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goldkirk · 1 year

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Ghostbusters - Chapter 1

[ Read on ao3 ]

Timothy Jackson Drake wakes from his death with magic he finally remembers, memories he wishes he didn't, and a whole new life for the second time in under three years. The first time he wakes up, he's screaming and bleeding from a cut just above his eye. The second time he wakes up, he finds he now has a brother. Tim thinks, I can work with this. A brother could come in handy sometimes. Jason agrees. --- Tim Drake, accidental necromancer, is once again bursting with magic that he doesn't know how to use or control. Jason has a newfound ability to chat with ghosts. Martha and Thomas Wayne rejoin the daily lives of everyone at Wayne Manor, and along with Tim and Jason, delight in making Batman's daily life even stranger than it already is.

Prologue

Here's how you build a ghost story:

Take a location. Choose a place.

Then someone has to die.

Who were they? It matters. Every ghost has a secret. Every ghost had a life.

How did they die? Was it fast? Was it slow? Was it peaceful? Were they alone? All of these can change a person. Change a ghost. You can become someone new in life. You can become someone new in death. Who is the ghost in your story? What have they become?

Take a place. Add a ghost. Add their secrets. Gain a haunting.

Now comes you.

It's you who writes the ghost story. You have to decide to tell it--a ghost story built from your experience as the living with the dead. Sometimes the telling will be simple: a scary ghost, a danger, an escape, a lesson. Sometimes you'll find it's impossible to tell, because the more you know a ghost, the more you find yourself experiencing a story--a regular story, a people story, a heart and soul and brain and bone and human story. The ghost part is often just secondary.

A ghost is a person, at the end of the day. They want something--absolution, closure, friendship, completion, comfort, an answer. They'll do anything they can to get it, assuming they know what it is. Will you let them? Will you help them?

What is the difference between ghosts and us? Aren't we all just people looking for something? For someone? For peace?

The ghost, their story--are you willing to jump into it? Are you willing to be part of it? Or will you run away in fear? Me, I'll always jump in. Every time. No one deserves to be alone. I want to help, no matter what it takes.

A ghost is a ghost is a person is a friend. We're all just people looking for what we don't have. Maybe someday we'll all find what we're looking for. Until then...all I can do is try.

- Tim Drake, age 13, Notes from Gotham Hauntings, Notebook #3

#tim drake #magic tim drake #dc #haunted houses

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msfcatlover · 1 year

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Changeling!Tim’s childhood is... actually kinda horrifying, when anyone looks into it.

(CW for forced medical procedures, and abuse in the form of temporary imprisonment. Also, minor self-harm, and… I don’t know what you call “eating something that will make you sick so your parents don’t get mad at you,” but I know it ain’t good.)

Tim had pretty pronounced fangs when he was younger, which his parents were just planning to wait out... until he was fast coming up on 10 and it was clear Tim wasn’t going to lose his teeth. A quick x-ray proved that Tim didn’t have adult teeth to grow in, just the one set he came with, and the fangs were only getting more obvious. His parents found an orthodontist willing to yank the fangs & wire up the rest of Tim’s teeth with braces to force them to look smooth & even as he grew up. (The doctor kept the teeth as a curiosity, and a decade later Damian will track that doctor down to steal them back.)

Something even Tim didn’t realize until he had to undergo a full Justice League-grade medical exam in preparation for becoming Robin, is that the tiny points on his ears aren’t natural. They have no idea what the ears of the baby Jack & Janet received looked like, but Tim’s points are actually mostly scar tissue. (Bruce puts it down as “a cosmetic procedure not dissimilar to ear cropping in canines” and tries not to feel sick.)

(There was also a period where the Drakes did an awful lot of research into cosmetic eye surgeries, but they eventually gave up. Apparently, it was a bigger concern that their son might end up blinded than that his eyes glowed in the dark and/or were the wrong color.)

As I mentioned before, Tim’s parents trim his thorns so that nobody goes to ruffle Tim’s hair and realizes he’s not human. He... actually started doing it himself when he decided to become Robin, because Tim has seen Bruce ruffle Jason & Dick’s hair so many times and didn’t want to hurt Bruce (or experience the absolute agony of having a thorn get caught in Bruce’s gloves and end up ripped out of Tim’s scalp,) as well as not wanting to give away Tim’s own inhuman nature with the single most obvious trait he has. (When the rest of the family find out, they are horrified and insist that Tim stop doing that. Instead of hair-ruffles, Tim gets hair-strokes that go only in one direction, bumping harmlessly over the curved outer edges of his thorns; it’s actually very soothing for both parties. Everyone absolutely uses Tim’s thorns as a stim toy, as long as Tim’s okay with it.)

Tim’s parents also hire an in-house barber to cut Tim’s hair, so they can make sure it’s “properly disposed of.” (Tim’s nightmares always smell faintly of burning hair.)

Tim wears fancy dress gloves to all dinners, because with the uppercrust you never know if someone’s going to bring out the real silverware. (If someone tells him to take off the gloves or Tim’s skin happens to brush up against somebody’s jewelry, Tim just sorta has to... deal. It’s rude to rush out or refuse your hosts, after all.) (Fortunately, Dick and the Titans all prefer reusable plastic silverware. And as soon as any Bat finds out about Tim’s fae nature, Wayne Manor quickly switches to stainless steel.)

It’s nearly impossible to know if a meal was prepared with iodized salt or non-iodized salt until it’s already in Tim’s mouth and the burning-itching discomfort of coming in contact with an anti-fae substance begins. It’s rude not to at least try the food someone offers you, and it’s even ruder to just spit something out, especially out in public. At least Tim doesn’t usually have to fake it when he says he’s not feeling well in order to stop eating. (Tim doesn’t tell the Waynes about this until that medical exam, where he kinda jokes about being allergic to salt and someone’s like, “Wait, how do you eat? Everything has salt in it nowadays.” Alfred rather forlornly puts his sea salt up on the top shelf and buys a jar of iodized table salt on the next grocery run.)

Tim’s blood is immediately identifiable because it has chloroplasts in it. No, he’s not actually a plant; yes, he can perform limited photosynthesis. No, Tim was not aware of this about himself, he’s never been allowed to give blood before, and like??? Sure, he figured out he was a changeling, but that does not immediately translate to, “Oh, I should test my blood for plant cells!”

Tim’s room doesn’t look any different from any other boy his age... except for three nails over the door on the outside. For the iron horseshoe Tim’s parents hang there sometimes, when they don’t want him to bother them or when he’s grounded. (Thankfully, it's been very rare for Tim to actually be trapped in his room, as setting up a salt line on his windowsills has always been... well, he's not sure. A step too far, even for his parents? A step too many to remember and/or perform in the heat of the moment? Something they don’t even realize is necessary, assuming the horseshoe prevents Tim from leaving the room at all rather than simply crossing that one threshold? Tim doesn’t like to think about it. Tim typically stays in his room anyway when he feels the swooping nausea of it hanging over his door, if only so his parents don’t find him missing and decide sealing the windows is something they ought to be doing. Trapped not by any law or binding ritual, but by Tim’s own admittedly rare fear of consequences.) (After Tim is snatched by faerie hunters, Jason and Dick are the ones who search Tim’s house. There’s a moment of silence when they find the horseshoe and realize what the nails are for. “I really hope I don’t have to point this out,” Jason says, in the tone of someone who’s going to do it anyway, “but it’s never a good sign when a kid’s bedroom has a lock on the outside.”)

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arianna-creates · 1 year

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30 minute doodles before bed <3

Fantasy batfamily fics and art will never not make me feral

And I hate to ask for help finding a fic again but does anyone remember that one fic where Tim got kicked out and was secretly squatting in random abandoned apartments while still being robin and Jason found out?

Another fic I can't find is the one where Jason doesn't realise that tim is robin and starts running into him at diners and decides to help him with homework bc he's worried about this young kid being out alone late at night-

Edit: I found them both!! The second one is Late Night Encounters by paperxcrowns :)

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adoptable-fanfic-prompts · 1 year

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DC + Wolfwalkers writing prompt

So this is something that I am trying to write for fun (not sure if I’ll publish or complete it but who knows, it could happen… maybe). But if anyone is interested, they can write their own spin on this if they so please.

So pretty much the thought was that Bruce doesn’t have a magic kid yet and I thought why not make Tim the magic kid (cause you know… I like giving him trauma, lol).

So pretty much Tim is a Wolf Walker (cause I freaking love that movie). Starts off with him getting bit in Ireland (kind of on accident) then going back to Gotham and trying to, you know, hide the fact that he came back different. So it’s pretty much just incorporating his wolfwalkerness into his life (including canon and fanon together).

It’s also going to include minor elements from Song Of The Sea and The Book Of Kells.

Thoughts?

Edit: forgot to say that this happens before Tim becomes Robin (as in Jason is still Robin)

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ditzybat · 1 month

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jason in titans tower staring at bruce: how’d you know i was alive old man?

bruce: robin - tim - is an avid follower of your tumblr blog that has mysteriously updated after years of you being deceased

tim: mhm, at mrsbennetluvr88 started quoting hamlet and titus andronicus after years of radio silence, it was the only rational conclusion

jason: … at least you know your shakespeare…

#tim: i was your moot goffick-bat69! i’m well aware of your dramatic tendencies #jason: and you didn’t find it so weird that you went out and wore your dead online friends mantel?#tim: i was being poetic! something about vengeance and keeping the magic alive !#batman #jason todd #tim drake #bruce wayne #robin #red robin #red hood #batbros

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yjcorefourenjoyer · 3 months

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currently obsessed with MY OWN AU where Tim used to be a magic user but got cursed by one of the artifacts his parents brought home, and can no longer make his own magic. now he has to get a spark from someone else in order to use it.

But since the Bats don’t like magic he just doesn’t tell anyone about it, but he’s still one of the most knowledgeable ppl about magic in the JL

He just randomly gives the magic users tips then walks away

Tim: “that’s the wrong symbol, it’s supposed to be #|#§##%&$#”

magic expert who’s wondering how a BAT knows this ancient summoning circle: “you’re right but how??????”

——————————————————————————————————

Edit: For everyone asking for the fic THERE IS NON I JUST MADE THIS AU UP

#tim drake #red robin #batfam #batfamily #robin #unhinged tim drake #chaotic tim drake #batman #dc comics #Magic user Tim drake #Magic

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phantom-0-writer · 7 months

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prompt 02: tim’s birthday present

Tim sat in his empty house at the empty dining table. The table was actually quite large; it had enough seats to sit at least 15 people. But there was just Tim there.

His parents had promised and sworn up and down that they would come back in time for his birthday. He had everything planned out. He picked out the birthday cake, put on the candles, decorated, ordered his parents' favorite foods, his parents' favorite movie for movie night, popcorn the likes. But that morning, just when Tim was double checking to make sure everything was ready for the most perfect birthday ever, his parents had called to tell him that something really important had come up, and they wouldn’t be able to make it. Tim figured it was better than last year, at least they called this time.

Tim stared down at the cake, the candles lit. He had heard online that people would make wishes on their birthday cake and blow it out. Tim thought that was a weird thing to do, but it wouldn’t hurt to try.

What should he wish for? It would have to be something special that he doesn’t already have. Tim thought for a long moment, the candles bleeding into the frosting of the cake.

A brother.

Tim closed his eyes and put his hands together like he’s seen the other children to do in the cartoons. And Tim wished for a big brother. When he finally wished hard enough (whatever that meant) he opened his eyes and blew out what was left of the candles.

Tim waited. What exactly was he supposed to do now? In the cartoons, everyone would celebrate and cheer and the birthday boy would open his presents. There wasn’t anyone to cheer for Tim, or any presents for him to open.

Suddenly the house shook, and the loud sound of a crash sound came from the backyard. Quickly, Tim did the sensible thing and go check out what the noise was. That's what the characters always did in horror movies.

In Tim’s backyard, there was what looked like a weird space ship that had crashed into his backyard. There wasn’t any fire or anything, but the spaceship looked pretty wrecked. Getting closer, Tim could vaguely make out that someone was inside the spaceship. Looking around, he saw what looked like maybe the handle. Tim couldn’t really tell.

When Tim put his hand on it and tried to open it, something poked out mechanically and pricked his finger. He flinched back instinctively, caressing his finger tip.

“Recognized: Danny Fenton. System Override.” A robotic lady spoke. Who is Danny Fenton? As if to answer him, the space ship opened its hatch, and inside was an unconscious black haired teenager. “System Malfunctioning. Please Assis-” The robotic voice spoke again, before getting cut off as if the power had died.

Suddenly, Tim remembered his wish. A big brother.

This was Danny Fenton, and he was supposed to be Tim’s big brother

----

When Danny woke up, he found himself in a very soft plush something. Something that definitely wasn’t the Spector Speeder. Alarmed, he sat up quickly to find that he didn’t recognize where he was at all. He also didn’t recognize the weird kid that was staging at him from two feet away.

“Hi, I’m Tim. Timothy Drake.” The boy introduced himself almost business like.

“Uh, hi Tim.” Danny responded awkwardly. “You got any idea where I am?” Danny sat up properly, moving the blanket (?) off of him and turned to face the weird and kinda creepy kid.

“You’re in Drake Manor. Which is where I live.” He answered again.

“Ok…ay” Danny nodded thoughtfully. “Any idea how I got here?” Truthfully, Danny hadn’t really been expecting an answer, but he still got one.

“Because I made a birthday wish to have a big brother.” He answered in the same way he had answered the other question, very matter-of-factly.

“Ok- Wait. What?” Danny asked, doing a double take at Tim.

“You’re supposed to be my big brother, right?” Tim was starting to look a little hesitant, and as weirded out as Danny felt he couldn’t help but feel bad about the whole situation.

“Where are your parents, Tim?”

“There not home, because they had really important things to do for work.”

Danny nodded. “Do you know when they’ll be back?”

Tim shook his head. “They were supposed to come back today, because it’s my birthday. But they said they couldn’t make it.”

Well, shit. Didn’t that sound awfully like Danny’s birthdays before he had given up on his parents showing up. At least he had Jazz. This kid looked like he was alone.

Not liking the silence, Tim started fidgeting again. “So, are you gonna be my brother, then?”

And what was Danny supposed to say, No? Besides, if he was really causing problems being in this random universe, then Clockwork would figure it out.

Bonus:

Danny sat at Tim’s dinner table, the kid looking at him radiating in excitement, each with a plate of stupid expensive pasta in front of them. “You said your name was Tim, right?” Danny started thoughtfully. Tim nodded, drinking up everything Danny said. “Well, first course of action as you, big brother. I need to give you a nickname.”

Tim’s eyes sparkled at the prospect. “Like what?”

Danny tapped his chin exaggeratedly, “Hm… Tim, Tim.” Turing the name around while he absentmindedly twirled his fork between his fingers, Danny wondered what he should come up with. Suddenly, in a misplaced strength, Danny’s fork flew out of his hand.

Before Danny could even say anything, “I’ll get you a new one!” Tim offered quickly. Getting up from his chair, his foot got tangled behind the leg of the chair and Tim fell quietly on the floor with an oof.

Danny laughed at him. “You okay, Timbers?” He asked, getting up to check on the boy.

“Yeah, I like Timbers.” Tim said, a bright smile on his face despite the blossoming bruise on his arm.

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

table of contents

#dc x dp prompt #dpxdc #danny and tim #danny phantom #tim drake #be kinda funny if tim was like so convinced that wishes were real and all that and starts dabbling in magic at a pretty early age or smt #big brother danny #they had pretty similar childhood and like shit is danny gonna let that happen to another kid on his watch #tim: what a funny coincidence #danny: what a funny coincidence #clockwork watching this all go down: hehehe just like i planned #also yes the spector speeder dna matched tim as danny #which means that tim in alternate danny #i thought it would be a fun little thing to add since they had similar childhoods in this au

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im-totally-not-an-alien-2 · 6 months

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Halloween prompts year 2 day 22

A quiet beeping came from Red Robins wrist computer, puzzling him. A break in? At one of his more affluent safe houses? At this time of day?

He pulled up footage from his hidden cameras for see a kid around 14 riffling through his cabinets, only to take a box of pop tarts before bolting, looking super guilty the entire time.

Over pop tarts.

Of course Tim didn't call the police. It was pop tarts and the kid looked like he needed them too.

About a week later the kid came back. He slowly crept around the place, poking things, moving furniture around by an inch or so before deciding it was safe to steal more food. It was always things too small for Tim to care about and honestly wouldn't even notice were missing unless he had been craving them beforehand.

After another week he came back and had the audacity to actually take a shower. It was then that Tim realized what was happening.

The kid must have had never seen any police arrive after the break in and thought there was no security at all. An empty rich guys apartment with full working amenities was a perfect place for a homeless kid to live.

Tim was about to call in an anonymous tip to the authorities so he could be placed in the foster system when the kid jolted and briefly flicked invisible. That changed things. Checking the outside cameras revealed that a minor car accident happened outside. He could understand the kid being a homeless runaway if he had powers that could activate suddenly when startled.

So he let the kid stay, making sure to sneak in and keep the groceries and toiletries stalked up whenever the kid went out for the night. Kid always came back in the morning to eat and sleep and Tim made it a habit to keep tabs on the kid even while he was doing other things.

Tim stared at his computer screen, wondering if this counted as "Stalker Tendencies"

Tim hadn't yet realized he had adopted this child-emotionally if nothing else. He keeps feeling really proud of himself whenever he gets his child to eat properly and leaves little recipe cards and stuff in the cabinets with the food.

Danny thinks the apartment is magic

#halloween prompts #dpxdc #prompts #fanfiction prompts #danny phantom #danny fenton #tim drake #red robin dc #red robin #yum #danny: i have been through the horrors. a magic apartment isnt that suprising #danny: rich people have the wierdest things

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sentient-stove · 21 days

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“Well there’s contract magic- that’s what Constantine does, along with the majority of prevalent magic users.” Tim nudged her foot out of the way, continuing the chalk circle around them. Sam turned to follow, wondering how he managed to keep the circle so even.

“Wait, who’s Constantine?” Tucker asked. “They’re not in the files.”

“He’s a pain in everyone’s ass.” Danny muttered. “He’s in contract with half the Creatures on this side of the realms. You know the amount of ghosts I got complaining to me cause he tricked them better than they could when they went under contract?”

“Hnn, yeah most wouldn’t take too nicely to getting tricked. Salt please.” Tim handed the chalk to Tucker in exchange for salt from the bag he’d shoved into the other teen’s arms. “And then someone like Zatanna is Born with her magic, but Born are rare, so I doubt one of them would be targeting you three specifically. Leaves us with Creature or Cursed.”

Sam watched in mild amusement as Danny tried to smudge the chalk-and-salt lines, static bursting from the point and making him recoil. “Creature, that would be fae-things right? Ghosts, demons, whatever is made of magic or magic adjacent?”

“Basically. Salt will help with that. The chalk is hopefully for anyone who tries to cast like how I do. Although trying to harness magic by manipulating curses is rare since it involves far too much grave and museum robbing. Lucky for me, mom and dad did the legwork, so I haven’t needed to rob a grave yet. Mind setting this cat pair at the northern and eastern points of the circle?” He offered two tiny stone cats to her and Sam wrapped her hands around them, the smooth stone unnaturally chilled.

#fanfic #wip hell #tim drake #sam manson #tucker foley #danny fenton #danny phantom #dc comics #dc x dp #dpxdc #im just saying that Tim deserves magic #as a treat #everlasting trio #and tim!#pov: your date to Gotham gets interrupted by a weird skater boy

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goldkirk · 1 year

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Legend Has It - Chapter 4

[ Read on ao3 ]

and i've got hope in my hands

A boy walks over a field, over a stone wall, in thin shorts and bare feet while grass perks up in the darkness every place he steps, and the boy stares ahead at nothing and everything in the world at once.

His eyes glow gold. And then they close.

He walks in an unbroken line over every uneven patch of ground and every manicured acre of grass until he finally stops in front of fresh earth, a pile of fresh earth next to two stones, and the boy--

The boy with closed eyes, the boy with cold arms, the boy in pajamas and bedhead and lips murmuring reassurances and promises to no one, into thin air--

He kneels on the ground and starts to dig.

-----

His nails bleed, his fingers are bruised to the joints, and he’s up to his head in loamy earth, but he stands on a coffin as birds slowly start to chirp over at the edge of the trees. His eyes are closed, still, while his battered hands find the catches, open up the top half.

While dirt tumbles down in a baptism over his forehead, over his fingers, and he kneels with all the reverence of a priest in a cathedral on the cold, dirt-covered smooth surface, and one bruised, bleeding hand reaches down, slowly, towards a pale cheek--cold and still and familiar from nights and nights and nights of hiding on rooftops, in alleys, behind benches, watching that same cheekbone curl and shake with laughter under a domino mask, and the boy stretches an inch further, with that trembling hand, touches skin, while goosebumps rise on both shoulders, around his chest, on one side of his ribcage, and he touches skin--

And the boy in the coffin gasps, chokes all at once--sucks in a breath, quiet and ragged, and his eyes fly open, teal and wide and reflecting, for a moment, the rapidly fading stars.

-----

There’s a knock on the Manor door, shortly after, as the sun is just beginning to think about lighting up the eastern sky. And then a second knock, and a third, and it’s turned into more of a panicked banging, really, and Alfred Pennyworth hurries for it with a furrowed brow.

He has his shotgun, because it is the back door, and no one--no one uses that door, anymore, except for him, when he goes out to trim the roses. Not since--

Well. Not since they all know when.

He flicks the light on and opens the door, just as the first line of sky turns sapphire over the tree line behind the Manor. And he looks, for a moment, and then looks again, mouth open and shotgun dropping halfway to the floor, because standing in front of him-- standing in front of him, flushed and shaking and very much alive--

Jason Todd stands tall on shaking legs, his arms full of another boy, thinner, with closed eyes and ghost-gray skin. Bloody hands, absolutely covered in dirt--so is Jason, now that Alfred thinks of it--

“Alfie,” Jason croaks. “Alfie, help. I think he’s dying.”

“Oh Good Lord in Heaven,” Alfred chokes out, flings the door wide, and pulls them both in.

------

Five minutes, a frantic shout for Bruce, an emergency button signal to the Watchtower, and a quick game of snatch-a-teenager-and-run later, Alfred and Jason are in the elevator on their way down while Bruce skips the last four steps to the cave floor in a flying leap and skids on bare feet before sprinting the rest of the way to the med bay.

His practiced hands fly through vitals checks on both boys, then hand Alfred supplies as he tries to stabilize the unconscious, unfamiliar boy who lies motionless and pale as a ghost between them. And his right hand never once leaves Jason’s shoulder, while his boy, his son, sits clutching the edge of a once-familiar gurney and shakes.

“Bruce,” Jason gets out, and Bruce’s eyes don’t leave his face, can’t leave his face. “Bruce. Dad.”

“Jason,” Bruce whispers.

“Dad,” Jason repeats, stronger this time, as he straightens a little, and glances to the side for the hundredth time. “Um. I don’t know how to make this any less crazy for you, but--but. Grandma says. You need to call Constantine.”

Bruce’s blood turns to ice.

“And,” Jason adds, head whipping to the other side, looking alarmed, “Fuck, oh, shit, Grandpa says you need to give Tim some--what? What do you mean--” Jason narrows his eyes, then goes on. “Okay! Okay, fine, I got it, I’ll tell him--”

Beside them the heart monitor suddenly screams.

“Bloody hell,” snarls Alfred, and he whirls for the crash cart in the corner.

“Grandpa says never mind,” Jason croaks. “Oh my god.”

-----

They get Tim back and lose him again twice before death finally decides to give up for the day.

Bruce is on the second gurney with Jason on his lap and wrapped up in his arms tightly, and the other boy is finally resting on the first gurney, breathing steady and slowly regaining normal color.

Alfred keeps two fingers on the boy’s neck and slumps down at last on the nearby rolling stool.

“Well,” he says. “That does it, I hope. Pardon my French, one last time, Master Bruce, while I say--bloody hell.”

“Agreed,” Bruce murmurs, squeezing Jason for a moment, and then he suddenly fully realizes what his son has said, what his son has told him in the past several minutes, that he’d blocked out when the alarm first went off--

“Jason,” Bruce says. So very, very calm. “I love you. First of all. You should know that. I love you so much, and I don’t care that you ran off, and I am so glad you’re back with us.”

“I love you too,” Jason says, and sniffs hard. Bruce can’t even be mad when the boy wipes his nose right on Bruce’s sleeve, just like the old days.

“But,” Bruce says, even more calmly, now. “Jason.”

Jason tenses, just a little, and then slumps further down in Bruce’s arms. “Yeah,” he whispers.

“Is there. Anything you need to tell me.” Bruce pauses. “About...about what you’re seeing.”

Jason sighs. Then he wiggles around side to side against Bruce’s hold until it loosens enough for Jason to push himself up and turn to face Bruce. He glances at Alfred, at Tim, and then locks eyes with his dad again.

“Grandma--Grandma says,” he starts, hesitantly. “Grandma says to tell you hello. And she loves you very much, both of you, and that--” Jason’s face twists up in the way that only teenage boys can manage, and he looks over about a foot and a half to the left. “Do I have to? Is that really--”

There’s a pause for several seconds while Bruce and Alfred both watch Jason go on a face journey before their eyes, and then Jason sighs .

“She also says,” he grumbles, glancing pointedly in the same direction as before, before staring up at Bruce, “that if you wear that ratty underwear under one more suit on gala nights, she’s going to finally figure out how to do more than nudge physical objects here and there just to manifest a corporeal form and scold you herself.” He closes his eyes. “She says, and I quote, ‘What is the one rule I taught you about getting dressed each day, Bruce? The one rule handed down for generations from my mother to me, and me to you. What was the rule, Bruce.’”

Bruce gapes .

Jason opens one eye, a little, peeking up.

“That wasn’t a rhetorical question,” he whispers. “She’s tapping her foot. Please answer her quick, Grandpa is laughing so hard it’s hurting my ears.”

“Mom?” Bruce whispers, then, turning a little, trying desperately to find the spot Jason keeps looking towards, locking eyes with Alfred who looks similarly shell-shocked, and then finally turning back to Jason, to his child, to his son.

“Um, yeah,” Jason says, and scratches the back of his neck. “She. She’s still waiting. Dad, please.”

Bruce lifts both hands to cover his face, and hunches over slightly, taking in a deep breath. Or six.

“Always wear nice and clean underwear,” he mutters. “In case you get in an accident and the doctors and nurses have to see.”

Jason wheezes out a laugh.

“It’s not that funny,” Bruce says.

“It kind of is,” Jason gets out between snorts.

“Tell my mother,” Bruce says, with remarkable poise for someone who has not only had an unfamiliar child drop into his yard and then die three times, but also gotten back a previously dead son he buried days earlier and learned that his own long-dead parents are currently in the room with him, and that said previously dead child can see and speak with them now, apparently, “that in all my years of running around the world, and all the times I’ve been injured as a civilian and as a vigilante, that has never once been actually useful in a single situation ever.”

“She says--” Jason starts laughing again, and it’s the sweetest sound Bruce has ever heard. “She says to tell you herself, you coward. And also your dad says he is feeling both unloved and incredibly left out, and that he deserves at least partial credit for the success of tonight, considering that he tried to tell you guys that Tim was about to crash, and it’s not his fault you didn’t hear him.”

Now Bruce doesn’t have enough time to unpack all of that.

“Dad,” he says, nearly tearing up again for the second time in as many minutes. “Dad. I love you so much. And you, Mom. I love you both so much. I--” And for the first time in known human history, in front of God and his teenage son and his second father and Superman himself, who just slammed into the cave, Batman’s voice cracks. “I missed you.”

Jason closes his eyes.

“I know you can’t feel it, probably,” he says, “but so you know--they’re both--they’re both definitely hugging you right now. They love you too.”

“Bruce,” Clark says, stepping up by the gurneys, eyes wide as saucers as he stares at Bruce holding Jason, warm and pink and alive. “What’s going on?”

“I think,” Bruce says, with immense calm, “that we’ve just experienced a miracle.”

-----

An hour later, Superman is drifting around the cave in mid-air, on his back, Jason perched happily on his broad chest and talking on the phone to a laughing and sobbing Dick who is currently waiting for a pick up from Alfred because they unanimously agreed he was in no fit state to drive.

Alfred asked Bruce if he wanted to do rock paper scissors for it. Bruce told Alfred to just take the Bentley.

So Bruce is watching his youngest son and his oldest friend drift lazily through the air, everyone just enjoying the brief calm before more questions have to be asked, before reality has to hit, before there is pain and probably crying and a whole lot of work to do, and Bruce. Bruce is okay.

His parents are beside him, he knows. He thinks--maybe--it’s maybe his imagination, trying to run in overdrive with how much he wants it to be real, but maybe he’s starting to be more open to it, or maybe the emotions are so big that the walls are being thinned--he doesn’t know.

But he thinks that sometimes, for a moment or two, he can feel the brush of cold fingers on his back. His cheek. His forehead, once. Just for a moment.

“Love you,” he whispers, again, into the air.

And a piece of spare paper from a previous EKG drifts upwards off the cart and then slowly, back and forth, twisting and curling, down to the ground.

Bruce smiles.

Then he settles forward, leaning his elbows on the table on either side of Tim’s head while the boy keeps breathing, keeps existing, keeps resting for real, finally. And Bruce brushes one hand over Tim’s messy hair before cupping the boy’s cheeks upside-down in the palms of his own large hands.

“I don’t know how you did it,” he says, softly, looking down. “And I don’t know why, yet, and I don’t know who you are or how you found him. And I would never, ever, ever want you to do it at the cost of your life. We will definitely be having a talk about that later.”

A pen shifts on the counter, and then shifts again, and Bruce gets the sense that his parents definitely agree. Tim’s got a lot of lectures coming from a lot of people when he wakes up. “But,” Bruce goes on, with one more glance up to check on Jason and Clark, and then a soft smile at seeing them tangled in a hug while Jason seems to have drifted off in the middle of the phone call. “You brought my son back to me. Alive. And well . I’m sure it’s not perfect--he did die, and miracles don’t just--I’ve lost and regained enough people by now to know that getting someone back doesn’t erase the damage caused by their loss in the first place. But it’s a second chance. And you gave us that.”

Bruce smooths his thumbs over Tim’s cheekbones.

“I don’t know you. I don’t know your story,” he murmurs. “But you brought him back to us. And if there’s anything I can do to make it up for you, anything at all, it will be done. Rest, Tim. You’ve more than earned it.” He smiles and stands up from the stool, ready to head over to where Clark is slowly drifting towards the floor, Jason curled in his arms. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

-----

There is shouting. There are tears. There is a very confused Jason, for a few moments, when he wakes up to the sound of Dick’s heartfelt shout. And then there are noogies and group hugs and more tears and more blankets than are probably healthy, and Alfred herds them all onto the proper chairs Superman carried down to the med bay while Bruce finally manages to get through to Constantine and extracts a promise from the man to come as fast as he possibly can, barring supernatural road blocks along the way.

And finally, Alfred starts a full check-up on Jason while they sit, and Jason, bright-eyed and much less shaky than before his impromptu nap, begins to finally tell them what he knows.

-----

“Well,” he says, scrunching up his nose while Alfred places a cold stethoscope against his back. “I was dead.” Everyone winces. Jason swallows, but presses on. “I mean, hang on, I’m doing this wrong.” He clears his throat, then stares off into the middle distance and tips up his chin. “Jason Todd was dead, to begin with,” he says, in the voice that’s gotten the play director to cast him in the last four shows and counting.

“Jason,” Bruce growls, sounding strangled.

“Sorry,” he says, sounding not very at all.

“Go on,” Alfred says, moving on to sticking on a good number of electrodes while Jason cooperatively lies flat on the second gurney.

“Well. Okay. So. I didn’t move on, um--I--” Jason sighs.

“Had unfinished business?” Dick offers, with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“I hate you,” Jason says flatly, but shoots him a fond glare rather than an angry one. “Yes. Fine. That works. Anyway, everything was terrible and then it was quiet and then suddenly I was back here at the manor and everyone was gone. Except...Grandma and Grandpa.”

“Martha,” Alfred murmurs, watching the machine’s readouts intently. “And Thomas. They stayed, too, all these years.”

“Yeah,” Jason agrees. They’ve been--they’ve been busy, actually. They kind of organize the whole region’s ghost population. Help newcomers, check in on people, get everyone sorted, it’s--impressive. But Tim can tell you a lot more about all that. When he wakes up.”

They all glance over at the other boy still sleeping on the gurney to the side for a moment.

“Anyway,” Jason says, and clears his throat. “I was. Really confused, which they said was normal, and then I was really fucki--sorry, really freaked out, which they said was also normal, and then I finally calmed down enough to get a grip, and they showed me the ropes. And also started telling way too many baby stories.”

Alfred snorts. He helps Jason sit back up and start peeling off adhesive patches.

“And then, they--hang on.” Jason twists and looks up and behind Bruce and Dick, brows pinching together. “Where should I start? How much should I actually get into right now? I mean, am I even supposed to know--”

He’s quiet for several long seconds while the others watch, and Alfred continues on unbothered.

“Okay.” Jason nods. “Yeah, that’s fair.” He looks at Bruce and Clark, and then shrugs with a small smile. “There’s way too much I could talk about if I went in order, and not everything is important, so--I’m supposed to tell you about Tim, really quick, and then what happened tonight.”

“All right,” Bruce says, mildly. “Go ahead.”

“So,” Jason says, holding out one arm without question when he sees Alfred pull out one of the blood draw packs. “Grandma and Grandpa say no one totally knows what’s up with Tim in the ghost community, but Grandma ran into him when he was a little kid and had just figured out that he--I promise we’re not crazy, okay, I know how insane all of this is gonna sound, but--he could bring dead animals back to life by touching them. He was freaked out about it. And then he started being able to see ghosts, too--Grandma was the first one he met. Or at least remembers meeting. And then--hey, do I still get a sticker?”

Alfred actually laughs. “Yes, Master Jason, you may have a sticker.” He turns to rummage through one of the drawers, and Jason cheerfully pulls off a Captain America shield from the roll, then sticks it directly on the center of his forehead.

He turns to look back at the others in their chairs with a wide grin.

“Anyway,” he says.

Dick chokes from trying to avoid laughing. Bruce politely whacks him on the back a few times without comment.

“So Tim’s been running around Gotham for years, apparently, tailing Batman and Robin. Like, literally. The Grands swear they’ve got more gray hairs from him these past few years, which shouldn’t be possible. I think they’re just being dramatic.”

The second he says that, an extra large tongue depressor flies out of the holder and whacks Jason on the forehead.

“All RIGHT,” he grumbles. “SORRY. Fine. I’ll keep the peanut gallery to a minimum. Geez.” Clark is the one who cracks and laughs this time, and Jason shoots him a look without any real heat. “As I was saying. Literally running around Gotham. He talks with a lot of the ghosts and has made a lot of friends. Everyone likes him, almost, except for the ones who no one likes anyway.” Jason goes quiet for a moment, then, and glances back over at where Martha and Thomas must be. “How much do I...how should I explain...okay. All right.”

Jason frowns. “Tim’s...Tim’s not a normal kid, right, we can all see that. But he’s also really, really lonely. His parents are basically never around. He’s our neighbor, B--he’s a Drake. That’s how Martha found him so easily, he’s so close. But they--they leave him alone. All the time. And it’s not just ghosts, out there, there’s--I mean, Constantine knows way more than we do, but there’s stuff, bad stuff, I don’t know. Grandma and Grandpa and the others didn’t actually know what was going on, or what happened, but Tim was always this kind of sad and lonely that even ghost friendships couldn’t really make up for, and something--something must have found him, they think--” Jason cuts off, glancing up for reassurance, then turns to stare at Tim over on the other gurney.

“Something bad found him,” Jason says, softly. “They told me he just--totally vanished for a few hours. No one could sense him anymore. But there was no body, either, so he hadn’t died and moved on. And then he was back, suddenly, but his--I don’t know how to describe it. I can’t really remember now, with real eyes again, but he sort of--he and a few other people sort of have this weird look, to ghosts, because they’re different--I don’t know. But he was like--tainted. Like he’d been poisoned or something. Grandma and Grandpa found him in his room really, really sick, that night. He never woke up while they were there, so they tried to just keep him cool and watch and wait, and then--he got better, all of a sudden, partway into the morning, and they thought it would be fine, but…”

Jason looks back over and meets Bruce’s eyes. “He woke up the next day and looked straight through them. Straight through everyone who tried to talk to him. No more animals came back to life, either. He kept talking in the fever about making it stop, and then he woke up--normal, basically. And he’s stayed that way ever since.”

Bruce frowns.

“Well he’s clearly not normal anymore,” he says, gesturing at all of Jason and the room in general.

“Well, duh,” Jason says, and rolls his eyes. “Clearly.”

“So what happened.”

“How should I know?” Jason gestures vaguely up and down his body. “I was dead.”

A second tongue depressor whacks him, and is rapidly followed by one of the EKG papers flying straight into his face.

“Point taken,” he sighs, pulling the paper down into his lap. “I mean. I’ll tell you what I do know. Grandma has never stopped watching out for him at least once a day, since, I mean, it’s not like anyone else is keeping tabs on Tim. So she told me a lot about him, and how much he used to talk to ghosts, and how he cheered everyone up and even helped a chunk of us--them--find a way to feel...fulfilled, I guess, and move on. And stuff. And how he’d spent years rooting for us and helping in ways we didn’t even realize--shit, Bruce. He’s done a lot. So she wanted me to tell him thank you, and like--get to know him, kinda? Since she feels like he’s her family too?” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Do you need a break?” Bruce asks, gently, reaching out and placing a hand on his knee.

Jason shakes his head quickly. “No. I want to get this over with. I’ve been hanging around you guys for a while, until the funeral, and it was--listen, I love you, but you were all so sad it was--really depressing. I kept thinking about what happened because you all were, too, and so Martha took me over and told me to stay with Tim for a bit, at home and school, to feel more normal. So I did. And he never saw me. But then--tonight--” Jason takes another breath. “I was. I was really upset, all of a sudden, for Tim, and for myself, because I was like--it really hit me again that I. You know.” He waves a hand, then continues. “And. I talked to him, for the first time, while he was asleep, and it seemed like he actually turned in his sleep to listen, and--I asked him for help. Because I just--he was there , you know? I was desperate and lonely and he was there.”

“It’s not your fault,” Alfred interjects. “Master Jason. What happened to Tim is not your fault.”

Jason grumbles something under his breath, and then fully-body shivers.

“Don’t do that!” Jason scoots off the gurney and right onto Bruce’s lap, and burrows in while Bruce’s arms come up to wrap around him. “I appreciate the hug, Grandpa, but I’ve got a body again, that was really cold.”

There’s a pause, then Jason smiles a little. “It’s okay, I’m not mad, just--a little warning next time.” He glances around. “Are you good for me to keep going?”

They all make various noises of agreement.

“So,” Jason says. “So. So. He. I don’t know, his chest, like, glowed a little, when I said that, and then all of a sudden he like-- woke up.”

“Woke up?” Bruce asks. “From sleep?”

“No.” Jason shakes his head. “No, like--like a sleepwalker. I mean woke up. Like, the real Tim. It was like some wall got shattered and then, BOOM. Just. Golden glowy different person. He was like the Sun. It was bananas. And then--and then he looked at me, with glowy eyes, and squinted, kinda, and then he said, ‘Oh. I can fix this.’ And then he just walked out of his house in his bare feet and headed straight for my grave.” Jason shakes his head again, stares at the wall. “He kept like, trying to reassure me, on our way over, while I was screaming for Grandma and Grandpa to come help, because I didn’t know what was going on, and he just--he ignored us and started digging, and kept going, and then he like...fell back asleep again, kinda, and dimmed out almost. But he never stopped digging, and then he opened my casket and--”

Jason shivers again, and this time he doesn’t have a ghost to blame it on. Bruce squeezes him a little tighter.

“He reached down, and all three of us grabbed him, just--hoping maybe if we pulled hard enough he’d stop, but he didn’t. And then the next thing I knew,” he says, very quietly now, “I was staring up at the sky and Tim was falling forward like a rag doll, looking like he was the one who belonged six feet below.”

“Equivalent exchange,” a heavily accented voice sighs, from just out of view. All of them but Superman whip around to see John Constantine step up a few feet away, trench coat and rumpled clothes and absolute disaster hair to match his stubble and tired eyes. “Energy has rules. Physics, and all that.”

“I don’t think physics really...includes undoing death, generally?” Dick says.

Constantine sends him a red-eyed look. “Mate,” he growls. “Physics tangles up with everything. Magic tangles up with physics. It’s one great big yarn knot of problems that exists solely to make my life living hell. Don’t lecture me about physics .”

Dick raises his hands in surrender and slumps back in his armchair.

“Equivalent exchange,” Bruce says, looking sharply between Constantine, slouched against the doorway, and Tim, still and pale on the bed. “You’re saying Tim was exchanging his soul for Jason’s?”

“Of course not,” Constantine snaps. “I didn’t say souls. I said energy, you wanker. Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one in the merry band?”

Bruce practically grinds his teeth, and Alfred, the wonderful old Brit that he is, absolutely says nothing about Constantine’s language.

“My apologies,” Bruce says, evenly. “Energy, then?”

“This boy has spent a lot of years leaving his energy around the region, here,” Constantine says. “I sensed it whenever I was here for more than a few hours for whatever reason. Makes sense, if he’s been going about resurrecting things willy-nilly.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say willy-nilly,” Jason cuts in. “Uh, that’s a direct quote from Thomas, by the way. He also says that Tim had no clue how what he was doing worked. He didn’t really control it.”

“Of course he controlled it,” Constantine says over his shoulder, as he steps up to the head of Tim’s gurney, finally, and messily rolls up his coat sleeves. “You don’t have power like that without controlling it. He just didn’t know what the control was.”

They all look at each other, and sort of shrug.

“Now quiet,” Constantine tells them. “This is going to take a minute. And you two bloody ghosts, stay a few feet back. I can’t work properly if you’re buzzing nearby.”

The room falls silent enough that they can all hear the blood pressure cuff around Tim’s arm quietly inflate and hiss the air out again, while Constantine mutters quietly, passing his hands up and down Tim’s body till he finally holds them in a hover over the boy’s head for over a minute. His brow furrows more and more as they watch, and his muttering increases, and then in a moment, all of a sudden--

Constantine’s face twists into a snarl, something hazy and dark flashes up in a muffled cloud over Tim’s closed eyes, and then there’s a tiny flash of a golden glow from all of the boy’s body at once, and Constantine stumbles back, catching himself with one sweaty hand on the nearest wall.

They sit in frozen, held-breath silence for a moment, and then Constantine whips around with wild eyes, to stare directly at Bruce.

“Bloody hell,” he wheezes. “Bloody fuck. Bloody fucking hell. I don’t know who this boy is, or how you found him, or he found you--don’t know, don’t care, doesn’t matter--he’s the real deal, a right proper little magic bloodline offspring, and he’s such a bloody basket case he got taken by a bloody Beldam. Bloody fuck .” Constantine sucks in a few deep breaths and straightens, starting to unroll his sleeves and step carefully away from the gurney.

“You,” he says, jabbing a sharp finger at bruce and glaring. “I don’t care who he is, he’s your responsibility now. I can’t watch a bloody magic minor. He’s been nearly eaten alive once. You keep him safe or this boy’ll do one of two things--he’s gonna kill himself in a trance resurrecting a full grown human, rather than a teenager, and that you won’t be able to bring him back from. Or he’s gonna be a snack for another Beldam, properly this time, instead of just partly--and he’ll not come back from that, either.”

“What,” Bruce says, slowly, clearly, “is a Beldam.”

“Don’t bloody ask me,” Constantine snarls. He scrubs his hands over his bloodshot eyes. “I don’t rightly know. Neither does anyone else. But they prey on children who are sad enough to eat up the promise of a better, fixed world, when that world is made of spiders and darkness and lies.” Constantine jerks a thumb over his shoulder at Tim. “That boy’s magic, whether he knows it or not. He’s strong. And he’s a seven course meal for a lot of nasty things that crawl in the dark and like to snatch up lonely little children and eat them alive. He’s got magic so strong he temporarily magicked himself out of having magic, which, let me tell you, sounds like the bloody dream to me. But that’s broken now. So,” he says, slowly, like speaking to a fool. “Keep. That boy. Safe. Or you’re going to feed something very nasty enough energy to break all the way through to our world, and then I will have to come deal with it, and probably die, and then you’ll all be devastated and grieve me for forty days and nights, I’m sure. Except you won’t, because you’ll be being devoured by the many awful nasties that I keep away with duct tape and magic and a bloody godawful amount of fast-talking. ‘Thank you, Constantine, we love you, Constantine, have a good sleep, Constantine, see you at the next Justice League potluck.’ ”

Constantine waves a hand and jogs right out of the med bay.

“I already said your goodbyes for you,” he throws over his shoulder. “Keep the kid safe, bloody feed him more, and for the love of god, don’t call me this late again unless the world is literally falling down around your feet.”

And then Constantine is gone in a flash of light, and the med bay is filled with yet another silence. They all turn to look at Tim, just as a whole jar of tongue depressors tips onto its side and crashes to the floor, and the third spare gurney in the corner of the area shoves into a wall with no one around.

“Okay,” Jason says, warily, “So that was. Informative. And, uh, can you two please calm down.”

“Mom?” Bruce asks the air, softly. “Dad? Are you okay?”

“Uh,” Jason tells him. “Grandpa just snarled something about a Beldam, and is mad, and Grandma wants you to hold Tim. Like, right now. Apparently.”

Bruce blinks.

“I,” he says. “Okay.”

He hauls Jason up and slides off the armchair he’s been sitting in, stepping around Clark and Alfred till he gets to the gurney. Then he frowns.

“It’s a bit of a tight fit,” he murmurs. Then he leans down and tucks Jason in next to Tim anyway before Jason can protest, and then weasels his way onto the gurney, squished against one of the guard rails, until he’s got both of them wrapped in a hug.

“This is incredibly uncomfortable,” he says, conspiratorially to Dick, as his eldest pops over to the other side of the gurney and immediately starts taking photos. “But also fantastic. We’re having a sleepover all together on my bed when this is over. More or less. Mandatory.”

“Aye aye captain,” Dick says, with a grin. “I’m gonna go eat some breakfast. I’ll be back.”

“Good plan, sunshine,” Bruce says. “See you in a bit.”

Clark stands up with a smile. “Well,” he says. “It seems like y’all have things under control over here, and I’ve got to go do the morning chores at the farm--the cows are due for milking right about now. Keep me updated, okay? I’ll have my phone on me all day at work, and I’ll let the rest of the League know the good news, if you’d like.”

“I’d rather hold off, for now, if that’s all right.” Bruce looks down at Jason, who’s now already almost dozing again. And Tim. “Just...a little time to process, first, before the whole league knocks down my door trying to come hug Jason.”

“Absolutely fair,” Clark says. “Hang in there. Call me if you need me.” And then he’s off with no sign left of his presence save for a faint breeze shaking the air.

“We have all had quite a night,” Alfred says, as he drapes Bruce and Jason with a couple more blankets, and tucks Tim’s in ‘round the edges more firmly. “After, I daresay, quite a lot of exhausting days. You ought to sleep for a bit while I get breakfast ready, and then we’ll see how the boys are doing then, hm?”

Bruce hums with his eyes closed before blinking them back open and frowning at Alfred.

“You need sleep too,” he says. “What about you, Alf? This hasn’t been any easier on you than me.”

“My dear boy,” Alfred says. “If you think I haven’t managed much worse exhaustion during your very memorable teenage years, you are quite mistaken. I’m perfectly fine for now. Let me care for you all until I rest later. It will help me more than sleep at this point.”

“All right,” Bruce acquiesces, around the edges of a yawn. “Okay. But you will sleep later. I’ll keep an eye on these two until you’re back.”

“Yes,” Alfred says, flicking off the brightest lights and only leaving the golden ones on. “Quite, Master Bruce. Have a good sleep, my boy.”

Bruce is asleep beside the boys before Alfred makes it to the stairs. And quietly, several minutes after Alfred has left, and after Bruce has dozed off enough to startle awake, two cold hands slowly comb his hair away from his temples, and above them all, above their tranquil moment of rest, the world wakes up and begins to start its day.

#tim drake #magic tim drake #dc #haunted houses

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jaybirbie · 11 months

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Okay, not sure if anyones had this idea yet. But I'm loving TeacherDanny!

So how about Miss Frizzle like teacher Danny!

Opening portals to different places to teach his students. Or having his own Fenton Bus!

Tim as Arnold. Poor boy suffering, wishing they could have a normal field trip.

Cujo as the class pet!

Batfam thinks Tim's finally losing it when he tries to convince his Family that his Teacher brought them to see the dinosaurs or shrunk them down to view the inside of the human body.

Tim: I hope this is a normal field trip.

Everyone: With Mr.Fenton! No way!.

Edit: see comments but it has been done before!!

#dc x dp #danny phantom #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc #tim drake #danny fenton #magic school bus #teacher danny

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adoptable-fanfic-prompts · 1 year

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DC + MCU/WandaVision Writing Prompt

So this doesn’t share much with the MCU except for being similar to WandaVision and a Scarlet Witch.

It starts off in the POV of Bruce. Everything in Gotham is good: no Rogues, no dead Robins, no Batman. Bruce is raising his sons as a healthy adult who managed to get over the trauma of his parents’ deaths (although he doesn’t remember how). However, things slowly become apparent that something isn’t normal but each time Bruce is close to figuring it out, his thoughts are reset and he forgets his suspicions. That is, until a member of Justice League Dark (personally, I think of Constantine) [JLD] manages to find him and breaks him from the spell (the entirety of Gotham is covered in a hex that stops people from going in or out). They begin to figure out what’s wrong but don’t tell the other Bats (unsure if more people knowing will cause a brain reset).

Eventually, they realize that one of the Bats isn’t who he claims to be: Tim was replaced with another magician. JLD breaks the spell on the other Bats minds and they find out the truth: Tim had magic but due to it going unnoticed for years, it’s been slowly building up and getting out of control (something ‘broke the camel’s back’ and caused the hex, although I’m not sure what (pretty much Tim had an emotional breakdown)). The magician reveals that the real Tim is inside the abandoned Drake Manor and that his master is trying to siphon his powers (I see the antagonist as being Morgana le Fey but it can be anyone). Get to Drake manor to see villain attempting to siphon magic from Tim (inside red bubble) but failing. Upon entering the manor, the hex becomes smaller and only surrounds the manor.

Fight breaks out between the two groups and Tim (who isn’t really conscious but is aware of something bad happening) tries to subconsciously cause a reset. Instead, it causes everyone present to be pulled into the ‘bubble’. The villain, henchmen, and JLD disappear but the rest of the Bats are together. Turns out, Tim is reliving his life inside the bubble so they get to see what lead up to the incident.

Starts off with Tim as a little kid who is home alone. Home invaders break in and he goes to hide. They start to get close to his hiding spot and he subconsciously‘convinces’ them to not look there.

Next incident is when Tim is following Batman after Jason’s death. He ends up getting captured by people and they try to experiment on him (similar to what happened to Wanda from Hydra (mind stone scene)). Similar to Wanda, he is exposed to something that causes his magic to awaken further (if this did not happen, his magic would have ‘died off’) and he sees the shadow of his future self (does not know this)). When he wakes up, his kidnappers are gone (he accidentally killed them). Bruce remarks that this was a cold case of his (Tim was too out of it to realize what happened to him fully).

Next incident is after Tim starts training to be Robin. He’s sitting by Jason’s grave and talking to him. States how he wishes Jason was still here. Turns out, this is how Jason came back to life (not that Tim knew this and is why Jason came back catatonic: Tim doesn’t have control of his powers fully so only did it ‘halfway’).

Continue to show other cases of Tim unknowingly using magic. Ends with Tim in front of his parents graves and grieving everyone he lost (even though not all remained dead). This is what caused the hex.

The Bats, after the final scene, finally catch up to JLD and enemies. JLD is not doing well (2v1). Morgana is able to siphon Tim’s powers more easily now that she is inside. She manages to get close enough to Tim bit before she can touch him, he wakes up.

Goes to Tim POV. He was spending that time in his mind micromanaging everyone (so that none realized they were being controlled/trapped in their minds). He is eventually interrupted by a female voice.

It’s a Scarlet Witch.

Is it MCU Wanda? One of the comic versions? Who knows. They are all parts of a singular being and are interconnected together (not all Scarlet Witches are Wanda, although Wanda typically is the Scarlet Witch (or Scarlet Warlock for the male versions)).

She helps Tim with addressing what has happened and shows him what he did. Tim wants to leave to help but since they are in his mind, Time is somewhat meaningless (a second in the real world could be a century inside his mind). So this version of a Scarlet Witch trains him a bit (including Runes).

When he wakes up, he goes to attack the villain. He manages to defeat her (and accepts his role as a Scarlet Witch/Warlock). Tim is comforted by his family. Unfortunately, JLD informs them that Tim needs to be locked away because of his dangerous magic. Bats argue against but Tim, realizing he is still a danger, decides to leave and flies off (no one is able to follow him).

Tim disappears for a while and no one is able to find him. Turns out, he went to Raven for help. They decide for Tim to go to Azarath until he gains control (not sure if it’s populated or destroyed, up to the writer).

And that’s it.

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audhd-nightwing · 1 month

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i just think the batfam deserves to be a little bit magic, especially considering how genuinely cursed Gotham is (and how they’re all already slightly inhuman anyway)

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