#anyway. bruce refusing to get close and allow himself to get attached to Tim at the start

[bruciemilf]

Thinking about Bruce when Tim became Robin.

He always had anger in him, but this one is different. This anger has grief in it. This anger, his heart made for Tim alone.

‘Why do you want to be here,’ he thinks, biting down on his teeth so hard he can hear the bone crack. ‘Go away. Go away go away go away.’

The Polaroids in Tim’s tiny hands don’t mean anything; Not to him. They’re like a physical challenge from Gotham herself.

A reminder he’s just Bruce Wayne, and that nothing to her. She killed his name before, and she can do it again.

But, most of all, Bruce wants to bury himself in Batman. He can’t lose that. Even if the symbol doesn’t mean justice anymore. It meant nothing the moment he put Jason in the ground.

“I’m not your father,” his words are knives and hisses and Tim forces himself not to flinch, “ I don’t like you, I don’t care about you, I won’t wait for you.”

Bruce leaned forward, his face reflecting in Tim’s big eyes, not full of the admiration he had for Batman all these years. But fear for the man behind him.

“I’m your Batman. I bite.”

Maybe he can’t stop Tim from beating him. But he can make him regret he won.

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober 2021 - October 1 - Bound

Fandom: Nightwing, Batman - All Media Types

AO3

Warnings: Kidnapping, Panic Attacks, Isolation, mentions of IV/needles

---

It’s been hours since Dick’s woken up… here.

“Here” is hard to describe, yet incredibly easy. He can say for sure that at least within the 180 degrees ahead of him, it’s all white. White walls that, if arranged in a mirrored-image behind him, might make a hexagon. The ceiling above him is bright and unforgiving, LED lights dotting the space above him like freckles on Barbara’s cheeks and shoulders. He can’t see any sign of a door ahead of him, and the gray-speckled white tiles that make the floor aren’t particularly enjoyable to look at.

Yeah, describing what he can see about the room is the easy part. The hard part is that behind him? It’s all guess-work. For all he knew, there could be nothing behind him, or a cliff, or… or something ridiculous. There could be a whole manner of things behind him, but it’s impossible for him to get a look because his head is strapped to the cushioned chair he’s forced to sit on.

He hates this. It’s been hours. The chair, while cushioned, isn’t even that comfortable. The way his arms lay on the armrests and his feet come together near the end of the chair suggests a dentist’s chair and a therapist’s sofa had an evil love-child who was into bondage, considering how many straps were buckled in to keep him trapped down.

He’s going to lose his mind. Did he really just make a bondage joke about a chair?!

Anyway, he’s stuck here, his arms pinned down by the wrists, elbows, and under his armpits. Two heavy straps run over each shoulder and cross in the middle of his chest to connect back to the chair near his hips. And speaking of hips, there’s another strap around them too like an old Volkswagen seat belt. More straps around his thighs, knees, and ankles keep his legs locked together and down. That’s not even mentioning the binds that lock around his neck or the one around his forehead that’s fitted to the headrest that seems designed to not let him even attempt to rotate his chin to the side.

It’s horrible, and awful, and cruel, and unusual, and he’s not even that sure why he’s here. All he can tell is that he has a massive headache, his Nightwing mask is on but his suit is gone—replaced by some sort of nightgown that definitely doesn’t seem friendly, and whenever he tenses his arm he can feel a tug in his wrist.

Must be an IV of some sort? It’s strange though, from what he can see he can’t see any medical equipment hanging around him. But it has to be an IV. With his night job, he’s become familiar with the way his lips go dry and how his fingers tremble when the damn needle gets put in his arm.

But… if it is an IV, it must need changing by now, surely. It’s been hours, and those things don’t last that long.

Hours. Sitting here with the feeling of a needle in his arm, not sure where he is or what he’s doing here, nothing to look at besides those Barbara Gordon freckles on the ceiling and those gray speckles on the tile.

He tugs on the restraints for what must be the thousandth time, and growls when nothing happens, as unsurprising it is. All his attempts to slip out of or break the restraints have left him with nothing but bruising and irritated skin. However, he feels so restless and bored out of his mind that tugging on the belts seems to be the only productive thing his brain can think of to do.

He tugs again, and nothing happens. He sighs. Relaxes back. And… tries to think of how he got into this mess.

It’s just as successful as breaking the straps.

-o-o-o-o-

“Okay, I’ll bite,” he calls out to nothing. His eyes hurt, he’s exhausted, he needs to pee and that’s something he doesn’t want to deal with. “What do you want from me, eh?”

Silence. His hands bunch in angry fists and he pulls against the straps hard enough for him to feel the edge bite into his skin.

“Batman’s identity?” He tries, because it’s always about Batman’s Identity (TM). When there isn’t any answer, he continues. “Police secrets?” Nothing. “Superman’s identity?”

Nothing. He growls and glares at the empty walls ahead of him.

-o-o-o-o-

He’s using the pain in his wrists, focusing on the warmth running down the cuts the straps have finally created, instead of the pressure in his bladder.

It only lasts so long.

Great, so now he’s bored out of his mind, stuck, and the room smells horrible. Or, the room smells horrible until whatever unseen vent takes away the reek and the chair dries, leaving him being the only one who’s smelling.

He hates this. He hates this. He hates this.

He jerks against every restraint and snarls in impatience and restlessness. He can feel the cuts tear more, but he’s close to not caring, he longs to move.

If his snarling eventually fades into howls, then he’s almost positive no one is around to hear it other than himself.

-o-o-o-o-

Bruce’s cape settles around his feet as he lands, launching droplets of questionable sewage water up to his knees. Damian lands beside him, the whites of his domino mask narrowed in fierce determination.

It’s been nothing but a series of long hours since the Riddler kidnapped Dick with the clues to his whereabouts left carved into the pavement with abandoned Wing-Dings. During Bruce’s search, a few things became apparent: Dick was trapped, alone, and Bruce had until Dick died from malnourishment once the crude IV he was apparently attached to ran out. Riddler is already behind bars, has been for several hours, but interrogation wont get him to give up his games, and Bruce may be a vigilante and “above the law”, but he wont stoop so low as to torture.

At least, not until things get desperate and Damian’s not around to see. Dick would never forgive Bruce, and will probably never talk to him even in any kind of afterlife.

But it hasn’t come to that, Tim solved the riddle through emails delivered from wherever he’s located with his Young Justice friends. They’re always changing spots, and even if Tim were to come home and solve the riddles in person, it would probably be too late.

It isn’t too late, he reminds himself as Damian takes off down the sewers. They know Dick’s exact coordinates. Bruce almost kicked himself when Tim revealed them, because of course lead to Gotham’s abandoned sewage system.

The way to Dick’s location is a tough one, one riddled (as Dick would say) with traps. But they’re nothing compared to a worried father and a determined brother. They find the door nudged neatly behind a section of brick, and when Bruce opens it he’s almost blinded by the night vision in his lenses adjusting to the sudden attacks of bright lights.

Bruce sees before he hears. His eyes were always one of his favorite senses, which is probably why Damian—a boy who’s had to hear to save his life many times—ran to the chair in the middle of the hexagon-shaped room before him. White walls, white tile, white LED’s to sit in a white ceiling. The back of a padded chair in the center of the room faces him, revealing nothing of what it contains.

And then Bruce hears the screaming. Weak, clawing screaming that sounds like what sandpaper would feel on dry skin. He knows this scream, the tones to it, and within moments he’s running to the front side of the chair with Damian.

Dick’s there… writhing. Blood stains skin and cloth around almost every strap holding him down from struggling that must have been continuing for hours. As Damian tears an IV—the tube feeding him nutrients disappears within the chair; there must be some sort of mechanism keeping it working within its structure—Dick’s struggles like he doesn’t notice the change. His eyes are squeezed shut, tears drip down his cheeks, and his screams are so so hard to listen to. Does he even know they’re here?

“Dick,” Bruce says, knowing there’s no one to hear him with Riddler behind bars and his goons scattered. Dick doesn’t respond, just continues to yowl like a wounded stray cat. Already, Bruce can see the symptoms of prolonged use of an IV and of exhaustion. Has Dick slept at all since being kidnapped?

Damian begins work on one of the straps around Dick’s jerking wrists. Bruce follows suit, quickly, desperately wanting to get his eldest out of here, but he’s forced to abandon his task when the loosened strap on Damian’s side allows Dick to tug his wrist free and move to hit the boy. Bruce catches his hand before the hit can be met.

“LET ME GO!” Dick screeches.

“Dick, we’re helping you,” Bruce shouts back wearily, but Dick doesn’t listen as he begins to babble all kinds of demands similar to let me go. Bruce gives Damian a look. “He’s exhausted and most likely delusional. Our best course of action would be for me to hold him down, and you undo the rest of the straps. Maybe we can get to him without having to risk drugging him once he’s no longer restrained.”

Damian looks all parts of his age as he takes a second to give a shockingly vulnerable stare Dick’s way. The vulnerability only lasts a moment before Damian’s nodding. “Got it.”

The next several minutes are filled with events that will reveal themselves in bruises with the coming days, even through the kevlar. It’s tough work keeping a Dick Grayson down, especially when it’s a Dick Grayson who absolutely refuses to be kept down in the first place. However, eventually they release the last strap around Dick’s other wrist and soon enough, both Bruce and Damian are jumping back and Dick launches himself out of the chair, stumbling to the floor and then falling to his ass when his knees give out. Dick looks pitiful, trapped between wanting to curl up and cry or stand up and run, yet curling up seems to win out as Dick must have no energy to lift himself back up.

“Dick,” Bruce calls again when Dick’s hoarse breathing calms, and this time, hope flutters into his belly when Dick’s shoulder’s tense in response.

“… B…?” comes a horribly weak response, but a response nonetheless. Bruce rushes around the damned chair to where his eldest still sits, curled up and shaking. He reaches out unconsciously, kneeling down to scoop Dick up in an embrace, but stops when Dick violently flinches away.

“Don’t touch me,” he whimpers, “just- I don’t- I couldn’t move-” he breaks into sobs.

Bruce is almost considering returning to Arkham and breaking a few bones. Instead, he lowers his voice and speaks as calmly as he can.

“I understand. But we have to get you back home. Just your arm around my shoulder, and I’ll support you while you walk. Can you do that?”

It’s proof of just how shaken Dick is when it takes a few moments to get a hesitant nod.

Bruce does his best to ignore Dick’s flinching and twitching while, with permission, Bruce helps Dick up and wraps his arm exactly where Bruce said he would. Damian stands a few paces off, looking torn. Bruce tells him to run ahead and bring the bat-mobile closer to the sewer opening while Dick blinks owlishly and gulps like a fish… doing his best to keep down what must be a pending panic attack. Damian thankfully leaves without much argument, and Bruce is left to help his eldest, hyperactive, always moving, always smiling, always stimming in some way or another son out the blasted room and towards freedom with as much control given over to Dick as possible.

“I scared Dami,” Dick whispers through clenched teeth, halfway through the sewage tunnels.

Bruce hums and resists tightening his grip on Dick’s arm. “It’s not your fault. He will not hold it against you.”

“I scared you.”

“… I was scared for you. But right now the only thing that matters is getting you home. Then everything can return to normal”

Dick nods his head, his voice choking in what must be another sob. “Okay,” he whispers, “okay.”

And Bruce silently vows to punch Riddler a little harder the next time he sees him.

But right now, the only thing he cares about is that Dick’s alive, and Bruce is bringing him home.

[flying-nightwing]

Act IV: The Finale

Hi people! Finally the last part of this short serie! Honestly I had no expactation for it but I think it might slither into my all time favourite things I’ve written. I won’t lie, I think I’m in love with this last chapter. I feel like it’s the part we really understand both characters and their motivations in relation to each other. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! 

Edit: I realize I have kept this gender neutral! so I change it on the infos on the first part and this one

Parts 1-3 in Masterlist!

Pairing: Tim Drake x gender neutral reader

Word count: 3456

Warnings: language, mention of violence (non-graphic)

“... And this is why I have taken the decision to repeal the vigilante act. All measures taken by the city and GCPD to collaborate with vigilantes on the matters listed are to be repelled at this instant. We will no longer tolerate criminals telling us how to protect our city and all arrest mandates out for vigilantes are to be reactivated--”

Tim passed a hand in his face after Bruce turned off the TV. There was some serious tensions going on in the batcave, especially after this gruesome live tape of the mayor, visibly held hostage in some kind of basement, delivered the new order to cancel all the work they had achieved to at least stop the cops from trying to hunt them down instead of focusing on actual crime. 

The first thing he had done once he came back to the cave was to research you in any database he could hack into. He started in the state registry, knowing you had told him you had been an orphan. He had no idea what was a lie and what wasn’t in what you had told him, but that was apparently true. The picture attached was a younger version of you, that was clear, but any update on your whereabouts stopped at age 11. Then, he tried to look for a driver’s license, passeport, any ID documents you could have. He also hit a dead end with that too, so he looked into less savory types of repertories. 

He finally found you in the mercenary databases, with a clear, recent picture and your… Impressive record. As he scrolled down your list of confirmed hits, he felt his stomach sink further and further. Marco Rizzo, the philanthropist, the kidnapped mayor, and it went on and on. What truly put him on the floor, however, was to see your credentials. You were Falcone’s main gun and you had trained under various mentors including Slade Wilson, out of all people.

You were the real deal and he had let himself fall for you, hard.

He felt stupid now. Did you even know who he was at night? Had you gone to him to throw him off your scent? Even after discovering all of this about you, a part of him still hoped you had no clue. It would hurt less to know it was a coincidence you bumped into each other rather than a calculated move from you. 

“So… Your date uh?”

Tim cringed when Bruce spoke up. It was even worse to hear it out loud. 

“I don’t wanna hear it” He mumbled, keeping his eyes dead set on the wall. He knew he had acted irresponsibly, he knew he should have seen the signs sooner, he knew he should have remained alert and not let himself be charmed by you, or let himself be sidetracked from his mission. It was a rookie mistake. 

“Talk about sleeping with the enemy” Damian snorted from behind them. Tim turned around, glaring at him. He was sitting in a computer chair, casually eating noodles with chopsticks and watching the exchange like it was a movie. Of course, the demon had spied on the conversation.

“Damian!”

“What?” He looked at Bruce, shrugging nonchalantly.

Bruce sighed, shaking his head. He returned his attention to Tim again. “What do you want to do now?”

Tim didn’t reply straight away. He was conflicted, angry, sad, disappointed; he had rarely felt such a cocktail of emotions like that. On one hand, he wanted to wallow in self pity. It seemed like the one thing left to do, as life finally sent someone he could see himself get with but made them the exact opposite of what he stood for. But he couldn’t, he had to put a stop to this madness. He had to confront you. 

“We’ll need to set a trap” He finally spoke, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “A contract that can’t be refused, draw them out. I’ll take care of it, it’ll be better that way”

“Are you sure you’ll be up to it?”

“Yes” Tim snapped, and Bruce took a careful step back. “I won’t be fooled twice. I can do it”

“Alright, just making sure” Bruce wasn’t convinced, but he still trusted his son. He knew he'd do the right thing if push came to shove. “What did you have in mind?”

Tim took a deep breath. “50 millions for a bullet in Bruce Wayne’s head”

---

It was too good to be true, and your suspicions of foul play were confirmed when your eyes spotted the red and black sticking out of the grim portrait of Gotham’s roof tops.

You knew something was up when you were offered a 50 millions solo contract. You usually went out for 15 millions for high profile targets, but curiosity got the best of you. The only thought of potentially pocketing that much money was enough of a motivation for you to at least find out what was up. But now, it was clear it was a set up as Red Robin himself was waiting for you. It was too bad for the money, but the prospect of facing a real Gotham vigilante for the first time was exciting. 

“I’ve beaten you twice already” You smirked. “You called me for a third?”

A scowl set on his masked face. “Trust me, there won’t be a third” He spoke up in a gravelling voice. “Either you come with me here and now, or we do this the hard way”

“Oh, now you’ve got me interested” You teased as you circled him. “Do tell me more about this hard way of yours”

He deployed his staff. Your eyebrows raised at his challenge. “You’re arrogant” He stated. He wasn’t wrong. “It’s gonna be your downfall”

“... Or not” You shrugged, not stopping your assessment of him. “Still waiting on the monologue detailing your plan to stop me, by the way”

“There isn’t one”

He lunged. He did it so quickly and smoothly you almost didn’t see him move. Your reflexes allowed you to roll out of the way just in time, and the way the staff collided with the cement told you it wouldn’t have been a long fight if that had hit its intended target: you. You looked at him and you regained your footing, reevaluating the situation. You were skilled, but you doubted it would be enough to go toes to toes with Red Robin, now that you had had a glimpse of what he could actually do.

You raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Catch me if you can”

Before he could process your world, you turned around and jumped off the building, landing on the roof a dozens of feet lower. You didn’t waste time taking off, knowing he would be right behind you. You ran across the rooftop and leaped off the ledge and above the alley to grab onto the fire exit on the next building over. You hurried to climb it, ending up on yet another rooftop. You ran alongside the pool and jumped over the tables, kicking them back to try and slow down Red Robin, who was little by little gaining on you. Fuck, he’s fast, you thought. You weren’t even tempting to look back, but you knew with the sound of his footsteps alone. 

You hadn’t planned on him being able to follow you that easily, not even cursing behind you as you took another jump over a considerable gap between buildings. You were fast, faster than most. Making exits had always been your strong suit, whether it was on foot, by car or otherwise. However, the only times you had faced him were when you had a rocket launcher as a deterrent or when you were driving an actual race car. Now that the field was levelled, you didn’t have the advantage anymore. You knew you wouldn’t be able to outrun him if you kept going on that way, so you had to change your strategy.

You took a sharp turn to the left and grabbed a clothesline, pulling out a knife from your belt and severing in behind your grip. You took a good running start and let yourself fall on the building on the other side of the street, pausing to glance at Red Robin standing where you had just been seconds ago. He was trying to find another way to cross, but there was none and even he couldn’t make that jump. You gave him a wave and a wink before taking off again. However, on the corner of your eyes, you still could see him tracking you relentlessly, not letting you get away so easily. 

You jumped over an alley, and instead of landing on the next roof, you aimed for the first balcony from the top. With your shoulder first and your head tucked in, you went straight through the sliding door window and rolled on the landing to smooth your fall. You glanced beside you at the terrified man in his underwear who was cowering on the couch and looked behind you, shrugging.

“Sorry for the mess” You didn’t wait until he replied to walk out the apartment. You jogged down the stairs, knowing Red Robin would have lost your trace now. Or so you thought.

You halted your steps when you noticed him waiting at the bottom of the staircase and leaning on the rail with a nonchalant expression, like it had been easy to predict you would come out that way. He returned the little sarcastic wave you had given him minutes earlier, making your face fall. You turned around and climbed back the steps back to the first floor, barging in and running across the hallway until you reached the window at the end. You took the time to open this one, seeing as he had not yet reached the floor. You slipped through it and climbed down the wall to land into the back alley. You were about to head for the streets when an already too familiar red and black figure blocked your way.

You took off in the opposite direction, well, until you came face to face with a brick wall. There was nothing to climb onto, no fire exit to use, no way to get away. You closed your eyes and cursed under your breath as footsteps reached you. He wasn’t in a hurry, his pace was tauntingly slow and confident he had you trapped. You recomposed yourself before turning around to face him.

“You forced me to make a mistake” You stated with a sigh. “Impressive”

“Told you” He said, taking a step toward you. “Arrogance did end up being your downfall”

“I don’t suppose we could have a rematch, uh?” You tried, smiling coyly. “That staff didn’t seem such a bad idea in hindsight”

“If you thought you could win then, you wouldn’t have dragged me into this pointless chase” He scoffed, and your eyebrows raised. He was right, but damn. “Unless you want a beating at that too”

“Ouch” You chuckled. “That really hurts my pride”

“Good” He smirked. “Now that you know you won’t get away from this one, just do the logical thing and surrender. There’s nowhere to go”

You held eye contact for a moment before slowly raising your hands. “Alright” You complied with a nod. “You earned that one”

He took careful steps toward you, alert to whatever quick move you would do. But you could recognize when you were beaten, so you didn’t plan any surprise move. Getting caught by a vigilante was an eventuality, even you knew you wouldn’t escape them forever. You just didn’t think it would have been this soon. He grabbed your wrists, and once he was sure he had you solidly enough, he twisted your arm behind you and pushed you rather roughly into the brick wall.

“Woah there champion” You coughed out in surprise. “I feel that spark between us, I really do, and I admit I am partially to blame for it, but I’m kinda seeing someone? And I’m really into him so if you could just. Stop manhandling me that way, that’d be great”

You felt him take a considerable step backward, and his grip on your arm dropped. You frowned, carefully turning around to face him. You didn’t understand why he had let you go, and his blush combined with his bewildered expression only made you more confused.

“Okay, what is going on, now?” You asked, not taking your eyes off him. It was like he was a completely different person now, and you couldn’t point out exactly why it was suddenly so familiar. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, jeez”

“I’m not” He defended too quickly, his voice wavering. Your eyes squinted even more as you took one step forward. He didn’t move, it was like he was frozen in place. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over for you”

“Uh” You took another step, and he squared up, trying to cover the fact he had totally lost his edge over you. You could have made a run for it, you knew it would have been ridiculously easy at that moment to evade him, but something held you back. You scrutinized him, your head tilting to the side. He gulped, and suddenly it all pieced together. That reaction to your flirting, you knew it all too well. Your eyes widened, before you gave him a sympathetic smile. “You know, while this mask does suit you, I prefer to see your eyes, handsome”

His muscles tensed for a second or two, but his shoulder sagged soon after. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “How long have you known?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean, how long?” You asked. “Thirty five seconds ago”

“You didn’t know before?”

“Uh, no” You replied. “What does it matter?”

“You… You didn’t go on a date with me to distract me from your trail?”

“No, I went on a date with you because I like you?” You raised an eyebrow. “I would have been way more careful with my lies if I had known, fuck I was so obvious, no wonder you figured it out. Besides, I just told you I’m really into you--”

You were surprised by the sudden movement of his arm that sneaked behind your neck and brought you flush against his lips. Okay then. You returned the kiss without hesitation holding on to his shoulders under the sheer force he was applying against you. It was a lot different from the shy boy you had met at the racetrack, but then again, he was Red Robin right now, more so than Tim Drake. You could have never connected the two if it hadn’t been from your flirting from up close. Before you knew, he tore himself from you and jumped back like you were actual fire, cursing under his breath. You blinked slowly at his sudden absence from your immediate vicinity, then rolled your eyes. Dramatic much?

“What is it now?”

“You’re still a criminal” Now he refused to meet your eyes. 

“Are you-- Is this because of what happened in the alley the other day?” You sighed, throwing your hands up before letting them fall back and slap on the side of your thighs. “I’m sorry, okay? I wouldn’t have ran you into the garbage pile if I had known it was you. And I wouldn’t have threatened you with a rocket launcher either-- Shit okay I see your point, I’m really sorry about that too”

“No!” He yelled. “I mean, yeah, kind of. But you kill people for a living, I can’t--”

“What does it change?” You asked. “You liked me before you found out. You were about to hand me to the police, I still like you! In fact, if you could ram me into the wall once again like you just did, I wouldn’t--”

“Please stop talking”

You grinned. “Does it turn you on?”

“Y-No” He replied, correcting himself last second. You raised a subjective eyebrow. “Stop that”

“Stop what?” You asked innocently. “I’m just saying it’s on the table. If I had known it was you when you did it, I would have enjoyed it so you’re welcome to do it again”

“Do you ever stop flirting?” He deadpanned. He crossed his arms against his chest, but it definitely didn’t have the intended effect. Instead, you just checked him out even more, since his muscles were very well defined in that suit. You liked it.

“With you? Not a chance, handsome”

And here came the blush again. He looked away and gulped, ignoring your self satisfied smile. You could do that all day and never get bored of it. Still, you regained a somewhat serious expression for the conversation that was inevitably coming.

“So now what?” You spoke up. “You give me to the cops? We pretend nothing happened between us? Because I’ll be honest with you, I don’t want that. I meant it when I said I liked you”

“My job is to stop crime, and the people who commit it” He began with a sigh. “I just can’t ignore the fact that you are one of the bad guy”

“That’s valid” You nodded slowly. “But this is just a job. I don’t do it for the power trip of taking people out, I do it because I’m good at it, and because I like the money that comes with it. Although, I’ll admit I do enjoy making dramatic exits from time to time--all the time”

Tim snorted. Of course you liked your exit, that had been obvious from the start. But even if he did not agree with your job, or with the lack of morals that came with it, he had to recognize the difference between you and the typical Gotham criminal. From what he had found out so far about you, you never caused casualties in any of your contracts. You always kept the mess to a minimum. You were a far cry from the Joker or Poison Ivy, for that matter.

Even if you couldn’t see his eyes clearly, you could just see the gears turning in his head. Would it be so bad if he let you go? What if he kept seeing you? He could agree with you on one thing: behind his reluctance because of your job, he really didn’t want to pretend nothing happened. He liked you a lot, and it absolutely frustrated him that the one god sent person he instantly clicked with was on the other side of his moral spectrum. 

“Tell me” You said softly, bringing back his attention to you. “If you had never found out about my job, would you have asked me on a second date?”

“Yes” He didn’t hesitate in his answer. It was like you could read his mind, reminding him of how well you fit together. He wanted both to scream and to kiss you again. 

You took a deep breath, letting him think some more. You could very much suspect the news of your activities was harder on him than his were on you, so you understood the need to let him a little space while he figured it all out. You had half expected him to go ahead with his initial plan though, so you prepared yourself mentally for him eventually binding your wrists and dragging you to the nearest precinct. 

That’s probably why you were surprised when he took a step aside, no longer blocking you from leaving. You didn’t move, only stared at him.

“I won’t give you a free pass if I catch you doing shady stuff” He sighed, gesturing to the exit of the alley. “ But for this time, I guess I’ll see you next time you do something stupid”

“Not before?” You raised an eyebrow. The corner of his lips slightly lifted.

“Maybe before”

“Is that a yes on the second date?” You asked, hopeful. “7:30 next Friday at that lobster place you mentioned?”

“Will you be working that night?”

“I won’t!” You hurried to confirm. “I swear I won’t”

He let out a long sigh like he was reconsidering his entire life. “What the hell, sure”

“Great!” You grinned wide, stealing a quick kiss on his lips. 

“Go, now” He ordered, gaining back his more authoritative vigilante voice. Oof, that was hot, you thought, but you kept it to yourself for once. “Before I change my mind”

“See you on Friday, handsome!”

He watched you run out of the alley, finding himself suddenly excited at the prospect of seeing you again, whether it would be as Red Robin or as himself on a date with you.

[cdelphiki]

There Are Worse Ways to Spend Christmas

Honestly, holiday travel was the worst, in Tim’s opinion. The absolute worst thing on the face of the planet, and an all around terrible way to spend time right around Christmas.

Between crowded airports, snobby entitled irate passengers, and frequent weather cancellations, traveling during December was probably the worst thing ever.

And yes, that was very much exaggerating, because Tim’s mind immediately supplied several things that had happened that year that beat flying near Christmas in the ‘terrible’ category, but he just wasn’t in a good mood, so he was going to be dramatic about it.

Bruce wanted the lot of them to meet up at the cabin in Colorado to have a nice, quiet Christmas with just the family. Which, on paper, sounded nice. Christmas with all the kids plus Alfred and Bruce, far away from Gotham and the social engagements they’d be expected to attend otherwise sounded incredibly relaxing.

But that was before Tim processed that he’d have to fly with Damian, commercial, to Colorado to meet up with everyone else.

Why?

Because his family hated him, obviously.

The private plane was currently in Japan, where Bruce and Alfred were finishing up a series of meetings at the Tokyo office, and since it would be bringing them to Colorado that day, it was unavailable to bring Damian and Tim, the only two left in Gotham so close to Christmas, to Colorado. Stupid school lasting until the Friday right before Christmas Eve, which was on a Monday that year, meant they couldn’t have just left early to allow the jet to bring them all.

No.

Tim Drake and Damian Wayne had to fly commercial. On Christmas Eve eve.

First class, of course, but on small little regional jets, first class was a paltry comparison to the comfort to which they were accustomed. And the whole “unaccompanied minor” thing was really grating at Tim’s nerves. Because Damian wasn’t unaccompanied. Tim was right there. He was 16, and according to the airline’s policy, that made Damian accompanied. But that didn’t stop the stupid flight attendants from being extra attentive.

At least they were being left relatively alone during their layover in Chicago.

Which was how Tim found himself curled up into one of the kind-of comfortable waiting chairs near their gate, playing a game on his iPad, completely ignoring his little brother. It was the most peace he’d had all day. He could still see Damian over his knees. Kind of. Saw his spiky hair in the next seat over, at least, so he wasn’t being entirely neglectful.

But Damian wasn’t bothering him. Wasn’t trying to pick a fight or release his frustrations on Tim, so Tim was going to enjoy every single second of it.

Then, of course, the gate agent had to ruin the entire night.

“Attention passengers, Flight 1029 to Aspen has been delayed,” she announced over the speaker, and Tim couldn’t make out the rest of her announcement over the loud chorus of groans from everyone around them. Because the flight was supposed to begin boarding in about 10 minutes.

His phone buzzed with a notification from the American Airlines app, which informed him that it was delayed by three hours.

“This is ridiculous,” Damian pouted, hitting Tim’s legs with his coat as he slung it off himself to stand, “the third weather delay today. You would think airlines would be used to flying in the snow. It’s not like it doesn’t happen every year.”

“It’s one of those dumb named storms,” Tim said, scrolling through the weather report in Aspen to see if in three hours it would be any better, “it’s basically a blizzard.”

“That does not change my opinion,” Damian drawled, rolling his eyes as he stared out the window directly behind Tim.

“So because hurricanes happen every year, pilots should know how to fly through those? Get real, Damian.”

“Tt. It’s just snow.”

“Snow and wind and zero visibility,” Tim said, flipping to the Hilton app to reserve a room at the airport’s hotel. The weather report wasn’t looking good, and he had a feeling that the flight would be outright cancelled. If that happened, he wanted a room in the airport. He’d rather not deal with crowded shuttles to an off-site hotel once the airport finally cancelled all the flights to the areas being assaulted by Winter-storm Fisher.

Seriously, why the hell did they name snowstorms now?

Tim reserved the room under Bruce’s name, because it would be impossible otherwise to get a room for a 10 and 16 year old. The hotel really didn’t need to know that Bruce wasn’t even in the country and wouldn’t be staying with them.

“Damian?” one of the gate agents said, as she approached the two of them in the waiting area, “So the flight has been delayed by-”

“Yes, three hours. We are aware,” Damian snapped, “As I keep telling you people, I do not require your hovering. My father did not request the unaccompanied minor service, so I do not see why you are providing it anyway.”

“We are just ensuring that-”

“I don’t care,” Damian said, waving a hand at the woman as he turned to gaze out the window again.

Tim just shrugged at the slightly flustered woman and offered a simple, “Sorry. We’re tracking though, thanks.”

“Tt. I am never flying commercial again.”

“Bold declaration for 10,” Tim said, just before he sighed and sat up. It was nearing 6pm. They should probably go grab dinner while they had the time, on the off chance that the flight actually did happen.

“I am a Wayne, if I want to fly exclusively by private jet, there is literally nothing stopping me.”

“Except Bruce hogging it,” Tim said, shoving his iPad and headphones into his carry-on. For the first time, he was so glad Alfred had convinced them to pack into carry-ons instead of with checked luggage. He enjoyed the freedom and ease of traveling with just a simple messenger bag to carry around, but knowing that they had their clothes and toothbrushes with them was a relief. They wouldn’t be buying ridiculous Chicago themed clothing tonight in one of the overpriced gift shops.

“What are you doing?” Damian asked, eyeing Tim as he slipped his boots back on and tied them.

Instead of answering, Tim asked, “Chili’s or the Macaroni Grill?” as he stood to his feet, attaching his coat to the top of his luggage.

Damian straightened up a bit, to Tim’s amusement, at the prospect of food and shuffled to gather up his items as well. “The Macaroni Grill,” he finally said, making a face at the suggestion of Chili’s.

Dinner went a lot smoother than Tim was expecting. In fact, the entire day until that point had gone smoother than he expected. Even with leaving for the airport at 5am and spending nearly every moment since together, the two of them really hadn’t fought much. Every once in a while Damian would make a scathing remark, but would then be quiet for at least half an hour after he did so.

It was nice.

“Why’re you being so good,” Tim asked over their pasta. They still had a little over two hours until boarding. Perhaps he shouldn’t be looking this gift horse in the mouth, but he was genuinely curious.

“I know how to behave in public, Drake,” Damian drawled, pushing around the last bits of his dinner on his plate before taking a sip of his soda.

Aside from the fact that Damian did not know how to behave in public, that really didn’t answer anything.

“Besides,” Damian continued, “our every move is being watched here, and Father told me if we get arrested by security for any reason he’s holding me personally responsible.”

“He did not,” Tim said, grinning wide.

Damian scowled at Tim and snapped, “That was not a challenge, Drake. I will inform Father if you sabotage our travel for the express purpose of getting me grounded.”

Tim just laughed and said, “Unlike you, I’m not a demon, I wouldn’t do that,” just as his phone started buzzing in his pocket.

When he pulled it out, he saw Bruce’s face staring at him. “Speak of the devil,” Tim muttered as he slid to accept the call, “Hey Bruce.”

“I see your flight has been delayed again. How are you two holding up?”

“Let me talk to him,” Damian said, reaching out for the phone.

Tim swatted Damian’s hand away and said, “We’re fine. Annoyed, but we went ahead and got dinner. I know we were supposed to eat together there, but you know.”

“We had to land in Seattle and won’t attempt again until morning, anyway. Dick and Jason got in just before it started to snow, and Steph and Cass are still in the air, but I don’t think the flight will make it to Aspen. So most of us won’t get there until tomorrow, anyway.”

“Yeah, I’m expecting American Airlines to just cancel to try again tomorrow,” Tim said, taking one last bite of his food, “so I booked us a hotel tonight just in case.”

“Let me know if you have trouble checking in. The storm is moving across the country toward you, I would not be surprised if O’Hare cancels flights tomorrow as the storm passes over you there.”

“Great,” Tim said dramatically, leaning back in his chair. Damian was just glaring at him expectantly, “Damian wants to talk to you.”

“Okay. Stay safe and just be patient. Delays and cancellations are better than plane crashes.”

“Yeah, thanks for that thought,” Tim said just as he handed the phone off to Damian.

“Father, I refuse to fly commercial ever again, this method of travel is-” Damian started, then paused and listened with a pinched face, “Yes, but- No. No.”

Tim tried his best not to look too amused as Damian went from smug and entitled to adequately chagrined as he listened silently to Bruce for a full minute. Bruce must have lectured him pretty hard.

“Fine. But I will not fly commercial at Christmas. This holiday is ridiculous and the number of people in this airport is unacceptable. Yes, Father. I will. Goodbye.”

“Sounds like you will be flying commercial again,” Tim said in amusement as he took his phone back and pulled a $100 out of his wallet to give to the waitress to cover their meal and her tip.

“Shut up, Drake,” Damian mumbled as he dragged his suitcase behind him in the most pout-filled way Tim had ever seen.

And that’s how the rest of the evening went. Silently as Damian pouted. As their departure time came and went without so much as a boarding call, Damian began getting antsy.

“This is the fourth time they’ve delayed us by 15 minutes,” he exclaimed after yet another announcement over the PA system, “this is unacceptable.”

“You know they’re going to cancel the flight, right?” Tim said, turning the page in a book he’d picked up in the airport bookstore, “We’ll probably sit here another 30 minutes while they continue deluding themselves about not cancelling a flight on Christmas Eve eve.”

Damian let out an angry growl, which just sounded like a child throwing a tantrum, and flung himself down on the chair next to Tim. “I hate this.”

“Take a nap,” Tim said as he pulled his coat out from the chair under him to let Damian use it as a pillow, “I’ll wake you when they decide what they’re doing.”

“I will not take a nap,” Damian pouted, “I’m not tired, just frustrated.”

“You’ve been awake since 4am, you’re tired.”

“So have you.”

“Yeah,” Tim said patiently, “but I took a nap after lunch, so.”

“I will not take a nap,” Damian repeated, aggressively grabbing Tim’s coat to lay against.

“That’s fine,” Tim hummed, trying not to smile as he continued reading.

“And Christmas Eve eve is not a thing,” Damian mumbled, burrowing himself down into Tim’s coat with his own wrapped around him, “stop being ridiculous.”

“Of course it’s a thing,” Tim said, lifting his feet up onto his suitcase so he could get settled back a little more comfortably, “It’s what today is.”

“Hmph.”

It took another 45 minutes, but finally the flight was outright cancelled. By that point, everyone was too exhausted to put up too much of a fuss, and the groans heard around the gate were more out of obligation than actual anger. Tim had heard several people all around him make arrangements for the night already, so this was clearly no surprise to anyone.

Tim took his time using the hotel’s app to “check in” before he began gathering up his things. He put his boots on and shoved his book and tablet back in his bag before he finally nudged Damian.

“Okay, Demon, nap’s over.”

“I was not napping,” Damian mumbled, rubbing at his eyes as he sat up.

Tim grinned and liberated his coat out from under Damian. “No you’re right you were just resting your eyes.”

“Shut up, Drake.”

Checking in was remarkably easy. When Tim told the person at the desk that ‘his dad had checked in on the app,’ he was easily handed a couple keys to the room without a single question.

Tim took his time in the shower as Damian lay on one of the two beds in their room, watching the news report. When Tim finally emerged from the bathroom, Damian said, “Much of Colorado is without power right now, and the storm is expected to hit the midwest just as hard.”

“Well isn’t that just dandy,” Tim said as he dried off his hair, “you packed a toothbrush and stuff, right?”

“Yes, Drake, I am not incompetent.”

“Right, whatever. Take a shower if you’re going to, I’m going to sleep. The flight is scheduled for 8 so we need to get out of here absolutely no later than 7, preferably earlier. We’ll have to pass through security again.”

“I hate everything you just said.”

Sighing, Tim set his phone to wake him at 5:45 while he listened to Damian slam the bathroom door.

Being responsible for little children was just so fun.

Next thing Tim knew, his alarm was going off. He sat up to find Damian already awake and watching the Weather Channel on mute. It took blinking for a minute before he could make out the numerous notifications on his phone, but the one he had wanted to find the least was another delay notification.

Now the flight wasn’t going to attempt until 10.

“The storm hit early,” Damian said, glaring at the television as if it were responsible for everything going wrong in their travel.

“Well do you want to sleep in longer or get breakfast?” Tim asked, rubbing at his face. He’d enjoy sleeping more, but he had slept for a good 6 hours. It was certainly more than he was used to.

“Breakfast,” Damian said simply, “I was waiting for you to wake up so we could order room service.”

“We could go get something. There’s time now.”

“Look outside. I’d rather stay here where it’s warm and dry.”

“Right,” Tim said, picking up the room service menu. After he called in their order, he looked at the weather report for the day and went ahead and extended their stay one night. If this storm cancelled all flights leaving Chicago, it would be much more difficult to get a room. Bruce honestly wouldn’t care about spending the money unnecessarily if their flight really did take off at 10.

But of course, it didn’t. At just past 8, they received the notice that the flight was cancelled.

Bruce called again, within minutes of Tim getting the text, to check up on them and assure them that the family wouldn’t do Christmas until Tim and Damian made it to Aspen.

“I’ll come pick you up myself,” Bruce said over speaker, “The weather should be fine tomorrow, I’ll head to the airport and get you boys, okay?”

“Tt,” Damian pouted from where he lay on his bed, arms crossed and glaring at the ceiling, “If you ever suggest I travel alone with Drake again, I will return to Mother.”

“Ouch,” Tim said, “he’d rather live in a ninja death cult than travel with me.”

“Damian,” Bruce sighed, “I’m sorry, but we’ll extend our vacation out until after the New Year, okay? I’ll make it up to you.”

“He’s pretending to ignore you,” Tim said, grinning at the scathing look Damian shot his way for the comment, “he’ll get over it.”

“The pilot wants me to turn my phone off, so I’ll text you when we land. How about we all FaceTime tonight, okay?”

Tim nodded. “Yeah, that’ll be good. Dick wanted us to watch The Polar Express tonight, we can always just do it while facetiming. I’m sure I can find a copy somewhere around here.

“Okay, Merry Christmas, boys. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“I can’t believe it’s Christmas Eve and I’m stuck in a snowstorm with you,” Damian said once Bruce had hung up, still glaring up at the ceiling.

Shrugging, Tim said, “There’s worse company.”

“Doubtful.”

“Don’t worry. Santa will still deliver your presents to the cabin tonight.”

That finally made Damian sit up, but only to throw a pillow at Tim. “Santa’s not real, Drake.”

“Now you’re ruining my Christmas,” Tim said, laughing, as he caught the pillow, “You’re probably on the naughty list, anyway.”

“Tt.”

“You’re not exactly good,” Tim continued, having fun now at Damian’s expense.

“Shut up, Drake,” Damian snapped, throwing another pillow at Tim.

“Or nice.”

“Shut up!”

“Actually, yeah,” Tim said, laying back on the bed, “there’s no way you’re not on the naughty list, now that I think about it.”

At that, Damian got up from his bed and stormed over to the bathroom, slamming the door as he went. Tim jumped at the loudness of it, then frowned.

He hadn’t meant to push the brat that far. He’d just been teasing. Having fun. Sometimes, Tim forgot for as much as Damian could dish it out, he couldn’t take teasing. At all.

It was easy to forget. Especially when they went a few days without fighting.

‘Help,’ Tim texted Dick, ‘made D mad. Probably crying in bathroom. What do?’

The response was almost instant. ‘You made Damian cry?! Tim, why??’

Tim sighed and responded with, ’I mean, maybe? I haven’t tried to listen in on him or anything. He might just be pouting.’

‘Did you try talking to him?’

‘Why would I do that?’ Tim asked, smiling at himself because he already knew what Dick’s response to that would be.

‘You want to fix it but you don’t want to talk to him.’ And Tim could just see the flat stare Dick would have while delivering that sentence. Hear the deadpan in his voice.

Tim snorted. ‘Precisely. Glad you understand.’

‘Tim.’

‘Yeah, fine. Good big brother, coming up.’

After another minute, Tim finally got up and trudged over to the bathroom door. When he knocked, he could tell something was pressed up against the door, and was willing to bet his entire salary that it was pint sized and 10-years-old.

“Hey D? I was just teasing, you know.”

“Go away, Drake,” Damian hissed from the other side of the door.

So he wasn’t crying, at least. That’s good.

“Uh yep, nope. Can’t,” Tim said, sitting down on the floor outside the door, “The room isn’t big enough.”

Tim could just barely hear Damian’s signature ’tt’ in response.

“I wasn’t trying to upset you,” Tim offered, unsure of where to start. Or how to even do this. He’d been the little brother being talked down, never the older brother doing the talking down.

“Weren’t you?” Damian drawled.

“No, I wasn’t,” Tim said, resting his head back against the door, “I was just teasing you, that’s what brothers do to each other. They tease. You should know, you tease me constantly.”

“I do not tease you.”

Tim rolled his eyes and said, “No, of course not. You just make fun of me in hopes of getting a rise out of me. That’s totally not the definition of tease.”

“Then you admit you were trying to upset me.”

“Fine. I’m sorry, Damian,” Tim said tiredly, and perhaps a little too flippantly in his tone, “I shouldn’t have said that stuff, okay? You’re probably on Santa’s nice list. He’ll bring you presents tonight.”

“Shut up, Drake,” Damian snapped, banging something against the door. His elbow, perhaps. “I do not care about that ridiculous tradition.”

“If you aren’t upset about me saying you’re on the naughty list, then why are you upset?”

“I have been very good the past couple days,” Damian nearly shouted, “and the past year. I have worked so hard to behave myself and be what you and everyone in Father’s family would consider good. But at every turn, everyone, especially you, completely ignores all my actions and efforts and writes me off as a ‘bad person.’ I am sick of it.”

Tim blinked and ran a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t… writing you off,” he said lamely, “I was just teasing you about Santa. I know you’ve been good.”

“Then why would you say I’m not?” Damian demanded.

“It was just a joke,” Tim said, a bit more forcefully this time, “it’s just what you do at Christmas with kids. You tease them about Santa and being on the naughty list. Did the league not do Santa?”

Damian huffed out an annoyed breath and said, “The league didn’t do Christmas. So no, we didn’t ‘do Santa.’”

“You… didn’t do Christmas?” Tim said, in almost a whisper. He really wasn’t sure if Damian could even hear him. “So wait,” he added, much louder, “is this your first Christmas then?”

“Yes,” Damian bit out before slamming his head back against the door. At least, Tim as pretty sure that’s what Damian hit the door with.

“Does Bruce know this?”

After a long moment, Damian sighed and said, in a much calmer tone, “Maybe. I do not know what Father knows.”

“You should have told him,” Tim said softly, like he was talking to a victim as Robin, “He would have cancelled his meetings in Japan, I bet.”

“I don’t see how it would have mattered. It was my first Christmas here, regardless of everything, and he still left me with you.”

“Well,” Tim said, “In his defense, we were supposed to see him yesterday, so this isn’t entirely his fault.”

“I guess,” Damian said, softer than Tim had ever heard the child’s voice be.

The two of them sat there for another few minutes while Tim just frowned at the closet door in front of him. The annoying closet door that was actually a full sized mirror. So basically, Tim was staring back at himself, looking right at the terrible person he was. That he’d been over the past couple days.

Thinking back over their travel time, Damian really had been good. He’d been trying really hard to keep it that way, even when Tim teased and poked at him, or just flat out ignored him. And all because he didn’t want Bruce angry with him over his behavior. Which, usually wasn’t an issue for Damian. He never seemed to care when Bruce threatened him with grounding.

And Tim had barely acknowledged the effort.

Was Damian just trying to stay on Bruce’s good side because it was Christmas? Because he wanted a happy Christmas, just like how the holiday was always depicted in media?

Damian was only 10, after all, and all he had to go on was television.

Tim felt the bathroom door open behind him and leaned forward a bit to prevent from falling back. Damian stood in the doorway and glared at Tim using the mirror before saying, half-heartedly, “Move, Drake.”

“So if you’ve never celebrated Christmas before,” Tim said slowly as he got to his feet, “that means you’ve never done a Christmas movie marathon.”

“Thankfully,” the little brat drawled as he pushed past Tim into the bedroom.

“What Christmas movies have you already seen?” Tim asked, completely ignoring Damian’s likely feigned disinterest.

Flopping down dramatically onto his bed, Damian said, “What part of ‘first Christmas’ don’t you understand?”

“So you’ve never seen any Christmas movies?” Tim asked in exaggerated horror.

Damian just shrugged.

“Frosty the Snowman?” Tim asked, and when Damian shook his head, he said, “Rudolph the Rednose Reindeer? How the Grinch Stole Christmas?”

“No, Tim,” Damian exasperated, “none of them.”

“Oh my god,” Tim said, “Okay. That’s what we’re doing today. Starting with The Year Without a Santa.”

“Whatever.”

After a quick trip to one of the shops in the airport to purchase candy canes and a ridiculous amount of candy and cookies, because no Christmas movie marathon would be complete without a coma-inducing amount of sugar, Tim started up a playlist of all his favorite Christmas movies on his laptop.

Four movies into the marathon, Damian said from where he lay beside Tim on the bed, “These are ridiculous, you know?”

“I know, isn’t it great?” Tim said, opening another bag of Oreos for them to devour. Alfred would have a heart-attack if he knew they skipped lunch and were going to skip dinner in favor of cookies. Store bought cookies.

“I suppose,” Damian said as he took a couple cookies from the bag between them, “there are worse ways to spend Christmas Eve.”

Tim didn’t even have to look to know Damian was smiling as the opening scene to Elf began to play.

Yes. There were much worse ways to spend Christmas Eve.

-

Cross posted from AO3. 

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

To Think Your Soul Isn’t Already Magical - fic

Characters: Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne Summary: Dick’s heard too much lately about Damian selling his soul. He doesn’t like it, not one bit. A/N: Based off of Tom King’s characterization in his Batman run of Damian constantly threatening/actually selling his soul. I feel like that’d upset at least one person in the family. A hopeful future of no more Ric Grayson. Writing hasn’t been a priority lately so sorry it sucks.

~~

He doesn’t know why he thought about it. Or, rather, why when he thought about it this time, the thought remained, lurking in his brain, picking at his heart.

Was it because of what Bruce has said so many times, about those visions he’s had? The future the world tells them is set in stone? Was it because of the constant attitude, or snarkiness? Was it that he so often pushed people away?

Or was it that moment in the desert, a few months prior? That conversation with Superman, where he exposed how smart he was, how slick and clever and downright conniving?

Or was it because their lives were hell? Because he adored him more than he could ever describe, or would do far more for him than he’d ever dare admit out loud?

It stuck in his mind this time, this thought. This possibility. And he found himself standing in the gate of the garden, watching his younger brother across the field, because of it.

Tim had said while he was gone, while he was Ric, Damian had brought it up again. Damian had actually done it this time, and Dick didn’t quite know why that hurt so much to think about.

“…Grayson?” Damian called, noticing him in the gateway. Titus, who was frolicking around him, jogged up to his side. Dick blinked and smiled at him, giving him a wave. “What are you doing here?”

“Wanted to see my kid brother.” Dick offered as he moved forward. “Is that a crime?”

“Depends on which brother.” Damian smirked, petting Titus’s head. “How’s Bludhaven?”

“Fine.” Dick hummed. “How’s Gotham?”

“As depressing as ever.” Damian sighed. “But Father actually went to a museum with me last weekend so…not too bad.”

“He gets a gold star.” Dick laughed, ruffling Damian’s hair. Damian laughed too, leaning down to kiss Titus’s head. Dick watched him a moment, felt his smile fading. “…Hey, Dames?”

Damian glanced up at him.

“Can we…talk?”

Damian’s own jovial mood dropped instantly. “Of course.” He nodded. “Something wrong?”

“Not…really.” Dick trailed off, leading Damian back to the short deck attached to the manor with a hand on his back. Damian quirked his eyebrow, but said nothing, calmly sitting in one of the deck chairs. Dick sat in the one next to him and sighed. Clasped his hands together and stared at the fist they made.

“Damian, I…” And he found he didn’t know how to start. “How much do you know about magic?”

Damian shrugged. “Enough for it to be useful.”

“…Enough to sell your soul?”

Damian thought for a moment, then shrugged again.

“You mentioned it to Clark, when we were looking for your parents.” Dick continued. “And I heard you claimed to have actually done it once, to get Klarion’s wand to defeat Gotham Girl.”

“So?”

“So you know what happens when you do that?” Dick pushed. Damian just stared at him. “You’re taken from us.”

“I’m…not seeing your point?” Damian tilted his head apologetically. “Or why you seem so distraught about it.”

“And that probably makes it worse.” Dick snorted bitterly. He stared at his hands again then looked up. “Damian, do you still not understand how much we don’t want that? We don’t want you taken away from us. Not ever.”

Damian remained silent.

“Damian, I love you. We love you. All of us. Yes, even Tim.” Dick added before Damian could make that joke. “And the idea that you would want to sell your soul to…to get to us, protect us, save us is…painful.”

Damian watched him for a moment. Then quietly, thoughtfully, honestly, he asked:

“Why?”

“Because losing you is the worst thing I can imagine.” Dick cried, almost hysterically. “God, Damian, you already died once protecting me. Do you think I could handle it again? And through something like selling your damn soul?”

Once again, Damian said nothing.

“And do you think your dad wants that either? Or Jason? Or Jon? That any of them would want you to sell your soul for them either? Lose you in the process of being saved? Lose you at all?” Dick whined.

Damian looked down, head bowed like he was in trouble.  And Dick realized he was all but shouting at the kid.

“I just…Promise me, kiddo. Please.” Dick whispered, reaching out to take Damian’s hand. Damian looked up at him with childish eyes. “Promise me you won’t use dangerous magic for us. That you won’t sell your soul for any reason, or let some wizard or demon or whatever take you from us. No matter what.”

“Not even if it’d save your li-”

“No.” Dick squeezed Damian’s hand, harshly. “Matter. What.”

Damian furrowed his brows, seemingly confused.

Dick smiled sadly. “And I know you love us too, Damian, and that you’re a good person. The best person.” He reached his free hand up to hold Damian’s face. To force Damian to look him in the eye as he said, “But we are not worth you. Not me. Not Cass. Not Gotham. Not the planet. Not even Bruce. Not ever.”

Damian just stared at him with big, soulful eyes that he was far too young to have. Didn’t offer an opinion, or rebuke. No real emotion. Just stared.

“…Make sense?” Dick asked after a moment.

Now Damian frowned. “No.”

Dick snorted a laugh. “Do it for me anyway?”

Damian pursed his lips. “I’ll…consider it.” He sighed. Dick dropped his hand from his face, but kept his other hand wrapped tightly around Damian’s. “It just means now I have to find a new way to save your sorry asses when I need to.”

“As long as you stay alive and with us in the process, knock yourself out.” Dick grinned. “But can I take you out for ice cream before you fall into your new studies about saving the world?”

Damian smirked. “I suppose I can allow that.”

“Good. Because I probably would have just kidnapped you if you said no.” Dick laughed as he stood, tugging Damian up with the hand he refused to let go.

Damian didn’t try to pull away either.

They walked silently across the yard, Titus trotting behind them. When they reached Dick’s car, and Dick finally let go, Damian just looked up at him.

“It wasn’t…a kind of suicidal mission or anything. And I admit I never thought about what you would all want for me, or that you would…grieve me or anything.” Damian explained softly. “I just always thought my soul, objectively, wasn’t worth much. Not after all I’ve done. So if it was a payment a demon or magician was willing to accept, it was something I’d gladly give. A small price to pay for the world, or you.”

Dick just watched him. And when Damian finished, he just silently wrapped his arms around Damian’s back, holding him as tenderly as he could. Damian just leaned against him.

“Well I’ll be the first to tell you that a world without you is not one worth living in.” Dick whispered, squeezing Damian harder. “And I have a long list of people who agree. Want me to call each and every one of them?”

Damian scoffed. “I think I just want the ice cream I was offered.”

“Done.” Dick laughed. He uncoiled from their embrace and walked Damian to the passenger side of the car. “Ice cream first, then proclamations of unconditional love, you got it.”

“Perhaps we can swap that second option with a stop by a book store instead.” Damian mumbled as Dick opened the car door for him. As he plopped into the seat, Dick caught a glimpse of the embarrassed heat in his cheeks.

“I’ll consider it.” Dick offered. “But don’t hold your breath, kiddo.”

He closed the door to the sound of Damian’s long-suffering sigh, and smiled as he made his way to the driver’s seat.

[chronicbatfictioner]

Fast Car - Chapter 17

"You've got the meds?"

"Yeah, one patch is on. Scheduling is on." Tim replied. "Synced with your cellphone so you can nag me if I forget to replace it."

It had sounded scary at first, for both Tim and Jason. Jason suspected that it would've been scarier, still, for Tim. He was the one who'd need to wear it at all times, after all. The patch looked like a simple, clear-colored band-aid, but it was actually filled with a plethora of electronics underneath, "the nutshell version is having electroshock therapy device attached to you at all times, but it'll release hormones instead of electricity," Tim had explained. It would be placed just under his hairline, on the nape of his neck. Tim assured him many, many times that it does not deliver actual electric shocks and/or will be shorting when the wearer is showering/swimming. "That's the first thing I made sure of, duh. The second was the invisibility." Because Tim understood the stigma of a mental health diagnosis quite well, and a light-colored patch on a dark skin would look like a beacon advertising the wearer's affliction. 

The last of the cuts on his arms had faded to nearly invisible scars on Tim's pale skin, crisscrossing the old ones. Random passers-by wouldn't have noticed them. Jason could feel them, still, when he run his hand over them. And Tim's face--

There would always be a faint hint of peach on his cheeks these days, and not so much of the purple raccoon eyes that had shocked Jason four months ago. Jason had trimmed Tim's hair, there are still enough for Jason to grab and play on, but not too long to cover his eyes.

Within a mere month after Jason moved back with him, the sunken-ness of Tim's cheeks had filled up some, earning him comments of "you look younger!' from his colleagues. Jason could always tell when some of Tim's colleagues teased him about his age and looks - Tim would commandeer the electric shaver the next day and let it run across his smooth chin and jawline, hoping that he would grow beard or some sort of facial hair. So far, still no luck. But Jason still counted a win when a pout and sulk and an attempt to shave would be as far as Tim would do. And in the lab, Conner was good enough to steer Tim clear off Tim's intention of researching ways to grow facial hair.

There are no blades in the loft, Jason made sure of it. All of their kitchen appliances are locked, with only Jason allowed access to them. A little extreme, sure, but they have reached an agreement that it was better for both of them if all kinds of temptations were out of sight and access from Tim.

But then again, Tim's needs for... the 'distractions' have abated a lot, a whole lot with Jason being there. He was still busy with the lab below, but with Bruce granting Jason special access key to the lab, Tim really couldn't run away - or lock himself in, which he'd done a few times before Bruce gave Jason a key - when Jason went into the lab and demand him to go home and get some sleep. Now, Timmers, or I'll haul you up. The excited and expectant gawks from Tim's lab-mates would usually be enough for Tim to stop whatever it is he was working on and followed Jason home with a massive pout and several choice-words of curses and grumbles.

Hopefully he would still miss the low-fives or fist bumps Jason got from Bart or Conner whenever he'd make Tim leave the lab. Or the fact that Conner would promptly close the lab some five minutes after Tim left.

Conner had brought his girlfriend, Cassandra Sandsmark, and Bart brought his girlfriend, Kiran Singh; on just about every weekends to have triple dates. Or in lazy and/or blizzard times, they would stay in and stream some movies while Conner and Jason practiced their culinary skills. So far, Bart noted, he hasn't needed to call in for emergency pizza to the rescue. Or booked a trip to the ER for food poisoning.

Jason had fully moved out from the Wayne's barn, and temporarily moved in to Tim's loft as their house was being renovated to accommodate Tim's work space and his garage. Jason had also managed to argue Tim out of making him the sole owner of the house, after a whole lot of arguments and getting Barbara's help to make him a slideshow presentation.

Seriously. There was a presentation describing the benefits of co-owning the house vs having just his name there. Credit scores and all. Jason never even know what his credit score was.  Or that he even had a credit score. He'd always thought those things were just for people who has a lot of money or born with money and/or inheritance.

There will be their individual work spaces in the opposing wings of the house, and there would be no locks on the doors of the work spaces. They have both agreed to have alarms to limit their home-working hours and remind the other to take care of themselves. And this, Jason knew, this would be something Tim would adhere to. His organized mind just simply not able to not follow a schedule. That point was prominent in Jason's mind when he wrote his part of the vow.

The Vow that he and Tim would recite in a few weeks, Jason mused as he felt the cold metal around his ring finger, and caught the glint of the ruby on the ring around Tim's finger as Tim's arm hooked around Jason's. His own arms were full of tupperware boxes - Alfred was not joking when he said he'd pack leftovers after their Sunday Dinner at the Wayne Manor. They would be eating well for the next week. Maybe. Or at least the next three to four days, if neither of them would end up with overtimes and eating less than two meals per day at home.

Or two days, if Bart managed to sneak his way in to their home.

"Home," Tim suddenly said.

"Hm?"

"I was just thinking... for a pair of orphans, we've managed to have not one, but two homes for ourselves." Tim said. "Not too shabby."

"Not too shabby at all." Jason agreed, pressing his lips on Tim's temple. "Thank you."

"Jason," Tim smiled ruefully. "Thank you, for not leaving me behind. In BrisTown."

"I couldn't. You've got the fast car." Jason grinned impishly.

"Well now you've got the literal fast car." Tim grinned at him. "How does it feel?" he asked as he helped Jason putting the boxes into Jason's car, a 2013 Mustang that used to belong to Dick and Jason had acquired in exchange of making five of Dick's other cars - including, of all things, a 1974 VW Beetle ("this is the last that was built in Germany, Jason! Before they moved the factory to Mexico!") - working and running again. Damn thing was older than Bruce and by all means should have been buried with its dignity intact, long ago. But Dick refused to let her die, and Jason had wondered if he'd have to make ritual sacrifices for parts, until Tim gave him the number of his contact in Germany who provided a number of cobbled-together parts.

"It feels..." he caressed the car's roof gently. "Well, you really can't go wrong with Mustang." he grinned. "But you really can't go wrong driving it with the one you love."

Tim snorted mirthfully, taking a seat on the passenger's side. "God, you cheesy." he said, scrunching his nose.

"You've known me for a long time now, and you just found it out now?" Jason quipped as he entered the driver's side.

"No, just didn't think I'd like it so much." Tim replied, a hesitant smile on his face as his lower lip started to tremble.

Jason reached over and tugged Tim's chin gently. "Hey, come on now. What is it?"

"I'm screwed, aren't I?" Tim said, a line of tears starting down his cheek.

"Welp, technically, you're legal and consenting. So I don't see the needs for the waterworks." Jason grinned at him, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Tim laughed and swatted his hand. "You jerk. I was trying to be sappy and all." he made a face. "But we'll need some stuff. I think we're out of lube."

"Whaaat? Again??"

"Hey, I'm not the one who use that thing like you're deep-frying!"

They drove away from the Wayne Manor in relative silence, Jason's non-driving hand on the nape of Tim's neck.

"I love you." Tim suddenly said.

Jason didn't take his eyes off the road, but squeezed Tim's neck lightly and replied. "I love you, too."

Maybe, Jason silently prayed, maybe they can fix themselves well. Together. They have a good number of people who could support them, anyway. Bruce, Dick, Barbara, and Alfred to help Jason through his doubting days; Conner, Bart, Cassandra, and Kiran, to support Tim if/when Jason was being a jerk. Surprisingly, when Damian was informed of Tim's clinical condition, he was incredibly interested to help keep an eye on Tim, "to see if the device works or not, Todd!"

Jason suspected it's just another thing Damian is keeping records of, to use against Tim when he couldn't win in a normal argument. Dick assured him that Damian's scathing ways were simply his way to show he cares. The jury is still out in that, though.

"You know what else we've got?" he said as something struck him.

"What?"

"Family." Jason smiled and scratched Tim's head a little. "Lookit that, orphan boy, we've got a family."

"We do, don't we?" Tim smiled brightly. "Whaddya know..."

They were silent for a few heartbeats until Tim spoke again, "so we gonna stick our vows on my mom's grave, too?"

Jason grinned mischievously. "You betcha, Timmers. Let her know that we've made it."

Note: End of this segment! I hope y'all like, and as always, comments, likes & reblogs are very, very appreciated! This here be the first multi-chaptered fanfic I've ever posted. And it feels kind of poignant for me that the last chapter is posted on NYE. Bye, 2017! Hello, 2018! Here's to hoping that our respective lives will be better in 2018 and brighter. And our muses remain as active if not more active as ever and allow us to tell their stories - preferably not at the same time. Maybe I should devise a queue number for them muses, like at banks... Anyway! Again, thank you everybody who'd left comments, likes, and/or reblogs, the lifeblood of all artworkers. Have a happy New Year, all!

[sweetwriting]

Category: Gen

Genre: Angst/Family/Fluff

Fandoms: DC Comics, Batverse

Continuity: Post-Crisis/Pre-Flashpoint

Summary: In Hindsight, Tim realizes he used to be both extremely naïve and aware of the world. He wasn't sure whether he had “grown” or just changed. But too much had happened for him to be the same.

Word Count: 1 970

AN: Hello everyone. I'm sorry for not posting this sooner but, while most of my works are somewhat finished, I write on paper and rewriting on the computer takes time (and then comparing the first draft to the rewriting, and then trying to edit it a little because of mistakes...it takes more time than I'd like to admit...though the rewriting part is what takes the longest because sometimes it takes me like 3 days to do one sentence because I remember I have homework or I have to go to work...). I won't be posting day 5 (favorite relationship) because...I couldn't choose between Dick and Kon and tried to use both and it ended up becoming sorta TimKon and I didn't want Dick to feel left out...or Bart and it's a mess I have to try to rework. If I can't manage to rework it I'll post the best version. As for day 6, I just thought I had rewritten it on my computer and posted it when I started rewriting day 7 but I haven't yet and I'm currently rewriting others (TimKon Week and the Batfam Halloween event) so... it'll come, one day ^^'.ANYWAY. This piece, while a standalone can be seen as a sequel to that piece. I hope you enjoy it :)

To read it on AO3

In hindsight, Tim realizes he used to be both extremely naïve and aware of the world.

In the words of the internet, his naïveté mainly came from his privilege.

He knew a lot of things from reading newspapers (well…what had been about Batman and other heroes as well as what he could gather about Art History which, depending on the journalist, could open a window on the world) but it was “from afar”, he was never really confronted with their concrete application until he met Bruce and was transferred to a non-private (and non-boarding) school. Meeting Ives and Ariana was kind of a wake-up call and so was meeting Steph and, really, the many others who followed. There was also his constant denial of the state of his birth family and how it had impacted the way he took the death of Dick’s parents by projecting on Batman and Robin…that….took some time to deal with (hint: he had never truly dealt with it) and was the root of many of his issues. And then, then there was all he saw of the world as Robin.

Now, however, he had become almost completely cynical. There was a reason why he knew the Anti-Life Equation after all. Sort of. Because at the same time, even if it made sense, he refused it and there was a very simple reason for that. The naïve part of his being never truly left and, in a way, was heavily encouraged by his training with Batman. There is something to say after all, about a man dressed as a bat who tries to prevent others from being hurt the way he had been during the night and who tries to help redeem the crimes of others by giving them constant second chances as well as tries to prevent them by making affordable healthcare or rehabilitation programs through various of his own associations and giving money to others. Because that belief that people could change, that you should trust that they would try and deserve those new chances? It was all Bruce’s.

Of course, Bruce had also had to learn paranoia so some of his lessons went against this faith in people, yet, despite all the paranoia he had tried to create in his protégé, a part of Bruce always seemed to be burning with the trust he put in others (or maybe it was just a hope that he could trust them?). And Tim had been at the best place to see it worsen over the years. As such he ended up developing a paranoia-trust dichotomy similar to Bruce’s but… He never quite managed to take his paranoia as far as Bruce’s - or Dick's- because he couldn’t help himself and almost always trusted people he had just met despite himself. He had learned, however, not to be surprised if he was betrayed and to sometimes prepare for it even if a tiny bit - and even then,  he never completely managed to if his surprise that no one would give him the benefit of the doubt after Bruce's death was anything to go by. Because being trusting didn’t mean being an idiot.  

It was amazing how he had both changed and stayed the same over the years.

He had gone through a lot to learn to balance awareness turned paranoia and naïveté, cynicism and trust and there were periods of time when he couldn’t help the cynicism and paranoia overcoming him. It was especially bad after Conner’s death as it was probably the first time they had truly made themselves known (instead of simply just being him channeling his inner Bruce and Dick in order to appear professional) and then Bruce’s death. Though… It was mostly true after Bruce’s death. The truth is that after Conner’s he wasn’t really functioning enough of a person for anything besides crushing depression and overall numbness for those to overcome him (maybe he should consider Bart’s death as a threshold too?). And retrospectively, Bruce’s method of “repressing it until it no longer bothers you” hadn’t worked. on him. If anything it had made things worse. Because for Bruce, even for Dick really, repressing actually fueled them. Of course, their level of angst and depression went up too but it still helped their vigilante life. On a side note it seemed like the Batfam was blessed with overall good friendships with outsiders who often did what they could to help them out of their funk when repressing became too much for them, and maybe that was Tim’s issues. His friends were either dead or… “out of the way” …Though unlike most of his family Tim didn’t really have any issue with asking for help.

So for Tim, that technique just…blocked him. Blocked him until his level of empathy seemed to start lowering and he just did what he had to do to help.

He honestly doesn’t know what would have happened to him if Bruce…No. If Conner hadn’t come back. Because realizing Conner was really alive, that he could have his best friend back? It felt as if he could be happy again (that night he had smiled one of his first honest smiles of happiness, of contentedness in over two years and finding actual clues about Bruce’s survival was important but not for the obvious reasons). After that -and he hated saying it- but getting Bruce back wasn’t as important. Not because he didn’t care, of course, after all, he’d have given his life to bring him back if it had been needed. The thing is though, had Conner been with him in the first place when Bruce had died, he would have mourned him. He wouldn’t have been desperate to have him be alive to the point of noticing something was wrong. And this belief (no, this knowledge) mattered because having Bruce and Dick hadn’t helped him mourn Conner. Bruce being alive was more important for the family, or even Gotham at that point more than for Tim’s sake. Well except for his sanity (and that’s why he could finally digest the idea that his best friends were back, Paris hadn’t been a hallucination). Learning that Bruce was indeed alive and that he hadn’t “gone insane with grief” was pretty great.

So having both back? That was the best feeling and it was also key in turning two years of hell into fuel for growth instead of just stagnating at an all-time low.

The sole fact that he still needed a crutch to help him deal said a lot about the state of his mental health but he had come a long way from the time when denial and projecting were his main coping mechanisms. Kon had helped a great deal in reminding Tim that he was allowed to deal while Bruce was probably one of the first people to actually listen and respond to Tim’s babbling (whether it was about his days, his missions, and Tim had even started talking about some of his issues. For all intent and purposes, Bruce had acted like his father very early on. He had been a better father than his biological father had been. And Tim couldn’t help but feel bitter at the fact that Bruce had been a relatively better father for him before he adopted him than after…not on all matters seeing as he had been more openly affectionate with Tim but it didn’t prevent Tim from feeling like he always had to prove he was worthy of it. ....Damian hadn’t helped). It was the same with Dick who was his brother long before either were adopted by Bruce, who had become his brother when he had been his Batman, which is why losing him after Bruce (and Conner) died destroyed the small amount of stability Tim had left. But again, had Conner been alive, had tim still noticed something was wrong, he could have dealt with this.

It wasn’t so much because Tim was dependent on Conner more than he was on Bruce and Dick. Though he kinda was, it’s more that Conner had helped him realize that he didn’t need Bruce and Dick as much as he used to because he had actual relationships like Cassie, Bart or Cass (even Cissie and Anita had they not somewhat lost touch). But Conner died barely more than a year after they founded Young Justice and due to their own complicated history, the development of their friendship and their help with each other’s issues had happened too close to Conner’s death for Tim to be able to apply what he had learned in dealing healthily (or as healthily as possible). He had time to get attached to his best friend in the five months that followed the reveal of his identity but he hadn’t had enough time to adapt to this attachment in a relatively healthy way. Still, Cassie had helped him a little after they made up -after she discovered how terribly he was dealing with Conner’s death- and so did Dick (after all he was the one Tim called when he felt suicidal enough to be tempted to jump or take one too many pills).

Mostly though, Tim was never as content as when he was with Conner. He’d love to say as happy but sadly, while it was a bit true, before Conner’s death, he and Tim’s friendship had truly started at a time when their environment prevented either of them from actually being happy and the fact that so much happened in such a short lapse of time didn’t help. Between Bruce being accused of murder, Tim’s father losing his money and going back to forgetting he had a son to take care of, then finding about his night life and his death following Steph’s, Conner having to deal with his non-existent life outside of heroics and trying to adapt to having a relatively stable family, having to get used to a new name, a new identity , learning that he was half megalomaniac instead of 9/10th Apple Pie as well as what seemed to be like feelings for Cassie to deal with -which, retrospectively weren’t even especially romantic,….It had been a lot.

But now, now that Tim had started processing everything that happened to him? Conner was the person who made him the happiest and the most content. He was even getting ready to talk to Bruce after having recently talked with Dick.

He was truly amazed at how so many terrible things had allowed him to get so much better than how he had started out when it came to trust and love. How putting his trust in others had been so rewarding and how even the harshest betrayals had helped him.

How despite everything, while he had become fairly cynical he could still be so utterly trusting. How, while he had shed some of his naïveté it hadn’t completely disappeared so much as evolved into a belief in people despite his knowledge that they could and might betray him.

And as he was sitting in the kitchen beside the picnic Alfred had prepared for him and Bruce to eat after their Tennis matches (which is when they would talk. There was to better way to unwind before a meeting you knew was gonna be tense).

He was eating freshly made cookies and couldn’t help feeling apprehensive of how their talk was going to go through. Yet, unlike what a lot of people would believe, Bruce was a good listener when he realized the subject at hand was something important for the person he was communicating with (unless very specific circumstances). So if things had gone well with Dick? And if he had a shot at repairing his relationship with all his loved ones? He would take it.

Author’s end note :   When I rewrote this on word the first thing I thought was "damn this is so messy" then I stopped and realized "you wrote this from Tim's Point of Vue, of course it's messy"... if I start forgetting how I'm writing my stories I'm not gonna go far...

 By the way, one @Chonaku-Things told me recently that it was impressive how I almost always manage to bring everything back to my ships (especially true for TimKon and SpideyTorch) and I would like to defend myself. It's not that I do it because I ship them, it's quite the opposite as I simply ended up shipping them because that's how they're written (whether on purpose or not). It's their fault, I just notice the patterns and end up shipping it because it's almost always there.

 Here's a post that explains how I see the timeline between the first Young Justice issue and Infinite Crisis (though it technically starts at the beginning of Robin v4). Well...Sort of.  I didn't detail it because for this all you need is an overview and I didn't have the faith to do it event by event (I have a relatively complete chart in my mind but I'm not an encyclopedia so there are some things that're missing or might be wrong for the detailed version that I'd have to look up. Which is why I keep this chart short and clear, it helps recenter the timeline and reduces the issues I have to go through when I need something a bit more complete, it's weird to have it done instead of just staying in my head).

Anyway, I'm a bit tired of people who talk about Tim's paranoia being on par with Bruce's as a way to show how extremely paranoid he is when: 

Bruce in Pre-New 52 wasn't actually that paranoïd (unlike New 52 or Nolan's movies, most of his choices come from his experience yet "paranoia" usually means it's not warranted).

Tim is like...one of the most trusting members of the Batfam. The end of his Robin run and his Red Robin series are his most distrustful periods and the kid still keeps on trusting people. (he told pretty much everyone he thought there might be a chance Bruce was alive. He told Cassie he had freaking heard the Anti-Life Equation, he trusted Lynx even if he knows it might not be true and I doubt it's just because she's pretty (even if Tim does have a weakness for pretty girls he still does these kinds of things everyone?...just not the making out part)).

I've also actually read A Lonely Place of Living and it was terrible. Like, I didn't expect to like it and I knew that if they tried to pretend N52/Rebirth Tim was the same as pre New 52 Tim it was going to get messy (different to the point of almost opposition personalities will do that to you), but I didn't expect it to be that bad. If you want my more complete opinion on ALPoL here's my liveblog of it.