her mouth, only to close it immediately as her eyes narrowed in on a figure leaning against her apartment building.

“Jason, what are you doing here? There’s no date to ruin now and I finally found a guy who can’t be scared off by your stupid date duty.”

She crossed her arms in defiance but Jason paid her no mind.

“Damian, I didn’t know you were home so soon. I would’ve locked you up in the Batcave to make sure this would’ve never happened.”

Damian scoffed beside her as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“As if you could.”

The two men were locked in a staredown, leaving Marinette to wilt in the tension that had formed. She moved towards her apartment, only to be stopped by Damian’s hand for the third time tonight.

Turning her back to Jason, she watched as he brought her hand to his lips, his kiss still as gentle and soft as the first when he had given her hours earlier. She ignored Jason’s protest as she pulled his hand forward placing a quick peck on his lips.

The man’s face matched her own in shades of red.

“Does this mean you would be interested in a second date?”

Marinette nodded furiously before waving him goodnight, darting past Jason’s brooding figure.

“This is not the end of it Marinette!”

Jason’s threats felt empty compared to the excitement racing in her heart. She had finally broken the cycle of never-ending first dates and boy, did it feel good.

Permanent Tag List:

@damianette-is-life @ash-amg @rebecarojas07 @heaven428 @long-lost-peace @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @moongoddesskiana @nach0ava @iamablinkmarvelarmy

#daminette #maribat #miraculous ladybug

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chickenmuffinsoup · 3 years

Text

baby talon dick au + more jason

It was strange, Jason decided, being twice the size of his older brother. He was exactly as Jason remembered him—except, of course, the glowing yellow eyes and blue veins that criss-crossed tan skin unnaturally paled. But it was him, impossibly, miraculously. And he was, perhaps more impossibly, still himself. He still flitted around any given space like an acrobat—Alfred had caught him up on the chandelier three times already. He still laughed riotously at the dumbest jokes, still rambled on and on about whatever he was currently passionate about.

It was only little changes now. Now, Dick couldn’t stand to be cold, wrapping himself up in every blanket he could find to prepare for every night. Now, his speech was stilted, and there were still moments he’d forget himself, and call himself ‘Talon.’ And before, Jason really didn’t remember Dick doing what he was told quite so often.

That, and he hadn’t so much as touched a single person other than Jason. He kept painful distance between himself and everyone, stiffening the slightest bit when someone—even Alfred or Bruce—got too close. He remembered them, that much was clear, but his memory was spotty, and they’d been beginning to suspect it might’ve been tampered with. But with Jason, it was different. With Jason, Dick was his usual tactile self. He leaped off the banister into Jason’s arms, he climbed around onto his shoulders, he even held Jason’s hand sometimes. It had weirded Jason out at first, but he’d gotten used to it quickly. Truth be told, Jason himself was a tactile person, it had just been so long since he’d allowed himself such easy contact with another person.

Speak of the devil, Jason felt a light weight slam into his back and wrap tiny, undersized eleven year old arms around his neck.

“Jaybird!” Dick exclaimed, clinging to his back like a spider-monkey.

“Watcha doin’ there, buddy?” Jason asked, pausing from the sandwich he was making. Another strange thing: apparently now he talked to Dick as if he were a child. Dick was a child, but he was still technically Jason’s older brother, and that was still a trip.

Dick hooked his chin over Jason’s shoulder. “I dunno. Do you wanna play a game?”

“Sure, kiddo,” Jason said. He didn’t call Damian “buddy” or “kiddo,” despite Dick and Damian being the same age. Technically. “Just give me a second to eat this.”

“One Mississippi! Your second’s over, let’s go!” Dick tugged on Jason’s neck, trying to get him to start moving.

“Asshole,” Jason laughed. Dick didn’t stop tugging as Jason shoved his sandwich in his mouth. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he said, mouth full. He carried Dick into the living room, where Dick jumped off of his back and went running to the cabinet under the tv that they kept all their boardgames in. In finding what he wanted, Dick pulled every single other game out of the cabinet as he went, tossing them beside him carelessly.

“Tt. I hope you’re planning on putting that back.” Jason almost (almost) jumped. He hadn’t noticed Damian, buried in an armchair with a sketchbook in his hand.

Dick didn’t even look up, and Jason suspected he’d clocked Damian immediately. “Do you want to play, Dami?” he asked, now with a deck of ratty old Batman cards in hand.

Damian glanced imperiously down at where Dick was kneeling on the floor. “Play what?”

“Go Fish!”

“Go…what?”

Dick was scandalized. “You don’t know what Go Fish is?” At Damian’s continued confusion, he turned to Jason. “He doesn’t know what Go Fish is?”

“Don’t look at me,” Jason said, shoving aside some games to make room for him to sit, perfectly aware Dick would not be putting them away anytime soon. “He came like that.”

Dick pursed his lips and looked at Damian. Since Dick had come home (after nearly killing Damian, Jason should probably add), Jason honestly couldn’t tell if he and Damian were best friends, or if they hated each other.

Damian glared at Jason. “Whatever the game is, I’m sure I can beat you, Todd.”

“It’s a luck game, Damian.”

“No it’s not!” Dick exclaimed. “It’s skill!”

“Sure it is, buddy,” Jason said. He and Dick, back when they were both kids, would play an inordinate amount of card games. They definitely played Go Fish the most (funnily enough, Dick did win most often, which Jason supposed would lend credence to his idea that it was about ‘skill’), but they’d generally played a lot of different card games. Jason had come to find Dick couldn’t remember how to play anything but Go Fish. “Damian, are you playing or not?”

Damian slunk down from the chair, closing his notebook as he went. “I’ll play, only so I can beat you.”

Jason rolled his eyes, and decided to pick his battles carefully.

“Yay! I’ll explain how.” Explaining Go Fish was more of a joint-effort. As Dick fumbled with the cards he was attempted to shuffle (which was so unlike his usual grace), he attempted to explain, only he frequently lost track of what he was saying, and Jason had to jump in. It was...a little concerning, to Jason, and it confirmed his suspicion that most of Dick’s ability to do things like play Go Fish relied on muscle memory. Once he was required to think it though and explain it to someone else, he faltered.

“Go Fish!” Damian declared smugly, towards the end of their second round. He had one card in his hand, and was taking far too much pleasure in repeatedly saying “Go Fish!” when anybody asked for a card.

Jason sighed and grabbed a card from the pile. “Oh,” he said. “I’m out.” He laid down his new pair of eights along with his other pairs. Damian leaned over and Jason had to hold back a laugh to see him counting under his breath. “And I win,” he said with a smirk, knowing Damian had just come to the same conclusion.

Damian scowled. “You probably cheated.”

Dick giggled, dropping his ten remaining cards, none of which were matches. “Jay always cheats.”

“I played this one fair and square. Like I play every game of Go Fish.”

“Whatever,” Damian said.

Jason had absolutely no reason to antagonize Damian. So, naturally, that was exactly what he did. “Don’t be upset you lost to ‘the superior Robin.’”

“Tt. You are not the superior Robin. Only Robins that manage to stay alive can be superior.”

Jason happened to glance back at Dick to see the playful smile drop off his face. Jason’s retort died on his tongue.

“What?” He looked between Damian and Jason, eyes wide.

“Nothing,” Jason said, kicking Damian lightly to try and give him the message.

Damian kicked him back, much harder. “Did Todd not tell you? He managed to get himself killed.”

Dick was staring at Jason now like he’d never seen him before. “What do you mean?” he asked, with a kind of dawning horror.

“Todd got tricked by the Joker and ended up exploding,” Damian said blithely.

“Damian, shut the hell up,” Jason said. Could the kid really not pick up on the mood, or was he, as always, being purposefully belligerent?

“He came back, eventually, but he’s the only one of us dumb enough to die for real.”

Dick stood suddenly. Damian seemed surprised by the motion.

“Dick-” Jason began, but Dick took off running. Jason glared at Damian. “What the fuck did you say that for?”

Damian blinked quickly, trying to wipe the bewildered expression off his face. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You know what you did,” he said, although in reality, he wasn’t sure that Damian did. He stood up now too, and cast Damian one last angry look before leaving the room. He jogged up the stairs, and stopped on the second floor instead of the third. The third floor was where Dick’s current room was. It was situated between Alfred’s and Bruce’s, with everyone else across the hall or not much further. That wasn’t where Dick went. Dick would have gone to the second floor, to his old room. His old room was a mausoleum, completely untouched and exactly the same as Dick had left it. After Dick’s “death,” no one could stand to look at it, but no one could bear to change it. So everyone simply relocated to the third floor, leaving a messy eleven year old’s room like some kind of memorial no one had the heart to visit.

Jason stepped into the darkened room to the sound of sobbing. Something tight in Jason’s chest tugged him over to the bed, and when he sat on the edge of it, Dick’s breathing hitched and his sobbing stopped suddenly. He hadn’t moved, his face was still buried in the pillow he was gripping.

“Hey buddy,” Jason said. Dick didn’t respond. Jason couldn’t remember if Dick liked to be comforted when he cried, or if he would want to be left alone. There were so many things he didn’t realized he’d forgotten about his brother, so many details the years had washed from his mind. “Are you okay?” he asked, and hoped his voice didn’t betray just how lost he felt.

Dick shook his head, not looking up from the pillow. For lack of anything to say, Jason slowly reached out a hand to place on Dick’s shoulder. When he first made contact, Dick stiffened, just for a moment, before he relaxed and suddenly he was crying again.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Jason said desperately. That wasn’t the affect he’d wanted. “Is this about what Damian said? Because I’m fine. We’re all fine now.”

Dick clutched the pillow tighter and if anything, sobbed harder.

“Dick, please, I’m okay-”

“No!” Dick exclaimed, shoving himself upright violently. His golden yellow eyes gleamed unnaturally in the low light, glistening with shedding tears. “No, it’s not okay, you’re not okay!”

“Dick…”

“I was meant to protect you. I was meant to keep you safe. I was meant to! And you—you died, for real.”

“I’m better now,” Jason tried.

“You died. And—and I know you died in my colors. You died in my colors with my name and I couldn’t keep you safe.”

Jason tried to swallow down the pit in his stomach. He did die as Robin, but it wasn’t Dick’s fault. It was Bruce’s fault, it was the Joker’s fault, it was Jason’s fault, not Dick’s. “It wasn’t-”

“Now I get it.” Tears started streaming down his face again, but this time, they were silent. “Why you’re so different. Why you’re not the same anymore, why you’re angry all the time. You’re not my little brother.”

Jason stared, dumbly, mouth open, unable to formulate a response. He wanted to say yes, yes I am, I’m still Jason, I’m still your little brother, but that wasn’t true? Was it? He wasn’t the same person anymore, and he certainly wasn’t Dick’s little brother. They couldn’t be who they were before. Time and circumstance irrevocably changed that, for both of them.

Dick’s breath hitched again, and he barely choked out his next words. “My little brother died, and I didn’t save him.”

There was nothing left to say. Jason didn’t know which of them moved first, but the next moment Dick was sobbing into his shoulder and Jason had his arms wrapped around him. He felt his shoulder getting wet from Dick’s tears and felt his own eyes start to water. It felt like finally admitted the truth he hadn’t wanted to face: their roles were reversed. Jason’s older brother may have miraculously come home, but Jason had grown up. It was time to face the truth, and stop running from his responsibilities. He was the oldest now, with the specter of Dick lifted (more or less) from the house. His younger siblings, Dick included, were his to take care of now, and it was time to do a better job of it.

#dick&jason #talon au #part 2 I guess #dick grayson #jason todd #red hood #robin #damian wayne #talon!dick #sort of

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powerosewaterpuff · 4 years

Text

so i was having some late night feels (angst) aaanddd i’m adding onto the reverse robin au i was playing around with a while ago, which is jason being the oldest of the batkids with dick coming while he’s bruce’s partner aaaand yk i might’ve cried bUt yOU CANT PROVE ANYTHING

dick and jason had a little ritual they would do, whenever jason came back from patrol they would sit together, some reality tv playing as they just talked. it was mundane, and really wasn’t all that special as they debated whether real housewives of beverly hills was better than real housewives of new jersey, but dick found himself desperately yearning for it as he curled underneath jason’s bedsheets, hugging an old sweater that smelled like his older brother, whispering to a pillow, pretending that maybe it was jason

the night bruce came back, his heart gutted and carved out, resting heavily in his hollow chest, is not a day they ever talk about, ever. dick claims not to remember much of it, too much confusion and heartache. but he remembers counting every single breath bruce took before uttering the words that sent his world crashing down once again. he remembers the racking sobs that pierced into dicks ribs, as he kept repeating a self assuring mantra of thisisnthappeningthisisnthappeningthisisnthappening. he remembers bruce collapsing onto the caves floors, the weight of the world crushing him with its unrelenting rage. he remembers feeling paralyzed, unable to reach out to bruce and unable to comprehend what was happening, just like how frozen he was when his mother just slipped past his fingers, just brushing against it ever so lightly before crashing into a mess of blood and brain. he remembers running, running up the stairs, running from alfreds call, running from bruce’s shaking hand reaching out for him, running into jason’s room because he was alive, he knew he was alive this was all nightmare constructed in his head, only a nightmare that was bound to end (it never did)

bruce was against robin. bruce was against every shred of robin. he was against the idea of robin, the conception of robin, anything that had to do with robin was banned. he wouldn’t hear of it. but dick was always told he was a little bird born with a lions heart, and he proudly displayed it. he fought and fought and fought, because goddamnit bruce you’re killing yourself. bruce never really allowed it, but dick still did it. bruce would be on a constant lecture in patrols that consisted of go home right now or i’m dragging you back cape and all. it never really worked though, no matter how hard bruce tried to suppress it. dick would just come out the next night, ready to fight crime by bruce’s side with too much heart and too much enthusiasm (it was jason all over again.)

dick became far better at faking smiles from then on. it was ironic, if he really thought about it. his own performer parents had never taught him to lie so well, to grin so easily when his heart was aching with an immovable weight. but he knew he had to do it. his days were a sacrifice he was willing to give to make bruce content, if he could even do that. he knew bruce never slept, so he would trot into his room and plop onto his bed, and force bruce to read a book to him. dick didn’t really sleep, but he knew it brought bruce some shred of comfort when his son was by his side, safe and present. it was okay, really it was. dick could fake smiles for the rest of his life if it made bruce smile at him one more time.

bruce hadn’t been able to stomach looking at jason’s grave ever since the funeral. dick went every other day. he did a similar thing with his parents, because a lesson he had always been taught by them was that the dead while may not be able to talk back, did quite enjoy being talked to. maybe it was a silly childhood reassurance, to sooth dicks worries about death, but it helped. he would sit by jason’s grave and discuss anything and everything. he told him about how he had met this girl barbara who was the commissioners daughter and she was really awesome. he would blather on about how wally has already hit a growth spurt and roy was even taller then both of them which annoyed him to no end. it leaned towards nervous rambling at some point but that was okay, dick liked talking. it helped quiet his mind.

it was the small things that dick noticed that were never going to be the same. jason’s “designated” spot at the kitchen table was never touched. the console he had bought when he was around 14 wasn’t touched until a solid year later, but even then dick felt a little weird playing anything without jason’s snarky comments. waking up in the morning to go to school without jason either throwing a pillow at his face or dumping a bottle of water onto him is something he hates. jason’s phone was also kept in its exact spot, inside of the drawer of his nightstand without ever moving. (dick used to call it sometimes, just to hear the voicemail. he would leave a message behind too, but no one knew. no one ever found out about it either.)

dick hated how much he missed being called sky monkey. it was such a stupid nickname, from all the plethora of nicknames he had generously given jason the permission to use, he had stuck with baby bird and sky monkey. but jason used to laugh about it, telling him dick would never get a more fitting description of himself.

dick and bruce had one of their most heated arguments over that stupid plaque and case. dick remembers spitting out that bruce could stand looking at that good soldier but couldn’t even go see his sons grave. he knows it’s a low blow, but he’s burning with confusion and venom is dripping from his tongue. they (dick) talk about it a few night later, hug it out and what not, but it was a moment dick realized just how emotionally stunted bruce was and it set off a little angry flame in his chest. one that never quite fizzled out, but changed to sadness as the years went on.

it was weird reading shakespeare the first time in class for dick. he kept imagining jason’s voice in a midsummer nights dream. he kept closing his eyes and seeing the scene fold out in his head. jason playing lysander as he had his lines memorized the best, pouring every ounce of talent into his grand performance in their bedroom. dick had a little script in hand as he played puck, with each of them swapping out roles as the other characters. they had pranced around the room, hopping onto furniture and climbing onto beds. dick felt sick to his stomach playing lysanders role in a class reading, because he could hear so fucking clearly jason’s voice with his brimming accent come to life in his head. (or maybe it was because he felt an unexplainable feeling of pure guilt, because he lived. he’s playing lysander now. jason isn’t. and dick feels like a fucking thief)

(i’m stopping there before i cry oOPS I-UH IMMA GO REWATCH 10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU BC THIS AU HAS A WAY OF DESTROYING MY HEART BUT I LOVE IT SO MUCH ANYWAYS?? OH OH AND IF ANYONE HAS ANY GOOD BATFAM FIC RECS LIKE WHOLESOME FAMILY ONES PLS SEND THEM MY WAY PLS AND THANK YOU :)!! )

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taliaquinn · 4 years

Text

Why Me!? Chapter 15

A/N: Sorry I took a while to update my peeps. Fun fact this chapter was originally over 2,500 words so I split it. After going through a massive edit it was still long anyways:). So Enjoy the fact that Chapter 16 is going to come out very soon, also more one shots will be posted. Check out the most recent one if you guys haven’t :)

“NO WAY,NO, ABSOLUTELY NOT,” Marinette yelped “SCREW SOCIAL INTERACTION!!!” leaping from the chair she immediately started pacing around.

“Marinette you have to go to School, you’re too smart and can't always be cooped up here.” As much as Bruce would love having his children to stay in the relative safety of the house “Besides you wouldn’t be alone Tim and Damian both go to Gotham Academy”

“B-but Bruce” he allowed shock to flood his body because finally his daughter wasn’t calling him Mr.Wayne. Uck. He knew Stark was still dealing with that problem with his own protege. “Gotham Academy is one of the most prestigious schools in the States not to mention expensive”

“Marinette, do you realize that the cost is nothing to me?” Oh god he went through this with most of his children, the whole "please don’t waste your money on me” routine. “it’s my job as a father to make sure my kids are safe AND are receiving a great education”

“The cost means a lot to me-hold up don’t they offer scholarships?” She asked a glimmer of hope in her eyes

“Yes but they are mostly for kids who otherwise wouldn’t be able to attend, The Wayne foundation offers a few, anyways you won’t be completely alone Tim and Damian both go to Gotham Academy” Bruce explained, Jesus all of his kids were so weird about money, well most of them, Damian and Tim were something else.

“Ugh Fine, what about my parents? Will they be okay with it?” No way would Maman and Papa allow it.

“Oh they already enrolled you, your mother just thought that I deserved the honor of telling you” he said rolling his eyes.

“WHAT!!!!”

Oh boy maybe he should have let Dick and Alfred handle this.

Cesaire Apartment Paris, France 5:00pm

“Come on Think about it Nino, Marinette’s gone what could she do anyways?” Alya asked her boyfriend on facetime, unfortunately she and Nino couldn’t go out, both were stuck taking care of their siblings. Joy.

“Alya im not sure…... the article seems a bit too far, I mean Chat Noir hasn’t exactly been helpful lately, plus he HAS been acting rather childish lately,” Nino Responded, He might need glasses but that doesn't mean he was blind to the Chat Noir situation. He’s been distracting Ladybug and he hasn’t bothered showing up a few times to the Akuma Battles!!! Some hero. “Why not post the video of your interview with Adrien? That will instantly attract all of his uh eager fangirls” he offered

“Apparently sunshine boy has to ask his Dad for permission, so this article is the next best thing” The article she was referring to was in response to the video of Marinette lecturing Chat Noir. It wasn't as much fact based but opinion based

“Why are you still hung up on Marinette so much? She used to be our best friend”

“She's a bully, who constantly attacks Lila, and still hasn’t confessed to what she has done”

“What if it’s Lila who is lying?” Nino asked cautiously, he never knew what would set Alya off these days.

“Not you too, you know what? Maybe you should just switch classes like the rest of the traitors if you believe that” she scowled. “Go be on their side”

“Sides What sides? Alya there isn’t any sides”

“Yes there's the right side and the wrong side”

“What makes you so sure that we're on the right side?” Nino finally asked. He has been having his doubts. Something about Lila’s stories just wasn't adding up.

“You’re being Ridiculous Nino, You know what? I don't want to talk to you right now, you obviously won't listen” Alya screeched ending the call. Nino Stared at the dark screen with his jaw open in shock.

He’s being ridiculous?

It's his fault?

These last few weeks, Alya has been borderline unbearable. Nino found himself having to resist calling Marinette and asking her for advice.

On one hand it was out of guilt on the other hand some part of Nino already knew what she would say. She would tell him to break up with Alya. The relationship was getting far too toxic. He turned on his phone and clicked on Alyas contact. Thinking out his Message he finally typed the message he's been wanting to send for the last few days

Nino: Hey, I just don’t think this is working. This relationship is bad for the both of us. Ask Lila for help instead. Goodbye Al

Message Sent

Message Received

Wayne Manor Gotham,USA 8 pm

“Trust me Pixiepop Dick is the last person to ask for advice concerning school, Dickhead was smart, sure, but he also dropped out of college ” Jason explained to Marinette, who was mopping about school “He decided to enroll in the Police Academy instead, believe me Bruce was pretty pissed about that”

“B-ut it he quit to do something he actually likes, I doubt he actually wanted to be a businessman,” Marinette retorted. “speaking of which do you think he’s doing alright in Bludhaven?” She asked her voice laced with concern.

Jason knew for a fact that Dick wasn’t doing that great, he was pulling overtime as Officer Grayson and working the night as Nightwing, Bruce and Tim weren’t fairing that great either. The impending gang war was keeping most of the local vigilante community busy.

“I’m sure he’s fine pixie pop”

He was absolutely not fine.

Unbeknownst to them, Nightwing had walked right into an ambush inside a warehouse right next to Bludhaven Bay. With a few more hours of sleep Nightwing might’ve had a higher chance of winning , unfortunately he was running on 3 hours of sleep a night so he was getting quickly overwhelmed.

After one too many punches Nightwing finally put out a distress alert.

“Master Jason, You have a Call from Bludhaven Bay, Your friend there seems to be in need of your help”

“I’ll take it, Sorry Maribug seems like I have to head out right about now.” Jason he quickly answered. Fuck. Dick was in danger.

“Why?” Marinette asked puzzled, why not just take the call here? “Cause This dingwatt friend of mines only calls me if he’s in trouble or about to be”

“Can I come w-” Marinette was cut off by her phone chirping crap akuma.

“Actually you know what? Better not keep you” she said walking backwards towards the door “Stay safe Jay, see ya, toodles~”. She quickly exited and quickly walked towards her room.

“She's hiding something isn’t she Alfie?” Jason said after witnessing Marinette's strange departure

“It is blatantly obvious Master Jason, although I do believe she is permitted to do so seeing as how we all have our small secrets” Alfred said with a huff. His hopes for a normal grandchild have just been dashed. Maybe he will have better luck with great-children? Shaking his heads to clear his thought he and Jason quickly made their way towards the Batcaves entrance,

Jason stopped mid stride an odd feeling overcoming him “You feel that?” Jason asked feeling a rush of warmth

“Feel what Master Jason?”

“Nevermind let's go save Dickie-bird”

Welp I hoped you enjoyed today’s update :). Also I hope you guys have been taking care of yourselves. I know that it has been a bit different lately due to well everything. Please feel free to message me if you guys need to. Stay safe and healthy ❤️

Also if the text is a bit wonky i’m sorry, still learning all the tips and tricks

Taglist:

@maribat-is-lifeblood @kass-is-weird @another-fan-of-anotherplan @damianette-is-life @amayakans @parallelparabox @miukiiu @valeks-princess @toodaloo-kangaroo @vixen-uchiha @thezestywalru @dreamykitty25 @pirats-pizzacanninibles @mochinek0 @shamefullove @mochegato @souleateralicestein @thestressmademedoit @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @aestheticnpoetic @mysupporthyperfixations @itsmeevie01

#miraculous ladybug #mlb au #maribat #batfam #Marinette deserves better #Damian Wayne #dick grayson #tim drake #jason todd #bruce wayne #class salt

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black-streak · 4 years

Text

Waiting for the Worms - Run like Hell

Part 21

Turns out, I was so put off by my lack of writing over the last week or so and annoyed at my sickness that I decided to shove through this chapter as well. Took me so much less time to write than usual.

I only have... Two more chapters planned out for this fic and I'm pretty sure that'll be the end of this. Maybe snippets that didn't fit the story line or the likes will come after, but the official end is almost upon us.

CLOSED LIST of the following dedicated readers: @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @miraculousdisapointment @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @emjrabbitwolf @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

Old habits die hard when you try for cold turkey. Jason and the team knew that for a fact. It's why they ended up switching up miraculouses and patrolling random cities on intervals. It also helped in that it made their existence more world surfacing. Random sightings across a global scale of humanesque animal figures prowling the nights, taking out petty crooks and villains alike. Lurking in shadows and watching the nightlife unfold below them. Guardians to all. One miraculous never appeared with the same figure in one city for more than a few nights, not since Paris.

No one needed to know it was just their group becoming restless from inactivity.

For that same reason, it came second nature to switch hands and even travel to collect different kwamis that night for a patrol around the Gotham rooftops. Not a one of them commented on the assassin or little bird that followed them from a mile off. Marinette and Tim had the right to their own restlessness and surely Tim wished to study their team further. To determine how they worked together, their dynamic, their morals.

Damian had pitched a fit until Mari made him promise to stay home so as to keep his existence unknown to the Bat, allowing him to stay watch over the remaining kwamis for the night. The boy had settled down right away and curled up on the couch with his pocket sized pets.

Occasionally the two behind them would stop a little ways off, the assassin pointing out their figures as they made specific choices or movements and explaining how it worked, how they made the decision, and how to replicate it. The sheer trust she instilled in her bird companion threw them all for a loop, but they refused to question her in this, especially in front of him.

Other times, he stopped her to point out different aspects of the city that had changed or ask an opinion of her. They couldn't help but wonder if the boy knew they all had enhanced senses in this form and knew every word that came from their lips. If he did, he made the choice to allow them to hear, obviously trained enough to keep out of even animal hearing ranges if need be. Otherwise, he thought them far away enough or simply didn't care if they could. Jason hoped he knew, hoped Mari informed the bird and allowed him the choice. It was always a toss up on if she felt the need to be open and honest or to deceive those around her. Normally, Jason could tell, but not quite from this distance.

The comm unit Marinette picked up from Babs picked up halfway through their night, "B's in your route," Oracle informed.

"Any chance you can derail him?" Mari asked, as Jason turned to stare back at the twitching form of Robin. Nothing else gave him away, the face emotionless and stance as relaxed as a vigilantes could afford, except the slight twitch at the words being spoke into the two's ears.

"Not a chance. He's caught sight of a curly tailed figure in pink ahead."

Chloe.

"He's likely to run in to the bunch then. We'll split from here and make our way around," Mari responded as the bird took a step closer to her, hand reaching for his own ear.

"He's livid, isn't he?"

"Beyond so."

"Presumptuous over my disappearance?"

"Barely took note until a few nights ago. Now under the impression they stole you to get back at him."

Jason watched as the kid suppressed a flinch and ground his jaw instead, "He thought I went to the titans, didn't he?"

"Yup. Only made his second theory after a check in with them revealed you never came by. You know, for the world's supposed greatest detective, he refuses to use even a quarter of his brain towards people he claims to care about."

"When has he ever claimed to care about me?"

"Touche," the comm went quiet again as the two started in another direction and Jason began to turn towards where he knew Chloe would run into the man soon enough.

"Shit!" He whipped back around at Oracle's curse.

"He's caught sight of you, Robin. Sorry Tim, you've got to make your choice now, he's headed your way," she let off a stream of curses as everyone froze for a moment before everything went into motion once more.

Jason directed his team to intercept as the assassin gestured the bird forward, allowing him to run ahead of her away from Batman as the others took on the Bat, attempting to distract the man from his goal.

He hated the idea of forcing Tim into facing off with Bruce at this point. He deserved the time to make his mind up first. That however seemed to be off the table as the bat evaded them all as best he could, taking advantage of their using miraculous they were less familiar with to escape and continue his pursuit of the red, green, and yellow suit running away from the scene. At his juncture, all he could do was keep on the man's cape, following him leap for leap towards the two getaways.

The two were lithe and agile, keeping pace together as they bounded from rooftop to rooftop, slipping around corners and scurrying up walls with not a moment to spare as the Bat's size prevented him from making the same moves.

Robin would yank her down side alleys and up hidden ramps he left about the city as she guided him through the less savory parts of town that she grew up with Jason in, knowing hidden pathways and spaces too small and unknown for the bulk of the larger pursuants to follow, losing distance while trying to relocate the two without slowing down. Sure, Jason knew those paths as well as she did, but there was no way he would give that away, forcing the man to continue moving to evade him, even without a clear direction of which way they went.

At one point, Batman landed a hair too close, hand snagging into the cape of Robin's uniform. It was sheer luck on all of their parts that his companion noticed a second earlier and unclasped the damned thing a moment before, the cape coming loose in the man's hand right above a hundred foot drop, fueling the anger in Jason's blood at the blatant disregard for the boy's safety. He felt his eyes tilt green, but fought off the urge, forcing his focus on keeping up with the three to ensure the man never caught up with the two.

They swerved off path and Jason wished he could say he realized what was happening, but unfortunately couldn't as they landed directly in the path of the two, cutting them off from their escape.

Robin lurched back into the Assassin's chest, where she steadied him before offering for him to hide behind her despite the similarity in stature not offering much in the way of coverage. Jason gave props for the way Robin shook his head and stood firmly in place, once more emotionless. Not guilty as the first Robin might've been, nor defiant as he would've. Simply closed off in a glacier ice in contrast to Batman's thunderous storm.

"Robin. You look well," the bats eyes narrowed.

"Well thank you, I appreciate your noticing," he responded in the clipped tone of the backhanded socialites he was raised around, knowing how it irritated Bruce when the sarcasm was laced with sincerity.

"With such health, I must wonder why you've yet to return," Batman hedged, starting to put together the pieces.

"Simply observing all my options as I was advised. Would hate to miss out on a better opportunity due to negligence."

The man growled, hearing the accusation for what it was. Jason moved closer behind him, ready to intervene if needed. The figure behind Tim closed in as well, resting a careful hand on the boy's back. The man before them only seemed to tense up at this, lurching forward, only for the way to be blocked.

"Oh hey, Birdy. Looks like you have some interesting company here, mind introducing me?" Nightwing casually strolled over to Robin, draping his arm across smaller shoulders and leading him away, smiling at the assassin, eyes cutting to Batman in a challenge, "I'm sure the Bat won't mind seeing himself out so I can catch up with my baby brothers."

The man tensed up, taking in their figures, three of which he trained himself, another that received the same, if not more training than him. Then glancing up to the four dark figures watching from further up, ready to descend at a moment's notice. Looking back to his eldest, his scowl deepened, but he nodded and took off from the group.

Jason couldn't help but wonder if it were due to the likelihood of his loss or just not thinking Tim worth the effort. As much as the latter pissed him off, he couldn't help but be glad for the lack of a fight. He's not sure how long he could hold off the pit madness had it come to blows.

As soon as the Bat fell out of range, Robin looked up towards Nightwing, "You're here as well?"

"Oracle sent me in. I think we have some catching up to do," he smiled at the boy, then looked up towards Jason as though to include him in his words.

Marinette chose this moment to speak up from under her guise, "Oh hey, Richard. Fancy seeing you here."

#jasonette #maribat #ml x dc #WFTW #part 21 #two chapters left #has it really been two and a half months since i started this?#woah

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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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ethelphantom · 4 years

Text

Lost But Never Forgotten

Ao3

This is Maribat -- Don’t like; Don’t read

_____________________

Marinette put his hand in Tim’s as they walked in silence, the cool breeze and the mist surrounding them only emphasising both of their feelings about the day. In her other hand, Marinette had a bouquet of flowers and there was a book in her bag she was planning on reading once they arrived.

Stepping through the big, cold, metal gates was intimidating and Marinette wished she hadn’t needed to come, but she did. There was no way she wouldn’t. She couldn't not come. She was going to spend as much time there as she could, even if that meant neglecting sleep and schoolwork. And vigilante work, she supposed. As much as she loved the citizens of Gotham and wanted to protect them, she knew she wouldn’t be able to do it right now.

It would be too difficult to go out on the streets when she knew there was someone that would never come back and another one who no longer deserved to live and had taken the life of someone who did so much good.

Who had done so much good, and who would have done so much more good if only he’d been left alive. If only it hadn’t been him who’d died and instead had been her.

Logically, Marinette knew it wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t even been there, to begin with. She also didn’t blame anyone who had been there, except for those who’d taken his life. It had been Jason’s own choice, his choice to save his brothers from the bullets, and for once, the kevlar he’d worn hadn’t been enough. Not against the number of bullets raining on him from every direction.

Tim squeezed her hand, and she knew he blamed himself for it even more than she did herself.

After all, he had been there and seen Jason die. Tim had had to watch Jason take his last breaths with so much struggle.

It wasn’t fair. Jason had just gotten a new chance at life after being brutally murdered by the Joker, and they’d all thought that maybe this time he could live until he was old. That he’d make it to his fifties, sixties and maybe even seventies. That he’d one day maybe find someone he loved enough to want to settle down with them, or maybe he would’ve liked to open a bookstore and help the kids and the women in the Crime Alley with all he got from there, buy them food and offer them shelter inside whenever they needed it because heavens knew he would've done it in a heartbeat. He had had such a wonderful heart.

Or maybe he would’ve liked to write a book at some point and create the strangest, yet the most wonderful foods anyone had ever tried before.

But…

Jason hadn't gotten to grow old.

Jason hadn’t even made it to his thirties.

Standing in front of the grave made Marinette feel sick. He had deserved so much more, he had deserved so much better. He had deserved to live and be happy and make up with Dick and Bruce and even Damian, and he had deserved to have fun with Artemis and Bizarro and Roy and Kori so much more. He had deserved to go to space again and see the relief and happiness on the faces of the children whom he saved.

He had deserved to recover.

And Jason...

He had gotten none of that.

And Marinette knew, as she sat down on the bench in front of the grave, that Jason would have preferred this way of dying. He hadn’t died because he was being an idiot, and he hadn’t died because of smoking or in an accident. He’d died saving three other people, three people who also did good and who loved him all in their own ways even if they had no idea how to show it.

Same had been with Jason. She knew he had loved his brothers more than he would have ever admitted out loud, if even to himself, and he cared about all of them. Out of all of the family, he might've been the one who cared the most. Just like them, he just didn’t know how to show it to them.

This, she supposed, showed them all how much it was, truly.

Tim sat next to her and pulled her close, rubbing circles on her arm, trying to calm her down. Trying to ground her.

“I just— he didn’t deserve to die,” she sobbed into Tim’s jacket, having hidden her face there. Tim nodded and pressed a light kiss in her hair.

“I know.”

“It isn’t fair! He would have done so much more good still and now he’s just— he’s just gone.”

“I know, ‘Nettie. I wish I had seen the gunmen earlier so I could have made sure none of us died, or that I had at least gotten between him and the bullets.”

“You wouldn’t have deserved to die.”

“Perhaps, but he deserved to live more. He already had to go through dying once.”

Marinette couldn’t even find it in herself to disagree. After all, she had the same thoughts. Had she been there, she would have wished she could have sheltered Jason from the bullets as well, even if her body wouldn’t have been big enough to keep him from getting shot. Hell, she wished it even though she hadn’t been there and there was absolutely nothing she could have done about it.

She could see where he was coming from.

“Do you want to read the book to him? I know you brought it with you for that exact reason,” Tim said, loosening his hold on her enough to let her take the book out of her bag and open it.

She started reading it, first quietly, but then she started getting used to reading out loud and was able to read a little louder. Maybe he was somewhere close and listened to her reading his favourite book — and even if he didn’t, the thought brought her comfort regardless.

Tears ran down her face most of the time she was reading, but eventually speaking became too hard and she had to stop. Marinette hated it — she wanted to be able to read more. There was no way she was this weak.

Tim just squeezed her lightly before picking up the book from her hands. She tried to resist, insisting that she could still read more, but Tim was unrelenting and took it from her. When it was in his hands, he pulled Marinette closer and asked her where she left off. Marinette weakly pointed to the spot, and that was where Tim started reading. Out loud, as well. He made sure the book would get read.

Tim didn’t start crying in the middle of reading.

It wasn’t like he didn’t miss Jason, no. It was just that he’d lost too many people by now, and it wasn’t new to him. He knew how to keep himself together a little better than Marinette did. That, and he had a hard time crying in front of other people. He was too used to losing his loved ones.

What a sad thought that was.

Both of them, Marinette and Tim, knew perfectly well he also couldn’t cry in front of her because he felt like he needed to be a support for her. He was her best friend and she was one of his — there was a reason they had started dating even in the midst of the vigilante scene —, but he was also the reason Jason was dead. Well, one of the three reasons. For that reason, they both knew he felt like he needed to be there for Marinette so she wouldn’t fall apart, because he blamed himself for Jason’s death already, and this was all he knew how to do to help Marinette. Marinette, who had always gone to Jason whenever she needed advice on anything, who had started to think of Jason as her brother at some point.

Now Marinette just needed to find a way to make sure Tim wouldn’t feel alone either and work himself to death. He didn’t deserve it either. He wasn’t supposed to fall apart either.

They sat there in front of the grave for hours. A lot of it was spent reading. The rest of it was either spent staring at the grave like they expected Jason to dig his way out again, or they talked to Jason and told him — or the grave — about all sorts of things.

It was just wrong to think that someone like Jason needed to die again, be murdered again, all because he loved and cared way too much for his own good. It wasn’t fair.

And it wasn’t like they could resurrect him either. It wouldn’t be fair.

That was why Tim and Marinette just left the cemetery, silent. Weeping quiet tears that neither would ever mention again, both well aware they were going to be there the next day again, as well as the one after that, and probably all the other following days too. The cycle would repeat. It would keep repeating.

Because the least they could do for Jason now was to make sure he wouldn’t be forgotten.

____________________

@kris-pines04 @thethirdwheelfriend @daminett4life @abrx2002 @persephonebutkore @rebecarojas07 @corabeth11 @freshbark @maribat-march2020 @catsandfanfic @fertileleaf @eat0crow @cutechip

#Timari #Timinette #tim x marinette #Tim Drake #marinette dupain cheng #maribat #maribatmarch2020 #ml x dc #dc x mlb #ml #dc #miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #fanfic #ethel's writing

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

Text

My Dark Knight

A Bruce Wayne x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 2.5K Warnings: Explicit Language (I think? I don't fuckin' remember.)

Author's Note: The only cringe I got from this story was the title. It's so fucking cheesy bruh. Enjoy! -Thorne

Bruce was a mystery to her. The longer she dated him, the more she realized the image he projected was a cover, hiding the real man underneath. One time they’d gone on a date to the new escape rooms that had been built in Gotham, and the entire time they’d been inside, she could tell the person she’d gone in with, was not the same person locked in with her. His eyes had narrowed as he scanned the room, sometimes lingering on certain items placed around. She watched him for a moment, then his eyes met hers, and he immediately grinned, eyes losing their hardness, taking on a mirthful appearance. “Find anything to start with?” he’d asked her, then followed up with, “I don’t even know where to start.” She might’ve fallen off the back of a wagon, but it sure as hell wasn’t last night.

She handed him a slip of paper, observing how his mood shifted once more, turning solemn as he read it. It baffled her to no end, wondering why someone like him would become so serious and concerned at times. The image he projected to Gotham was the model of billionaire-playboy, something that he played well; other times he acted goofy, giving Gotham the loveable-goober, they exasperatedly appreciated. But what got to her the most, was how solemn he would become. It would happen at random times, and though she would never admit it, it took her a God awful, embarrassingly long amount of time to realize it occurred when police sirens would sound.

***

They lay on her couch, (Y/N)’s back pressed up against his chest as they stretched their legs out in front of them. A good meal and a few glasses of wine had them cuddled up and laughing about the most random things.

She held the magazine up, showing him the cover. “That’s a good picture of you.” He hummed in amusement, listening as she said, “You’ve got that little half-smirk on your lips.” She turned her head, seeing the same smirk looking back at her. “I like it.”

His eyes filled with mirth as he leaned forward, gently pulling the magazine from her hands. He let it flutter to the floor and (Y/N) let out a small laugh as he started pressing kisses to her cheek and neck. “Bruce Wayne, you’re a scoundrel.” The hum he returned was quiet, but it was an answer to her all the same.

A moment later, his lips had stilled against her skin, pulling her from the moment she was in and causing confusion. “Bruce?” She craned her neck, trying to see him. “Is everything alright?” (Y/N) caught his eyes, seeing him staring silently out the window.

Seconds later, a police cruiser passed by, blue lights blazing as her eyes darted to catch it. Something in his eyes worried her and she rested a hand along his jaw, coercing his gaze to hers. “It’s probably nothing…just plain old, Gotham crime.”

When he finally looked at her, his eyes still carried their sharpness, and while it concerned her, it didn’t truly become understandable until a few days later.

***

She hadn’t met the rest of his children, only Tim from the times she’d visited the office; the two seemed to get along well, their backgrounds being similar, and she developed a mothering fondness for the boy; he didn’t seem to mind being doted on by her either.

(Y/N) stepped through the doors to his office, seeing his son sitting at his desk. “Hi Timmy. You look like you’re having a busy day?”

He glanced up from the laptop, giving her a smile. “Hey Miss (Y/N).” He looked back down. “It’s not too bad…meeting days usually aren’t.” He paused, eyes meeting hers once more. “Are you here for Bruce?”

She nodded, stepping closer to his desk. “He texted saying he was in a meeting and that he’d be done around eleven-thirty.” She gave him an apologetic smile. “Mind if I impose for a few minutes?”

Tim returned her smile in kindness, shaking his head. “Not at all. In fact, I could use your help organizing.”

(Y/N) nodded, moving beside his desk. As she gathered his files, a certain ring binder caught her eye, and she tapped it. “This doesn’t look like the usual files you boys have…what it is?”

Tim glanced at it, voice dropping as he admitted, almost bashfully, “Oh that’s…a personal binder…I forgot I’d brought it here.” He reached over, flipping it open, and (Y/N) took in the sight of hundreds of photos of the Dark Knight and his partners.

She took a seat on the arm of his chair, gazing at them; one photo caught her eye, and she pointed it out. “That one.”

Tim stopped trying to flip the page, looking at the photo. “What about it?”

(Y/N) stared at the image of Batman standing on the ledge. The picture wasn’t as clear as she’d like, and it was a bit far, but she could see a familiar smirk on his face.

Tim’s eyebrows furrowed and he asked, “(Y/N)? Are you okay?”

She blinked, smile appearing on her face as she nodded. “I’m fine…just in thought for a moment.” She gestured to the picture. “Do you think you could make a copy of that for me?”

He nodded, albeit confused, picking up a few of the pages, murmuring, “I’ve got better photos of him in here. Clearer ones.”

(Y/N) shook her head, pointing at the photo. “I want that one.”

Tim shrugged, pulling the photograph from the plastic slip before moving to the printer. A moment later, he took a copy of the photo from the top, handing to her, watching as she folded it and tucked it away in her purse.

“Any reason why it was that photo?”

As she opened her mouth to respond, the door to the office opened, and Bruce appeared in the entry. He smiled at her. “(Y/N).”

She rose from the chair, putting the purse strap on her arm; she glanced down at Tim and whispered, “I’m a big fan of Batman when he doesn’t look like he’s angry at the world.” Tim snorted, and she moved to Bruce, placing a hand on his arm. “Hi Bruce.” The two waved at the teenager before leaving for lunch.

***

A few hours later, she sat on her couch, staring between the photograph and the magazine. Her eyes rested on the photo, then she slowly drug them to the magazine and she sighed, “There’s no way…I’m just imagining this.” Apprehensively, she picked up the marker, moving it to his face on the magazine. “He’s not Batman…he’s not Batman…”

She colored in the top half of his face, then added two ears and breathed, “Oh holy mother of God…He’s the Batman.” (Y/N) held the magazine and photo side by side, disbelief in her gaze as understanding flooded her thoughts. Before she knew it, she was rising from the couch, making her way to the front door.

***

She pulled up to the manor and climbed the steps, knuckles rapping against the door as she waited. The door opened, revealing the butler; he was surprised to see her but quickly recovered. “Miss (Y/N). We weren’t expecting you tonight.”

(Y/N) flashed a smile and responded, “I know…I’m sorry for showing up at late notice but…I need to speak to Bruce.”

He nodded, letting her inside. “Master Bruce is in his room, but you’re welcome to wait in the living room while I fetch him.”

(Y/N) hummed, following him into the room. He left her standing by the couch, his sons sitting there, eyes wide as they looked at her.

She waved at them. “Hi boys…Hi Tim.”

He waved back at her, then his other sons rose from the couch, extending their hands. “Dick Grayson, I’m the oldest.”

She shook it, smiling, then took the other’s hand. “Jason Todd, I’m second oldest.”

(Y/N) dropped his hand, glancing at the younger boy who was glaring at her. “From what Bruce described, you must be Damian.”

He glared at her. “How much is he paying you to be his escort?”

Jason reacted immediately, turning to the boy. “Oi!”

(Y/N) simply smiled and returned, “Probably about as much as he paid your mom to be his.”

Damian’s eyes widened in shock as his mouth went slack, obviously not expecting such a sharp comeback.

She knelt to his height and gently closed his mouth. “You’ll catch flies, sweetheart.” She stood back up, smiling as Bruce walked into the living room.

“(Y/N)? Is everything alright? Did something happen?”

She turned, looking at him. “Uh…sort of?” She paused, then murmured, “Kinda had a lifechanging revelation at my place about twenty minutes ago.” His eyes filled with confusion, then she revealed, “You’re him…you’re Batman, aren’t you?”

The room went silent as her words hit each of them, and she watched the billionaire persona fall away as The Dark Knight appeared. “…How’d you find out?”

(Y/N) swallowed thickly, the weight of his gaze beginning to make her nervous; she wrung her hands, voice quiet. “I didn’t until tonight…with a little help from a photo and a magazine…” She paused, then said, “You’re really him, aren’t you?” She glanced at the boys. “And they’re…them. Nightwing…Red Hood…Red Robin…Robin.”

Her gaze turned back to him. “You guys are the Batfamily.”

Bruce stared at her a moment, then walked past her murmuring, “Follow me.”

She obeyed, walking behind him into the study. Bruce twisted the hands of the clock, then a doorway appeared; he took her hand, leading her down the darkened stairway. When they got to the bottom, he led her to a wall of suits.

They stood in front of it, and she watched his stare turn almost sad as he looked at them. “…I was going to tell you in time.” He glanced over at her. “It looks like you beat me to it.”

(Y/N) looked away, frown crossing her lips as she apologized, “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to take that right from you.”

Bruce’s hand tightened around hers, and she looked back up at him. “You did take that right from me.” He eyed her, that smirk crossing his lips as he quipped, “But I know ways that you can make it up to me.”

(Y/N) huffed in disbelief, letting go of his hand. “You scoundrel.”

His smirk grew as he rounded on her, hands taking hold of her hips. “Oh, I’m not a scoundrel.”

She laughed as he pressed her against the glass suit holder. “You are a scoundrel and if you want me to make it up to you…” (Y/N) pointed to one of the suits. “Let me try that on and I will.”

Bruce chuckled, leaning close, his breath on her lips as he purred, “Where’s the point in that? It’ll just get taken off.”

(Y/N) glanced over at the case, then back to him, and begged, “But I really wanna try the suit on.” She curled her hands in his sweater, pleading with him. “Please Bruce? Just for a couple minutes?”

He raised an eyebrow and asked, “Do you really want to try the suit on?”

(Y/N) nodded fervently, hands patting his chest as she spoke excitedly. “And the belt. I wanna wear the utility belt.”

After watching her for a moment, he relented, and a few minutes later, she stood in the center of the cave, the suit barely fitting on her.

(Y/N) pulled the cowl on, eyes searching the cave until she found him; she grinned, pulling a deep voice as she posed. “I’m Batman.” Bruce let out a deep sigh through his nose and she asked, “How many times have you heard people do that?”

He grunted. “Too many.”

She smiled, walking over to him. “I just want you to know that this is badass, but this thing also weighs a ton.” (Y/N) rested her chin against his chest, staring at him. “You’re very strong, Bruce.”

He stared back at her, countering, “Tell me something I don’t know.”

(Y/N) took a deep breath, thumbs sticking under the cowl as she pulled it off; she gently took his hands, caressing the back of them, and murmured, “…I love you.” His eyes widened and she squeezed his hands, reiterating, “I love you, Bruce.”

He seemed to hesitate in his answer, but she didn’t mind, letting go of his hands in favor of wrapping her arms around him. “You don’t have to say it back yet…I know it’s early.” (Y/N) leaned into him, pressing her lips to his cheek. “But I just want you to know that I do…” She pulled away, steel-blue eyes following her as she did.

She waited for him, then he took her hand and muttered, “…I’m not an easy man to understand.”

(Y/N) smiled, gently shaking her head. “I’ve got all the time in the world to understand.”

He swallowed, meeting her eyes. “Most of my time is directed to—” Bruce gestured to the cave. “This…I don’t know if I can offer you what you want.”

(Y/N) brought his hand up to her face, pressing kisses to his palm. “Your love is all I could ever want…my Dark Knight.”

Before he could respond, a scoff sounded by the stairs followed by a voice, griping, “My Dark Knight. How original.”

The two pulled back, and she watched Bruce reach down, plucking something from the utility belt around her waist. He pulled away and chucked it towards the stairs, then a yelp sounded. “That hurt, old man!”

Bruce grinned, wrapping his arms around (Y/N). “Good. I meant for it to.”

Laughter followed, then his sons came into view, and Tim quipped, “So, we’re not lobotomizing her for figuring out our secret?”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened, but Bruce’s arms tightened around her waist as he denounced, “Not the best joke, Tim.

He pointed finger guns at her. “Sorry (Y/N)…just kidding.”

She let out a laugh that seemed more forced than not. “I would hope so.” (Y/N) cleared her throat, pulling away from Bruce’s arms. “I should probably change out of this now.”

As she took a step, a siren sounded from the Batcomputer, making them look towards it; Bruce looked back at the boys and nodded. “Go.”

Each of them moved, and she waited for them to come back. When they did, the boys passed by, giving waves and smiles (even Damian), until all that remained was her and Bruce. She stared at him, seeing him in his suit up close for the first time.

(Y/N) inhaled deeply, tracing the symbol on his chest. “Well…go save Gotham, Batman.”

A small smile crossed his lips, and he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. As he pulled away, Bruce murmured, “I’ll be back soon.”

She nodded. “Be careful…you and the boys…please.”

Bruce gave a quick nod, then walked off. He got a few feet away, then turned around, gazing at her. “(Y/N)?” She glanced at him and he confessed, “I love you too.”

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peachestinks · 4 years

Text

chapter two - heat (damian wayne)

a/n: second chapter!!!!! this one is a little more of an improvement between them, but i promise after this that there will be more development. (especially during the school year!) requests are open!! also into marvel and loads of movies/tv shows.

masterlist

warnings: none!!!! (:

ch. 1

Your aunt let out an incredulous laugh out, wrapping her arms around your mortified frame.

“W-we’re gonna go bankrupt! And we’ll never have a store again because of me! And we’ll be homeless! What’s wrong with me, oh my god, oh my god.” You continued to rant behind the counter with your aunt as she continued laughing. What had you done? Disrespecting a Wayne, and especially in your part of the city? You had a standard amount of customers, but if given a bad reputation would demolish you two forever.

“It’s okay. We’ll be okay.” She looked down at you, a soft smile present on her face.

“What harm could such a little brat do? Don’t worry your big head off, okay?” But, regardless of her reassurance, you knew she was wrong. He could do anything in order to put down your reputation. With a deep exhale and a nod, you wiped your sweaty hands on your apron and turned towards the door to continue another day.

____

Damian had had a horrible morning. And you had made it worse.

Was he dumb? That simple mistake could’ve been made by anyone, but he wasn’t anyone. What would someone say if they found out Bruce Wayne’s son couldn’t write a line correctly? Absolutely mortifying. He had worked so hard for his image to the public, but even harder for the one at home and he wasn’t going to let some waitress ruin him with something as simple as that.

But again. He had a horrible morning, and although you had made it worse, he didn’t mean to be intentionally rude to you. And yes, maybe he was being dramatic, but with his father telling him he couldn’t go on as many missions or patrols at night during the school year, had built up in him.

He had been doing his work and like any other teenager, it was last minute. He hadn’t made this a habit of course, but he was so busy throughout the summer; it barely cleared his mind of the schoolwork. It wasn’t even a lot, just simple coding; but the sound his brothers were protruding was insufferable. Did they really all have to be playing scrabble? Duke had the lead and Dick had clearly been trying to beat him silently, but Jason. God, Jason had no refrain from shouting about how something wasn’t a word but then misspelling his on his own turn. And Damian had had enough.

“You do know that there is a multitude of places to play that? Here is not one of them.” As all of his brothers looked at him, they all snickered lowly on his comment. And yet, without a second thought, they turned back to the game without responding to Damian.

Damian sighed loudly, “You do understand that I am studying, right?”

“Yes. And yes, we know there are other places, but we're having fun, y’know? We don’t care.” With a slight chuckle, Jason leaned back in his chair.

Dick shook his head, turning towards Damian, “Although I disagree that we don’t care, we do, I also think you should have fun every once in a while.”

Damian rolled his eyes. ‘Think you should have fun every once in a while.’ This brought him enjoyment! With a slam of his laptop, he stood up abruptly, ignoring the calls of his brothers.

He walked to the library, sitting at one of the desks in the corner. This. This is what he needed. Silence and his work, a perfect recipe for completion. With that, he began his work again, the clicking of keys continued.

“Finally doing homework? It feels nice to see you act like a normal teenager.” Damian snapped towards his father’s voice, his annoyance rising back up.

“With no disrespect, I came here to escape people, father.”

“I know. I wanted to have an important conversation with you.” He sat at the edge of the table, hands supporting him.

And that’s when he told him. Although Bruce said all of this with ease (as if he had practiced the speech), Damian knew Bruce expected the backlash that this would’ve caused.

Damian slammed his laptop shut, silencing his dad’s reasoning, immediately exiting the library and the manor. With a quick flick of the hand, Alfred begrudgingly followed him to the family car. Damian needed a break from this family.

Was he joking? Damian couldn’t even fathom words to describe how inexplicably tiny and thrown aside he felt. Maybe it was the inner only child, but the fact that Bruce was okay with him staying home just brought more questions. Like, did he ever really need him? And did he think Damian wasn’t capable of handling two lives at once? He had already shown his worth in the past years, but this felt like it was for nothing. That all this pressure brought upon him was just wasted in that single moment.

But, being in the car on the way back silenced his thoughts. He knew better than to just assume what his father was thinking. Yet, it didn’t make it hurt less.

And, yes, maybe he was being a bit too dramatic and now felt guilty about his outbursts, but he knew better now than to just ignore things like this.

So he was going to apologize to you, face-to-face. Not sending a gift basket like his father, or joking about it like Tim; a straightforward apology.

Now getting the confidence to do so was his only obstacle.

The next day, Damian rose from his bed determined to fix his wrongs. With a quick sequence of getting ready, he headed to the door for his short trip to the bakery cafe. The only other obstacle was getting past his brothers without them noticing.

Yes, Damian was trained in stealth, but so were his brothers. And even if he was caught and could lie, Tim would have smelled the excuse from miles away.

So with quick footsteps to the door, Damian chose a direct walk to the door rather than being suspicious; which had backfired. Instead of them not caring what he was doing, they subtly called for him to come into the room. With a huff, Damian leaned against the Dining room door frame; Jason coughing to clear his throat up to speak.

“You do know that we have an obligation to know where you go, right?”

Damian rolled his eyes, “Which is? Set by?” Tim snickered, another spoon of sugary cereal shoved into his mouth.

“Which is we’re family and set by my ass, who cares, why are you so nervous about telling us?” Damian sighed. It didn’t have to be this complicated, but of course, it was.

Jason sat, awaiting Damian’s response to his question, but Damian simply turned on his heel and sped out of the room.

A very, very terrible decision on Damian’s part. He knew how fast they could find him.

But that just gave him a little more of a challenge, didn’t it?

——

You hadn’t expected him to come back after his outburst at you, so immediately your Aunt did the most logical thing.

She took his order. Why would you go back? He could still be displeased about the whole ordeal, and you especially; considering his outburst and dramatic exit.

Damian took immediate notice of your stance on him being here: away. Very far, far away.

Well, of course, you would have. He looked up to see a strained smile from your Aunt’s face, the grip on the pen tightening. “What would you like to order, sir?”

Damian blanked. Would he tell her his plan for forgiveness? Was this whole ordeal stupid, even to her? He wanted to apologize directly so that he wasn’t a “common Wayne”, but his own person; who took actions in his own life.

Quickly, he glanced back up at her and nodded, “I came to apologize, but it seems she’s not alright with it yet. I’ll wait.” Taz’s face contorted into one of confusion and he flipped through the menu.

“I’ll also have a cup of coffee, milk on the side. Thank you.”

And so came the next four days of Damian running out of his home, waiting to apologize to you.

Taz and you leaned against the counter as you both watched him. Four days? In a row? Just to apologize to you.

“He’s been sitting there for almost ten minutes, go take his order.” You sharply turned to your Aunt and shook your head.

You turned to her and whispered, “I dealt with the last douchebag, which was literally him.”

She rolled her eyes, “If you go, I’ll give you off next Friday.” And with that, you were past the doorway.

His eyes snapped up to follow your figure towards him, your anxiousness spiking. So it began.

“What would you like to order today, sir?” And without a second thought, he ignored your question and cleared his throat.

“I’d like to apologize. I was being brash and rude; and yes, a douchebag,” Your face reddened by that. “And I would like to make it up to you, I don’t want to be known as that customer.”

You let out a breath of air you hadn’t known you were holding. He stared back at you expectantly, as if requesting for you to say something to him. Wiping your sweaty palms on your apron. “Thank you,” You shifted your weight between your heels. “I’m not really used to people apologizing; especially in this city.”

He nodded, then stuck out his hand. “I’m Damian Wayne.”

You smiled at him, grasping yours in his, “So I’ve been told. Y/n L/n.” He gave a short smile, then dropped his hand.

“I look forward to coming here more often.”

After an exchange of his order, you rushed back to the kitchen with reddened cheeks and a smile on your face. ‘I look forward to coming here more often.’ Replaying those words in your head only encouraged a brighter smile. He really had said that, and it might’ve been a jump to assume, but because of you. Your aunt shook her head at you, waiting for any details about what happened.

“He apologized.” You finally spoke leaning against the counter, helping her package treats.

She smirked at you playfully, watching you intently, “That all?”

And although it would’ve been a nice story to re-encounter, the subtle feeling of keeping this shared moment to yourself made it a bit more heartfelt. So with that, you replied, “Mmhm.”

_____

For the next three weeks, Damian came into the cafe on multiple occasions to do schoolwork, or even have a short conversation with you. It felt good, seeing him at his usual table towards the closing hours, you could get a break and subtly interact with him during your shift.

“Are you even reading that? You’ve been on the same page for the last five minutes.” He immediately looked up to you, standing above his table with a hand on your hip.

He placed the bookmark, rolling his shoulders back. “Absolutely not. This book brings me no content and is definitely one of- if not, the most boring books I have ever read.” You let out a laugh, shaking your head.

You sat across from him, realizing no one else was in the shop. Business had been slow today, but that wasn’t always bad; it meant a break. Your aunt began cleaning the tables around you two, picking up plates and mugs left behind by the last customers. You picked up the book in your hands, examining it. “It’s so small though, shouldn’t it be a quick read for you?”

Damian nodded, “I guess. I feel like you should be able to find a way to enjoy any activity; it took me a long time to learn that.”

As you opened your mouth to respond, your aunt coughed to catch both of your attention. “So, Damian, what school do you go to? Y/n is going to be starting the new school year at Gotham Prep Academy.” You glanced at her, raising your eyebrow at her question. Specific, a little too specific.

“I also go to that school, so she’ll luckily have someone to help her out.” Aunt Taz smiled at the both of you, before grabbing the broom and sweeping lightly.

You sighed inwardly and looked up to him. His face held barely any emotion, but it didn’t seem to bother you. It wasn’t a forced smile, or a judgmental look to what had happened three seconds ago and although it wasn’t a reaction to it; it wasn’t opinions on it either.

“I’m sorry if she was getting personal, we aren’t even that close of friends. She just is always curious about new friends.” Damian nodded, finally giving you a closed smile.

Damian reached out to put his book away. “I understand, my family tends to be the same way about new people.”

As he closed his bag, he got up and pushed in his chair. He glanced at you, “I’ll be looking forward to sharing classes with you.”

You smiled at him. Nodding. “I am too. See you soon, Damian.” And as he walked out, you waved him off, seeing him go into the black car that always picked him up.

Your Aunt chuckled behind you, shaking her head. “Jeez, he’s so awkward, it makes me feel awkward.” You laughed, defensively turning to Aunt Taz.

“He is not! Be nice and stop scaring my new friend off!” You playfully stuck your tongue at her as she lighting bumped your side.

You two walked into the kitchen preparing for tomorrow’s day of work, your laughter followed along.

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne imagine #robin x reader

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elareine · 4 years

Text

clock ticking (sudden silence)

Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Angst with a Happy Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Temporary Character Death, Loss, Grief/Mourning, Age Difference, Identity Reveal Summary: For twenty years, Dick Grayson has waited for his timer to begin ticking. When it finally does, there are only two issues: Jason is thirteen. And the timer only reads eighteen months.

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The thing about the timer was: It didn’t tell you anything about your soulmate, only how long you would have together.

Dick had heard people talking about how they ‘sensed’ who it was before they ever met the person, how they just knew their soulmate(s) would be sweet and gentle and fiery and perfect. Some even said it came to them in dreams, the vague shape of a face they loved more than anyone else.

Privately, Dick thought that was bullshit. It was a timer, nothing more. They all had the same lettering, the same number system, everything. There was no way of knowing what the other person would be like.

When he had been a child, he’d thought he would meet his soulmate in the circus for sure. He couldn’t imagine anything different. Perhaps it would be an audience member, coming up to meet him after the performance. Maybe one of the countless children that tried to sneak in to watch, one of the ones that looked so poor, the circus owners decided to turn a blind eye and allow them some joy, therefore helping Dick meet the love of his life.

But deep down, he’d always thought it would be another acrobat. Someone joining the circus. Someone who knew the sheer joy of flying, the thrill of danger and an audience. Someone to become part of his family.

That dream crashed spectacularly, of course. Try as he might, Dick never found quite another dream to replace that one. Would they be handsome or beautiful? If they were his soulmate, he would think so for sure, and that was all that mattered. Would they be kind? Supportive? A rock to lean on?

He’d told himself that it wouldn’t matter until his timer started, and maybe not even then.

Bruce’s timer, for example, was ticking. Dick had spotted it for the first time months into their partnership. He’d been confused, had asked if he had met Bruce’s soulmate—where were they?

In those days, Bruce had still been willing to answer Dick’s questions. He said: Sometimes, even soulmate relationships didn’t work out. It was a chance, a hint, nothing more. With him being a vigilante, the choice to be together wasn’t as easy as kids’ movies made it out to be.

(He had never actually mentioned the name of his soulmate. Back then, Dick had thought he knew anyway. Now, he wasn’t so sure.)

(He also thought Bruce had been full of shit that day.)

His teenage years were pretty good, romantically speaking. Sexually, too. Some lovely puppy love, a bit of experimentation, the conclusion that yep, he was going to continue using the gender-neutral ‘they’ for his future soulmate, but probably not in the plural sense.

Still, he kept waiting for his timer to start ticking.

He heard about the new kid before he ever met him. He and Batman weren’t exactly on speaking terms at the time, but. Rumors spread, and soon, so did videos of the kid in the Robin mantle. Seeing how Dick was now twenty and very much not built like that anymore, the conclusion that he had been replaced was pretty much inevitable.

It would be accurate to say Dick didn’t react well to the news. Bruce had every right to take in another child, but how dare he call him Robin? Nevermind that Dick himself had moved on from that title. It wasn’t Bruce’s to give.

So his first time meeting the kid was already tense as hell. The fact that his timer started ticking the exact moment he laid eyes on Jason didn’t help.

Dick was panicking.

Jason was thirteen.

He was tiny.

Okay, he wasn’t, he was pretty average for his age, he went up to Dick’s chest, even, but the keywords here were ‘for his age’ because Jason was thirteen.

Dick wasn’t a pervert, okay. There was nothing sexy about a teenager that had just hit puberty to him. His replacement, nonetheless. His brother.

But maybe all of that would’ve been fine. They could’ve become friends or made sure to meet up later in life when the age difference wouldn’t seem so monumental. Seven years wasn’t so much once both of you were out of puberty. Dick could’ve morphed from a big brother figure to something closer over time. He’d have enjoyed that, probably.

But none of that would happen because the timer only had 18 months left from the day it began.

Dick didn’t say anything to Jason. When the younger sought him out, he kept their interactions short. His ongoing problems with Bruce were a good enough reason to stay away from the manor, from Gotham, and to never talk about this. Either he would die far away from the kid, never to be mourned, or Jason himself would die, having lived unencumbered by soulmate that was way too old for him. It was better that way.

His friends found out in one of the worst ways possible: by accident, two days before the timer was due to stop.

Jason had disappeared over a week ago. Dick had tried to warn Bruce, had fully intended to at least be in Gotham and try to stop it from happening because although these things were rarely wrong, he knew he wouldn’t ever forgive himself for not trying—but Jason had disappeared so much earlier than he’d thought.

In a way, that made it worse. If Jason had indeed been kidnapped (and according to Bruce, signs were that he’d left on his own, but you never knew what the incentive for that might’ve been), then Dick didn’t want to imagine the torture Jason would have to suffer in the week before he died.

He still did, of course. That was why Kori and Wally had caught him staring at the ticking time bomb on his wrist.

There was no need to explain, no way to hide what was happening. Kori sighed, “Oh, Dick,” and Wally was wrapped around him in a hug faster than Dick could tell that he was fine.

“Is there anything we can do?”

Dick looked into Kori’s beautiful green eyes and seriously considered the question. A speedster, an alien, a man trained by the world’s greatest detective. Together, they had saved the city—heck, the world—from certain disaster more than once.

But they couldn’t fight against fate. Dick shook his head.

Eventually, they made to leave, and truthfully, Dick was glad. He didn’t know how to talk about this. How to tell them that no, he had no idea where his soulmate was because he had rejected him, hadn’t even kept a close watch.

But Kori turned around.

“Just,” she closed her eyes, “is it one of us?”

Understanding her fear all too well, he put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “No.”

At least there was that. No one here would miss Jason.

Bruce didn’t tell him when he found a lead, he just went. Dick wasn’t even mad about that. He hadn’t been entirely honest with Bruce, either.

Besides, when he got the alert that the Batplane had taken off and saw his timer tick down its last hours, he already knew that Bruce would be too late.

00:02.

Dick watched the last hours tick down on his timer. Now that it was happening, he would give anything to be in Ethiopia. He barely knew the boy—nothing beyond his history and that he was Dick’s soulmate; that he was Robin—but he knew that Jason didn’t deserve to die alone.

Bruce hadn’t reached out to him at all. Neither had Alfred.

00:01.

It was agonizing.

00:00.

Jason’s last hour had begun. Dick set the stopwatch on his phone for sixty minutes. The timer didn’t go into so many details. He’d tried to find out just how accurate it was; the results had been dispiriting. Jason could, as of now, be dead. Or he could live and breathe and hope for another 59 minutes.

The whole time, he prayed for his display to change. That Bruce would do the impossible once more, defeat fate, and buy Jason more time. Buy themmore time, now that Dick suddenly and painfully realized that he wanted there to be a them so badly, in any way he could get.

His stopwatch beeped. It was over. Dick hadn’t felt a thing, couldn’t have told you when his soulmate died, but it was over.

When he heard about what actually happened, it was worse.

Here’s a secret Dick never told anyone: He still wished Bruce had not even tried to revive the Joker. The old bastard had died that day like he deserved—unmourned.

Once Dick went through Jason’s things.

Bruce wasn’t home—gone on one of these trips he took these days, the ones filled with revenge and darkness in a way they hadn’t been before. If Alfred knew what Dick was doing, he didn’t comment. And after all, Dick thought mutinously, why shouldn’t he be here? This had been his room, once upon a time. He had a right to see what happened to it.

There were books there now. So many books. Jason hadn’t been choosy; classic French literature was crammed in next to space operas and cowboy romance. When Dick idly pulled one out, he could see scrawled comments in the margins. Apparently, Jason had considered “The Great Gatsby” to ‘suck ass.’

The room itself was much more orderly than when Dick had been responsible for tidying it. No way to tell if that was because Jason was a neat-freak or because Alfred had cleaned it out since his death, though.

It took Dick a second to realize what was missing. There was only one photograph, Batman and Robin heading into the night. Where were the family pictures? Dick remembered his own collection: his parents, the circus folk, his friends, Bruce and Alfred and Babs and Clark…

Maybe Jason had taken them with him when he left.

Still Dick’s eyes searched the room, hungry for something more personal than books and tidy clothes on a hanger. Finally, he saw it: a simple brown teddy bear, almost hidden by the curtains.

“Hey, little buddy,” he murmured, crouching down. “What’re you doing in the corner like that?”

In his mind’s eye, Dick could see Jason arguing with Bruce—or maybe just quietly seething in anger—, finally throwing the bear into the corner, his decision made.

Dick hesitated, but—he couldn’t leave the bear. It shouldn’t lie here, abandoned in a mausoleum. It went home with him that night, and to every home since.

It was such a fucking cliché, but after that, life went on.

Dick could see the empty space Jason left behind in Bruce’s life, in Alfred’s, hell, even in Tim’s, in Gotham itself—but the only thing for him that had changed was the nature of his guilt.

Eventually, he started dating again, unwilling to be chained to the ghost of a what-if. It was okay. People had relationships after their soulmates died. Sure, there were forums full of people complaining that nothing compared to dating The One. Wasn’t like Dick had anything to compare it to, though, so he was in the clear.

He and Babs really gave it a try. There was no universe in which Dick wasn’t glad that they did. She would always be one of the most important people in his life.

After they split up, the responsibilities keep piling onto him. Being a full-time vigilante with duties to more than city, to more than one team, heck, even to an international spy agency—it kept him busy. Distracted. Until fate found him again.

Dick’s timer was ticking again, only this time, he genuinely had no idea who had set it off. Maybe he’d been too busy, too numb to notice during patrol. It wasn’t unheard, people gaining a second chance at a soulmate. Dick just hadn’t exactly considered the possibility for himself, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

It read two years.

Dick wanted to throw something against the wall. Why? Why would he only be granted so little time? How much of it had he already wasted because he hadn’t noticed when it started ticking?

How many chances would he be granted, just for his love to leave him? Was this to be his doom?

You sound like Batman.

Dick stopped and pulled himself up. The last time this had happened, he’d been twenty, unsure of his place in the family and the world, ill-equipped to handle an already devastating situation.

That wasn’t him anymore.

This time, he would take whatever time they had. And when it ended, he’d be grateful for it, and keep living his life.

He just had to find them first.

There was a new vigilante in town. For months, he was but a rumor of a red helmet and dead bodies left in his wake—until he made his big move.

The takeover of the Penguin lounge had been well-planned and viciously executed, and there wasn’t a damn thing any of them could do about it, not when all the Red Hood’s minions were loyal to him and his precautions excellent. He stayed far away from Batman and Robin; he seemed to have an understanding with Catwoman; his policy seemed to be to protect the street workers.

Somehow, he’d moved himself to the bottom of Batman’s list. Still, Dick knew he made Bruce uneasy. All their attempts to find out more about the man failed. Even when Tim managed to listen in on the club’s communications for almost a whole day, all they got was a name: Red Hood.

He was a rumor, until the day he sought out Dick on the rooftops.

“Red Hood.”

“Nightwing.” The other man’s voice was metallic, a voice modulator giving nothing away about its original timbre. “What brings you to Gotham?”

“Helping out on a case.” Nightwing’s connection to Batman wasn’t a secret. Dick would be astonished if there was still a citizen left that didn’t know Nightwing and Robin I were the same person. “What brings you to this roof?”

“You’re going after Sionis.”

“Yes.” Or at least, he was now.

“He hurt one of my own. He’s mine now. Stay away.”

Dick did his best not to snort. That was bullshit. His own interest in the Sionis case had been cursory at best. If Red Hood had just waited three days to eliminate him, Dick never would’ve noticed.

“What about him is so interesting that it warrants you coming out of hiding?”

The helmet tilted to the side. Dick would be damned if he could tell you why he found the movement so provoking, but he did. “Who says it’s Sionis I’m interested in?”

“Uh.” Dick was sure his eyes were wide behind the domino. Was Red Hood… hitting on him?

“Tell Batman to stay out of my business.”

With that, the other man shot a grapple and vanished. Dick made no move to follow him.

Dick expected that to be it. He returned to Blüdhaven, leaving Gotham and its secrets for Bruce to deal with. Except that particular secret seemed to have singled him out.

The first time he saw Red Hood in a fight in his city, he did nothing, merely observing the other’s fighting skills critically. Not bad. He had clearly been trained in a variety of fighting styles and was quicker than you’d expect for a man of his size. His left hook was good enough to rival Bruce’s.

Dick was still pretty sure he could take him in a fight.

“Are you just going to watch?” Red Hood called out, gripping one of his attackers by the throat and dangling him into the air.

“I dunno, you seem to have it pretty well in hand,” Dick sniggered.

“Never mind.” Red Hood dropped the now-unconscious man, turning to disable the next one with a well-placed nerve strike. Dick noted that unlike some of the scenes he’d seen in Gotham, Red Hood seemed to have no interest in killing these men. That implied he had some sort of value system. Interesting. “Please leave. That was terrible.”

Dick eyes the entrance of the alley. A group of armed thugs was gathering, clearly ready to strike. Decision made, he jumped from the roof, landing right beside Red Hood. “Sorry, but I can’t let you have all the fun.”

“Spoilsport.”

“You come into my city and then complain when I help you?”

“Oh, is that what you call this? ‘Cause all I can see is you standing around and jibbering.”

Dick thought the criminals he was currently sending a few thousand volts through might beg to differ. Between the two of them, they had the entire gang out in less than ten minutes.

It was, Dick reluctantly conceded, fun.

It became something of a regular occurrence after that. Nightwing would drop by Red Hood’s territory whenever he was in Gotham, and Red Hood would return the favor with regular visits to Blüdhaven. They’d banter, punch out some criminals, collect whatever they had come for, and go their separate ways. Not exactly a friendship, but something easy. Comfortable.

Until the night they busted a heroin ring in an abandoned warehouse and found some kids hiding three rooms down.

Dick saw the boy first. He couldn’t be more than twelve. His body was skinny, and not in the way teens sometimes got after a growth spurt.

Not knowing what else to do, Dick gave a wave. “Hi. I’m Nightwing. What’s your name?”

“I don’t want to tell you.” As soon as he uttered the words, the boy tensed, visibly expecting punishment.

Dick smiled. “That’s okay. I’ll tell you a secret—Nightwing’s not my real name, either.”

“Well, duh.” The teen scowled, but he did look less afraid. Then he looked over Dick’s shoulder and asked: “Who is that with my sister?”

Dick turned around to see Red Hood kneeling and… wearing a blonde wig? He blinked.

The little girl in front of him hiccuped, still crying but visible distracted by the big shiny helmet. Wearing a wig. Where had Hood even found that?

“That’s Red Hood,” Dick told him, trying to sound as if all of this was perfectly normal. God, he hoped the kids hadn’t heard the fighting. What a terrible time to pick this warehouse.

“What’re vigilantes doing here? Is something happening? Were there guns?”

“Sort of. I’m afraid this place isn’t safe, but we can bring you somewhere else for the night,” Dick said.

Red Hood looked up and suggested: “The sisters on St John Street. They’re good people.”

“No one will separate you,” Dick added. “Just help. Get you some food, somewhere to sleep safely.”

The boy looked at them. “We’re not going back to—to—”

“You won’t have to,” Red Hood promised, and Dick nodded. Not if he had anything to say about it—and once he would investigate whoever it was that they were running from, he would have.

“How about we accompany you?” Dick suggested.

The boy looked hesitant, but the girl suddenly gave a giggle. “You can’t walk like that,” she told Red Hood.

“Why not?”

“You look silly, dummy!”

“Well, that’s very rude of you to say.” And just like that, the wig still perched on the helmet, Red Hood stepped out onto the street. He was walking rather uncannily like a model, Dick noted with some amusement.

The girl followed him, still laughing and pulling her brother along. “No! Take it off!”

“But I feel so pretty!”

The distraction worked, and the walk to the center for vulnerable children passed quickly. Only there did Red Hood take off the wig, making a big show of stuffing into his belt to hide his ‘shame.’ “Your wish is my command,

The girl’s priorities seemed to have changed, though. “C’mon,” told her brother, “they said there’s food in there.”

But the teenager hesitated, looking at Dick. “Are you sure they’re okay?”

Dick was about to reassure them again, heartbroken by the hesitant hope in their eyes, when Red Hood said: “Yeah. I stayed with them a few times when I was your age. They get it.”

He didn’t mean the boy’s age, Dick realized. Jesus.

“Okay.”

Dick let them head in alone. They needed to see that they would welcome on their own, vigilante accompanying them or not. He would talk to the workers in a minute or two.

Red Hood’s metallic voice broke the silence. “So, I’m assuming you’re going to look into whoever did this to them.”

“You bet. Aren’t you?”

“Oh, yes. You better be quick.”

Dick had already planned on that, but: “Why?”

“I do not like child abusers, and I clean up after myself.” With that statement, Red Hood gave a little wave. The casual movement was belied by the suppressed rage that suddenly seemed to pour out of his every pore. “See you.”

Dick stared after him, undecided.

He had allowed himself to be judge, jury, and executioner once, and never regretted it. Not once had he since felt the desire or need to be in that position again.

Didn’t mean he didn’t get it.

In the end, he decided to head inside. The kids needed him, and they were what was important here.

Still. Life had just become a lot more complicated.

“We should eat.”

“Sure. Let’s have a picnic. Just you, me, the stars, and the person we’re staking out. How romantic.”

“Shut up.” Red Hood casually dropped a lunchbox next to where Dick was sitting. “You haven’t eaten in all day.”

“I’m not in danger of fainting, you know.” Still, Dick couldn’t help but open the box. “Pasta salad?”

Red Hood shrugged. “Carbs.”

It honestly smelled terrific. Red Hood had even brought a fork. Dick was ready to dig in when he realized something.

Red Hood was still wearing his helmet.

“So… you’re just going to sit there and watch me eat?”

Red Hood crossed his arms. “Well, if you say it like that, it just sounds creepy.”

“Yeah, exactly. You don’t want any food?”

“I’ll eat later.”

Dick considered him. “I bet you I could get that off you in less than two minutes.”

“Believe me, you don’t want to.”

For the first time, the other vigilante turned his back to Dick. There was what Dick recognized to be a trigger device at the back of his helmet. Dick shuddered. Red Hood would rather have his head explode than someone see his face without his consent.

“Okay, don’t take it off then. That looks like it would spoil the meal.”

“My point exactly. Do you always talk so much when there’s food on the table?”

Dick grumbled, but he did start eating after that. Damn. That pasta was goood.

Three days later, Red Hood shot a man that was about to decapitate Dick with an ax. He even left the criminal alive. Dick tried not to be charmed.

“Well, fuck.” Red Hood stared at the little dot on Dick’s display in dismay. “Guess it’s back to Blüdhaven for us.”

“Looks like it.” Dick sighed. Just what he’d needed. His ride was back in Blüdhaven since he’d taken a detour through space on his way here. Looked like he’d need to borrow one from Bruce. It was that or public transport.

As if he’d read his thoughts, Red Hood asked: “Want a ride?”

“You got a car?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, but no.” Hood fiddled with something on his belt. For a minute, nothing happened. Then Dick heard the noise of a smooth motor approaching. Red Hood made a ‘ta-da’ motion with his hand as a red and silver machine turned the corner. “I got a bike.”

Dick whistled. “Wow, my little brother would love that.”

“He got one of his own?”

“Nah, he’s thirteen, just a kid.” That may be slightly too much information to give out, but Dick had honestly stopped caring at some point. “It’s all about skateboards for now.”

“Is he turning his sick tricks in the local park or on the rooftops?”

“You could always just meet him.”

Red Hood snorted. “I have no desire to meet any more bats or birds.”

“And yet you keep hanging out with me.”

“Yeah.” A sigh. “Dunno why I keep doing this to myself.”

Suddenly feeling defensive, Dick crossed his arms. “Hey, we’re not that bad.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“You haven’t even met them.” Or Bruce wouldn’t be trying to milk Dick for information about their meetings.

“Oh yes I have.”

Red Hood froze. Dick pounced. “When?”

But it was no use. “Look. I’ll make you a deal. We don’t talk about Batman anymore tonight, and you get to drive.”

Dick considered that. “If I say no, are you just going to leave?”

“Yupp.”

“Fine.”

Ten minutes later, with Red Hood’s arms wound tightly around his middle, the bike humming between his legs, Dick couldn’t even be mad.

Sometimes, Dick worried. Red Hood was too casual about his own life. Even as he made friends—not just Dick, but Roy and Kori and Artemis and, somehow, a Superman clone—he threw himself into the kind of situations that made even Dick take a step back and evaluate.

He was too reckless. It was as if his life didn’t matter. If Hood went on like this, he’d be dead within a year or two—Dick froze.

Could… could Red Hood be his soulmate?

His timer had begun ticking again before he met the other vigilante on that rooftop. That didn’t mean he couldn’t have passed him on the street one day before that, though. Or rather, one night: It must’ve been in his Nightwing garb. If Red Hood knew, or suspected, that would explain why he sought Nightwing out.

Granted, the odds were slim. But it was possible.

Funnily enough, Dick never once asked himself whether he wanted Hood to be his soulmates. Why wouldn’t he? Underneath that anger, he suspected Red Hood to be one of the kindest men he’d ever met, and he’d been nothing but supportive to Dick.

Still. He had to treat this with caution.

Look. Dick knew he should be with his friends and/or family, celebrating his birthday, not out here, jumping from rooftop to rooftop in Blüdhaven. It just felt… right, this year. Days like these, Dick couldn’t bear looking at what was left of his friends. All he would do was count the empty spaces. Patrol was safer, somehow.

Of course, the one time he was looking for a distraction on his birthday, he didn’t find any. Blüdhaven was weirdly quiet. It took Dick two hours to figure out why.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, bemused.

Red Hood, visibly startled, turned around—then swore when the two-bit criminal he’d been cornering took the chance to sprint off into the sunset. “Dammit, was that necessary?”

“Eh, you’ll catch him. So?”

“I was in the area, and I didn’t expect you to—never mind. What are you working on?”

Dick shrugged as casually as possible. “Nothing in particular. Just patrol, business as usual, you know. How about you?”

“I was following a lead, but it just fled for the hills.” Red Hood sighed, always a funny sound through the helmet.

“Ooops,” Dick said, not apologetic at all. “How about that. Whatever are you going to do with your evening.”

He’d meant it as a joke—there was always more crime to hunt down—but the other man paused. “Actually. There’s something I wanted to show you.”

‘Something’ turned out to be yet another rooftop perch, this time in one of the poorer districts. Dick didn’t get what was so special about this until the first family left their house. Another followed, and another, until there were about thirty people gathered, nearly half of them children.

“Watch,” Red Hood murmured.

One man put down a large bag and took out an object. For one terrible second, Dick thought it was a missile—but no. A rocket, but one of the harmless variety.

The kids cheered as several of the adults prepared the fireworks. The first rocket went up, bathing the street in the light of its beautiful golden rain. It was quickly followed by a serious of smaller, purple blasts, underlined by a wheel of blue lights.

“They do this once a month,” Red Hood told him. “To bring some light to the city.”

Dick pressed his shoulder companionably into the other man’s. “This is neat. Thank you.”

“What are you thanking me for?” Ah, there was the embarrassed grumbling again. Dick had learned to tell. “Shut up already and watch, you’re louder than the fireworks.”

He didn’t move away, though. Dick counted it as a win.

“It was supposed to be me,” the woman whispered, over and over again.

Dick kept his grip on her shoulder tight to keep her from running to into the fire and to her soulmate. He’d seen the body. There was nothing they could do. “I’m sorry, but—”

“You don’t understand!” she yelled, suddenly furious. “That’s my wife! My soulmate!”

He wanted to tell her: “I do understand.” However, did he really? Jason had been more of a concept than a real person.

(Red Hood, however little information Dick had about him, was very, definitely real. Dick tried not to imagine the kind of hole someone like that would leave in his life.)

Instead, he said: “She wouldn’t want you to follow her.”

With one last anguished cry, the woman collapsed against his chest.

As he watched the police car drive off, Dick considered going home. As far as he was concerned, this night could go fuck itself. But… he didn’t want to be alone.

“Can’t be easy, something like that.”

Relief flooded Dick at the metallic voice even before he turned around to greet the other vigilante. With Red Hood, he wouldn’t have to be alone. He knew that deep in his bones.

“No,” he replied belatedly. “No, it can’t be. Isn’t.”

“Are you alright?”

Dick frowned. “Yes? This hasn’t been a great night so far, but patrol is nearly over, so—”

“You’re bloody.”

“Oh.” Dick lifted his hands and studied the scratches that now marked him. “It’s fine.”

Red Hood, though, took one of Dick’s hands in his and studied it as if to inspect the wounds. “Those are gouges.”

“She was desperate.”

“Understandable.” Red Hood dropped Dick’s hand. It felt cold. “I think if I lost my soulmate, I would go searching for them in any way I could. Try to save them, somehow.”

There was something pointed about these words. Dick couldn’t quite grasp it. “Destiny doesn’t negotiate.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Brought me here, didn’t it?”

And that was—

Dick closed his eyes, just to think for a moment. The way the other man was behaving, there was good reason to think he might suspect himself to be Dick’s soulmate. All Dick would have to do was ask, and maybe, just maybe, something he’d wanted for a very long time would be within his grasp.

But Jason’s shadow still loomed over him. He couldn’t forget that boy. He mustn’t. It was the least of what he owed him.

“I had a soulmate before,” Dick told him.

Red Hood cocked his head to the side. “Had?”

Somehow, his tone was more surprised than emphatic. That didn’t exactly fill Dick with confidence, but he continued: “He died. My timer was set for only eighteen months. He was—he was just a boy, really.”

Suddenly he realized he was crying. It was the first time he’d let his guard down, really down, about this, and something about Red Hood made it impossible for him to pull it back up.

Embarrassed, he covered his face with his hands. “I’m sorry.”

Gloved hands settled on his shoulders. “Hey, no, it’s okay, you don’t have to—“

“I fucked it up, Hood. Left him alone. It was selfish and stupid and I—I can’t—” Dick stopped talking. It wouldn’t come out without sobs, anyway.

Red Hood’s hands stayed on him during the minutes he cried silently, pressing down hard enough to hurt Dick, to anchor him; but he didn’t say anything. He just waited, and when Dick was coherent again, he asked: “What happened?”

“He died,” Dick said simply. “I murdered his killer, but that does not bring him back.”

There was a long silence. It should’ve been tense, nervous, now that even the last of Dick’s secrets had been exposed. Instead Dick felt resigned. Either this would be too much, even for the Red Hood, or not.

This was who he was. There was no changing that, no matter how hard he’d tried.

“Well, fuck, now I’m not even slightly angry with you anymore, what the fuck.”

Dick frowned. That… wasn’t what he’d expected. “What do you mean?”

“You know I fully intended on some kind of revenge plot here? I thought maybe a dramatic reveal in front of all of the bats, you know, or at least something accompanied by a lot of yelling and triumph, not to mention bloodshed,” the Red Hood told him almost conversationally as he stood back and began fiddling with the mechanism at the back of his helmet. “But no, you have to go and be a much better man than I thought, Dickie. Of fucking course.”

All the alarm bells began to ring in Dick’s head. “What did you just call me?”

The helmet came off.

“…Jason?”

They were so different. Hood was taller than Jason; a man instead of a boy. His hair was dark, yes, but there was white streak running through it. His jaw had filled out, his bearing straightened, his eyes turned slightly greener.

And yet.

Dick knew.

“Yeah. Uh. Surprise. Guess you didn’t know? I wasn’t completely sure before today.”

Dick filed the notion that Jason thought him (or the rest of the family, for that matter) capable of just quietly ignoring his resurrection away for some other day. Right now, he was too busy trying to breathe.

“Dick?” There was concern in that voice now. “Are you okay?”

“Am I—” Breathing. “How?”

“Maybe you should sit down?” Jason looked like he expected Dick to faint any minute now. Dick admitted that might not be too far from the truth ‘cause what the fuck, but it didn’t matter right now, because: “You died.”

“Yes.” Jason ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Don’t ask me how or I got out of that grave, I don’t either.”

Dick didn’t know what to say to that.

“Talia al Ghul rescued me,” Jason continued, talking more quickly as if wanting to get it over with. “I wasn’t whole, so… Lazarus Pit. And then she trained me and told me a whole bunch of stuff, some of which turned out to be true, some of which didn’t. And now I’m here.”

“But—” he whispered. This was dialogue straight out of a terrible Hallmark movie, but he needed to know. “My timer—”

“Dick,” Jason looked at him with a steady gaze, “my timer has read the same time ever since I met you.” He lifted his wrist and pulled off the leather glove.

46:04.

Dick stared at it helplessly. That was the kind of number he’d only ever dreamed of. And it was supposed to be his and Jason’s?

His and Jason’s. Because Jason was his soulmate, returned to him from the dead without Dick’s knowledge or help. That, finally, what was got through the shock, rattling Dick back into reality.

Dick looked him into the eyes—and God, those eyes; if there hadn’t been that helmet, that modulator, Jason would’ve had no way of hiding himself—and said something he’d wanted to say for seven years: “I’m sorry.”

“I told you I’m not angry anymore.”

“I should’ve been there for you,” Dick insisted.

For the first time, Jason looked away. “In a way, you were.”

“I was what?”

“There with me. I can’t speak for what was happening when I was dead—don’t remember, mostly glad about that—but when I clawed my way out of that grave, I had no idea who you were. I had no idea who I was, really. But I saw that timer and knew that someone, somewhere, was waiting for me.”

Dick couldn’t help himself, reaching out with trembling hands to finally, finally pull Jason close. Burying his head in the other man’s shoulder, he whispered tremulously: “I was, Jason. I didn’t even know it, but I was.”

Strong arms wrap around him to hold on just as tightly. For the first time in years, Dick felt his head quieten.

Still he had to ask: “How can you forgive me?”

“Okay, one? As an adult myself now, I completely understand why you freaked out. Teenagers are babies. A+ not taking advantage of me.”

Dick chuckled wetly.

“Two… I’ve seen you open your heart again. Tim, he’s actually your brother. Your friends.” Jason was talking into his hair ear now. Maybe it was easier that way. “You keep doing that, Dick, just opening up and taking people in and being vulnerable, and I don’t know how you do that, really, it’s kinda worrying, but—I cannot blame you for being tired just one time of losing people.”

“You should,” Dick told him, “I do.”

“Yeah, well, no-one said you were smart.”

That got a laugh out of Dick. He let it shake through him, then asked: “Why did you hide when you came back?”

“I didn’t want to see Bruce. Still don’t.” Jason’s voice was matter of fact.

Dick knew they would have to talk about that. Not now. “Why come back at all, then?”

“It’s my home. Also, I didn’t want to just give up on you, you know?”

The side of Jason’s neck was naked and vulnerable without the helmet. Dick pressed a kiss there in gratitude.

“When I didn’t know if you figured out my identity or not, I wanted to see what happened,” Jason continued. “I figured, this situation is fucked up and all, but it’s also a chance.”

“A chance?”

“My last turn as a vigilante in Gotham was kinda a shitshow. So I thought I’d just prove that—that I could be what you want. That I could do better. I don’t know if I can ever be good, not the way you and Batman want me to be—”

“Jason,” Dick interrupted him, pulling back to look at Jason; his voice fierce with the obviousness of what he had to say, “you are exactly what I want. If I had ever taken any time to know you before, I’d have known that, and I wanted you since I got to know you as the Red Hood. If you think there is any way I am letting you go again—“

Now they were talking in circles. Jason seemed to notice that, too, for he cupped Dick’s jaw mid-sentence and kissed him.

It was a hesitant kiss, slightly at odds with the confident way Jason acted otherwise; Dick realized with a pang that, of course, his teenage years hadn’t lent themselves to the same experimentation that Dick’s had. Still, he was so gentle, not letting go of Dick even as his hand trembled on his face, and the soft sigh he let out when Dick cupped his nape was nothing short of sweet.

There was a softness in this that warmed Dick from the inside out.

When they pulled apart, Dick had to giggle. This night had been an emotional rollercoaster; he felt air-headed and silly with it. “We probably shouldn’t do this here.”

“Not good for the reputation,” Jason agreed, his voice low. Dick liked it.

“Come home with me?”

“Sure.”

When Dick looked surprised at Jason’s easy acceptance, Jason shrugged. “I’ve been dying to take that mask off of you. Knowing you, it’s glued on with a special mixture only you got the remover for, though.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. “Oh,” Dick said, remembering something. “Actually, I got someone at home who would love to see you.”

“Don’t tell me you got a kid that I somehow missed.”

“Nah. Better.” Dick smiled. “A bear.”

The next morning, after he woke up in Jason’s arms; after they showered separately and ate breakfast together and just tried to parse out what this meant for the rest of their lives—that morning, Dick looked at his timer and saw that it now read 07:22.

Jason seemed fascinated by the change. “I think I read a study about mismatched timers before. There’s a theory that they reflect our choices really more than our fate, and are meant to influence our actions—maybe I should look it up…”

“I think,” Dick said firmly, “that we should cover the damn things up and never look at them again.”

Jason considered that. “Yeah, okay. Sounds like a plan.”

#jaydick #elareine writes #well that only took a year or so

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