#unfortunately for him tim tested his will against batman | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

charlietheepicwriter7 · 6 months

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Always a man, a city, and a lighthouse...

"Robin, Red Robin, stay back for a minute," Batman said as he dismissed everyone for patrol. "I have a new mission for you. Dozens of civilians have gone missing around the decommissioned Gotham City Lighthouse." A few clicks and the Batcomputer displayed a map of the Upper West Side, a highlight on the lighthouse. "I want you both to investigate the building. Everyone who's gone missing entered the lighthouse, but nothing has been found by the police. I suspect that the lighthouse is being used for gun smuggling, but we need more information.

"That's where you two come in."

Or, I've been reading too much of @virgamsysxvolumes 's Lucky Rush AU, and wanted a true Bioshock AU for dc x dp.

Underneath the city, in the vast and endless caverns beneith Gotham, lies the subterranean city of Amity. Amity was the pet project of the mad scientist couple, the Drs. Fenton, to investigate the effects of ectoplasm on humans, but with the help of their best friend, Vlad Masters, they transformed Amity into a Technocracy City filled with scientists, and completely lacking in morals.

Or at least, that's how it was ten years ago, before the creation of Plasm (the Adam replacement), a neon green goo that's basically meth that gives you superpowers. Everyone from the top scientists to the lower working class starting doping on Plasm, which gave people the ability to control fire, create hallucinogenic spores, summon bats, etc. Vlad, the mayor, was deposed in a cue let by the Fentons and the city descended into anarchy, with people from the surface getting lured down from the lighthouse so they can continue their experiments.

The Fentons are 100% not good people in this. Jack is in charge of all the technological advances in Amity, while Maddie has created human/ghost hybrids--the Little Sisters of the story--that can naturally harvest ectoplasm from dead bodies to use for experiments. Once everyone's hooked on Plasm, the Little Sisters are in danger from acting Splicers, so she creates Big Daddies to protect them.

Danny is the only Little Brother, and Jazz is the only Big Sister. Vlad turned them both into monsters as revenge against the Fentons for the cue, but the couple didn't really care, with Jack barely acknowledging he has children, and Maddie acting like they were never turned into monsters to begin with. Not sure about ages... Jazz is probably the same as her canon age, but if Danny is still 14, he looks 10, tiny and malnourished and pale.

Tim and Damian are trapped in Amity after an automatic system determines them as good test subjects. The AI filters out any cops, so that's why the police never found anything. The elavator brings them down into the city, showing a sweeping shot of neon in the darkness of the caves, and the boys figure out pretty quickly something is blocking their calls.

Tim gets super injured early on. I think, a Jack Fenton booby trap (that exclaims that it's a Jack Fenton Booby Trap moments before activating, which should be funny, but isn't when death lasers are being launched at him.). Damian gets captured, and that's when Tim is contacted by Vlad, who is our Atlas stand in for the game, only Tim immediately realizes that this man is sketchy af.

But unfortunately, in order to rescue Damian, Tim has to splice himself with Plasm. Maybe its for fire-wielding, or telekinesis but Tim can't get to wherever Damian is being held and, while torn, splices himself to save Damian.

Damian was kidnapped because his exposure to Lazirus Waters made a Big Daddy think he was a Little Sister, so it brought him back to the Casper Academy, which is where Little Sisters drop their harvests off in the care of William Lancer. Lancer looks after the girls because Maddie Fenton is too busy, but it's against his will despite him caring for them all. He's trapped in the building, can't leave or he dies. He's actually relieved to know that Vlad is still alive and trusts him, because to Lancer he was just a good mayor who was overthrown and the Fentons are the real bad guys, just look what they did to their kids!

This is where the batkids first learn about Danny and Jazz, although they don't meet them until a while after this. Danny actually ends up being the one leaving Plasm out for Tim every time he rescues a Little Sister. (Sidenote, they end up killing people while in Amity. While both do have death counts, the problem with Amity is that they have to use stronger and stronger levels of force to get people to go down, leading them to escalating and killing quite a few).

Lancer points them to communications to get their comms working again, and that area is run by Damon Grey.

At some point after comms are back on, the two learn that Red Hood actually came in after them after hours of no communication and has been captured by Maddie Fenton, who intends to turn him into a Big Daddy.

In late story, it's revealed that Jack Fenton was murdered before the cue even happened, and that the Jack Fenton they'd been communicating with the entire time was an AI assistant created by living Jack to keep his work going. The cue was actually retaliation from Maddie and the Jack AI for murdering Jack.

The story would eventually end with Tim, Damian, and Jason freeing all the Little Sisters along with Danny and Jazz.

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iriswords · 1 year

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Febuwhump Day 12 - Can you hear me?

You can also read this on ao3 and find the rest of my febuwhump fics here

tw: blood and injuries, self-esteem issues, implied past emotional abuse

Fandom: Batman

Words:

Tim has been caught by the Riddler and is forced to play one of his games. He talks to himself as he progresses, certain the comms don't work. On the other end of the line, the Bats hear everything.

Tim hates the Riddler. He used to like the man, used to find him clever and funny, even, but all past appreciation for him is now gone. He pounds against the door for what must be the dozenth time, screaming at the Riddler to let him out. As if that would get him somewhere. It is a commonly known fact that villains never do what heroes ask them. There would be no villains and heroes, otherwise.

“That’s of no use, birdie,” says the Riddler over the speakers in the room. “We’ll proceed to the next part once you’ve calmed down a bit.”

Calmed down a bit? Tim has more than enough reasons to be angry. Not only did he let himself be captured like a fool, and by the Riddler, of all people—Tim has way too many things to do to spend any amount of time trying to solve riddles—but he also sees no way out. The Riddler placed him in a box of a room, with two locked doors. One he entered through. The other has yet to open.

Tim slumps against the wall and lets himself slide to the ground. The Riddler left him in nothing but his suit, stripped him of anything that could have been useful to his escape. He even took the cape. On his leg, a dark stain grows slowly where Tim was stabbed earlier in the night by the Riddler’s goons. It hasn’t hit anything dangerous, but the bleeding doesn’t show any sign of stopping on its own, and Tim has nothing to stop it with. Carefully, Tim prods at his ribs, which he cracked two nights ago and told no one about. They haven’t gotten worse, but they could use some rest. Unfortunately for them, it doesn’t look like they will get it any time soon.

Tim taps against his comms to activate them. Just like the times he tried before, he gets nothing but static.

“Red Robin to Oracle,” he tries anyway. “Can you hear me?” Silence is his only answer. “The Riddler’s got me, and I’m not in the mood for playing his games.”

“Rude,” comes in the Riddler’s voice over the speakers. Tim ignores him.

“Oracle? Can you hear me?” Still nothing.

At the same moment, a pastel blue gas whirls out of the airway. Tim instinctively reaches for the rebreather in his belt and remembers he does not have his belt or his rebreather anymore.

“What is this?” he hisses at the room, hoping the Riddler is still listening and inclined to answer him.

“I’ve paired up with Scarecrow,” says the Riddler casually, as though this was no information worth mentioning. “He’s decided to expand his horizons and test other aspects of the human mind. As a fellow intellectual, I could only agree.”

Tim would rather he hadn’t agreed. And what does ‘expand his horizons’ even mean? Knowing Scarecrow, it cannot be anything good. Tim holds his breath until he cannot anymore, then lets the blue gas infiltrate his lungs. It doesn’t taste like anything, so far from the acrid taste of fear toxin, like terror on your tongue warning you about what is to come.

Tim waits for the effects, tense as a wire. They do not come. The Riddler gives no indication as to whatever toxin this is functioned or not. Instead, the second door slides slowly open.

“You may proceed to the test,” says the Riddler, and Tim figures he might as well indulge the two villains. If they are satisfied, they could even let him go. He gets up, wincing when he puts too much weight on his injured leg and walks to the door.

Tim steps into a giant labyrinth, stretching over the whole ground floor of what looks to be two joint warehouses. That the Riddler even managed to pull this out without getting caught is a testimony of Gotham’s police failure—and the vigilante’s failure, too, because they definitely should have found out about this sooner—but what is done is done.

“Are you out of creativity?” asks Tim out loud.

“Don’t judge my piece of art too quickly, birdie. You may be surprised. All you need to know is that there are no rules. But if you do something I don’t like, you’ll be punished. You’ll know the exit when you reach it.”

Perfect. Just. Fucking. Perfect. Tim has not had nearly enough coffee to deal with this. It looks like he doesn’t have a choice.

Before going into the labyrinth, he tries his comms again and receives no more answer. He decides to let them activated, in case they come back to life suddenly, and steps into the labyrinth.

—

“Red Robin to Oracle,” says Red Robin, and Barbara’s attention shifts from Batman to Red Robin. “Can you hear me?”

“Clear as day,” answers Barbara. “Where are you and what’s going on? We lost your tracker.”

“The Riddler’s got me and I’m not in the mood for playing his games.”

Barbara snorts. “Who ever is? Do you have any useful information to make it easier for me to track you down?”

Tim doesn’t answer her. “Oracle?” he calls. “Can you hear me?”

“I can hear you very well, Red Robin. Do you know where you are?” No answer. “Red?” Barbara sighs and switches to Batman’s line again. “B, we’ve got a problem.”

—

As was to be expected, the labyrinth is filled with traps and riddles. Moving walls and hidden goons waiting to take him out. Tim defeats them all, though not without sustaining further injuries. His left wrist is broken, and his leg is minutely getting worse. He leans on the walls of the labyrinth as he stumbles through it, panting, his mind sluggish from the pain. He fights back the strange urge to cry that has been rising in him for the better part of his journey in the labyrinth.

“I wonder if they’ll notice I’m gone,” he says to himself in a surprising bout of honesty. “Or how long it’s gonna take them.” No one answers him. The silence around him is suffocating. He keeps talking, the words tumbling out of his mouth without his consent. “Maybe they’ll assume I’ll get out myself.” He gives a strangled, bitter laugh. “Well, that’s not gonna happen anytime soon.”

Minutes have stretched out into hours, and each riddle takes Tim more and more time to solve. Every time, frustration builds up in him and tears burn his eyes.

“Maybe they won’t care. Mom and dad wouldn’t have.”

—

“Red Robin, can you hear me?” asks Oracle for the thousandth time in the past three hours, since Tim asked for help. And just like those past times, she receives no answer. Everyone is back in the Cave, ready to roam the city as soon as she gets a hint as to where Red Robin is kept. But the Riddler was clever this time, for not even she can find anything leading to Tim. She will, eventually, she knows she will, but the question is, how much time is it going to take?

“I wonder if they’ll notice I’m gone,” echoes Red’s voice through the speakers in the Batcave. Everyone freezes. Apart from a few pained grunts, it is the first thing Tim has said in hours. “Or how long it’s gonna take them.” Barbara exchanges a confused look with Dick. Is he talking about the Riddler and his goons? Has he escaped them?

“Maybe they’ll assume I’ll get out myself.” Barbara frowns as the words start to make sense. Over the speakers, Tim laughs darkly. “Well, that’s not gonna happen anytime soon.”

“Is he—” starts Jason.

“Talking about us?” finishes Babs. “Yeah, I think he is.” Silence falls over the Cave. Babs shares the sentiment. Why would Tim think they wouldn’t notice or come for him?

“Maybe they won’t care. Mom and dad wouldn’t have.”

By her side, Dick makes a wounded noise in the back of his throat. Uneasiness grows in Barbara’s chest. They are not supposed to listen to this.

“Red, can you hear me?” she tries again. Tim doesn’t acknowledge her.

—

Tim continues to talk to himself, in a desperate and not entirely controlled attempt at distracting himself from his impending doom. Pain shoots up from his leg every time his foot brushes the ground, and he nearly face-planted three times in the past minute. He rounds a corner and finds himself at a dead-end. Tim chokes on a sob.

“Why are you doing this to me?” he cries to no one. “I just wanted a calm night. Just one fucking night away from assassination attempts and near-death experiences. Is that too much to ask?”

The Riddler doesn’t answer him. Tim sobs harder, and he doesn’t understand why, all of a sudden, all his emotional control, so good usually, is so thoroughly shot.

“Am I really that fucking insufferable that no one wants to keep me around?” The words fall from his mouth without his permission. “Maybe mom and dad were right when they said I was impossible to love.” Maybe everyone was right when they tried to leave. Maybe he should stop clinging to them like a pathetic leach and just remove himself so they won’t have to. Maybe, maybe, maybe—

The tears stop as abruptly as they came, Tim’s chest heaving from the remnants of sobs. He dries his tears with a shaky hand and pulls his mask back on. Whatever this episode was, he’s glad there was no one around to witness it.

—

“Am I really that fucking insufferable that no one wants to keep me around?” asks Tim, and Babs clenches her jaw. She doesn’t dare glance at Dick, still by her side. She knows what she’ll see. Eyes full of tears, cheeks red and wet, face distorted by sorrow. She knows he blames himself, and she also knows he isn’t entirely free of blame. But she cannot comfort him, not when she can barely swallow around the lump in her own throat. The Cave fell into an uneasy silence when Tim first started crying, the sound so unusual to all of them. Tim is all cynicism and calculated boredom. He does not cry.

“Maybe mom and dad were right when they said I was impossible to love.”

Dick lets out an audible sob and curls up on himself, a hand clasped tightly over his mouth. Babs risks a glance at the rest of the Cave. Bruce’s face, bare from the cowl, has twisted into a constipated expression, his way of conveying regret and sorrow. Cass hovers silently by his side, twitchy in a way she usually never is. Farther in the Cave, Jason is pacing, hands fisted in his hair. As his body turns toward her, she catches a glimpse of bright, unnaturally green eyes. Damian, for his part, is rooted to the spot near the Medbay, wide eyes fixed on the speaker. His expression is a careful mask, but Babs can see the way his hands shake slightly where they hang limply at his sides.

“Red,” Barbara tries once again. She cannot help the way exhaustion sips into her voice. “Can you hear me?”

—

Tim misses the goon who comes out of nowhere and misses the bat swung at him. He does not dodge and does not defend himself. It hits his temple full force, a skull-shattering blow that sends him sprawling to the ground. He lands on his broken wrist and the pain rips a howl from him. His vision whitens out for a moment, and he comes to panting and sobbing, cradling his injured wrist to his chest. The goon is nowhere to be found. Tim should be glad, he guesses, that they didn’t stay around to beat him up more.

He straightens up with difficulty, dizzy from the blow, the pain, and the blood loss. His breath itches with silent, uncontrollable sobs. Tim tries to get to his feet, but his knee gives out beneath him and he falls back to the floor. He curls up against the wall of the labyrinth, all of his resolve gone.

“Please,” he whispers to no one. He has never felt more like a child. “Please someone, just come.”

In his head, Jane Drake scoffs disdainfully.

—

“I have an address,” announces Babs. Bruce, who has been anxiously pacing the Cave ever since Tim cried out in pain, turns abruptly towards her, already putting his coal back on.

“Where,” he growls, more order than question. The second Barbara gives him the address, Bruce is gone, closely followed by his sons.

“They’re coming, Red,” says Barbara into the comms. No one answers her.

@febuwhump

Part 2

#my writing #creative writing #fanfic #fanfiction #whump #febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday12 #dc #batman #batfamily #tim drake #hurt tim drake #tim drake whump

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marauderundercover · 2 years

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Temporary Arrangement... Until It’s Not Ch. 2

AO3

Living in a town like Gotham, you have to be prepared for disasters to happen. That was Tim’s motto, anyway. After all, there were enough Rogues in Gotham that Batman could have an entire team helping him, and he’d still have some Rogues left over. There were many Rogues that just operated at night, like Batman. And there were some Rogues that had specific areas of the city that they would target. Making them unlikely to hit somewhere like, say, a private school? Then, there were other Rogues. Rogues who didn’t care where or when they striked. Which was unfortunate for Tim, because he really did study hard for his math test. But after today, he was certain the teacher would just give everyone an ‘A’.

“Teenagers have such various reactions when it comes to fear. You are not adults, yet you are no longer really children.” Scarecrow rambles, gesturing widely. Tim shrinks back against the wall of the classroom, hoping Scarecrow wouldn’t notice him. He knew he was much smaller than his classmates (since he was the only ten year old in the seventh grade), and he really didn’t want to upset the man. Especially since he’d been playing around with a nasty looking syringe since walking into the room. Tim wasn’t brave enough to willingly face fear toxin, and he was okay with that. He knew that if he could avoid being dosed a little longer, Jason would show up. The middle school and high school buildings of Gotham Academy were right next to each other. There was no way Jason hadn’t heard about the Scarecrow attack. Not that Tim expected the older boy to come just for him, but he was Robin. And they’d had that one sleepover, so maybe Jason cared about him just a little bit. Plus the older boy was a hero. And Tim’s class really needed a hero at the moment.

“Hello? What have we here?” Scarecrow’s amused voice is suddenly right in front of him, and Tim feels his stomach drop. His parents would be so mad at him if he got doused with fear toxin.

“I’m Timothy, Mr. Scarecrow sir.” Tim says, thankful his voice wasn’t shaking as badly as he’d expected it to. The Rogue laughs, throwing his head back in mirth.

“Well, Timothy, what is a little boy like you doing here? Visiting a sibling, perhaps?” He asks, sounding genuinely curious. Tim shakes his head, wanting nothing more than to sink back in the shadows and disappear. He was usually so good at not being noticed. Why was today the day he was noticed?

“I’m a student here, sir.” He says, wishing the teacher would do something. He knew she was probably scared too, but he didn’t want to talk to Scarecrow anymore. And he knew he was supposed to be mature, but he just kind of wanted to cry right now.

“Interesting. Your mind is obviously more developed than most children your age. But you’re clearly not on the same emotional level as your classmates. That leaves you in an interesting position, Timothy. Do you know what that means?” The man asks, tilting his head to the side. The breath catches in Tim’s throat as his eyes catch the glint of the needle on the syringe in Scarecrow’s hand. Tim shakes his head and tries to back up, but Scarecrow’s goons rush forward and grab him, holding him still. Tim thrashes around, shaking his head.

“No. No, please, don’t.” He pleads, hoping word doesn’t get back to his father. He would be disappointed that Tim was acting like such a baby, but he couldn’t help it. He was scared. Really, really scared.

“Don’t worry. This will only sting a little.” Scarecrow says, stabbing the needle into his neck. Tim inhales sharply, hissing at the slight pinch. “It should start working quite quickly, Timothy. Please be sure to express your fear. Don’t try and hide it.” Scarecrow’s voice fades in and out as Tim looks around him. He blinks once and he’s still in his math class, surrounded by his classmates. He blinks again and he’s in his house. Alone. Tim frowns. This wasn’t scary. This was-

“Timothy Jackson Drake.” His father snaps, and Tim whirls around, eyes wide. He didn’t realize his parents were coming back today. He left a mess in the sitting room-

“I-” He starts to say, but stops as his dad moves towards him. Tim clenches his fists, trying hard not to wince as his dad gets in his face.

“I am beyond disappointed in you, Timothy. How could you do something so foolish? I thought you were better than this, Timothy. I thought you were a man now.” His father rambles at him, the anger clear on his face. Tim shakes his head, trying to put the pieces together. Why was his father so mad? Surely this wasn’t just about the homework on the floor in the sitting room, was it?

“Timothy! Look at your father when he’s speaking to you, dear.” His mother snaps. Tim blinks.

“But I-” He starts to say, but stops at the glare from his father.

“Don’t sit there and play stupid with me, boy. Batman himself told me everything.” He says, and Tim’s mouth goes dry.

“B-batman?” He stutters, struggling to catch his breath. Had Batman actually caught him following him and Robin? Did he hate him now? Was he mad at him too?

“Yes, Batman. Apparently you’ve been stalking Batman and Robin. They’re pressing charges, you know.” His father says, matter-of-factly.

“What?” Tim breathes out, unable to stop his hands from shaking.

“Batman and Robin. They’re pressing charges and there’s no way for your mother or I to fix this without it reflecting poorly on us. So you’ve left us no choice.” His father says, shaking his head. He holds his hand out and Tim’s mother grabs it.

“Sorry darling, but you understand, right?” She asks. Tim shakes his head.

“Understand what?” He asks, looking between his parents.

“We’re giving you up, of course. You’ve sullied your own name. No need to keep you around and let you ruin ours as well. After all, who wants to be connected to someone who stalked Batman and Robin? Especially someone who was caught, and has no other real purpose.” His mother says, tutting slightly. “Stop the tears, Timothy. It’s not a good look for you.” She adds before turning away from him.

“Wait, no! Mother, Father, please don’t leave! Come back!” He yells, rushing towards them. He trips on air and lands roughly on his knees. Looking back up, he realizes they’re gone. “No. No, no, please!” Scrambling to his feet, Tim looks around frantically. But it was no use. He was all alone again. And this time, it was for forever.

“Don’t worry, Timothy.” Batman’s gravelly voice says. Tim relaxes slightly until he turns and sees Batman. And the handcuffs in his hands.

“What- I’m so sorry Mr. Batman, sir, please-” He says, backing up and holding his hands up in surrender.

“It’s to help you, Timothy. Not hurt you.” Batman says firmly. Tim shakes his head, hands shaking as the handcuffs in Batman’s hands flicker and change into an orange jumpsuit with the words ‘Arkham Asylum’ printed clearly.

“I don’t wanna go to Arkham, please! Please, I’m sorry. Please don’t make me go there. Please don’t make me be alone! I’m sorry!” Tim cries, continuing to back up until he feels something solid behind him. He slides down the wall and pulls his knees close, hiding his face in them. “Please, please Batman, please don’t send me away. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Just a pinch, Tim.” Batman says. There’s a light pinch, and Tim blinks. His house fades away, back into his classroom. He blinks again, and realizes all of his classmates are gone. Only Batman and Robin remain. He blinks again, waiting for the two to disappear, but they don’t. He takes a few grounding breaths, trying to get his heart to stop going so fast.

“What happened?” Tim finally asks, frowning when he realizes his throat is scratchy. Batman glances back at Robin (Jason) who steps forward and kneels in front of him.

“Well kid, ya got a serious dose of fear serum. Did you remember that?” He asks. Tim nods slowly, remembering his parents giving him up. Hating him. Batman wanting to take him to Arkham.

“Did I-” Tim coughs, then sighs. “Were my classmates in here when I was saying things and screaming?” He asks, terrified of the answer.

“They were escorted out right before you started crying.” Robin says gently. Tim frowns, feeling his entire face heat up.

“I apologize for causing a scene.” He says, keeping his head ducked down. Why did this have to happen to him? Why couldn’t he just keep his emotions inside? He was usually much better at that.

“Hey, no, don’t apologize kid. You can’t help it with fear serum. Trust me.” Robin says, giving him a smile. Tim purses his lips, but nods. Robin was just trying to be nice to him. He didn’t want to make the older boy mad, cause then he might leave. And Tim wasn’t ready to be alone again.

“Do you have a way to contact your parents?” Batman asks, and Tim jumps slightly. He’d almost forgotten the man was in the room. The question registers, and Tim frowns.

“No? Why would I need to call my parents? It’s only second hour.” He says. Robin snorts.

“You really think school’s gonna stay open after a Scarecrow attack?” He asks. Tim frowns.

“Was someone hurt?” He asks.

“Um. Kid, fear serum? You? I thought we’ve been through that.” Robin says. Tim shakes his head.

“But I’m fine. Why would they close school for one student getting dosed? It’s fine.” He says. Robin glances back at Batman before letting out a long sigh.

“Okay. We’re not unpacking that right now, but your parents? You got a way to call them to come pick you up?” He asks. Tim thinks back to the note that had been on the fridge for the past two days. The one from Mrs. Mac saying that she wouldn’t be in this week because she had to go out of town. Then he remembers the last time Mr. Wayne had known that Tim’s parents weren’t in town. And how he let Tim stay for a sleepover. And how he talked to Tim just how he talked to the bruised kids in Crime Alley.

“They’re working, so I’ll have to call Mrs. Mac instead.” Tim finally says. “I have a phone in my backpack.” Robin grabs his backpack and passes it to him.

“Mind if we stay here while you call? Just to make sure someone picks up.” Robin asks. Tim shakes his head.

“That’s fine.” He says, pulling out his phone and calling the landline at his house. “Hello? Yes, Mrs. Mac. I- I’m fine. Uh huh. Mmhmm. Yes. Could you come pick me up, please? Thank you. Yes, I’ll wait outside. Thank you. Bye.” Tim hangs up his phone and looks up at Robin, hoping that he and Batman believed him. “Guess I’ll go wait outside now. Thank you very much for your help.” Tim says, quickly standing, stumbling slightly as he rushes out of the classroom.

---

Walking towards the bus stop the next street over, Tim tries to keep his head down. He’d thrown a hoodie over his uniform so that he could get away from the school easier. Not like the school cared anyway. By the time Tim walked outside, all of the other students and most of the faculty were gone. He couldn’t really blame them, though. He was just ready to be home, too. The sound of a car slowing down makes him shift farther away from the road. It would be just his luck to get kidnapped right before making it to the bus stop.

“Timmy?” A familiar voice calls. Tim freezes and turns towards the car, waving awkwardly at Jason who was half hanging out of the car window.

“Hello Jason.” Tim says, wishing he could just melt into a puddle. He should’ve thought of the possibility of Jason and Mr. Wayne going this way to get home. They likely had to leave the school as Jason and Mr. Wayne instead of Batman and Robin. It only made sense that they’d leave in a normal car and go a normal route-

“Where are you going, man?” Jason asks, frowning.

“I’m heading to the bus stop. My parents and Mrs. Mac are indisposed.” Tim says, hoping that Jason will just drop it. The older boy pulls himself back into the car, and for a moment, Tim thinks he’s home free. Just as he starts to walk again, Jason’s car door is thrown open and he’s jogging over to him.

“Why don’t we give you a ride home? We’re neighbors, and I’d really hate for you to walk home after all of that drama at the school.” Jason says.

“It’s fine, it didn’t really affect me much.” Tim says, mentally daring Jason to challenge his statement. Jason shrugs, but his eye twitches.

“Even if it didn’t affect you, I don’t think Bruce’ll let you walk home. Not when your house is so close to ours. C’mon Timmy, it’s just a ride home.” Jason says. Tim sighs, but follows the older boy back over to the car. Jason slides into the front seat, a wide grin on his face.

“Hello again Tim. How are you doing, buddy?” Mr. Wayne asks, looking back at him. Tim resists the urge to shrug, since it wouldn’t be polite.

“Hello Mr. Wayne, I’m fine. How are you?” Tim asks. Mr. Wayne chuckles, before pulling the car away from the curb.

“I’m just fine, Tim. And I told you, you can call me Bruce, it’s fine. So are you coming over to the manor?” He asks. Tim’s eyes widen, but before he can decline, Jason speaks up.

“That’s a great idea, B! We could have another sleepover.” The older boy says. “I’ve gotta reclaim my honor in Mario Kart, after all.” He says. Tim frowns.

“It’s a school night, though. I’m not sure-” He tries to say, but Jason interrupts.

“And school will be canceled tomorrow because of the attack today. They’ll give us the three day weekend and then make us come back on Monday. Trust me.” He says.

“Incoming message from Gotham Academy. Would you like to hear it?” A robotic voice asks.

“Yes.” Mr. Wayne says.

“Attention Gotham Academy families, all campuses will be closed on Friday due to an incident at the Middle School. No students or faculty were seriously injured. Classes will resume on Monday.” The voice reads out. Tim frowns, leaning back in his seat.

“Told ya so.” Jason says, grinning. He makes eye contact with him, and his smile fades. “If you really don’t want to stay over-” He starts to say, but Tim cuts him off. It’s not that he didn’t want to stay, because he did. He really did. After all, it wasn’t every day that an actual superhero wanted to hang out and play video games with him. It was just-

“I don’t want to be a bother.” Tim says plainly. A look of understanding flashes across Jason’s face before he shakes his head.

“You’re not a bother, kid. Especially if I’m the one who invited you. I want to hang out with you. Plus, you didn’t get to try any of Alfred’s cooking last time. I guarantee you, that alone would make it worth it.” He says. Tim glances at Mr. Wayne in the rearview mirror. The man’s frown quickly switches to a smile.

“If you want to stay, Tim, I’d be fine with that. We can even stop by your house to get any essentials you may need.” He offers. Tim glances at Jason who just smiles at him.

“Up to you, Timbit.” He says. Tim thinks about how much he really doesn’t want to be a bother, but then he remembers the things he saw with the fear serum. And how badly he doesn’t want to be alone tonight. And how nice it feels to be seen, and to kind of be wanted. Even if the invitation is still just coming from pity, Tim can pretend that they want him to be there. And so, he nods.

---

Sitting on the couch next to Jason, Tim can’t help but laugh at the other boy’s grumbling. They’d been playing Mario Kart since getting back to the manor, earlier in the afternoon. Once Tim had assured Mr. Wayne that he was fine, Jason insisted on lunch at Batburger before they took Tim back to pack a bag for the night. And once they got back to Wayne manor, Jason immediately turned on Mario Kart, occasionally choosing a track that he was clearly awful at. And every time they played it, Jason’s insults to the NPCs grew more creative. It was hilarious.

“Why do you insist on picking this track? You’ve fallen off every time we’ve played this track.” Tim asks, carefully navigating around the curves. Jason huffs.

“It’s the principal of the thing, Tim. Plus, it’s Dickhead’s favorite level. If I can just practice enough on it, I’ll be able to beat him.” He says firmly. Tim raises an eyebrow as Yoshi once again falls off.

“Dinner time, boys.” Alfred Pennyworth says, appearing in the doorway. Jason jumps slightly, making Yoshi fall off right before the finish line.

“Damnit.” He grumbles.

“Language, Master Jason. Unless you would like to add a dollar to the swear jar.” Mr. Pennyworth says, quirking an eyebrow. Jason smiles apologetically.

“Sorry, Alfie. Won’t happen again.” He says, before turning to Tim and winking. Tim snorts, then clears his throat and follows behind Jason.

“Thank you for dinner, Mr. Pennyworth.” Tim says, smiling at the man. His face softens as he nods.

“It’s my pleasure, young sir. And please, call me Alfred.” Mr. Pennyworth says. Tim smiles again, following Jason into the dining room. He liked hanging out with Jason, and after the last hour, he was pretty sure the older boy liked hanging out with him, too. Maybe they were even becoming friends.

#batfamily #batfam #ao3fic #Bruce wayne is a good parent #Tim Drake #tim drake needs a hug #Jason Todd #jason todd is a good brother #bruce wayne #Alfred Pennyworth #bad parents jack and janet drake #good sibling Jason Todd #tim joins the family early

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simpingwriter · 10 months

Text

Jerome Valeska

Faith Wayne/Phoenix

'All you need

is a bit of Faith'

pt.3

___________________

Playing 20 Questions, what better way is there to bond with each other!

Enjoy! :)

Word Count: approx. 4.706 Words

___________________

"I don't know what the fuck you mean, Carrotboy." Was that really the best your stupid fucking brain came up with?! Bruce would be disappointed hearing your pathetic attempt at talking yourself out of this situation.

Almost as bad as the day Gordon deduced you as being the girl behind Phoenix and all you said was: "Wha? Me? Phoenix? Nah, old man." All while standing right next to Batman as casual as you unfortunately could be for an apparently all normal Gothamite. But today was really one of the days you could've used your brain to work for you and not against you.

Sometimes it felt like your brain was a mini version of Jason, throwing a set of Tim's DnD dice every morning just to decide whether or not it would be helpful or a menace/bother to you.

"Sure. And I am blonde." Yeah yeah, you get it, you really weren't good at lying sometimes, shut up buddy-boy. "Why do you care if I am or not?" You ask back instead, without explicitly confirming or denying his question either way, coughing a bit from the dust on the floor you disturbed by letting yourself fall onto your knees. All other cells beside yours and his were empty once more…the guard really decided to lock you two away. This felt like a less terrible Solidary.

You really shouldn't have thought too soon when you saw that Solidary Holding Sign last time…this is all dragging your time for this investigation out. This is going to take foreverrrrrrrr. You feel yourself go insane already, alone at the fact that you're here already for one and a half days and you hadn't made ANY progress.

"I just…it's weird. I have been here since a whole hellish month now and no one gave a fuck about me, except if they could steal my lunch or push my head into it." It's not like the food here is very missable, you bet. But it would explain why he looked a bit…thin…for his age and height. "Hungry then, I'm guessing?" "Fuckin' starving, girly."

You hum at that, placing your forehead against the rough gray bricks of the wall that was between you two. "If they at least wouldn't have locked me in here as well – after all its not like I can't stand up for myself –, I could have gotten us something. Doubt it's worth it though? Tastes like dog food?" The ginger on the other side chuckles, wincing out audibly due to some of his healing facial wounds though, "You betcha, but if it's the only thing you get here and you got no connections to the guards, it's gonna taste at least mediocre very soon."

Let's hope you're not here for too long to test out his assumptions on the food.

"So if you're not an inmate…who are you? A guard they snuck in? To hear us out? Are they perhaps suspecting a breach?" Guessing you as a guard wasn't too far off. You didn't know him, you didn't know if one of your siblings or even Bruce caught him and threw him in here, so you would definitely not reveal your identity as Phoenix to him. That would be so fucking stupid either damn way, you didn't reveal that to even your best friends. After all it was an incredibly important rule next to the "Do not kill your enemy." Rule. A rule you and Jason regularly acted like it doesn't exist. Oops.

Never reveal your identity to ANYONE without Bruce's explicit permission. Not just for the protection of the Family's secret and their safety but also for the safety of the people you're all close to, both those that knew you all as the masked heroes/vigilantes or as the normal citizens you're outside of Patrols or missions.

"Not a guard. Don't you think you would've seen me before then?" While you continued talking to him, your eyes scanned the surroundings a second time, hoping you missed something but you got the sense you would have to use some of the things you sneaked into the Asylum. The positives of being a female "Inmate" while only men were on shift for registration? They couldn't legally frisk you, even at Arkham. "I don't know. As said, been here for a month only now…you could've been on vacation beforehand." "Trust me, what I actually …my job doesn't even know what month-long vacations are. A weekend...maybe." You stand up from your dusty, dirty spot on the floor, brushing your now cement-dusted hands off on your already nasty looking prisoner uniform before slipping a small black plastic object from your cleavage. Big tits had their various perks on various occasions, like great hiding spots for small tools. Like your trusty, assorted lockpicks in the form similar to a pocket knife. Never going anywhere without it.

"...Are you still-" He stops himself when he hears a small click from the side of your cell, then the "quiet" sliding of a metal door. And when he turned his head, you were already outside his own cell, crouching over to work on the lock of his cell door. His eyes widened at how quiet your footwork seemed to be that he didn't even hear you walk out of yours and over to his cell. "How did…how are you not afr- " "Shhh, I watched their pattern yesterday, that of the guards. They periodically take 20 minute breaks while the cells are empty and are usually gone for another extra 15 because why the hell should they watch empty cells after all, right?"

He watches you pick the lock with no sweat caused, nodding a bit unsure at your explanation, not knowing any better himself as he crawls backwards slowly once you slid his cell door open as well, not shutting it fully behind you as well to get out again more quickly once you had to.

"Yeah no…you're definitely not a guard. Fucking hell…who are you!?" You squint at his defensive position, looking up at you from his small, almost curled up spot on the ground. His black eye was healing better than you expected for the fact that he seems to be missing the important minerals and vitamins to have his body heal his wounds at a normal rate. Depending on how long you're stuck here as well, you had to somehow get him something to eat…perhaps you could bribe a guard to get him actual food. Not the other…"food". Eh, disgusting.

"Fine, I'll tell ya. But first of all, get off the damn floor, you look at me like you think I would stomp your head in. Why should I beat you up after I stopped that SUV-build of a man from taking care of that job? Makes no sense at all." He must've realized so too, looking to the side in embarrassment before using the wall next to him to stand up and move over to the "bed" in the left corner of the room, next to the wall of your cell.

After one night on them already, your comfort-spoiled back cracked like a nightlight stick this morning, you were way too used to the comfy, perfect mattress of your bed at home…hmm, not too soft, not too hard…

You snap out of your daydream when you see the confused tilt of his head, waiting for your reveal and your explanation. First though, you had to make something sure. "How are the wounds?" He frowns a bit, yet shrugs, "Nothing I didn't have to deal with before…" Was he a street kid before he was taken here? You then would expect him to be just slightly better at defending himself, or at least at avoiding the grudge of others.

"Street kid?" "...Well, no. I was able to avoid that at least. I uh…nevermind." "Fine, then I'll keep my secret as well." You claim boldly, throwing yourself next to him onto the hard bed, nearly touching him at how close you came by accident.

Sitting this close, you were able to look at his bandaged face much better, his suddenly wide open eyes revealing what a beautiful shade of dark green they were. What a shame that he was probably absolutely nuts, the slight sign of usually probably very obvious freckles on his face would almost melt away your first opinion of him: Inmate in Arkham, hands off.

"W-what? No! I wanna know…" "How 'bout a game then? 20 Questions." "That...is not a game."

It was to you and your adoptive siblings, well, when you all were still younger at least. It was the best game next to 'I spy with my little eye' to pass the time with on Patrol and to you it was the early bonding time you often missed out on with them back then in your own opinion. It was a good trick to make them be a bit more open about themselves, maybe it worked with the Ginger too. "It is, you just don't have enough imagination i guess. 20 Questions, no lying. Deal?" Stretching your hand out towards the pale one in his lap, you smile sweetly at him. If all of Arkham already hates you two, why shouldn't you two team up at least?

"...Deal. But I ask the first one." Sure, why shouldn't he, if it makes him happy.

"If you're not a guard, who are you then?" Didn't expect any other question, to be fair. But you made the rules yourself, no lying. Well, to a degree with this question, you definitely wouldn't reveal your identity THIS easily, to an Arkham inmate even less. "A Detective Aide." It wasn't a complete lie, you're technically under questionable contract with Jim, in case the media ever wondered how you, a normal citizen, ended up at so many of the crime scenes, seemingly helping the real Detectives with their jobs.

"...wait. You're with the GCPD??" Seems like you struck a sensitive spot with that already, even his bruised eye opening a bit alongside his other one from the shock as he scoots away from you by a few inches. "I'm guessing the GCPD then caught you for whomever you killed?" His green eye caught your dark blue ones, he looked like a deer in headlights, "Y-you could say that. Yeah…I was finally free and they threw me back into a new cage…"

Finally free?

"My turn. What the hell is your name anyway, I don't want to keep calling you Ginger or Carrotboy for all eternity." "Well, unlike me, if you're working with these corrupt dickwads, you aren't exactly stuck an eternity here, are ya?" Well, it heavily depends on how long they would let you simmer in the cells and nothing else. Might as well become an eternity with your usual amount of luck.

"...oh…and it's Jerome. Jerome Valeska. Yours?" Huh. You swore you heard that name somewhere before, you just didn't know exactly where. If he killed someone, he might've been in the news that day? Though this was Gotham's newspapers you're thinking about here, if they'd waste even an inch of paper for one measly murder case, it'd be really fucking odd.

But a mass murder caused by the Joker's Laughing Gas? Yeah. That would probably manage to find a spot. Somewhere.

"I take that as your second question, Jerome. My name…well, first I need you to promise to not utter it to anyone in here." "Do you realize that they'd punch my teeth out before I could even mention it?" Point taken at that, yeah, who even knew if they would believe him if they already wanted him dead for some reason.

"My undercover name is Magdalena…but my real name is Faith Wayne."

Till now, all your answers already sent some kind of fresh shock anew through him, so once more he stared at you in disbelief, "Faith…Wayne?! You're a-" "Wayne isn't an uncommon surname, mind you." He pulls his brows up, having a hard time believing you, not that 'Wayne' is common for a surname. But that you're not A Wayne.

"But are-" "Yeah." "Damn. …How did a Wayne end up as an Aide? I would expect you to someday get your father's company…or at least work there by now." And be hated by all of Gotham, not just its mass of criminals!? HA. NO!

"I...would rather not…too much work, which I already got enough of on most days." Cleary your answer only spawned more fresh question marks in Jerome's head as he kept looking at you just as lost as before. "Adopted or…"

"Biological."

"So…with you knowing that I am a Wayne, yay, you basically know where I live alread-" "Some extremely extravagant old-money house I am guessing." Nail on the head, yeah. You nod at that, in a 'More or less' way before you pick your interrupted sentence back up, "Where did you live before your address was changed into Arkham?" He had started picking at his fingers, especially the dry skin around his nails as he pulls his lips into a grimace. His home didn't give him good memories then, like most people that were here now. You doubt there is even one Inmate in Arkham that didn't have at least one bad or even terrible memory of their old homes.

"A…a traveling Circus. Does Haly's Circus ring a bell?" Ring a bell?! It was etched into your mind from your brother's childhood stories. Of course you did. "I…I actually know very well what Circus you mean…one of my adopted brothers lived and worked there with his parents as well." His mouth formed an O at that, surprise even more evident even with his still aching wounds keeping his facial expressions on the low pretty much, but he definitely didn't look like he wanted to be left in the dark about your Brother now. "Does the name Grayson ring a bell to you then?"

He was unsurprisingly quick to nod at that, "The flying Graysons. I heard of the "incident" that killed them back then from some talk I overheard while working, I was only 3 then yet though, when they died. So I fortunately didn't witness it, even if, I wouldn’t remember I guess…" You couldn't believe it, of course they most likely never met, but Dick was in the same Circus as the ginger next to you. It was shocking how small the world sometimes really was, but not all that weird if your own whole life circled around nothing but Gotham and the surrounding area…

For a few moments, both of you sat quietly, working on digesting and processing the new information: For you it was the Circus that connected you to two people now, for Jerome the fact that your a Wayne.

He would've expected anything but that.

He was first to continue though, turning more towards you so he didn't have to crane his neck to the side the whole time, leaning against the wall as he pulled his legs against his chest, mustering you more thoroughly, "So…how is it living with a billionaire dad?" Yeah, how was such a life?

"Pretty damn boring sometimes. Not even because I can have or do have everything I would possibly want, nah, he didn't raise us like that must I add. But…the fucking events, the gala about every. second. month. They make us want to bash our heads in, to put it bluntly but honest. My second oldest brother was close to making it a reality once because he hates formal suits like the plague." It was something you rarely confessed to other people, as you promised to keep a somewhat good impression in front of strangers for Bruce, so it felt a bit weird feeling so at ease with sharing your distaste for your boring ass rich kid life with the boy in front of you.

Maybe because there was an incredibly low chance he would ever see the world beyond the gates of Arkham again to talk about your deeply personal feelings…

Why did that idea sound so…terrible to you? He killed someone for God's sake! ...He still didn't look the part either way, his ginger hair, crusted over even now with his own blood, one stray, unruly lock of it hanging away and over his forehead, the dimmed freckles on his face, nose and even going down his neck, probably continuing on his shoulders...and the rest of his body. The deep interest buried into his unbruised eye at all the things he got to know about you and all it made him want to know more about you.

Had you met him outside of Arkham, he would've never come to your mind as the subject of probably cold blooded murder. And from all of Batman's "Robins", you're the one that could see through the many masks of your fellow humans the best. So why, if there was one, could you not see through his? "Do...do I have something on my face?" Wait, have you been staring at his face the whole time of your stupid inner monologue!? Oh great, not weird at all, Faith. But you're literally here as a crazy person, undercover, but either way: you were allowed to stare.

"A few freckles are saying hi. But other than that, no."

"Don't start with them now…I can't even count as far for how often I was bullied for them at that stupid fucking shithole of a Circus before! I hate them!" He hates his...freckles? Why? They aren't even that prominent on him, which might be due to the current lack of daily sunlight in Arkham. But how can anybody bully someone for them, you wished you had freckles but noooo, your Dad's stupid genes made you look so damn basic, black hair, blue eyes, wohoo baby... "I think they look really nice on you, though I think you need to get out into the sun a bit more again…" "...Nice!? I doubt anyone ever even thought about complimenting them…" Jerome laments, first caught off guard, then in thought, brushing with his non-bandaged hand over said few still visible patches of them on his cheeks. It was very obvious that he was badly self-conscious about them, a random girl telling him that she liked them wouldn't be able to fix years of negative comments about them like magic.

Sometimes you wished insecurities worked that way though, that all a person needs is ONE compliment and everything is forgotten. But nothing is ever that easy.

"Well, you were surrounded by cunts then. I doubt you will ever have to see any of these people again though, so forget what they said about you. The past is the past, live in the present, and always keep planning ahead for the future." A short, melancholic chuckle shook his body for a moment as he also shook his head, letting the hand fall back onto his knees as he toyed with the pillow in his other hand. As much as the bandage let him at least. "What future…this cell is my only future, where they will let me rot and decay if need be. I will die in here, either from malnutrition, the other nutcases here…or myself. Whoever or whatever is quicker." He tried to hide it, but you saw his eyes both glaze over, quick to soak the threatening tears up with the bandage around his right hand.

He knew his most likely fate. So did you.

So why did you tell him about all this, knowing it would only hurt him further? Were you that detached from reality sometimes?

"I'm sorr-" "It's okay." "No it isn't, I…I forget my manners or to think through my words, especially now. I can't help it..." The last time you took your medication was two days ago now, the afternoon before this Undercover Mission began. This is exactly what you wanted to avoid, had the accident yesterday not happened – would you be able to investigate now instead of being stuck in the cell blocks because otherwise your head would be attempted to be smashed into pancake batter – you could've managed with the steady decline of the meds missing in your system.

"Why?" Asks the actual inmate, yeah thanks. "Impulsivity Disorder, a bit like ADHD but without all the other shtick connected to that. So even if I am not a real Inmate…I have a bit of a crack running through my noggin too. Ha…ironic sometimes…" Phoenix, a vigilante hunting down the insane and crazy of Gotham…is one of them. Well, your condition is still much more mild than whatever is wrong with some of the women and men in here, you don't violently rip the head of Squirrels off to eat them like Cocoa Puffs, for a quite brutal but unfortunately not made-up and gruesome example. "And you? Has anyone ever told you what made you…you?" He shook his head yes, but didn't immediately come out with the words, instead he felt his eyes wander up to the ceiling of the cell. Just as boring and plain as everything else around the two of you – the only interesting aspects right now.

"..."Diagnosed" as a psychopath…if they only knew how long it took for me to get pushed this far…too far." Air quotes added to the word 'Diagnosed' woke your curiosity anew as you used the fact of the beds being slightly wider than a normal single bed format to lie down with your head at the opposite end of it, slightly tilted to position your now propped up legs, one folded over the other, next to his. He looked caught off guard how even after, especially after, he confessed his own condition, his reason for being in Arkham and not a normal prison, you kept being so close to him on your own free will. Hell, you even got more comfortable.

...Psychopathy.

Psychopaths are good at hiding their true selves, but as you mentioned earlier, you were uncannily good at seeing through such masks as well. And yes, that included those of Psychopaths and Sociopaths. So when your first thought of "Shit, he is probably only acting shy, he might be manipulating you." crossed your mind, moments after you heard of his diagnosis, "diagnosis", it was just as quickly rubbed away again by that comically large mental eraser when you realized that you would've most certainly noticed if that werethe damn case. If he would've had lied till now.

But he took this game of questions as serious as you hoped he would. Unlike your unruly siblings sometimes, especially your youngest brother, that little Garden Gnome with an attitude.

"Why the air quotes?" You ask the question that burned you the most of all he just said, wanting to know how it came to said diagnosis. "You're gonna laugh…a Detective just wrote it down. Arkham accepted it as a real diagnosis, didn't question it at all. They didn't even call for a "second assessment". Air quotes this time because there wasn't a first one in the first place of fucking course…" So…it might be some other mental problem…or none at all. But the GCPD wanted to make their job easier, or that one Detective at least…

Even after everything you and your family are trying to do, everything the Commissioner is trying to do…corruption is eating up even the Police to this very day. Will Gotham ever see the day that the innocent and the rightful, the law abiding citizens win? Well, Jerome still killed someone, he wasn't really all that innocent. But he had been helpless either way in that moment, his fate was left in the hands of the Detectives and Officers taking care of his file, his case. In the hands one was supposed to be able to trust.

"...You mentioned that you were…pushed too far. If it's not too personal, who…was your victim? One of your bullies?" The pillow was gripped very tightly suddenly at your question, a dark look overshadowing his own curiosity as you realized he was about to lose to his tears again, angry ones this time. "No." "Then-" "I killed my mother." Oh. Oh damn.

And that was the same thing and only thing that you managed to form with your IQ of impressive 160. "Oh. Oh damn."

"Yeah, I doubt you want to hear that. They didn't listen either."

Because they don't care. All they saw was a crazy, probably insane boy that killed his poor mother, they didn't care to dig any further, you don't doubt that with these underpaid fuckwits sometimes. As often as you had to work with them, you wished you didn't have to, but it was a deal made with Jim. As your Patrols didn't often end all that calmly, much like Jason's. The two of you were only "Robins" not turned off by the idea of "accidentally" dragging a criminal across the asphalt with your cars or motorcycles. And Jim knew that. Being the closest to you of all of Batman's Sidekicks, he also was much more lenient.

Help the GCPD every once in a while with something too difficult for their normal Detectives and your own "crimes" don't make it into the files. Sometimes you could throw in a good word for Jason as well.

You had to work with people whose work ethics made you question even the system you were supposed to protect with your family. If anything, it needed to be reformed, not the people alone. Desperately.

"No. I do. I'm not the police, I do want to know." "Didn't you just say you're an Aide for them?" Well... yeah. You did. So what.

You lift your head to lock eyes with him, eyebrows knitted together at him in some way or another for calling out your one half-lie between all your truthfulness until now. You definitely wouldn't acknowledge it this time, he would have to believe either the first or the latter version. But only you knew that both are right in a way. "You have the chance to tell your side of the story to someone who promises to listen and you begin questioning that person's occupation?"

He returned the same irritated expression, as much as he could without wincing out again, holding the bandage over his cheek before grumbling out at you, since not only you knew that you're right. "...all…all of it?" "If it is needed to explain your reasoning of going with such a brutal decision of killing your own mother, yes. All of it."

His mother forced him to take care of nearly all chores around their small, crammed trailer that 3 people had to live in. If he wasn't fast enough or she found the smallest something to complain about in how he did it, and he told you that she found a reason basically every damn time, Lila, he said was her name, would beat him. Often, regularly and routinely even, to the point he wouldn't just bruise but also bleed or have to limp for weeks from how hard she would hit him, naturally with help of other objects than her hands as well.

The last ten minutes of your sneaked in stay in his own bleak cell were spent with him telling you about his childhood, of growing up at Haly's ever since he could remember. Of course all that while you made sure to analyze every twitch of a muscle and any non present one, the movements of his hands. Everything. He begins with the fact that he even had a twin brother, named Jeremiah. Of the cruel way the other residents and workers of the Circus treated him as a kid. All he was used for by the Circus was to dispose of the dung and shit all the Circus' animals left behind after the shows and feeding or cleaning routines.

All the while, she fucked a new man every second day, right in the next room or trailer, depending on who the newest man was. Clowns, Acrobats, Lion-Tamers…everything.

Then he told you about what his brother did to him, how their mother only turned her punishments and beating up a notch of extreme…because his twin told their mother that Jerome wanted to kill him in his sleep. Jerome was adamant towards you about that having been a blatant lie, as he couldn't have even done so, he was locked in a literal animal's travel cage that winter night, by his own mother as well, so she could've denied it too.

And one night, Jerome confessed, he could no longer hold onto his rage, his anger that build for all these years…he just couldn't hold it back any longer. He let his vile, dark thoughts become real and he killed her, but he waited until she touched him again, when she came in to beat him for forgetting to clean the beer cans up. With an axe, he explained, his eyes unfocused as he stared at his hands, those that held the murder weapon. His uncle, he said that fact with a sour tone, helped him try to cover it up but as he was here now, it clearly didn't work.

But she didn't, she simply used that event as an incentive to "discipline" the "black sheep of her family" even further.

You could only imagine the amount of nights Jerome spent trying to find any spot of his body he cpuld lie on without putting pressure on his bruised skin. The tears that must've fallen in all these hellish nights...

And then you were all caught up to his situation, eyes wide the whole time, your continuous follow up questions, for everything he told you with a knot in throat, just as choked out as his answers. You simply couldn't or didn't want to believe that he went through all these things…and he defended himself…he wanted…freedom.

And Arkham is what he got in return…

"Jerome, I-" you just wanted to give him your honest opinion on it all when you hear it in the distance: the jingling of two heavy key rings. The guards are coming back! "What?" Your hearing seems to be better than his as you hushed him, quickly sitting up on the bed to push a finger against his lips, getting incredibly close to the now unhindered crying boy. Again, an action from your side that happened without much thought from your end as you motioned him to either be quiet or to whisper now.

You didn’t want to leave his side already, especially not now! He looked like he was about to fall in on himself like an old building with you causing him to dig back up all of this past trauma, having given up to hold back the tears. His eyes puffy, they look into yours like a kicked puppy,

"Please don't leave me now…"

In that moment you realize that you're probably the first person he told about his abuse, about everything…a stranger he met yesterday was kinder and more understanding than any adult or other person he came across in his poor excuse of a life. He deserves to have at least one person to listen to him.

To hear him out.

But you had to leave for now, get back to your own cell before the guard saw that you had the tools to open them yourself. With a bitter, apologetic smile, you slowly get off his bed, nodding slowly at him when he keeps silent. But you couldn't give a promise without words either way, so, when you slide the cell door open as quietly as even possible, you turn towards the now absolutely miserable looking ginger one last time for today it seemed.

"We will talk more…I promise, just have some Faith."

#jerome velaska #jerome valeska x oc #Jerome Valeska x batsis!OC #batfam x oc #batfam x batsis #batfam x batsis!oc #Innocent Jerome Valeska #dc x oc

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umbylievable · 10 months

Text

About my Batman au:

Bruce Wayne is trans and this is public knowledge. Everyone thinks Batman is cis.

Bruce Wayne is a prison abolitionist and vocally against cops but he thinks there are "good cops" that can be reformed outside of the system. Batman works with cops as an inconvenience of the job and manages to be cordial about it.

The Joker, while on conditional release from Arkham for "good behavior," wins the lottery. He immediately bursts into Bruce Wayne's house, announcing that he knew he was Batman all along, and then makes it his mission to be as annoying and inconveniencing to him as humanly possible.

The joker legally changes his name to Countess Dick Fucknuts and they have to put it on TV like that. And he makes sure to be on TV a lot.

Bruce is forced to put up with the Joker under the threat that he'll blab his secret identity and because this is the ultimate test of his reform ideology.

Damian is committing to a bit by not acknowledging the Joker exists under any circumstance.

Jason is absolutely furious at this development ofc and wants Bruce to kill the Joker bc he's in the perfect position to do so. Bruce refuses, deepening the rift between him and Jason. Damian keeps contact with Jason secretly to give him updates bc despite his animosity Bruce is his dad and he loves him and is concerned for his well-being.

Dick is the first outside of the house to find out the Joker is hanging out with Bruce and, after the initial shock, finds it all extremely funny purely bc it is causing Bruce nothing but mental pain and a little reputation damage.

Alfred is alive at the start of the timeline and passes away over the course of it. The Joker calls him Alfredo and is equally annoying to him.

Clark is not amused by any of it and wants to turn the Joker over to the police but he hasn't so much as committed mail fraud so they've got no legal recourse. "Bruce he's committed MURDER" "Yes well unfortunately the only thing he's killed since he got out is my ficus."

The Joker wears exclusively designer clothing but he mixes it all into the most ungodly artifice of fashion you've ever seen.

Tim maintains his "I'm staying out of it" position until he learns the situation is pissing off Jason, at which point he's in favor of it. He does occasionally check on Bruce like "dude you're alive right?"

0 notes

camsthisky · 3 years

Note

"you’re not alone . you’re stuck with me forever . sorry . ” + Jason and Dick (and anyone other family member)?

“Everyone okay?” Dick croaks as the dust and rubble settles around them. He’s lying on his back, kept still by something pinning his legs down. He doesn’t dare assess himself quite yet. “Hood? Batgirl?”

“Okay,” Cass says, and Dick watches as she stumbles over to him, looking dusty, but relatively alright. She kneels next to him with a frown. She meets his eyes—well, relatively since they’re both wearing masks—and asks, “Okay?”

Dick grimaces. “Not really.” Louder, he calls, “Red Hood?!”

“Here, here,” Jason says, coughing into his fist. He’s missing his helmet and there’s a gash sluggishly bleeding from his right cheek, smearing a trail of blood down his face. He’s also limping, but only slightly.

“Can you move?” Cass asks Dick as Jason pulls out his flashlight.

Dick winces at the sudden light, his mask having already automatically switched to night vision. He huffs. “Jay. Off.”

“Names.”

Dick scowls. “The light.”

“Deal with it,” Jason snaps. “My night vision isn’t working.”

Dick turns off his own night vision feature, if only to not be blinded by the damn flashlight if it passes over his eyes again.

That’s when Jason’s flashlight lands on where Dick is pinned.

“Crap,” Jason breathes.

“Can you move them?” Cass asks, sounding a touch more impatient, and Dick realizes that Cass has already asked once. “Your legs.”

“No,” says Dick, just barely trying. He’s tired, but he knows that time is up. He can’t get away with ignoring his own situation any longer. Probably shouldn’t have even waited this long. His legs are tingling from lack of blood flow, mixing with a sharp pain shooting through them both. Still he’s lucky, because—“I can still feel them, though.”

“We’ll lift,” Jason says to Cass, who nods. Dick closes his eyes and braces himself for the inevitable pain of rubble being lifted off his crushed legs.

“Hhh.”

The sounds he makes is nothing more than an agonized hissed through his teeth, and Dick can’t help the cold sweat that sweeps across his body in a slow wave as his siblings manage to move the slab of—wall, maybe? who knows, really—from where it’s crushing his poor legs.

Something taps against his shinbone and then his kneecap.

“Stop, stop, I feel it,” Dick gasps, bringing his legs up in a protective curl as pain throbs through most of his lower body. His left hip hurts like hell, and his every muscle, bone, and tendon feels like they’ve been squeezed and then flattened like a pancake. He rolls over onto his side so he can bring his knees up to his chest, to wait out the lingering intensity of the pain.

“Breathe,” Cass says.

Dick breathes.

He closes his eyes and blocks out everything and, again, just breathes. His siblings let him.

When he has a better grasp on his agony, Dick finally relaxes. The world filters back in. Cass is running fingers through Dick’s dusty hair (something she one hundred percent learned from Bruce, because only a select few know how much the motion tends to calm him down).

On the other hand, Dick blinks his eyes open to find Jason agitatedly pacing.

“The hell?” Jason murmurs, his flashlight whipping back and forth with his movements as he surveys their surroundings. “Did we get completely sealed in?”

Dick wishes desperately he would stop. Even without night vision, Jason’s impromptu strobe light effect is causing Dick’s head to ache. Instead of saying this, he hums contemplatively. “Wonder if there’s a signal this far down.”

Jason huffs, not slowing in the least. He’s searching for something, and dear god does Dick want him to find it already. “You’re the one with the comms in your ear. You try it.”

They’re in the sewers, is the thing. And while Bruce and Babs have designed the comms system to work incredibly well, even in the sewers, the signal still needs to be able to make it to the system in order to be functional.

With the three of them sealed in this place, seemingly with no way out, pretty deep in the sewer system where they had been disabling bombs throughout the city, Dick isn’t optimistic about their chances of getting a signal.

(They’d just been a few seconds too late for that last bomb, which unfortunately led them to their current circumstances.)

While Jason grumbles, Cass activates her emergency signal and the comms. She calls out, “Batman? Oracle?”

Jason shuts up for the five seconds before Cass looks between both Dick and Jason and shakes her head.

Dick lets out a slow exhale through his nose. He hadn’t really held out much hope for that anyways.

Jason groans. “Holy batcannoli, I can’t believe we’re stuck down here. And where’s my hecking helmet?!”

Cass helpfully points to the rubble sealing them in. Jason kicks a rock with a yell. Dick sighs.

“Well, at least you’re not alone down here,” Dick says as optimistically as he can—although, given the circumstances, it does fall a little flat.

Jason snorts. “Right. Sure, Batgirl is an asset, but you’re a sack of bruised bones right now. That’s not helpful in the slightest, Dickface.”

Dick’s eyelashes flutter of their own accord. He hums. “Too bad. Looks like you’re stuck with me. Sorry.”

“Dick,” Cass says, her fingers tracing lightly over his face. “Stay awake.”

“I am awake.”

“You’re starting to—” Cass pauses. Dick can’t see the look on her face, because somehow, his eyes have fully closed without his permission, and he can’t seem to find the strength to open them again. “—to slur.”

The sounds of Jason’s pacing stop. Silence rings loud in their sealed section of the sewers. Then, “Did he hit his head?”

“Not sure,” Cass answers.

“Dick,” Jason says, sounding quite a bit closer, like he’s maybe crouching down next to Cass or something—but Dick hadn’t heard him move, and Jason’s boots are too clunky to not make sound against the concrete. “Dick, did you hit your head?”

Dick’s eyebrows furrow, but he doesn’t open his eyes. He doesn’t remember hitting his head. The only thing he clearly remembers about the blast is heavy pieces of rubble crushing his legs. “Maybe?”

“Great,” Jason says. He’s pulling out his I’m-rolling-my-eyes-at-your-ridiculous-incompetency voice. “So my bruised bones of a big brother probably also has a concussion. Just great.”

“It’s not his fault he’s injured,” Cass tells Jason. “He was disarming the bomb.”

Which means Dick took the brunt of the blast when it was remotely activated.

Dick really means to tack onto Cass’s statement, maybe tease Jason a little and try to reassure both his younger siblings that not everything is hopeless, because he’s the best big brother ever, of course.

Only, he can’t find the strength to open his mouth and talk. Instead, the voices around him become watery, distorted, and Dick’s head flares in pain.

When unconsciousness comes to take him, he doesn’t resist.

—

“—manage to even find us in the first place?” is the first thing Dick hears as he swims back to consciousness. Jason almost sounds relieved.

“The seismic device didn’t just affect the sewers,” someone replies. It takes a lot of effort for Dick to recognize it as Tim. “A couple buildings partially collapsed, and since we knew the three of you were down here, it was a good starting point to look when none of you would answer the comms.”

“Huh,” is all Jason says.

“Nightwing,” Bruce says, startling Dick from the dazed lull he’d been in as he listened to his brothers talking. He opens his eyes, blinking up bewilderingly at what he can see of Bruce’s face behind the cowl.

“B?” Dick murmurs. He doesn’t move, yet, from where’s curled on his side, but he feels an abortive twitch of his fingers at the reassuring sight of Batman. “‘S goin’ on?”

“What do you remember?”

Right. Bruce did not give easy answers. Life is a series of puzzles, Dick Grayson, fueled by none other than Bruce Wayne himself.

Dick frowns and casts his mind back. “The wall blew up,” he decides. “I got hurt?”

He’s only half sure about that last one, but considering his position on the ground, the throbbing in his head and hip, and Bruce’s concerned dad frown that’s taking over his Batman grimace, Dick thinks that he’s probably on the right track.

“Concussion,” Cass says, startling Dick when she pops her head over Bruce’s shoulder. “Also, ‘a sack of bruised bones.’”

That—sounds familiar. He thinks he remembers Jason saying something like that.

Bruce’s frown gets deeper. “Straighten your legs.”

“Please,” Dick tacks on for Bruce when he lacks the manners to be nice, basically on instinct at this point, even as he—slowly, and with a great deal of agony—does what Bruce tells him to do.

They go through a couple more tests, until finally Bruce, unhappy, deems, “We need to move you.”

Dick blinks when Bruce turns away to murmur something to one of the others. A conversation washes over him, and Dick can’t help but let himself tune it out. The noise settles as vague humming—indistinct and comforting.

“—two, three,” Bruce says as Dick’s entire vision goes white.

He only manages to come back to himself in increments.

There are arms holding him tight. Familiar murmurs in his ear. The comforting sound of Batman’s heavy cape brushing against concrete.

“—there, Chum,” Bruce is saying, and if Dick had the capability, he would have teased Bruce for pulling out both the concerned dad frown and the concerned dad voice in one night.

As it is, the only thing that comes out of his mouth when he opens it are harsh pants for air. Every step jostles him, and agony is his constant companion throughout the entire journey to the surface.

Somehow, Dick is still conscious when he’s laid down in the backseat of the batmobile. He’s grateful he’s not moving anymore, and carefully doesn’t think of the upcoming ride back to the Cave.

He only really starts to relax when Bruce settles the cape over him. Wrapped up inside it, Dick almost feels like he’s ten years old again. Batman’s has always felt like warmth and protection and home. This time is no different.

“Batgirl and Robin, keep Nightwing as still as possible. Red Hood, in the front. Start updating Oracle.”

“Why do they—”

“You’re too bulky, Hood. Me and Batgirl are smaller than you. It’s still going to be a tight fit, but it’s the most comfortable for everyone this way.”

“Whatever.”

“Enough. Car. Now.”

There’s lots of careful but hurried scrambling. Dick thinks he passes out a few times on the way back. He doesn’t remember much, either. Just bits and snatches here and there—His siblings talking to him, Bruce giving orders, Jason being snappy and unwittingly dragging Tim into an argument.

And then—he wakes up. A lot more clear-headed than he’d felt the last time he’d been conscious (though, that wasn’t saying much).

To Dick’s surprise, he’s on his side again, dressed in sweats with a pillow between his legs. He opens his eyes to the Wayne Manor living room, and—yes, he’s on the couch. The curtains are drawn, but it’s clearly sometime past sunrise.

Bruce is sitting cross-legged in front of him, reading a book.

“Bruce?” Dick calls, his voice still somewhat slurred. “Why’m I on the couch?”

“You started crying when I said you had to stay in the infirmary,” Bruce tells him, grabbing a bookmark and setting his book off to the side.

Dick frowns. He doesn’t remember that. Still, he manages to say, “You’re such a pushover.”

“How do you feel?”

Dick blinks a dozen times in a row, trying to assess his body and keep up with the change in subject. “Kinda woozy. My hip hurts a lot.”

“Hn.”

“Think I need to brush up on my Bat speak,” Dick murmurs. “Dunno what that one meant.”

Bruce hums again. “You’re incredibly lucky. We’ll need to be careful for the next few weeks.”

“What’s the diagnosis, doc?”

“Crush injuries to your legs and left hip. Not overly severe, and we managed to stabilize you once we realized you were in shock.”

Dick thinks about that for a second. “Concussion? I’m pretty sure I remember something about a concussion.”

“It’s mild,” Bruce tells him. “It was the shock that was the real problem.”

“Oh.” Dick sighs into the pillow under his head. “I’m tired.”

Bruce gives him a soft smile, just slight enough that if Dick hadn’t been so familiar with Bruce’s microexpressions, he would have thought he’d been mistaken. Fingers lightly card through his hair, and Dick’s eyes start closing of their own accord.

“Then sleep,” Bruce says.

Dick sleeps.

#dick grayson #jason todd #cassandra cain #bruce wayne #batclan #dc #camryn writes #brambleberrycottage #thank you for the prompt and your wonderful support!!!!

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soulmate-game · 3 years

Text

Curiosity Killed the Exorcist

“And then, see here? You have to be on the lookout for subtle signs like these. This indicates that he’s…” Marinette nodded as Tim continued explaining, pointing out various body language and other clues out on the Batcomputer. It had only been about six months since the Batfam collectively adopted the little ladybug into their menagerie of heroes, and started teaching her deductive habits and skills. She would not allow them anywhere near Paris on pain of death (some of them had already tried, and Bruce was still recovering from the bruise to his ego. The bruise on his ass from being teleported out of the city and onto the stone of the Batcave was gone, though) but she welcomed any help they could give from within Gotham’s city limits.

Usually, at least in the beginning, they did their mentorship at a distance over video call. But then Tim found out her identity, and Marinette made the excuse of wanting to meet with them in person to gauge their trustworthiness for herself and erase their memories of her identity if they failed her test— and, well, it all snowballed from there until she was teleporting to the Batcave every few days for detective lessons. She was practically a Bat herself, if not for her out of theme codename. And she found herself surprisingly comfortable with the thought of them being a… very eccentric extended family.

Tim was flipping to another saved video in the Batcomputer archives to show another example of his current lesson, when Tikki flew up to Marinette in a hurry. She was holding Kaalki’s glasses. The little kwami whispered something in Marinette’s ear, instantly making the teen blanch and force on the glasses.

“Sorry Timmy, gotta cut this short! I’ll come back tomorrow to make up for it! Okay? Okay! Awesome, you’re the best, bye!” She ignored all of Tim’s protests and rapid fire questions, instead opening up a portal and jumping through it as fast as humanly possible. The portal has barely disappeared before an all-too-familiar voice rose up from behind Tim.

“Maybe I’m still drunk, ‘cause I could’a sworn I just saw a portal closing in the damned Batcave, of all places,” the British-accented drawl was accompanied by the flick of a lighter and accompanying fizzle of a flame. Tim groaned, mentally making a note to ask how in the world Marinette had known that John “Annoying asshole” Constantine was showing up soon, and if he could be in on the warning next time. Bruce, cowl still off, walked over from where he had been sparring with Damian and crossed his arms. He had also heard Marinette’s hasty exit, and made a few mental notes of his own before focusing on the exorcist in front of him.

“What do you want, Constantine?” he grumbled. Any time the blond brit showed up, things only got far more complicated than he ever enjoyed. And he always gave Bruce a migraine, to boot.

“Two things actually, Batsy,” John held up to fingers as his free hand tucked his lighter away in his pocket. His unlit cigarette stayed in his mouth though, probably just for the familiar feel of it. “One; I’m gonna need you to tell me why there was a portal closing when I walked in, because I’ll be honest. The implications there are way more interesting than what I came here for in the first place.”

“None of your business. What’s the second thing?” Bruce immediately shot him down, but John was not one to be deterred. He never fucking was.

“But you hate magic! You make sure I know that all too bloody well every time I pay you a visit, so why the sudden change in heart? Huh?”

“Drop it, Constantine. What. Do you. Want?”

“Fine, fine. I need your help with…”

— * — * — * — * — *

A week later, Marinette was sitting with Jason and Damian in one of the manor’s sitting rooms, the three of them just minding their own business and silently enjoying one another’s presence. Even if two of them would never admit it. Jason was reading Jane Eyre for the millionth time, Damian was leaning against Titus on the ground as he sketched, and Marinette was embroidering a sunhat. Unfortunately for her, Alfred the Cat was currently asleep on her lap and thus holding her hostage.

Even as Tikki flew up to her ear in a panic and whispered, making Marinette prick herself with her needle. She hissed for a second but shrugged off the familiar pain, much more concerned with whatever news Tikki had given her. Damian and Jason were already on high alert from the second that a whispered curse had left her lips, and were staring straight at her and her kwami and Marinette frantically tried to find a way to get up without awakening the cat sleeping on her.

“Uh, what’s wrong?” Jason asked, feeling thoroughly confused and left out. On one hand, he knew that if they were in physical danger she would have moved Alfred the Cat without hesitation. On the other, he did not like the sheer amount of anxiety he could see her experiencing. Marinette’s frantic eyes shot over to him, pupils mere pinpricks and hands mouth agape as she tried to form some sort of plan.

“Uh— “

“Ah! You must be the fair maiden that the Bats are comfortable with using magic around them,” John goddamned Constantine threw the door to the sitting room open wide, making it bounce off of the wall and lightly smack back against his shoulder. He ignored it as he grinned at the three younger people in the room, waltzing in casual as anything. He wagged a finger at her playfully. “I’ve been awfully curious about you, ya know? Brucie boy knows a shit ton of magic users, but he never likes seein’ any of us do our thing. And to not only allow you to teleport without any apparent discomfort but to actively protect your identity from me? Now that’s a damn accomplishment and I really gotta applaud you for it,” he mockingly clapped his hands a few times. “So what’s your secret, huh? I won’t tattle.”

“No thanks. Kaalki, a little help?” Marinette carefully pushed Alfred the Cat off of her lap before diving into the portal that Kaalki whipped up for her, the entire process happening so fast that Constantine couldn’t even get out a proper “hey!” before she was gone and the portal closed. He just nodded, hooking his thumbs in his pockets.

“Ya know what? Fair. That’s fair.”

“Goddamn it, Constantine!” Jason threw up his hands in frustration. “Why the fuck do you have to scare away one of the only sane people in this family?”

“Part of my charm, little red riding hood.”

— * — * — * — * — *

“You know, I’ve been pretty damn nice not teleporting right over to you whenever you disappear. So why don’t you just tell me why you’re avoiding me now that we happen to be in the same room by complete accident, huh?” John asked from where he sat in one of Bruce’s lounge chairs sipping on a beer. Marinette mimed choking him, clearly fed up. He had been trying to have a conversation with her for the past three months, ever since that one time he caught the tail end of her portal closing in the Batcave. Three. Long. Months. And he hadn’t given up, because something about this little Parisian teenager intrigued him. She was sixteen, that much he had gathered from the Bats. But to be sixteen and not only in possession of the Horse miraculous but also clearly the Ladybugs, since he had seen Tikki more than once as well, now that was interesting.

Anybody being in the possession of more than one Miraculous was already cause enough to be keeping an eye on them, which was why he had been keeping an eye on the Paris situation and had pieced together on his own that the presence of Tikki meant that this little parisian teenager was none other than Ladybug herself. Now, that? That was a whole new level of concerning, especially since he knew firsthand that the old Grand Guardian was gone and passed his title down to— yeah, Ladybug.

After that deduction, his interest in Marinette had swiftly switched from curiosity to fuck-I-need-to-know-what’s-going-on-here. Because no kid should have to deal with that kind of weight, and Constantine always looked out for kids when he could.

But right then, Marinette was glaring at him. She had been just coming over for a normal “family” dinner with the Waynes, which she attended from time to time. And apparently they had decided to have Constantine already over so that they could chaperone a meeting between them that would hopefully appease the stupid british magic user enough that he left them all alone again until the next time he needed help.

“Believe me when I say, you’d rather not know,” she replied sharply, glaring Dick. He was the one who had convinced her to come despite her recent close calls with Constantine in the past few days. He studiously avoided her gaze. “I just would rather not cross your path, and there’s no reason for us to interact. Why do you care, anyway?”

“You see, now that is an excellent question!” he chugged the last of his beer and gestured to her with the empty bottle. “Normally, I wouldn’t give a flying rat’s ass. But I’ve put two and two together, since I know who Tikki is,” he nodded to the red and black Kwami. “And maybe I just wanna keep an eye on the new Grand Guardian to make sure she’s doin’ alright. That’s an awful lot of magic and responsibility that you don’t deserve, but I’m not about to try to take it away. Keepin’ an eye on you is the next best thing.”

“Try again,” Marinette shot back, crossing her arms. “You were interested in me before you learned about me being Ladybug.”

“I’m nosy, what do you want me to say? I saw a portal in Batman’s man-cave, I get curious. Sue me.”

“Well. I have Bruce and everyone else already watching out for me, so you can leave me alone now. If I need your help, I’ll make sure to ask every other magic user first before contacting you.”

“Woah, now what’s all this venom for?”

“Uh, maybe we should go and actually eat dinner?” Dick tried to step in, hands up. Constantine had stood up from the chair he was in, which was usually a cue to change the subject as fast as possible. “Before Alfred has to come get us?”

“Maybe I’ll be less venomous if you let the subject drop and leave me alone!”

“Context would be nice, though.”

“Seriously guys, let’s go! Food!” Dick was once again ignored.

“Context is the last thing you need in this situation,” Marinette’s voice was suddenly soft, her arms dropping to her sides. “We’ve had this conversation so many times in so many now-deleted timelines. Just drop it this time.”

“If those timelines are now-deleted, then I obviously don’t remember what’s so bad about telling me why you’re acting like I’m some hated family member you’re avoiding!”

Silence.

Pure. Fucking. Silence. As they all watch with front row seats as Marinette flinches at the word ‘family’.

Pure silence as Constantine’s shoulders drop at the sight of her flinch, realization slapping itself on his face.

“No.”

“See? I fucking knew you would— that this would happen. This always happens, you always hate finding it out, but you’re so— so stubborn!” Marinette was blinking away tears, digging in her pockets and bringing out Kaalki’s glasses. “You’ll drop it now, at least. You always do.”

“Now what is that supposed to mean?” Constantine rubbed his forehead, still trying to sort through his amalgam of emotions. Marinette just shook her head, turning to Kaalki.

“Do you mind showing Monsieur Constantine the way out, Kaalki? I’ll grab you a load of sugar cubes afterward.”

“No, wait, hang on a second!”

A portal opened up under him, making John “Stubborn Idiot” Constantine drop ten feet down onto the hardwood, polished floor of his house. His bruised tailbone would take a while to heal, but his frazzled mind was by far the more concerning development. He staggered to his feet, reaching for the nearest bottle of tequila.

“Ugh, fuck my damn life.”

— * — * — * — * — *

“Marinette..?” Damian nudged the girl with his shoulder, frowning. It was after dinner that same day, and as much as he hated to admit it he had grown to actually like having her around. She was a good friend to have. And seeing her slumped back on one of their sofas, sketchbook covering her face and not a single rambling conversation to be had or heard? It was very concerning. She just made a groaning sound to answer him, prompting his frown to deepen. “Are you alright?”

“I just can’t believe that such a sweet, adorable thing like you is half made up of Constantine’s genes,” Jason mused bluntly from the opposite couch, where he tossed a rubber ball up and down out of boredom. “But now I see where you get all of your Disaster Bi-ness from.”

“Shut uuuuup,” She groaned, chucking her sketchbook at him. He caught it in midair, replacing his rubber ball with it and tossing it up and down in the air. “I’m just frustrated. This timeline is still perfectly stable, so I can’t erase it. And I can’t exactly ask ‘hey, can someone commit a horrid atrocity that makes this timeline split from the main one so that I can erase it and we can start over from four months ago?’ because that would be horribly irresponsible of me. But seriously, Jason. If you’re gonna ever commit, like, city-wise arson? I’d probably condone it right now if only so I have an excuse to use time travel to get out of this situation.”

“Not committing arson unless you give me a better reason for it, Pigtails.”

“Damn.”

“But are you okay?” Damian asked again, seeing as she had completely ignored him.

“I’m fine, Damian,” she finally sighed. “And I know how this is gonna go. He’s going to totally ignore me now, until we meet during some magical crisis and he only interacts with me when necessary. Then he pretends we never met, we have a private little one-sided whisper-argument about how he will never make a good father figure and I would be better off leaving him alone, blah blah blah. Avoidance is a coping mechanism I guess I inherited from him.”

“Guess it’s a good thing I’m trying to bite that in the bud then, eh?” Marinette startled out of her sitting position, seeing John stumble into the room…

Drunk off his ass. But apparently still at least mildly coherent.

“I agree with deleted-me’s, I’m not gonna be a dad. Not me,” he tripped, landing on his still-bruised ass and hissing in pain before continuing from the floor; “So if you’re looking for another Daddy dearest, that ain’t me.”

“See, I knew this is how you’d—”

“Let me finish,” he interrupted. “I don’t know how long the booze is gonna last and I need it’s courage here. ‘Kay? ‘Kay. Where was I? Right. But I know magic, ya know. The kind that doesn’t rely on little bobblehead gods to do. I got— like, a million books. Shit ton of books. At my place. Ya can read ‘em. My books. At my place. But I ain’t gonna parent, but I can lend ya books. Maybe give magic advice. Teach a little. Little bit. Didn’t think I’d have a child, but apparently I do and she’s the fuckin’ grand guardian and a damn hero, and I don’t know how the fuck I was able to help make someone like that. But whatever, it’s not like the world’s ever fuckin’ been easy on me,” He pulled out a sample-sized bottle of whiskey from one of the pockets on the inside of his trench coat and chugged it. After a brief wince and hiss at the burn, he kept rambling. “My door’s open, is what I’m tryin’ to say. No guarantee I’ll be in any state to talk to when you walk through it, but it’s open.”

Deciding to steadfastly ignore the tears streaming down her face, Marinette just swallowed thickly and nodded.

“I, uh. I think I can work with that.”

John barely made it to the nearby bin in time to vomit into it.

— * — * — * — * — *

I hate my imagination sometimes, guys. I started imagining a convo between Mari and Constantine at like 4am and it wouldn't leave me alone until I got it down. but by the time I wrote it, I kinda forgot like 60% of the original convo and just winged it. And this was born. I 100% blame @multifandomscribette because their Bio!dad John Constantine headcannons are amazing and even though this isn't in that universe, those headcannons are exactly what inspired this. So blame them, lol.

#dc x mlb #ml x dc #mlb x dc #maribat fanfic #maribat #maribat fic #miraculous ladybug x dc #bio!dad John Constantine

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avaritia-apotheosis · 3 years

Text

Phantom Children Ch. 7

Massive thanks to my awesome betas for this chapter!

In Which: A Story is Given to the Locked Room

AO3 | Prologue | 6 | [ 7 ] | 8

DICK DOESN’T REALLY KNOW WHAT TO FEEL. Surprised, maybe? Though he really isn’t all that shocked. Not that the revelation of another Wayne kid isn’t surprising, it’s just that—well…

Bruce has a tendency to attract foolhardy kids with a strong sense of justice and a willingness to harp on Batman until he gives them wings and teaches them how to fly. It’s the way of the world. The sky is blue, the sun sets in the west, and little Robin-hopefuls flock to Batman like ducklings to their big, brooding, mother duck. (That most of them are black haired and blue-eyed with some sort of traumatic backstory is a coincidence. Probably. The universe is just weird that way.)

And Bruce, bleeding heart that he is despite all the steel walls and nuclear spike fields he placed around it, always had a soft spot for children. It’s what people don’t get when they call Robins and Batgirls, former or current, child soldiers. They think that Batman picks these children up from gutter alleys and unfortunate homes, breaking and reshaping them into crusaders for his war against crime.

(What most don’t get is that the easiest way to gain ‘favorite child’ status in the Wayne household is to just stay home and live the most normal life possible. All of them—with the exception of Damian and Cass—chose this life. And even those two chose to stick with it, even when Bruce was more than happy to give them a way out.)

Dick was one of the first to stand at Batman’s side. The original. The ‘golden boy’ as Jason always put it. He’d been there so early in Batman’s career that, years later, it’s nearly inconceivable to imagine Batman without his Robin. He’s been there for Bruce’s soaring highs, his crushing lows, his mundane middles, just as Bruce has been there for him. Sure, they’ve had their fights, but Dick had always settled himself with the knowledge that he was one of the few people that knew everything about Bruce Wayne.

But this . This nursery—no, this memorial . This monument that spoke of a life that could have, should have, would have been, is something that predates Robin’s existence. A story, a memory that had hurt Bruce so badly that he would rather hide it away than breathe even a word of its existence.

Until now. Until Bruce had no choice but to rip the wound open once more.

“Bruce. I—what’s going on?”

“Perhaps,” Alfred interjected. “Perhaps it may be best to take this to the cave. Such a story should be told once.”

Bruce laughed, a broken, shuddering thing. “What is there to tell? I was naive with a heart too open and full of longing. I let myself hope, and I let myself get crushed . I picked myself up, moved on, end of story.”

Alfred raised an imperious brow. “As you are the one who always insisted on detailed reports, I do hope your summary to the boys downstairs would have a little more detail.” His face softened as he placed a comforting hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “What recent information that has been passed to us paints a worrisome picture, given what little you have shared, but know that this time you are not alone to deal with this matter. Regardless of what you do, the rest of the family is involved by proxy."

Bruce seemed to release some of the tension in his shoulders at that. “Yes. Of course. Dick, why don’t you see if Tim is back yet. I don’t want to explain this more than once, if possible. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure, I’ll get right on that.”

“And, Dick?”

“Yeah?”

Bruce’s gaze was intense. “How is Damian doing?”

He remembered the way Damian sunk deeper into the chair, hands clasping and unclasping at air. The white of his cast hanging limply as Damian’s legs could just barely brush against the cave floor. Dick swallowed a lump in his throat. “I don’t know. But I do know that he could really use his father right about now.”

Bruce gave a shaky nod and Dick left.

_______

Everyone has heard this tale before.

His boys have learned about the birth of Batman, of how a boy lost his parents in an alley at the age of eight. How at 14 he took to the study of criminology to an almost religious fervor. He took and aced every AP test, graduated high school at 16, headed off to get a college degree, then disappeared off the face of the earth.

Batman may have been born kneeling in the shadows of a dirty alley, but it was on the streets abroad where Batman grew up. Learning and studying and fighting until he knew what made the criminal underworld tick, how to escape almost every type of restraints, how to solve a murder with only the smallest of clues. He trained under a demon and met his daughter. When their ideas of justice clashed with each other, he tried to leave, they tried to stop him, and he set their base on ablaze.

He returned to Gotham the prodigal son, the favored prince, the charming socialite. Bruce Wayne took his place at the center of Gotham’s solar system, shining and bright and unbelievably foolish. Batman put on a cowl and learned the shadows of Gotham’s streets, and built himself up to be a symbol of fear and justice. Soon, he acquired a Robin to temper that darkness. To bring a light of hope, to instill a sense of peace— something more than vengeance and the night.

The rest is history.

Here is the part of the story that Bruce had omitted:

Early in his career as Batman, a man named Quayin had plans to steal a weather modifying US satellite. This, and certain other events, led to Bruce and Ra’s al Ghul crossing paths—and working on the same side. The details of that mission, in the long run. do not matter. Not anymore. What’s important is that accompanying him is his daughter, Talia al Ghul. She was as deadly as she was beautiful—and Talia was very, very beautiful.

It was a whirlwind romance. A storm of passion. Gotham’s Bruce Wayne and socialite Miranda Tate. * Batman and the Daughter of the Demon. The tempest reached its peak on that fateful day in the gardens of Wayne Manor. The hot summer sun and buzzing insects fading away as she pulled him aside and said “Beloved, I am with child. I am pregnant.” **

Bruce was caught unawares by the news. Stared dumbfounded at her until his brain caught up with his ears and he felt such unbridled joy bubbling in his chest. He laughed, clear and bright. He held her tight against him as if she held the world in her hands—because she did . Talia held his world within her and Bruce vowed to protect it with every fiber of his being. He called Alfred immediately to tell him the news and started arranging for discreet interior decorators and shipments for everything they needed for a nursery.

Thomas, for a boy. Martha for a girl. He swore that very day that it would be the happiest baby in the world. **

And then—

And then…

As Ra’s and Bruce planned their next move to stop Quayin from initiating a war between America and the USSR, Talia collapsed.

Talia collapsed and the baby was just…

Gone.

And suddenly Talia wanted nothing to do with him. Told Bruce to leave her alone, that their relationship would never be the same.

His child was gone .

By the time the rogue satellite was recovered, Quayin defeated, and all loose ends tied up, the nursery was fully furnished. Bruce took one look at it and then turned away. Locked the door and hid the key god-knows-where.

His child was gone.

Batman continued to work.

There was no use for an empty nursery.

--------

End Notes:

The story I'm using for the circumstances surrounding Danny's birth is basically a modified version of what happens in Batman: Son of the Demon. Modified so that people knew that Bruce Wayne and Miranda Tate were a couple and to give enough time for a nursery to be built along with the rest of the events of that comic.

*Miranda Tate is the name Tahlia al Ghul went by in 'The Dark Knight Rises'

**These lines are taken from Batman: Son of the Demon

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

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neakco · 3 years

Text

The Lost Temple ch. 2

Ao3 Ch.1 Ch.3 Masterlist

Marinette doesn't fully trust the American Heroes but knows that she probably needs their help.

Tim doesn’t trust these two teens that are definitely hiding something.

Yet they made camp together anyway.

Ch.2 Sleepless Night

It had taken longer then they would have like to figure out a watch schedule. While they had both agreed to an alliance, neither group trusted the other.

Finally a compromise was made. Each group set their own schedule. Marinette and Adrien agreed to each do half the night. While the Trio took one 2 hour shift each.

Adrien would take the first 3 hours and would be starting his shift with Superboy. Impulse had the 2nd watch which he would share with both of them before she would finish out the night with Red Robin.

Marinette was a little nervous, she knew Superboy had heard Plagg earlier. They weren’t used to others being able to hear as well as her Kitty. She was lucky that her bond with Tikki allowed communication via emotions.

She stared up at the stars, at least this wouldn’t be the first time she had gone without sleep for a mission. She glanced briefly at the tent the American heroes had set up. It looked cramped. She was quite happy with her blanket.

Her and Adrien had tried using tents before but he preferred to sleep up high and she enjoyed the connection to the plants she got on the ground. It always allowed her to feel more rested, even if, like tonight, she didn’t actually sleep.

Adrien came to let her know it was her turn so she rolled up her blanket and went to join Impulse.

The boy never seemed to stop, he constantly dashed back and forth as he talked non-stop about everything.

“Doesn’t that drain your energy?”

He stopped short as if he had forgotten she was there. “No, well yes, but II can quickly get back to civilization for snacks.”

She nodded as the hero began to move around and started talking about his favourite snacks. She had an idea to run past Red Robin once he joined her on watch. She would suggest it to Impulse but she had a gut feeling that would be a bad idea.

Tim woke a little early for his turn and crept towards the trees in order to observe Marinette and Bart.

He was a little surprised that she seemed interested in the one-sided food conversation. At least he had assumed it was one-sided until she chirped in with a question about Bart’s preferences on French pastries. He didn’t expect the girl to become so offended when Bart told her he didn’t like croissants.

Tim decided that it was close enough to his watch and stepped out of the shadows.

Impulse flew into the trees in his surprise while Marinette hadn’t moved. Had he lost his touch? No, she may not have jumped but he noticed she had a hand to her back where it hadn’t been before. He concluded that she had probably reached for a weapon.

“Seriously Rob? I love you but that’s just mean.”

Tim smirked, “Maybe next time you will pay attention.”

“You’re a bat, doesn’t matter how much I pay attention.” Bart grumbled as he waved goodnight to Marinette and headed off to find his sleeping bag.

Tim turned back to Marinette and was shocked by the level of malice being directed at him. “What did I…”

“Don’t you ever do that again.” Her voice, while harsh, was soft and filled with concern. “I could have killed you. If it was Adrien you had startled you wouldn’t be alive.”

Tim swallowed his retort. Normally he would think it hilarious that this tiny enigma thought that she or her delicate looking friend could hurt him, but there was something there. It was the way every sound stilled at her anger, the way his gut yelled at him to run. Putting all this together with their first conversation, he began to wonder if the two teens had been granted power by the gods.

Marinette was taking deep meditative breaths. “You are lucky I analyze before reacting.”

“Sorry. I had figured you had a sixth sense.”

She eyed him, “You were testing a theory?”

“Yes. I like to know what my allies are capable of and it’s not like you two have been very forthcoming.”

It surprised Tim to see her relax at this rather than get angrier.

“The decision to share isn’t really up to me or Adrien. I assume it is similar to your identity, unless what I've heard about Batman is wrong.”

Tim laughed quietly while keeping an eye to their surroundings. “We actually tell people our identities all the time, people just assume we are joking.”

Her eyes widened, “That works?”

“Well it works if the public's image of your two personas are vastly different. People will believe what they want no matter what you tell them.”

He was about to ask if she was thinking of becoming a hero when he noticed her darkening look. Unlike before where it had been anger mixed with concern, this time it was mixed with sadness and pain.

“You okay?”

“People really do believe what they want.” Her eyes turned wistful and she looked up into the trees. “Really shows you who your real friends are.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” How was he supposed to comfort her? Alfred would probably offer her hot chocolate and sweets.

“No, it all happened years ago. I am mostly over it.”

Tim let out a sigh of relief, at her look he tried to smile kindly. “No offense but I was raised by the most emotionally distant people and I really had no idea what to do if you started crying.”

The sudden laughter surprised him. That wasn’t a normal reaction. He frowned as he watched her try to stifle the sound.

“I'm sorry, it’s just, well, welcome to the club.” She started laughing a little bit harder and maybe a bit more broken. “Adrien can tell you some stories. Well I can two, but mine only start a few years back. I don’t have a life's worth like he does.”

“But why is that so funny?” He frowned harder trying to understand if he was the joke.

He jumped and threw a batarang that thankfully missed when Adrien suddenly dropped out of a tree and landed beside him.

“Where we come from it was always better to laugh instead of giving in to emotional distress.” He turned to Marinette, “You okay M'lady?”

“I just,” her giggles increased slightly, “strays, it’s always the strays.” She giggled a bit longer before stopping suddenly and glaring at Adrien, “Why aren’t you asleep?”

Tim could see the blonde visibly gulp as he lied poorly, “bathroom. Going back to sleep now. Bye.” He quickly left back into the trees and took off roughly in the direction of camp based off the rustling.

“You two are very strange.”

“Says the talented human commanding literal super humans.” She snorted. “Oh, I almost forgot. Do you think Impulse could quickly map out the jungle for us?”

“If he can keep himself from tripping over roots and snakes then maybe. Why didn’t you ask him?” Tim was curious. She had spent an hour with Impulse, there had been plenty of time.

“I figured you were the leader and I would have to ask no matter what. Mostly I was worried he wouldn’t be able to but pride would cause him to say yes anyways.”

Tim tried to study her expression but it gave nothing away. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“Simple, Impulse acts like a younger Adrien.”

Marinette thought back, Chat had been so free. She missed those times. Unfortunately reality had hit them both fairly hard. She doubted if they could ever be that carefree again.

“I would deny your assessment if I could.” Red Robin leaned back against her tree and typed into his arm. She hadn’t realized there was technology integrated into the suit. She was almost jealous.

A holographic map of the jungle was displayed floating above his arm so she leaned forward to gain a better look.

Red Robin pointed to a small area causing a dot to appear “This is our camp.” He gestured to highlight a portion green. “This is the area we checked yesterday. My initial reports showed activity in these areas.” This time the highlighted red, or brown in the areas that overlapped with the searched area.

She hummed in thought, “Add another kilometer to the searched radius. Adrien split off a couple times yesterday.”

She could see his eyes shift to suspicion briefly but he complied anyway

“If you knew that then you never needed Impulse to make a map, you wanted him to find the enemy.”

She nodded but stayed silent and observant. It was kind of nice watching someone else think like she does.

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea if Impulse was capable of stealth. “She watched him remove the searched area from the map in order to zoom in on the rest.

“You have a plan.” She was grinning, she could already tell what he was thinking.

The way he looked at her screamed that he knew that she had already figured it out. She was happily surprised when he decided to continue explaining to her.

“I propose that we split up. My team has trackers to keep track of our own whereabouts and comms to communicate. I think Superboy and Adrien take this route.” A Blue and red line appeared on the map. “While we take this path more to the right.” This time the line was red and black. She knew they were supposed to represent his colours but they worked just as well for her. She bet Adrien would have a laugh.

“I'll have Impulse cover this middle area in between our groups to cover any gaps and act as a runner in case we need anything. Anything to add?”

She bit her lip. These were heroes, she could probably trust them, at least a little. Plus Adrien wasn’t able to sense the temple’s magic. “How good is Superboy's x-ray vision?” Damn it, she thought she had fixed her word blurting problem.

Red Robin seemed surprised by her words, “What? Why?”

She chewed on her lip a bit more before she felt Tikki's reassurance. “What I am about to tell you is secret enough that it could very well get you killed. Are you sure you want to know?”

She watched his face carefully. There was hesitation, doubt, curiosity, and finally that thirst for knowledge that got her into trouble constantly.

He finally shrugged, “Just an average day for me.”

She smiled but dropped her voice into a serious tone. “There is a temple here that was lost underground years ago. No matter what else happens I can not let anyone get the knowledge and treasures it holds.” She remembered some of the things the monks had told her and Adrien without ever actually explaining what the temple was guarding. “If these people find the temple first then best case scenario has them taking over the world.”

Red Robin's voice was low, “And worst case?”

“They destroy the entire universe as we know it.”

Taglist @toodaloo-kangaroo

#maribat #the lost temple #adventure #rin writes

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boldlyanxious · 4 years

Text

Remember when 17

Chapter 17: Go Away

-Timinette

RW masterlist

She knew he was there before he stepped where she could see him. Her co-workers had stopped her on the way out to invite her to a party for the weekend so he stayed out of sight until she was alone before walking up to her.

"I didn't think I would ever see you again," he said.

He stopped short of pulling her into a hug but he placed his hands on her upper arms. She reached up and put her hand against his chest, not sure yet whether she should push him away or pull him close. She didn't think she was ready to look in his eyes yet. She might lose all her resolve.

"It seemed the best thing for everyone," she responded.

"You didn't leave Gotham."

He moved his hand to her chin and tilted it up so she would look at him. When their eyes met she sucked in her breath as he continued speaking.

"Maybe you had hope we would see each other again."

"That doesn't make it a good decision."

Her hands slid from his chest up to have her fingers meet at the back of his neck.

"I approve of it. I can't change how everything happened. But I want to help you."

"I don't even know your name."

"It's Tim. Well Timothy Drake but I go by Tim."

"I want to trust you Tim."

He closed his eyes as her hands slid into his hair. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. His forehead pushed against hers as she tangled her fingers into his hair. His eyes opened and looked into hers. They just stood there so close without moving until something shifted. He moved down as she moved up to meet him.

She sighed as their lips met, lightly brushing. Unfortunately that wasn't the only sound. Tim groaned as he pulled away from her.

"For the love of bats, go away."

Batman's boots landed lightly as his cape flapped. He put his hands on his hips to accompany his stern look.

"I still need information on a drug ring that seems to always come from one source." Batman said.

"It's daylight; don't you evaporate or something?" Tim asked.

Batman looked around Tim to make eye contact with Marinette. Tim turned back to Marinette. He could feel her shrinking back. He tucked his arm around her shoulders. He could only hope the gesture would make her feel safe rather than trapped. But he did like to know she was right there and couldn't run off again.

"Where did you get your information?" Batman asked.

"Take a hint. We are busy," Marinette told him.

She pulled back from Tim enough to present her back to Batman. Tim started to step back to give her space but she grasped his collar and pulled him back to her. Without even glancing back at Batman, Tim pulled Marinette back against him. She kept her hands on his collar as he cupped her face in both his hands.

The pressure of his lips was gentle and slow. Marinette stuck her hands back into his hair desperate for more but he held her face right where he wanted and kissed her thoroughly. She was tingling all over and whimpered when his lips stopped but he didn't pull back. He moved over her face and kissed her cheek then her temple and forehead before circling down the other side. Then he kissed her chin and her nose before another gentle kiss on her lips. Their lips hovered millimeters apart as she could feel his uneven breath.

His grip loosened without him pulling away. He wasn't sure when Batman had left and he didn't care. She moved closer and sunk her teeth into his bottom lip and pulled at it gently. She could hear his breath hitch before they resumed. They didn't hold back this time. Their kisses were heated as they tangled their tongues. His hands ran through her hair and he groaned when she locked her leg behind his hip.

He pulled back just enough to lift her to his waist where she wrapped her legs and he secured her with his hands under her butt pressing her back against the wall. She had her arms around his neck to keep him close. She liked the sound he made when she shifted in his arms. She pulled away embarrassed when her stomach growled loudly.

He laughed it off and suggested they go get lunch. Marinette wasn't sure about going places with him. But she was having trouble thinking as he moved away from her mouth and trailed his mouth down her neck. She grasped as he kissed her and her hands desperately sought more of him. They travelled down his chest and stomach. She wanted under his shirt but she couldn't focus on anything but his lips and teeth on the spot where her neck and shoulder met.

She unhooked her legs and slid down him so she could reach to grab his butt. He hummed in appreciation. He pulled her against him wrapping both arms around her and held her tight, kissing her head.

"We should get you food. The weather isn't too cold. We could get take out and sit in the park."

He reached out to smooth her hair down when she nodded. She reached up to check on it before looking at him wondering if her hair looked as messy as his. He pulled out his phone in selfie mode so she could see. Before she fixed it he got closer to her and snapped a picture of them before leaning down to place a kiss on her shocked mouth. He held it out so she could use it to fix her hair and then turned it to check how he had done on fixing his own. She gave him a look when he took another picture of them, cleaned up this time.

"My album is protected and I won't share them. But also I will delete if you want me to."

She looked over at him. He looked sincere. She reached out her hand for his.

"Keep them." She said as they walked off to get lunch.

---

Dick was at the Bat computer trying to compile information about the drug ring. They should be able to figure out where the main production was being done on the drug. They initially had it narrowed but the most recent test sample was inconsistent with that. He looked up when Batman entered the cave from the outside entrance.

"Is something happening? Why are you out in the suit during the day?" Dick asked.

"I needed to interrogate an informant about how they obtained their information."

"Since when do we have an informant? You interrogated them? That sounds drastic."

"Tim compromised the situation and I'll have to find a new way to get the information."

" No, Tim went to…" Dick stopped talking while he processed. "You didn't go bother that girl again. How did you even know about her?"

"I heard Steph and Babs talking about it. Apparently you were in on hiding evidence from me as well."

"No one was hiding evidence. You can't possibly believe she is involved with anything."

"We have been working this case for months and the only time we get any useful information is from her. That makes it suspicious."

"What about all the people she helped as Rouge Gorge? Tim went through all the reports and found as many as he could."

"What motive could she possibly have for fighting crime?"

"Seriously? She seems like a genuinely nice person who just wants to help where she can."

"Her refusal to share information or additional details is unacceptable."

"She has given every bit of information she had every time she had it and even then we didn't even trust her."

"No. There has to be a reason only she can find the information."

"You are wrong about this. You should drop it. We were all wrong before and you are making it worse. You aren't going to get her to help by being an asshole. If you don't stop, you will drive her away for good. And Tim will follow her."

I really don't understand why Batman is being so awful. I'm not even trying to do it like this but it keeps happening. My other work he is a pile of gooey sweetness. I'm not actually in charge of anything. 😆

Taglist

#maribat #timinette #timari

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jmoriarty-221b · 3 years

Text

New AU idea: I’ve found out that there’s some versions of the Batman comics where Tim Drake becomes Red Robin straight off the bat (he was never Robin & didn’t go to Batman) so I’m running with that

This Tim Drake doesn’t find Batman all that amazing, he recognizes Batman as a hero and as a symbol of Hope for Gotham, but he also sees him as just one man trying to make a difference, he holds more admiration towards Robin, specifically Jason’s Robin since he knows Gotham in ways Batman doesn’t, he checks on the street kids and the homeless, makes hot chocolate runs for the working girls when he can, and he is more interested in helping those in Crime Alley, a place where Batman and the previous Robin didn’t tend to patrol before Jason

And Tim has never been a normal child, there’s really no way for him to be human but there’s also no way to prove that he isn’t human, he passes the DNA tests, he doesn’t have a meta gene, he doesn’t have a mutation nor a difference in genetics, physiologically? There’s nothing to prove that Tim is anything other than human. In practice? Tim isn’t exactly limited if he cut off a limb, if he were to be shot in the head it would take approximately five minutes for him to heal back up, he can decide whether or not a wound will leave scars on his body, he can choose whether or not a mortal wound would put him in the ground permanently, most importantly, he can choose whether or not to contact his crew from the Isle that was supposed to be his home

There’s a reason as to why Tim isn’t exactly fond of heroes, after all, heroes decided to sentence countless of children yet to be born to a life of pain, suffering and poverty amongst an island filled with villains, heroes are the ones who put a barrier over the Isle that prevented its occupants from accessing their magic, heroes are the reason that his fae sisters and djinn brother and sea witch cousin and pirate friends are unable to access a part of themselves, he reason that they are unable to grow up properly and learn to control and feel and channel their magical cores, heroes are the reason for why him and his family hide behind fake names, and if it wasn’t for his parents’ quick thinking and preparations to flee then heroes would’ve been the reason he would’ve also grown up imprisoned and unable to access an integral part of himself

So no, Tim isn’t exactly impressed by the Batman

But Gotham exudes a similar signature as the one of the Isle of the Lost, making it the one place to where his parents could establish themselves undetected as the pollution would obscure their magical signatures had anyone looked for them, of course, Tim wasn’t old enough to learn how to lock down his own magical core in a way that wasn’t detrimental to himself, so he couldn’t be taken out of Gotham to accompany his parents on their numerous trips around the world, and such was his boredom that he decided to take advantage of his lack of adult supervision and explore Gotham

Having been taught about what became of the people he would’ve known as family from his parents as well as reading up every book he could in the ancient family library regarding long distance communication with magical kin, Tim ends up with a plan to meet with kids on the Isle as soon as he can, it turns out that establishing communication with the Isle requires for him to be in a part of Gotham that has the same atmosphere as the Isle, so Little Tim sets up shop in a semi secure rooftop in Crime Alley and establishes communication, needless to say he’s in for a surprise because “Oh wow why are you there Mr. Hades, you could escape any time and there’s no way those mortals could hope to contain your power, so why are you on the Isle?”

Turns out that attempting communication from a place surrounded by death and sorrow would lead to Tim establishing a magical video chat with the Lord of the Underworld, who’d’ve thunk? Anyway, Hades is literally just chilling for the next hundred years on the Isle because it’s easier to agree to mortals’ demands than obliterate them, and it’s less paperwork too so win-win, and one afternoon he’s suddenly communicating with one of the cutest little chipmunks he’s seen (kids are cute, and Tim is still a baby so he’s Tiny Cute) who introduced himself as Timothy Dwake and isn’t that just precious that the little tyke still has trouble with his r’s but how is he able to communicate with him on the Isle oh, that’s Janet’s kid, well shit guess he has a godson now (Janet had always wanted for Tim to be protected and that’s why she had been one of the few to escape the Isle, she had been a good friend back in the day so it seemed only fair for him to return the favor by looking out for Tiny Tim; it has nothing to do with Tim’s very cute face and slightly chubby cheeks that he kinda wants to pinch and his cute little lisp no Persephone I’m not attached-)

Anyway, so Tim ends up learning from his Uncle H on how to control his magical core and how to defend himself against physical and magical threats, he has a talent for using shadows to conceal himself as well as to listen in on others and gather information, if he concentrates really hard he can even manipulate shadows into solid figures, once he told this to his Uncle new training lessons began and now Tim is able to maintain his shadow constructs solid for longer periods of time as well as give them shape, over time he would learn more control over his ability and it will become easier to make weapons from shadows, his Uncle H also trains him in combat, particularly lost forms of combat from ancient civilizations

One particular night Tim wasn’t able to go to their meeting spot in Crime Alley, there was an Arkham Breakout and he wasn’t about to be caught up in that shit because could he fight off some villains and protect himself? Sure, but that would mean a possibility of getting the Batman’s attention and he’s not about to do that so staying at home it is, and now he is walking alone in the Drake gardens, he has no one to practice his fighting techniques with, no one to talk to, no one to teach him about what’s happening in the Isle, no one to teach him how to control his powers and his parents are gone for most of the year and they say that they’ll take him with them when he’s older but they’ve been saying that for years and now he’s much better at concealing his power and the King of Auradon believes he put every villain away for good so it’s not like they’re searching for his magical signature anyway so WHY WON’T HIS PARENTS TAKE HIM WITH THEM!?!?!? WHY IS HE ALWAYS LEFT ALONE!?!?!?

As he got progressively angrier, Tim hadn’t noticed how his power became stronger, how shadows grew larger, nor how the ground seemed to tremble and crack, it wasn’t until the ground literally split in front of him that he realized that maybe his power may have gotten out of hand, a bit, maybe, to be fair, he didn’t mean to summon a skeleton warrior with who he could practice his fighting with but hey, silver lining and all that, and he has something else to tell his Uncle H about in their next meeting (Hades may or may not have blessed his godson, and the blessing may or may not have given Tim some sort of control over his domains)

Anyway, eventually Tim learns how to see what’s happening in the Isle on his own from a sort of bird’s eye view, he sees what kids his age are going through and tries to find ways to alleviate the pain, he begins to talk to the kids and establishes rapport with them, he becomes friends with little Uma and Harry by bonding over swordplay, he gives Jay and Carlos tips for how to find the best hiding spots, he learns from Evie how to hide more stuff in his clothes and how to add more protective fabrics to his wardrobe, he and Mal bond over high parental expectations (she reminds him of Hades sometimes, and he thinks her eyes are a very pretty green with gold flecks sprinkled in, he may have a crush???) (Psssst, Mal likes Tim’s eyes too, she thinks it’s very pretty how they seem to change shades depending on his mood and when he’s happy they match her purple hair) *cue cuteness from these unfortunate little beans because yes*

Anyway, Tim has been working on creating a portal to a secluded part of the Isle from where he could send supplies to kids there, he was 8 years old when he started looking into this possibility after managing to make friends with the kids and now, at 13, he has finally managed to make it happen, he can only send non-living things through the portal tho, because although theoretically he Could send himself over, then he’d be stuck behind the barrier and couldn’t access his magic so that’s a big no, and he also can’t take the risk of getting someone from the Isle out because he can’t guarantee their safety (he tried with small insects and one time with a mouse; they died); the first thing he sends are medical supplies, food and bottled water, at first it’s only for his close friends, then they all establish a sort of routine and plan to get these supplies to other kids while hiding what they’re doing from their parents behind the guise of building their own gang on the Isle, Uma with the pirates and Mal with the inner city, Tim becomes their sort of advisor on important matters having seen what strategy tends to work when recruiting people as well as how to better approach street kids, he gets nicknamed the Shadow Angel for helping from behind the curtain, literally

Tim continues to learn as much as he can from his Uncle H, shadows Robin around Crime Alley, avoids gaining Batman’s attention and acquires supplies to send to the Isle three times a week from different places (he’s gotta cover his tracks, otherwise he runs the risk of getting Batman’s attention even if it’s just because the same person keeps buying food, water and medical supplies from various stores each week) but Tim has money, and he has experience regarding gangs and their recruiting and internal works (he’s helping his friends make their own gangs after all) and these people are in need of help as well, so he decides to make his own ‘gang’ by hiring people to do supply runs for him, he poses as a recruiter and gives fliers with information about his own gang and the benefits that joining will have (health insurance, dental, payed maternity leave, payed recuperation period, payed physical therapy and medical bills in case Batman decides to pop in, education is provided for anyone who wishes to get their GED and continue their education, etc); in the end, Tim keeps the Boss’ identity a secret until he reaches adulthood because no one would take a kid seriously, but he ends up amassing his own gang in Gotham while at the same time improving the life of people in poverty areas like Crime Alley and the Bowery

Of course, everything comes to a head when Mal, Evie, Jay and Carlos are elected to go to school in Auradon leaving Uma as the only leader on the Isle, meanwhile Tim has been keeping tabs on Robin and gets to save Jason from Joker in Ethiopia (turns out being able to summon a skeleton army comes in handy when rescuing Robin from a deranged psychopath like Joker) so Tim is simultaneously saving Jason while still trying to remain anonymous to Batman (he’s built and maintained an entire gang in the most crime ridden part of Gotham for years, he’s not about to get involved with the Bats now)

So Tim only finds out about what happened to Mal, Evie, Jay and Carlos until they’re already in Auradon and decides you know what? Fuck it, I’m gonna meet my friends face to face, besides, he can handle maintaining a gang in Gotham, he’s sure he can handle Auradon (update: he cannot, he’s this close 🤏 to rocking someone’s shit, he proposes overtaking the kingdom twice a day, he knows they could do it, and it’ll be easy even, but it’s the paperwork that’s holding them back, meh, let Ben do the grunt work and become an advisor, at least their manipulations would be in favor of improving the life of kids in poverty unlike other people who just want to get more money from their position close to the crown, gotta love politics)

Anyway, Tim Drake does become Red Robin, gang leader and benevolent overlord of Crime Alley and the Bowery, helping Gotham citizens and being the Shadow Angel of the Isle, plotting Auradon’s downfall for fun on his slow days as well as working on taking out the kids from the Isle and setting up safe houses for them for when he and his friends figure out how to save the kids

#tim drake #humor #Evie #Jay #Carlos #Mal #Uma #Harry #Villain Kids #Ben whatever his last name is #Auradon Kids #the Isle of the Lost is basically Crime Alley but worse somehow #Janet and Jack used to be on the ‘villains’ side #Janet used to help Hades #Hades sees Tiny Tim and decides he has a godson now #Tiny Tim and Little Mal thinking each other’s eyes are pretty #they have crushes on each other but they’re good friends and it’s cute #they deserve love #Tim becomes the Shadow Angel #he helps Uma and Mal make their own gangs on the Isle #then decides to make his own gang in Gotham because he could do it better #and he does #Batman doesn’t even know of the Red Robin gang #Tim still likes Robin tho #because Jason cares about Crime Alley and the people there #Tim saves Jason #Jason Lives #as he should #Tim goes to Auradon with Mal🤘🏻#he suggests treason everyday because it’s too sunny

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afni-fics · 3 years

Text

Red Robin: In Hindsight - Chapter 1 (In the Present... Memento)

In Hindsight: Chapter 1 (In the Present... Memento) (3266 words) by C_R_Scott Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tim Drake/Tam Fox, Jack Drake/Janet Drake, Janet Drake & Tim Drake, Jack Drake & Tim Drake, Lucius Fox/Tanya Fox, Tim Drake & Tam Fox Characters: Tim Drake, Tam Fox, Janet Drake, Jack Drake, Lucius Fox, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Jason Todd Additional Tags: Tim Drake-centric, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Family Feels, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Childhood Memories, Childhood Sweethearts, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Story Summary:

What if bleeding out in a Middle Eastern hotel room was not the first time Timothy Drake-Wayne and Tamara Fox met? What if they were actually childhood best friends, but life and circumstance forced them apart for years to the point of forgetting each other?

Concept/Prompt: What if Tim Drake was originally raised by his maternal grandmother for the first eight years of his life due to "circumstances" involving his biological parents? What if Tim's grandmother was also the next door neighbor and occasional sitter for Lucius Fox's family?

Chapter Summary: It's another rough night in Gotham City. The Scarecrow is on the loose and the Bats are out in force trying to recapture him. Unfortunately, Red Robin got hit with large dose of fear toxin and had to retreat to a safe place to administer the antidote and wait for it to kick in. The closest safe place just happens to be Tam Fox's apartment.

(A/N: All "In the Present..." events take place post-Red Robin #26)

---

"--ed Robin? Can you hea--"

Tim groaned softly as he slowly clawed his way back into some semblance of consciousness. Almost by reflex, he began going down a silent mental checklist to determine his current situation:

"Uniform, cowl, belts in place... Still Red Robin... Not disarmed... Not disabled... Okay...

"No sounds of combat... City noises muffled... Carpet beneath me... Indoors... Apartment?... So far so good...

"Groggy... Vision blurry... Hearing ok... Movements sluggish... Drugged maybe?... I can work with this..."

"Tim? Are you... alright?"

"And that was my real name... Well shit."

Gingerly, Tim tried to push himself up off the floor. A glance around himself revealed he had been lying amidst what appeared to be the remains of a wooden bookshelf along with its contents and a disturbingly large amount of shattered glass in some unlucky civilian's living room. Then his head turned to the source of the voice that had pulled him back to awareness. A lump rose uncomfortably into his throat.

"Tam?"

Kneeling a yard or so away from him was Tamara Fox, with a nervous wide-eyed expression, clutching an empty auto-injector pen with an orange label that Tim recognized from his own utility belt stash as fear toxin antidote.

Tim felt a spike of panic as he looked into Tam's face. "Oh God!" he exclaimed as he tried get to his feet as quickly as he could. "Are you alright?! Did I hurt you?!" Unfortunately, as soon as he got to his feet, the world pitched sideways and he nearly felt fell back to the floor, were it not for Tam rising to her own feet to help steady him.

"Woah there!" Tam said as she tried to help the unbalanced vigilante stay upright. "I'm fine. Don't worry. I'm ok." Then she glanced around the apartment with a weary sigh. "My living room, on the other hand, not so much."

Tim grimaced as he followed her gaze around the room. Near as he could figure, he could visualize how he must have crashed through the glass balcony door while trying to grapple between buildings, based on the gaping hole letting all the cold Gotham air in from her balcony. Following the shard pattern of the broken glass on the floor, he could see how he must have been flying with some speed and hadn't even been able to slow his descent before crashing, if the evidence of the demolished bookshelf that had been leaning against the wall opposite the balcony and the prominent new aches in his own body was any indication.

"I heard on the news that the Scarecrow was on the loose," Tam said as she tried to ease him to the sofa so he could sit down. "I guess you got hit with fear toxin?"

Tim nodded as he sat down, then pushed back his cowl to reveal his face, savoring the cool air as it hit his skin. "Last thing I remember is trying to get somewhere safe to take the antidote and ride things out," he murmured as he scrubbed his face with his hands. "I thought I was trying to get to a safehouse we have in the area."

Tam sat down on the arm of the sofa, her back to the recovering vigilante, and looked at the empty antidote pen in her hand. "And yet you ended up here..." she mused.

"I'm really, really sorry Tam," Tim apologized as he raked his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. "I don't know what happened or what I was thinking with the fear toxin took hold." He dared to glance at her out of the corner of his eyes. "Are you sure you're alright? I really didn't hurt you?"

Tam shrugged, then glanced back at him out of the corner of her own eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine. Whatever that Scarecrow put in that toxin didn't make you go crazy violent or anything." She looked back at the remains of her bookshelf where she'd found him curled up in a fetal position, disturbingly still and silent. "You... you'd gone completely catatonic." She wrapped her arms around herself tightly. "Nothing I said or did reached you, and for a bit the antidote didn't seem to be working. I thought..." Tam shook her head and got to her feet. "It doesn't matter what I thought. The antidote kicked in finally and you'll be ok now, right?"

"Yeah. I'll be ok." Tim watched sadly as Tam immediately knelt down to gather up some of the books that had been scattered by the destruction of their shelves. As she worked, he made a few mental notes about the effects of the Scarecrow's new fear toxin. The old toxin was known for triggering horrific visions and violent reactions in its victims. This new version, triggering catatonia instead of violence, could potentially be a greater threat against anyone in Gotham's vigilante family seeking to subdue the villain.

Tim ought to have been reaching out to Batman and the rest of his family to warn them about this new variant.

However, he couldn't get his mind off the fact that somewhere in the back of his brain, while Scarecrow's fear toxin was trying to take root, the closest safe place he instinctively tried to go to was Tamara Fox's home... no matter how broken their friendship was right now.

"Here. Let me help," Tim offered as he cautiously got to his feet and tested his balance, which was better than it was earlier.

Tam tried to wave him away, though, as she set a stack of books on the sofa and out of the way. "Don't worry about it," she said in a tense voice as she reached for what looked like an old leather bound book. "It's fine. I'm fine. Shouldn't you be getting ba--"

Whatever she was about to say was cut off abruptly when, upon trying to lift up the book by its spine, about thirty pages full of photographs spilled out all over the floor. Tam could only stare at the mess of her beloved childhood memories scattered at her feet, until she felt hot tears begin to fill her eyes.

"Goddamnit," she snapped softly in frustration, her voice breaking slightly as she closed her eyes tightly. "Well isn't this just a perfect metaphor for my life right now?"

Tim looked and felt absolutely gutted the moment he saw and heard all those photo album pages spill onto the floor. For a moment, he was as frozen in place as Tam, unable to do anything except stare at those pictures, at Tam's precious memories scattered haphazardly around her

However, as Tam sank to the floor with another frustrated sob, clutching the remains of her album tight to her chest. he finally jolted into movement.

"I am so... so sorry Tam," he apologized with deep, sincere regret as he knelt beside her and began to carefully gather up the photo pages. The childhood photographer he once was chided him mercilessly in the back of his mind for being the cause of this damage.

Tam sniffled a little and used her free hand to try and scrub the tears from her eyes. "I know... I know..." she murmured as she recomposed herself, set aside the remains of the album cover, and started collecting some of of the photo pages herself. Between the two of them, it should've taken no time at all to pick up all the pictures.

At least, that's how it should have been.

Though the light in the living room wasn't the greatest, only a single nearby floor lamp close to the sofa provided any illumination, Tim kept pausing every now and then to take closer looks at the images, slowing his progress.

These were all clearly pictures of Tam and her family back when she was a child in and around her childhood home when she was maybe nine or ten years old. Everyone looked happy, or at the very least content. He also recognized a younger Lucius Fox interspersed among the pages as well as who he assumed was Tam's mom, her older sister Tiffany, and her younger brother Luke when he was still a toddler.

They were nice photos full of what looked like warm, happy memories.

So why were they giving him such a strange nagging feeling of deja vu?

Tim noticed the corner of a photo that had been dislodged from its album page. Unlike the other photos in the album which were all standard 4"x6" glossy prints, this one appeared to be more squarish in shape with an obvious white border that was thicker at one end. "A Polaroid?" Tim thought to himself curiously as he tugged the photo out from under the other pages. "I haven't seen one of those in years..."

Then, as Tim got a good look at the photo, his breath caught in his throat.

In the photo a young boy and girl were sitting close together on a wooden porch swing, both smiling brightly on a warm summer day. The girl was hugging the boy, who looked a few years younger, as he appeared to have both arms outstretched in front of him just off the image, as if he had been holding the Polaroid camera to take the picture. On the white section of the photograph right beneath the image are words written in black marker by a childish hand.

"Timber & Tami - July 19, 20XX"

About that moment, Tam noticed the photo in Tim's hand. Her gaze softened. "That's my favorite picture," she said fondly as she reached out to tilt the image slightly her way, though she didn't try to take it from Tim.

"Who... was he?"

Tam couldn't help the sad, nostalgic smile that formed on her lips. "He was my best friend." She sighed softly as she continued reminiscing. "He lived next door to me and was raised by his grandma. We practically grew up together because Nana was always babysitting me while my parents were at work."

She glanced at the photos in her hands, and the ones still on the floor. "He was such a geek about cameras and photography," she chuckled warmly. "I remember, Nana gave him this vintage Polaroid camera for his eighth birthday. He was so excited, you'd think he'd won the lotto. I think... this was the first picture he ever took with it." She glanced at the photos in her hands and still on the floor. "He took most of these other ones too, and he gave me the album for my birthday before--"

"Before?"

Tam sighed. "Before his Nana got sick, and he had to move away."

It took a long minute, but finally Tam noticed Tim was strangely quiet. When she turned her attention from the photos to him, she was startled to see him staring at her with an intense wide-eyed expression she'd never seen in those blue eyes before. For the first time in the year since she'd met him, he looked like he was close to tears.

He looked at her like he was staring at a ghost.

Tam felt a tendril of unease coil in her chest. "Tim? What's wro--"

"Tami?" he whispered to her in a small, vulnerable tone. When he spoke again, his voice was thick with emotion and completely unguarded. "Is it really you?"

At first Tam was confused. She glanced between the Polaroid photo held in Tim's now trembling hand before her gaze drifted back up to his face and looked into eyes that were suddenly more familiar than they'd ever been before.

Suddenly, her world shifted.

Tam's own brown eyes went wide with shock as she tried to stifle a gasp with her hands. Then, slowly, she lowered her fingers from her lips.

"Timber?"

The tears that had been threatening to escape Tim's startled blue eyes finally coursed down his cheeks with Tam's word. There was so much emotion warring on his face, and while his mouth opened and closed, nothing seemed able to come out.

Tim reached out for Tam, who was still frozen in her own silent shock.

But before he could reach her, Tim's communicator began to ping, cutting through the silence between them and making both of them jump. Tim's hand retracted away sharply, as if he'd been burned. After taking a second to compose himself, he reached up to press a button on the communicator in his ear.

"Red here," he said, his voice all business, all Red Robin, but stretched tight to near the point of breaking.

"Thank goodness," Oracle's synthesized voice on the comm crackled to life. "Batman and Robin need backup. Batgirl and Nightwing both got hit with fear toxin, but their trackers haven't moved in several minutes."

Tim rose grimly to his feet and turned toward the doorless balcony. "Crane's got a new variant. Triggers catatonia instead of fight or flight. The current antidote works, but takes longer to kick in." He checked his belts to see how many more doses of antidote he had. "If they're immobile either they took the antidote and we're just waiting for it to take effect, or they went catatonic before they could administer in the first place." He sighed as he pulled out his grapple gun to insert a new cartridge. "Who's closest to my location?"

"Nightwing. Sending you coordinates for both."

"I'll be there soon. Make sure to warn B and Robin about the variant. Red out."

Once the comm was disconnected, Tim bowed his head. When he spoke, his Red Robin tone was nowhere to be heard. "I'm sorry Tam..." he whispered, voice full of regret and longing and... something else neither of them could identify. "I have to go--"

But as he turned to glance back timidly at her, Tim's eyes went wide when he suddenly found himself tightly wrapped up in a pair of soft warm arms. His breath hitched in his chest as he felt, more than heard, Tam sob into his shoulder, "It's you."

Without even thinking, Tim wrapped his arms around Tam, pulling her closer and tucking his own face into the crook of her neck. He held her tighter than he ever had before in this past year. All his emotions felt raw and exposed, but in this moment that was ok.

This was his Tami...

His big sister...

His best friend...

His first--

With a deep, shuddering sigh, Tim pulled back slightly, just enough to speak clearly. "I need to go."

Tam pulled back slowly too, until just their hands were interlaced. Finally, she raised her gaze to meet his. "Be careful," she whispered. The weight of so many other things they wished to say to one another hangs in the space between them, and they both know it.

Tim nodded wordlessly. Then, with painful reluctance, he slipped his fingers from her grasp, pulled his cowl back on launched a grappling line out of Tam's apartment. He spares just one final backward glance, his expression masked almost completely by his cowl, before launching himself into back into the night.

Once Tam can no longer see his silhouette against Gotham's skyline, she shivers as a cold wind cuts through her apartment. As she kneels down again to gather her photos, she pulls out her phone with a free hand.

"Hello?"

"Daddy?"

"Tami? What's wrong?"

At the sound of naked concern in her father's voice, Tam's couldn't hold back the tears as they stream down her face or the way her voice trembled and made her feel ten-years-old and broken-hearted in a way she never thought she'd ever feel again.

"Nothing..? Everything..? I don't know..? Can you pick me up please? Can I come home?"

"Of course. Where are you?"

"The apartment."

"Stay right there, baby. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"I will."

Once the call was ended, Tam's eyes fell on that precious old Polaroid photo. With another sob, she gathered it up and held it close as she cried softly until her father arrived.

#tim drake #tam fox #tim/tam #red robin #fanfiction #wip #rr: in hindsight #batfam #batfamily

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writingblock101 · 4 years

Text

Night Terrors (Jason Todd x Reader)

Can I offer you some angst with fluff in these troubling times? A request for my special reader who knows who they are. I really like how this came out!

Request: Can I request for Angst 1 (“Why are you awake?”) , the nightmare one, for Black Widow reader x Jason again???

Warnings: Violence, some gore, panic attacks

Word count: 1,400

You are being tested today. Today, your target will have a pulse, a heartbeat. Today your target is alive.

You stare straight ahead, just as they taught you. You don’t flinch at the noises of pain that comes from your target. You don’t flinch when their body is thrown to the floor in front of you. You don’t flinch when they order you to shoot the target in the head. You don’t flinch when the gun fires. You don’t flinch when brain matter splatters against the walls. You don’t flinch.

“Y/N…” A pained voice breathes out.

Your blood freezes. You know that voice. No, no it can’t be. God, no please. Please, no.

You look down to see Jason wheezing on the floor, blood oozing from his chest.

“Don’t… do… this,” He gasps. “Please… don’t do…this…” He begs, his face scrunching up in pain.

They order you to shoot again. You can’t move. They order you to shoot again. What did you do? They order you to shoot again. Why did you do this? They order you to shoot again. You still don’t move. They order you to shoot gain.You can’t move. You’re frozen in place. Your hands are shaking as more blood bubbles from Jason’s chest. He coughs with a pained groan and blood spills over his lips.

“Please…” He begs, his eyes pleading.

They order you to shoot again. They order you to shoot again. They order you to shoot again. They order you to shoot again.

A shot rings out and Jason stops moving. His head lolls, his eyes empty.

No. No. Nonononono.

They lower their gun, turning to you in disappointment.

Reconditioning.

You’re on a gurney, strapped down. You can’t move.

“Be still and it’ll be over soon…”

You jerk your head and yank uselessly at your restraints. Please no, not the white room. Anything but the white room.

You hear a tsking above you.

“The more you struggle, the more painful this will be.”

Another restraint tightly wraps around your head, trapping it in place. You jerk again only to be met by a sharp slap.

“Enough! How many times do we have to go through this?”

You bare your teeth around the gag in your mouth, but you’re quickly silenced by the familiar sound of electricity buzzing in your ears. You squeeze your eyes shut, silently begging. Please no. But your begging is useless.

The electricity gets closer, closer, closer until--

You jerk awake, your whole body shaking. Something is still wrapped around your neck. You claw desperately at the restraint, throwing it back only to realize it is the comforter on yours and Jason’s bed. You pant for a moment, frozen in shock and fear then feel the bed shift beside you.

Jason turns slightly in his sleep, letting out a long breath as he resettles.

Jason.

You reach a shaking hand out and gently feel along his neck, quickly finding his carotid artery. It pumps steadily under your fingers. He’s alive. You let out a relieved, shaky breath, your whole body still trembling and your mind racing.

Blood covers the walls.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

You’re not there.

Leather restraints dig into your skin.

A whimper escapes.

You’re not there.

Electricity makes your muscles spams.

You flinch.

You’re not there.

Screams ring out around you.

You cover your ears.

You’re not there.

Pleads for mercy.

“Stop…” You mutter into the darkness.

You’re not there.

Moans of pain.

“Please… Don’t do...this…”

Tears well up behind your eyes.

You’re not there.

Desperate begging.

“Please…”

You squeeze your eyes harder, forcing tears to stream down.

You’re not there.

A loud ringing.

You knot your fingers into your hair, trying to anchor yourself.

Are you sure?

You whimper again, a quiet, choked sob rattling from your chest.

Are you sure?

The bed shifts again, Jason’s arm blindly reaching out and gently curling into your shirt (actually it’s his shirt). He sighs contently, still fast asleep.

Jason.

You scoot forward, resting your head on his chest, grateful that your boyfriend is a heavy sleeper. As he breathes in, you breathe with him, taking a shuttering breath in, then slowly release it. He breathes in again and you follow suit.

You’re not there. You’re home, safe.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

You reach a shaking hand out, running it along the various scars on Jason’s body. Your fingers first find the thick scar on his neck from his encounter with Batman. They slowly trail over to a bullet wound then down to his autopsy scar.

One, two, three, four, five, six you mentally count, cataloging the various places Jason got his scars from. You feel a thing scar on his rib cage with shaking hands.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

I can see my comforter, I can see my dresser, I can see my bookshelf, I can see my laptop, I can see Jason.

I can feel my bed under me, I can feel the fan blowing wind on top of me, I can feel my shirt on my body, I can feel Jason underneath me.

I can hear the fan swirling, I can hear my tinnitus, I can hear Jason’s heartbeat.

I can smell my shampoo, I can smell Jason’s deodorant.

You take a last shaky breath, your hands still trembling. Jason’s grip on your shirt tightens for a moment as he frowns in his sleep, but it quickly loosens, his face going content again. You noticed early in your relationship that Jason likes to hold onto something when he sleeps, whether it be a blanket, the bars on the headboard, or his favorite, you.

You lay on Jason’s chest for a few minutes, his steady breathing and heartbeat almost lulling you back to sleep, but you jolt yourself. You don’t want to fall back asleep, not yet. You know when you do, you’ll be thrown right back into the dream.

To avoid waking Jason up (since he seems like he’s getting a rare night of peaceful sleep), you pull the comforter up, gently pry Jason’s fingers from your shirt and instead offer the blanket. His fingers curl around the blanket, allowing you to quickly slip out of bed. You pause for a moment, admiring how peaceful he looks, press a soft kiss to his forehead then sneak into the living room.

In the living room, you curl up on the couch, pulling your weighted blanket around your shoulders. Tim gave you the blanket after coaching you through a PTSD induced panic attack. He dropped the blanket off at your apartment, making an off-handed comment about dealing with panic attacks before and the weight helping ground him. You’re extremely grateful for him and this blanket.

Unfortunately, nightmares are a common occurrence in your household, whether it be yours, Jason’s, or whichever of his siblings crash in your guest room to get away from the Manor, so finding a mindless cartoon is familiar. You pull the blanket tighter around you, only partially listening to the episode of Danny Phantom while your mind essentially plays elevator music in the background.

You’re so spaced out on absolutely nothing that you actually jump when you hear a quiet voice ask you:

“Y/N?”

You look over to see Jason sleepily squinting at you. You frown, hoping you didn’t wake him up.

“Why are you awake?” You ask softly.

“Got cold, I knew you weren’t there,” He frowns. “Why are you awake?”

“Bad dream,” You murmur, opening your blanket in invitation.

Jason’s frown deepens, but he slides behind you, the blanket now pulled around his shoulders and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest.

“You could’ve woken me up,” He tells you, resting his head on your shoulder.

You lean against him, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair.

“You helped me more than you know,” You murmur to him.

He tightens his hold, pressing a kiss to the side of your head and lays back, pulling you back with him. You pull your legs so they lay over Jason’s legs and tuck your head under his chin. Jason runs his fingers up and down your arms, lightly scratching the skin. He kisses the top of your head again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks.

You shake your head, your hand tracing one of his various scars.

“I just want you here,” You mumble to him.

“You’re safe,” Jason murmurs to you. “I’ve got you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You press a sweet kiss to his jaw.

You believe him.

“I love you,” He mumbles into your hair, tightening his hold for a moment.

“I love you too.”

Request are open! I have another prompt so if you sent that too me, I promise it is next on the list!

#jason tood #red hood #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #black widow #black widow! reader #jason todd x black widow! reader #red hood x black widow! reader #personal headcanon: Jason also has tinnitus #imagine #dc imagine #dc

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bigskydreaming · 5 years

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hi, im new to reading actual comics and i just read the court of owls. this was the first time id ever seen bruce actually hit dick—does that happen a lot? i was honestly shocked at it. and bruce never apologized. im trying to understand why bruce would do that—why do you think? i dont think the comic was glorifying it at all but it was still there and im a little dumbfounded as to why the writers thought that was appropriate to put in there. what are your thoughts?

Its shitty writing. That’s the ultimate answer. Every instance of Bruce’s kids ever has been an instance of shitty writing, because it never gets addressed or followed up on, and its not like there’s EVER a good reason to write a father hitting his kids unless you’re specifically centering the kids and trying to write a story of abuse and learning to recognize and accept that yes, this is actually happening to them now what do they do with that awareness and understanding....and let’s be frank, that’s not a story that DC has ever desired or intended to write with Bruce in the position of that father.

So flat out, no equivocation, every instance of Bruce hitting his kids ever, has been shitty, unacceptable writing, no matter the context or the follow-up, because the end takeaway at the heart of the matter is always, always, always, that whatever each writer’s actual intention when writing those scenes, they definitively did not ‘intend’ for it to be seen as abusive.

But that means jack shit in terms of whether what was actually shown on the page, was in fact abusive. Which has been the case, more than once, and with more than one of his kids.

So unfortunately, he has been physically violent with Dick on more than one occasion, in which there was no chance of it being spun as mind control or like, them fighting as equals because of some story position or whatever, where it was just definitively, a father hitting his son for his own emotional reasons or whatever. It happened after Jason’s death, it happened in the Court of Owls arc, it happened after Dick briefly died and was resuscitated in Forever Evil and Bruce was trying to get him to go undercover without anyone else knowing he’d survived yet. There have been a couple other times where the two of them have come to mutual blows in a fight that started as just a verbal argument, but I tend not to focus on those for a number of reasons but tbh, mostly just because its an uphill battle getting people to address even the times when its most clear that Bruce is without a doubt unjustified and dishing out abuse that is in no way reciprocated. There’s no real chance to even get around to the scenes that are complicated by additional layers.

And again to be clear, this kind of shit writing isn’t just limited to Dick. Bruce has been physically violent with Jason ever since he came back as the Red Hood in more than one altercation, with there being the flimsy justification in some of these stories that well, technically Jason is ‘the bad guy’ and Bruce is just doing what he has to in order to stop him....but with more than one instance of Bruce being overly violent with Jason in ways that he isn’t with even some of the worst criminals or villains in other stories, thus making it impossible to interpret as anything other than Bruce’s aggression being heightened by his emotional turmoil at Jason’s actions, the fact that he’s fighting his own son, Bruce’s own issues, etc, etc....

Which ultimately all just boils down to...Bruce is violent with Jason and to degrees that he isn’t with even his most notorious villains, and his own emotional state is the only explanation possible, which makes the over the top nature of Bruce’s violence in these scenes outright abuse, no matter the existence of the ‘well Jason technically was doing something that Bruce was trying to stop, it was more of a hero vs antihero thing rather than a father vs son thing’ attempt at spinning it otherwise. Notable and notorious instances of this are Bruce’s way of ‘finishing’ things in UTRH, RHATO #25, etc.

With Tim, the only real instance so far has been Batman #71, the King written bullshit I spoke of, and tbh I’m still so steamed at his attempt at justifying that, like, just read the latest issue to see the full story there because I refuse to even dignify that particular bit of abuse apologism with a paraphrasing.

And unfortunately, Bruce has definitely been written being emotionally abusive with all his kids at various points or another, with again the real culprit usually being dumbass fuckferrett writer assholes who wouldn’t know how to write a healthy parent/child interaction if your Higher Power of Choice directly appeared in their room, shining with benevolence and full-on “Do Not Test Me On This” wattage, and then handing them a script that word for word laid out how to write out a healthy parent/child interaction for the scene they were beginning....like, they’d STILL find a way to fuck it up, that’s how bad these particular writers are at recognizing This Is A Good Action and This is A Bad Action, Bad, B-A-D, DON’T DO IT.

And the thing is, that’s not Bruce Wayne at his core characterization. I don’t believe it is anymore than even the most die-hard Bruce fan, which I most decidedly am not. I’m here for his kids, he can stay when he’s doting and on his best Dadly behavior, but he’s always on thin ice with me at this point and on his own, I’m usually just like meh, wouldn’t adopting an orphan right about now be a better use of your time?

But for sure, Bruce absolutely has been written as a good parent in canon as well, and has everything he needs character wise to constantly have that portrayal of him upheld and prioritized instead of his worse traits but like. We have definitely gotten Bad Dad Bruce in canon, and more frequently than any of us would like....which is where we usually turn to fandom, for fix-its.

And there’s lots of Good Dad Bruce Wayne in fanfics. Its even its own tag. And I have no problem with most of those fics in spirit, or the concept in general, I’m just very opinionated and knee-jerk about abuse apologism across the board, so I mean...if it were up to me, I’d much rather normalize tags like “Bruce Wayne Can Be A Good Dad” and “Bruce Wayne Can Be A Bad Dad.” I don’t generally like broad-sweeping declarations made about characters that no one person can ever ensure consistent characterization for, so no matter how understandable the intent, I object to the idea of Good Dad Bruce Wayne protection squads or tags on the basis of like...how easily that can lead straight into abuse apologism, with people making the claim “Bruce would never do what he did in canon story (x)....because Bruce is a Good Dad and good dads don’t do that.” Well no, they don’t. In theory. Cuz problem is in reality, supposedly good dads do things like that all the time, because nobody IMO is truly good or bad, they just do good or bad things and even a person with a track record of doing mostly good things can occasionally surprise people, even themselves, by doing something horrific.

And like, when we’re talking about fictional characters I’m all for arguing that something was out of character because with fiction you CAN actually consider a writer’s intent and compare and contrast it with what’s on the page, like you CAN technically say well, the writer SAID in this interview here, that they did this because they were thinking x, y and z....and then you could feasibly point to the actual on the page depiction of that scene and say okay but look at x, y and z here...what we actually got clearly isn’t what they claim they were actually going for, so they fucked it up, it wasn’t even their own intention, so like....I argue that this was out of character and shouldn’t be given too much weight.

You can’t do that in reality. Impact is what matters. The effect. Not the cause. The intent. No matter how uncharacteristic an up until that point ‘good dad’ striking their kid is for them....they’re not a character. They’re a person. It CAN’T be out of character, its them that did it, their action that caused the effect of their kid being abused, with no take backs for that, no rewind that will ever undo whatever effect that has on the rest of their relationship from that day forward, or whether they even have one at all.

And people have trouble setting firm boundaries on what they will defend in fiction versus what they will defend or call out as indefensible in reality, it isn’t nearly as either or as a lot of people try and tell themselves it is, IMO....like, my stance tends to be that if you can’t even condemn a fictional character for doing a clearly abusive thing, how do you think you can definitively say you’re sure you’d be able to condemn a loved one for doing a clearly abusive thing? Y’know? Its not as easy to separate as people like to make it out to be, so I’m hugely against abuse apologism in fandom because I think a lot of times....the way we react to these things in terms of favorite fictional characters can potentially end up a training ground for how we react to these things in real life, if they end up happening at a later point.

So I’m very critical of Bruce in a lot of my posts, but its not because I don’t want him to be good for his kids or don’t think he can be written that way....and not even because I don’t get the thought process behind ‘well I don’t view his character as being capable of that when he’s written the ways that drew me to his character in the first place, and this kind of behavior isn’t what I’m here for, it isn’t escapism for me and it just depresses me so I choose not to interact with or acknowledge these specific parts of canon.’

My issues arise from the specific ways a lot of fans attempt to write around these instances of canon, in order to not have to factor it into Bruce’s character and their view and depiction of it...while often times failing to apply similarly transformative energy to the characters Bruce hurt in these instances of canon. And when that happens, its a problem, IMO....because you end up writing Good Dad Bruce Wayne....and his kids who are at times resentful or bitter or argumentative or wary...as they are shown at times to be in canon....largely BECAUSE of those moments in canon where he’s written at his worst and does fucked up things. But without acknowledging those parts of canon at all, AND without similarly rewriting the course of events in his KIDS’ lives as much as you do in Bruce’s himself.....the end result often ends up being that you have Good Dad Bruce Wayne and a bunch of stubborn brats that according to this narrative spin have no reason for being as resentful or bitter or argumentative or wary as they’re being here...since THEY’RE still being written according to their full, overall canon characterization, with no specific chunks chiseled out.

And then of course, my other major issue with abuse apologism in fandom arises from how often fans seem willing to tackle the possibility or instances of Bad Dad Bruce Wayne in order to write fix-it fics and headcanons and meta for the times he’s hurt Jason or Tim or Damian, etc.....but then selectively erase or ignore the instances he’s done similar shit to Dick...because so much of this fandom insists on this take that he’s specifically favored by Bruce and has received special treatment that justifies the others’ occasional resentment of him, and the resentment of their fans for him. So there’s this kinda thing where you end up with a lot of fandom ignoring or refusing to acknowledging some fairly pivotal canon events because Bruce Would Never Do That, He’s A Good Dad.....AND then on top of that you have a lot of the rest of fandom ignoring or refusing to acknowledge some equally pivotal canon events because Bruce Would Never Do That To Dick, He’s A Good Dad To Dick...Its Just Everyone Else He Fucks Up With.

And that kind of selective acknowledgment of abuse for reasons of personal character preference like...get under my skin, BIG TIME. *Shrugs*

#abuse cw

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aileysmirnov · 5 years

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◇◆Ailey Villains Gallery: Scarecrow◇◆

Scarecrow's face claim: Adrien Brody

Secret vs Scarecrow! How did they met?

Ailey (Secret) and Scarecrow met 'thanks' to Batman:

One night in Gotham, Scarecrow infiltrated the Iceberg Lounge with the intention to Kill some of Penguin's Henchmen.

With a more "upgraded" (and letal) version of his fear gas.

Just as a way to send a message to Oswald who had stolen some of his gas and now was selling it for a very high price on the dark market.

To prevent Batman from intervening, Scarecrow convinced Riddler and Dr Pig to create a "distraction" (if murdering almost 11 people between the two and then make an "spectacle" about it, can be called like that) for the Bat.

And unfortunately when the "Caped Crusader" realized it was a trap (thanks to one of Riddler's "funny" riddles) he was already too far from the building.

Too far from stopping Scarecrow.

He analyzed all of his options pretty fast: he couldn't send Damian, he was with him, Dick was in Blüdhaven, He already send Tim after Riddler and Steph after Pig, Cass and Barbara where in another state with the Birds of prey, Duke and Kate where teaming up to solve a crime involving a new rising homicidal cult and Jason…he wasn't in good terms with Jason…again…and he losed his track at least 2 weeks ago.

And so…he reluctantly took the phone and dialed the number of the one person he could think of.

Ailey was doing the usual: shouting angrily and throwing a tantrum towards her employees (like the good little tyrant she is) for a last minute cancellation of 4 of the stellar models for the upcoming Winter collection of SVELLYO. When all of a sudden she received a call from the one and only: Bruce fucking Wayne.

—B! What a perfect timing! Is not bothersome at all!—she remarked the words sarcastically annoyed a tone that sounded like the venomous hissing of a snake.

—Listen Ailey, I don't have time for thi-

She cut him off

—What a coincidence! Neither do I, B's man! Byee~

—Ailey…—He didn't shout at her but his more menacing (than usually) tone, make her feel like he did; it was a voice tone that Bruce normally just used when he was with Joker and when he used it. Oh boy, You just knew the man ain't taking any shit.

—Listen to me. And listen. C A R E F U L L Y. Scarecrow is in the Iceberg Lounge it's 2 minutes away from you by flying. I need you to go after him and prevent whatever he's up to against Cobblepot.—He said a little more ""nicer"" (if it's even possible) this time, but still with a hint of frustration in his voice.

—yeah…well…I also need this little favor, B—Bruce was about to fucking lose it in that moment, there where lives in danger and this CHILD was just thinking of herself!! But before he could lash out at her with a "I'm dissapointed" speech; Damian took the phone.

—He said he'll do it, you have my word. Now…Go! —Robin said without thinking twice

—Thank you, my zelenyy*! I'm on my way! —and with an Angry Bruce Lashing out at every single thing on earth on the background, Ailey hanged up, wrote a quick note to his secretary, asking him to give all of her employees a rise (including him, of course) and sprinted out to SVELLYO's roof top; without a word to the perplexed staff.

Once she stood there.She could feel the cold night breeze hitting her face and without any doubt she jumped abruptly from one of the highest points in the city.

Her eyes opened at the middle of his falling, adrenaline and renewed energy cursing trough her veins, her blonde hair replaced with a glowing rose gold, a metalic blue growing in her gaze and her outfit conveniently transformed on an all black bodysuit with slight hints of gold on the bottom of her sleeves.

His whole body defying gravity, flying through the night sky with the same grace and glory of a swan and leaving a subtle trace of light glowing pink as she passed by.

She arrived at the Iceberg Lounge back entrance at least 5 seconds earlier from what Batman had predicted.

Penguin's henchmen where all gathered in what appeared to be a small cellar on the very back of the casino, they were complaining about an out of the blue"meeting".

Secret (Ailey) assumed it was Scarecrow's way to get them all in the same place and avoid any unnecessary complications.

With extreme caution she stood and watched near the skylight, trying to fade away her own slightly glowing nature with the moonlight.

Her eyes searched quickly inside the room, ans she soon spotted atleast 6 gas tanks oddly put in some of the poorly lighted corners of the cellar.

But no sign of the maniac

Or so she though until the abrupt pain in her neck and the obscure presence behind her sooner than later make her realize; she wasn't alone.

She could feel the infernal pain from the toxin filling his lungs and cutting her breath and her vision becoming a little bit dizzy.

—You should know better than spying on people, dear…It might not end up being what you expected—his voice was deep and unforgiving, a condescending tone and the weight of countless sleepless nights leaked through every word.

She tried to speak but only felt her throat closing.

—Now, now, dear…all will end up soon. —His tall and lanky figure covered by worn out clothes to match his own psychotic aesthetic made him look intimidating. And without any glimpse of empathy he proceeded to toss her body aside with a kick like if she was a filthy dead rat, and continue to watch expectantly to the ignorant henchmen above.

He was waiting, waiting for one of them to foolishly reveal where his beloved toxin was and after a couple of minutes one of them casually mentioned a secret basement where the most important items waited patiently for whoever was able to afford his almost ridiculously expensive price.

Crane smiled wickedly to himself…he had just what he wanted…almost.

He activated the slightly hidden tanks of fear gas and watched in admiration as some of the henchmen faces started to change into a horrified expression.

—Head's up, asshole!—He didn't even had time to process the situation properly, when Secret's hands where at both sides of his head, the tip of her fingers illuminated and emanating Rose gold strings of pure energy attaching themselves to Crane's mind.

And at that exact moment he remembered: the pain, the panic, the fear.

The very first time he tested his toxin, was on himself: he was laying in to that dirty old shack for what felt like an eternity; he screamed and begged and yet the hallucinations didn't leave him, his mind was racing with the most horrible thought it could possibly even consider, everything so real and yet so distant. He felt hopeless.

And the delicate strings clinging tight around his mind. Lord, what a bittersweet nostalgia! He felt the same, the same way as the first time, he could hear the screams, the voices, the endless discontent. But couldn't find anything around him…just…hollow and for some strange reason…that scared the shit out of him.

Ironically it had been years since the last time Crane felt genuine fear.

When Crane woke up, he was already in that horrible place: a worn out cell from Arkham

But strangely he didn't feel any kind of anger or frustration. No…he felt…elated in the best way possible almost like if he had reborn!

And so…he stood there; staring blankly at the small window with an almost devilish smile across his face.

Waiting for the next encounter

◆◇◆◇

Ailey felt so proud of herself, she had successfully managed to knock out Scarecrow, control the gas leak and save Penguin's henchmen! All alone! And even took the liberty to recover all of Crane's toxin samples Penguin had!

She couldn't wait to see Bruce's face, Oh that man owed her BIG TIME!

When Bruce and Damian finally arrived at the Batcave, he was welcomed by her.

She looked like a 10 year-old who approved one of his test and was proudly showing off the paper to his parents.

Wich made Bruce smile…a little (even if he doesn't admit to it)

—See? You can trust me, B!—she said handing him the samples.

—So you send him to Arkham? Hmm…honestly I didn't though you'll made it…but good job…I guess…?—Damian admitted, while taking off his mask.

—Well, I'm glad I'm not THAT disappointing, sir! —Her tone expressing the sarcasm and slight frustration and offence in every word. Which Damian only replayed with a faint little smile.

—…Good Job, Ailey…—Bruce spoke for the first time since they arrived

—…and thank you for your help…—He completed with a slightly more """friendly""" tone (which just means less stiffness in his voice but still maintaining his authoritarian tone)

—yeah…well…don't thank me yet…we had a deal!—She said while playfully floating around him and touching the ears of his Bat-suit; Bruce could only do as much as to touching the bridge of his nose trying to contain his very obvious nuisance.

—…What do want? —He said sighing heavily.

—Nothing much, really! I want You, Damian, Dick and Katy modeling for SVELLYO winter collection catwalk, next week! —

◆◇◆◇

OMG! That was fun! I was going to put a small and cute little drawing of Ailey touching the ears of the Bat-suit but I still haven't finished yet! So yeah…I will edit it once I have it done!

Anyway! I loved writing this, and I will be uploading more content for Ailey, wich now she has her official anti-hero name! And is called

🥁🥁🥁🥁

Secret!

Shout out to @melyaliz / @insideoflit for the name idea! I honestly struggle so much with names 😅

Thanks to @Shiro.GURu (on insta) for helping me with this! Love ya, girl <3

Tagging: @lobodesaturno @snowflake2sstuff @lord-carstairs @weam0theblueblues @morefarthanaway

#batfamily #bruce wayne #batman #OC #scarecrow #antihero #dc comics #damian wayne #robin #jonathan crane #ailey #greek mythology #adrien brody #edit #hedcanons #imagine #villian #lol bye

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