My favorite hc for Tim is that his stress relief is fucking over other villains. He makes his bad days their problem.
Are the city officials being needlessly tedious in Neon Knights programs? Luthor suddenly has IRS knocking on his door for improper tax filing.
Did one of his siblings postpone plans? Deathstroke starts to have difficulty finding contracts.
Does he get an injury that prevents him from patrolling for a few weeks? Ra's doesn't need so many Lazarus Pits.
He's petty and takes his anger out on villains without warning. Could he do any of these actions before he gets annoyed with life? Yes. Does he purposefully wait until he wants to snap? Also yes.
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Story Idea:
22 year old Gotham University student Danny finds a Damien clone whose near death and saves his life, offering to let the kid stay with him in his crappy apartment. The clone accepts, thinking Danny seems like a tolerable chump to bide his time with as he builds his strength for another fight with his progenitor for his rightful place as heir to Batman. Danny absolutely 100% knows the kid’s a clone and that taps right into his childhood trauma, making him want to protect him all the more. (Up to you if Dani is alive but in my version she’s not). Over time, Clone!Damien becomes begrudgingly fond of his new caretaker, especially after Danny starts taking him on Doctor Who style adventures through time/space and the tamer parts of the GZ (there are none) as part of his efforts to build up the kid’s confidence (outside his overcompensating ego) and help him learn to grow into his own person.
Bonus!
Danny and Clone!Damien are the downstairs neighbors to none other than Jason Peters (aka Jason Todd). They both clock him as Red Hood pretty quickly, but it takes much longer for them to connect him to the Waynes, so he’s kinda just their marginally more normal neighbor who happens to be a crime lord and who, for some reason, tends to check up on them a lot. (Originally this was because RH thought Danny might be an upcoming villain, then because he didn’t understand how Danny was alive, and then Clone!Damien moved in and he started checking to make sure that he didn’t murder Danny in his sleep). Luckily, Jason is a fantastic cook, so they are both grateful (to varying degrees) for his nosiness. (Is this a Dead on Main situation, are they just good friends? Who’s to say? You. Or me. But probably you.)
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Tw: Death, abuse
Villain Tim AU to Abusive!Bruce
Bruce hits, psychological tortures, and verbally/emotional abuses his kids. Tim, who's a villain, is fed up with this.
Tim twirls the revolver as he lazily peers at the man beneath his foot. He's bleeding, the head wound leaking into his eyes, and his breaths are coming out fast. The man is certainly not in a decent state and can't fight back.
"Recognize where we are, Batman?"
The man glowers at his son above him, his jaw clenched as he refuses to answer.
"No answer, B? Typical." The younger man rolls his eyes and presses his foot harder into Bruce's broken ribs. The father doesn't even grimace in pain. Tim's disappointed.
The gun finally stills in the younger man's hand, but his grip is loose. He uses that hand to gesture at their surroundings.
"It's the alley that created Batman and the place that caused an entire section of the city to fall into poverty. I wonder if Joe Chill realized he'd be damning entire city blocks by killing two people."
Tim shrugs as a coy smile suddenly appears.
"Say... this is also where you picked up Jason, right? The child you cared for, drove out to die, and then viscously beat when he returned?"
Tim grinds his foot into Bruce's torso as the smile drops from his face.
"I'm not a fan of those who hurt my siblings. I never retaliated against you in the past because it would've hurt them. No matter how much abuse you dealt out, they still loved you. Hell. I loved you too."
Tim's eyes drift down to the weapon he holds. Bruce's eyes follow and the grin Tim bears is cruel.
"Ah. You know this gun, right? For the two bullets it fired, you're intimate with its make, model, and the scratches on its handle. I bet you could recreate it perfectly from memory."
The man's eyes narrow, and his voice is hoarse when he speaks. Blood beads at the corner of his mouth, and his face is filled with barely contained rage. "Where did you get that?"
Tim snorts as he twirls the revolver in his hand again.
"You melted the original one, correct? Turned it into a symbol of protection after you bought it from an auction?"
Bruce doesn't bother to respond. Tim didn't need him to.
"You're not the only one who can replicate a weapon precisely. When you have a speedster for a friend, time travel is easy as well."
For a second, devastated horror flashes on Bruce's face. A moment that meant a lot to the older man was ruined with a fake. That, more so than the bruises littering his body, pains the older man.
Tim leans closer to Bruce and presses the barrel to the father's head.
Arctic eyes frozen in fury stare at resiliently bitter blue eyes. The teen's face falls to impassiveness as he regards his once mentor.
"You should've kept your hands off of my siblings. When I see you in hell, tell me how it feels to die the same way your parents did."
Three gun shots ring out in the alley. When the police arrive at the scene after a slow response time, they find Bruce Wayne sprawled out in the same spot Martha and Thomas Wayne were killed over three decades ago.
They never find who shot the Prince of Gotham.
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Factually, I know Bruce is a bad cook. In my wonderland brain, however, he's a baker in some Hell's Kitchen-esque neighborhood, both flourishing and festering down the Narrow's ribs.
Curiously, The Bat seems particularly focused on protecting this joint. And whoever walks in it.
The classic myth of food is that it brings people together; That's the one thing everyone, under the greyscale rainbow in Gotham, has in common. Everyone has to eat, and everyone has to die.
And all kinds of people walk in there.
You get thieves with watchful, observant eyes nemorizing the concise, expert movement of your fingers and wonder how these machines of pain and violance can be delicate enough for sweets.
"I know what you are. I know who you are."
"I'm not exactly hiding. "
" I'm gonna rob you now."
" Take some tuna for Iris while you're at it,"
You get jesters with runny make-up and busted lips and a heartbroken hope in their eyes, crying over their fried ice cream,
" I'm stupid. I know -- I know what he's doing to me. And my mom's voice is just pounding in my ear, every fuckin' day, ' You're letting him, Harley. You're letting him and you deserve it. You should've married that fucking doctor. At least he didn't hit you, he just yelled and screamed and called you nasty names.'
Bruce drizzles some extra rainbow sprinkles on her ice cream. " And that voice is wrong." And he'll keep saying that voice is wrong till the day Harley doesn't like ice cream anymore. And that day doesn't exist.
And slowly, you learn not to be impressed. When you live with wolves, you sharpen your teeth. Dogs do what dogs do; they eat. An angry dog is a hungry dog.
And this boy, with a red scarf over his nose, waving a gun in Bruce's face, is looking plenty angry.
"Just fucking stay there, okay?" He'd probably sound more threatening without the glass tremble in his voice. "I'm just gonna take some cash, and,--"
Bruce's calm is frosty; He's got experience with guns being pointed at his face. " Your safety's on. "
Teal eyes are glossy, shining with feral, living fear, like it's Bruce who has him cornered, backed up to a wall and looming death over him. there's no kids in crime alley.
Whatever they are, they can't afford that title. But he looks exactly how boys in crime alley look; Young and scared and haunted.
"What's your name, honey?"
"...Jason."
" Are you hungry, Jason?"
The way he wolfs down three plates with tears running down his cheek answers Bruce plenty.
"You can have the cash, " I don't really need it, goes unspoken. It already feels slimy enough to take it. The charities and well- filled cups of homeless people don't ease that. "I'm guessing you need it."
"It's for my dad," 'Dad' drips from Jason's lips like liquid hatred, " He told me to rob you cause you never call the cops."
" Calling criminals to stop other criminals seems a little counter-productive, " He needs to do something with his hands; Or he'll take Jason and hug him and drag him to the manor, where Alfred can prepare the fluffiest bed, and the warmest bath. So he's packing him something extra, to take at home.
Still. Hearing Jason laugh makes it worth it.
" You can say you got dinner, too."
" I'm not giving Willis shit, " Willis. One of Harvey's guns. They need a chat about working hazards. " Gonna take this to Dickie and Timmy, thought. Dick's gonna love this..."
And Jason, Bruce comes to find out, doesn't know himself half as good as he knows his siblings.
He learns Timmy, the baby brother, loves to skate, and he's the reason they go to the ER every other Thursday. He learns Dick can never run out of energy; Learns he's running on spite alone and they can't go a day without fighting.
And when Bruce is fighting Nightwing, the newest villain in Gotham, he learns both he and Dick can land the meanest Produnova recorded.
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