ditzyredrobin

[ditzyredrobin]

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[ditzyredrobin]

*in a group chat* Tim: lol im dying send help Dick: oof same Steph: me af Duke: rip, what's up man? Damian: Good. Tim: no like im legit dying Tim: some guy stabbed me in a mcdonald's parking lot Tim: the lol is habit Tim: *sends a blurry picture of himself dabbing in the ambulance*

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[ditzyredrobin]

The Knights Red Robin - Snippet 4

This is going to be the last one before posting the whole fic, I swear. I just can’t get over these two.

-

(1, 2, 3)

“What the fuck you do to your bike?” Jace pulls him from his very delicate circuitry work with a snarl.

Red’s spine snaps straight at the sudden accusation, nearly burning the shit out of his hand with the soldering iron. “Shit—What?”

“You’re bike,” Jace repeats slowly, sounding out the syllables like he’s an idiot. “Runs like shit. Your brakes are spongy and your fuel lines are clogged. She’s supposed to purr and she ain’t. What did you do?”

Oh, yeah, that.

Red sets down the soldering iron before he does some real damage, turning to Jace. “I didn’t have time?”

Jace’s eyes narrow. “You didn’t have time.” He repeats skeptically.

“No?”

The Knight rolled his eyes hard enough to make his head spin. “How the hell did you not have time for routine maintenance? It should be serviced every 4,000 miles.”

How do you explain you traveled across Europe on a time crunch to find your adoptive father lost in time (while everyone was convinced you were absolutely losing it), sold your soul to a demon, and broke up a fight between two opposing assassin factions and not sound like you belong in the looney bin?

“I was busy?” Red grimaced because, yeah, it didn’t sound great.

“You were busy?” Jace repeats, obviously unimpressed.

“I was busy.” He confirmed, worrying the skin on his lip.

Up until Jace had appeared, he’d been running the search effort behind the scenes when Dick forced him out (again). He had been busy—he’d been needed and things just sort of fell through the cracks.

“How the fuck-“ Jace grumbled under his breath, all scowly as he wipes the grease of his hands with a shop rag. “You know what, never mind. When was the last time you ran diagnostics on your rigs?”

It took him a moment to dig through his memory to come up with a conclusion. “A year and-“ Red hummed. “Three months, give or take a month…I think.”

“You think?”

Red shrugged, his hands itched to get back to work, focus on something other than Jace’s disappointment. “It’s been a hard year.”

Understatement of the century.

[ditzyredrobin]

The Knight’s Red Robin - Snippet 3

Bruce is back so why didn’t anyone tell him?

Part 1 - 2

-

“Red, if you’re in there, so help me.”

The needle slid smoothly through skin, stitching flesh back together easily, but this needed to be done, like, yesterday. He’s running low on spoons and time, and is definitely starting to hit the wrong side of the adrenaline.

Red’s breath hitched at the voice, the needle nearly slipping, but he’s got this. He’s sutured upside down with his eyes shut, so, this? This is cake in comparison.

Knight pounded on the lab door with all the force he could muster when the lock pad beeped unsuccessfully again. He heard him utter unintelligibly under his breath but keeps working the bleeder. He's almost finished. Just another minute and he’ll be in the clear and ready to scram.

It isn’t that bad—it barely needed stitches.

The world is a little misty around the edges, like frosted glass, but he has to keep focused. Jace is on the other side of the door and if he finds him like this (again). Well. It’s not something he’s mighty keen on experiencing.

“I saw you take that hit.” Knight added, his voice strangled through the intercom. “You can’t keep doing this shit. I thought we talked about this.”

Tim glanced up from the injury to the security footage rolling on his main monitor. The footage isn’t graining like olden days tech. It’s crystal clear down to the pinched expression on his face.

He almost has a heart attack when the Knight looks up at the same time, meeting his gaze, like he knew Red was watching him.

Damn it.

He looked pissed.

“It’s fine.” Red called back over the intercom, voice all Red Robin. Wrong answer, apparently, because a muscle jumps in Knight's jaw.

“What the fuck do you mean it’s fine?” Yep, definitely the wrong answer. “Let me in so I can see, dumbass.”

It took everything in him to keep his hands from shaking because if Jace got in while he was that pissed, it was going to be a bad night for Red.

“I mean, it’s fine. I have it managed, thanks.”

Jace growled over the intercom. “It’s like talking to a brick-fucking-wall. Open the damn door, Tim.”

Red grimaced. When things like civilian names come out, that’s when you know you’re in trouble. Tim is for Wayne Enterprises and oh shit sitches. And this was neither.

He. Had. It. Handled.

“Just give me a few more minutes, I’m almost done.”

The thing about his lab was it was an excellent panic room, he had developed the security system himself, it was convoluted with contingencies upon contingencies, even Barbara had a hard time hacking it.

No one was getting in if he didn’t want them in, but after the incident involving the emergency escape hatch when Knight had first come to, it left him a caged bird.

“No, you’re not. Open the door or I’ll open it myself.” He could try.

“I’m fine, Knight, I’ve got it.”

The slice in his thigh was a clean cut, it didn’t take much to stitch it up on his own, even with his wrist aching. He didn’t very well need help with something he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

Why didn’t he believe him? It was a minor wound, it wasn’t like an abdominal wound or something.

“I know you do,” Knight admitted, pulling a complete 360 and not sounding the least bit happy about it. “But you’re not okay, Red.”

He couldn’t help it.

He laughed. What was there to be upset over? Bruce was back, right? Everything he sacrificed was finally worth it. He should be happy. Bruce was back.

So, why did he feel like he was falling apart?

Red bit his lip, tying off the clean line of fresh stitches, and snipping off the excess thread with a birdarang. He dropped the leftovers and needle into the tray beside him.

“I’m fine.” He said but his voice broke. His hands were shaking as he ripped a wound dressing open with his teeth.

“You’re not.” Knight pushed. “I expected as much from Dickhead, but from Al? You deserve better than them.”

[ditzyredrobin]

Fix It (Fix You) sequel snippet

I haven’t had a chance to do much Whumpcember this year so here’s a snippet I’m trying to finish for day 3: begging.

A classic case of Tim Drake: The Spleenless Wonder.

-

“Jay?” A flash a red, the smell of leather and old cigarettes and Tim needs it—him—yesterday. “I need Jay. Let me go-let me go!” Tim cried. “Jay!”

But the hands don’t release their hold, Dick’s ass stays firmly planted on his thighs, fighting to keep his wrists pinned. “Shh, it’s okay, baby, please he’s waiting for us at the Cave. I need you just to hang in there a little longer. B is on his way with the Batmobile so Jay and I can help you feel better.”

No, not okay. It’s far from okay, actually.

Hot tears are streaming down his cheeks because everything hurts and he just. wants. Jay. Damnit. “Let me go.” He bucks his hips, trying to get free himself, but it doesn’t even phase Dick. He stays locked in and unmovable.

Dick is talking over him again into his com, keeping his arms pinned. He looks pained, eyes glassy. “Look, I know—I’m sorry. I’m trying but you’re not seeing what I’m seeing.” There is a hitch of panic in his voice sounding genuinely wrecked. Because this was their boy. This was their Tim.

Tim slams his head back against the hard wood floor with a broken, “Please,” before going lax. Tears continue to stream down his cheeks and into his ears. He openly sobs because everything hurts and he’s so, so tired and it’s too much. “Please.”

Part 1

[ditzyredrobin]

Before and After

Chapter 2

Let it be known, I had zero intentions on making this into a WIP, but 4,613 words later, I’m a little obsessed. Do I need another WIP? No. Do I have a new one now? Yes, yes, I do. 😂

For Whumpcember 2024 - Day 10 - “Let me help you.”

Chapter 1

-

Dick’s visit opens the proverbial floodgates for Bats to drop by unexpectedly and without warning (which rude).

When the doorbell goes off, Tim is up like a shot, heart roaring in his ears, chasing the tail end of a particularly grizzly nightmare, the metallic tang of blood and smoke just on the edge of his senses.

By rote one hand goes to his collapsible bo-staff under his pillow and his phone with the other.

No one was supposed to know about his apartment aside from Dick (if there was anything to be said, manners and personal space weren’t it and Dick? Was the walking, talking, personification of a word vomit).

He blinked blearily at his phone, opening the security feed of the front door, a sense of dread filling his gut. The apartment wasn’t rented in his name, utilities another, and packages were all directed to the Postal Annex in downtown Gotham under a third alias (Key word: contingencies).

But, when the security feed finally opens, it takes a long moment to process what he’s seeing.

It wasn’t ninja at his door or some other baddie flavor of the week it was—it was an elderly man dressed down in a well tailored suit, balding with a thin mustache and two very heavy looking grocery bags hanging off his shoulders.

Alfred, his brain supplied. It was Alfred.

Memories were still muddled and murky but there was something about Alfred that stuck out in his mind—a chuckle, a smile, a proper English accent, the scent of freshly baked biscuits and earl grey tea.

Tim glanced over to the sleeping pup still in the bassinet attached to his bed. She was swaddled just right, somehow still fast asleep at—he squints at the clock—11 am. She never sleeps this late—he never sleeps this late, normally too racked by nightmares and insomnia to get more than a few hours at a time.

What should he do? If he didn’t answer, would he eventually give up and go away? Odds are, if he let the door go unanswered, more Bats were sure to follow (because if Alfred knew, the rest of the Bat Clan would find out, if they hadn’t already). But the thought of going back to bed while he still had the option was tempting—just a little while longer, while Amalia slept before the cycle of change-feed-burp-soothe began again.

Tim breathed a heavy sigh and pressed the button for the intercom on his phone, “I’ll be right there.”

Alfred visibly perked up, glancing up to the security camera in the corner. “It is no problem, dear boy, do not rush on my account.”

His voice is like a balm on a wound that has been oozing, refusing to heal, soothing his inner Omega, settling his racing heart just a touch, his voice radiating safesafesafe.

That’s…unexpected. And not definitely something he wanted to prod with a hundred-foot-pole, Alfred in the hall or not.

Tim grabbed a pair of sweats from the pile on the floor, sniffing to make sure they smelled clean enough for company, and a faded Green Day tee. Good enough.

His industrial (read as: vigilante) grade scent patches were on the dresser nearest the door. He slipped on his slippers and shuffled over to riffle through the nearly empty box.

(Note to self: pilfer more from one of the many Bat-stashes the next time he’s out.)

He delicately peels one off the sheet and presses it to the scent gland to the soft meat of his neck, adding an additional to the scent glands on the inside of his wrists.

When Amalia woke, not being able to scent him would make her fussy, but he didn’t trust his emotions when dealing with Bats. And Alfred? Was a wild card.

Tim shoves his collapsible bo in his pocket before pocketing the baby monitor. Something about leaving her alone made his stomach churn. She was alone without someone to protect her. What if something happened? What if someone gets in and takes her?

…what if someone gets in and takes him? She would be alone for who now’s how long, starving and crying and his eyes feel hot.

His chest constricts. Nope, nope, not happening. Not right now.

She’s sleeping peacefully, her little chest rising and falling, deep in slumber, a hint of a smile on her chubby little cheeks.

His apartment was the most secure location outside of the Bats. In fact, since his last patch after Dick unceremoniously and unwantingly broke into his home, he would say his apartment is more secure than the Bats, second only to (maybe) the clock tower.

He could do this.

He could do this.

(In through your nose one-two-three, out through your mouth one-two-three, come on Tim, one foot in front of the other)

His eyes lingered on the pup for a moment longer before he finally forced himself to move, leaving the door open a crack.

He felt like a mouse caught in a glue trap, trudging his way to the front door, doing his best to ignore the piles of clutter and baby supplies scattered throughout the living room.

There was a pile of clean laundry yet to be folded, taking up the majority of the well-loved sofa and a mountain of dishes in the sink. If he’d known he would have company, he would’ve put in an effort to tidy, or at least shove things in the closet until Alfred left.

Tim made quick work of disarming the security protocols trying to pretend like his hands weren’t trembling. He still had time to change his mind—he didn’t have to let the elderly man in. In all actuality, he could go back to bed right now and pretend this whole thing never happened.

But Dick, he reminded himself.

Damnit.

Tim took another measured breath before inching the door open and with it, the warm scent of Beta hit him like a ton of bricks, filling his chest with a warmth he had only felt in his dreams. It was like drinking a hot cup of tea, the way it pooled in his heart, warming his chest and for a moment he felt like he was choking.

He couldn’t move, staring at the elderly man like he was a ghost, liable to disappear at any moment.

It seemed like Alfred went through something similar, a complicated mix of expressions crossing his face—disbelief, astonishment, sorrow, grief, anguish, before settling on something akin to relief.

“Master Timothy, I’m pleased to see you’re doing well. I’m afraid we had far too many leftovers at the manor and thought perhaps you would be open to helping us before they’ve spoiled.” The English accent was soft and comforting and it felt… it felt like coming home. “May I come in?”

Tim fisted the baby monitor in his pocket, a little part of him hoped that now, right this moment, his pup would whimper or cry, and give him some sort of out, but she didn’t. Damnit.

Slowly, he backed away from the door, allowing Alfred to come in, but said nothing. No hi, hello, or even, it’s good to see you, thanks for dropping in but, y’know, a call would’ve been nice. He had zero trust in what would come out of his mouth, so he stayed silent, watching.

With the Beta inside, Tim glanced out around the hallway for any unwelcome visitors, but the hallway was empty. Judging by the overabundance of Chinese takeout menus the past few months, most of this floor had been empty since he moved, back when he was newly back in Gotham, the tiny pup strapped to his chest.

Reassured they were alone, Tim shut the door and busied himself with reengaging the security, trying to ignore the way his hands were now fully, without a doubt, trembling. By the time all was settled and they were locked in, Alfred had already found his way into the kitchen.

If he noticed the dishes (let’s be real, when he noticed the dishes), he didn’t say anything, his sole focus on unloading the “leftovers”, which was beginning to look like a whole lot more than just leftovers. Multiple casserole dishes were carefully stacked, slowly but surely filling his fridge

“Thank you for helping us with these. I’ve grown accustomed to large family meals, but with master Damian out of the house more and more, it seems we have an overabundance.”

Tim knew Titan duties and university had Damian out of Gotham more and more. He had his choice of Ivy League schools and had ended up with early placement in the Cornell University’s College of Veterinary Medicine after graduating from GA a year early (as valedictorian, no less).

Dick was still in Bludhaven, social worker by day, Nightwing by night but came back to Gotham most weekends (or when he wanted to see Tim on random Tuesday nights).

Jason, on the other hand, from what he’d garnered, was with the Outlaws more often than not these days, back periodically for his heats.

Life had moved on without him. He didn’t blame them—couldn’t blame them—but there was still a bitter tinge in his chest.

Tim blinked and when his brain picked up again, Alfred was still talking.

“-thing is labeled with the ingredients and how to prepare each meal, I hope you don’t mind. It is a force of habit with master Dick and master Bruce. You know how they are.” Alfred mused, moving onto stuffing the freezer. “You wouldn’t believe it—the one time I left them alone for the weekend without enough instructions, I came home to a house full of builders.”

You know how they are.

Maybe he did, sometime in the Before. But now?

Alfred glanced over his shoulder and frowned. Tim isn’t sure what he saw but the Beta had a deep look of concern.

“Oh my dear boy,” slowly he closed the freezer, giving Tim his full attention. “Perhaps I should have called but I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to see you.” I didn’t want you to run.

Which, fair, but it made the ordeal a whole lot more complicated. The way Alfred spoke to him, it was like he was expecting the old Tim, the one who hadn’t been lost to the Pit.

“Did Dick tell you I was here?”

“He did not. In fact, he has warned others not to seek you out, including master Bruce and myself but-“

“But you came anyways.” It wasn’t a question. Alfred opened his mouth to respond but Tim was quick to cut him off, “You being here puts me at risk. How do I know you weren’t followed?”

By Bats, by what was left of the League, pick your poison.

“I assure you, I was not followed.”

“But how can you know?”

“Just because I’m not Batman, does not mean I’m oblivious. I do have a few special skills of my own beyond being the butler for the Wayne family.”

“That’s the problem—you can’t.” Bat or not, there was no way to 100% guarantee. “If you really cared, you would’ve listened to Dick and stayed away. I know you miss Tim but I’m not him.”

“Master Tim, I understand-“

“No, I don’t think you really understand, I don’t remember you. I saw you and I remembered your name, that’s it. Things are a little,” a lot, “hazy, after coming back. I didn’t choose to forget you—I remember blips, but memories are just, not there.” It was like someone had taken a scalpel and cut the out—really, there’s no telling Ra’s hadn’t. “I’m just not him.”

A smile, a stifled chuckle, the clank of fine china cups and saucers.

(I want to remember you—I need to remember you but I can’t)

Tim swallows hard, trying to shove down the sharp fear of rejection, of letting him down, or not being trusted that this is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. It makes his chest ache, and his eyes hot.

“Look I-“ and, the baby monitor finally goes off, giving him the perfect out—the soft whimper of his pup waking up alone without her bearer makes his inner Omega stir. “I’ll be back.” Please be here when I get back.

He doesn’t give Alfred the time for rebuttals, rushing off down the hall where Amalia is waiting, trying to pretend he isn’t running away with his tail between his legs.

-

“Computer, lights at 70%,” Tim called to the AI of his own design. The lights go on as Tim pushes into the room. His pup isn’t crying just yet, the soft whimper, a call to her bearer, a cry of changemeholdmefeedme.

“Shh, good morning, ya rohee,” Tim croons in League dialect, carefully lifting her out of her crib. She scrunches up in his arms like a little inch worm and yawns a yawn much too big for such a little thing. It makes him want to coo, and scent, and snuggle her forever in his nest, never letting her go. This is the best part, his favorite part of the day. “How did you sleep, my love? I’m sorry you woke up alone.”

She answers by blinking up at him with wide, deep violet-blue eyes, all his own. There’s still time for them to change from blue to vibrant green, just like her other father, but he hopes they stay. Just like this. All his own.

Tim just smiles trying to tamp down the thought. He—Ra’s—couldn’t hurt them anymore—he was dead, for good this time.

A sword, sawing through sinew and bone, severing his head from his body, the taste of metallic tang on his teeth as he ripped into his throat and the burn of smoke in his lungs.

There’s only so much the Pit could do and what he’d done? That was way beyond even its capabilities.

He just hoped that when the Bats found out, they took care of her, his life, his heart, his soul.

Logically, he knew the daughter of a vigilante and the former leader of the League was a vulnerable asset that needed to be protected. In the wrong hands—a chill ran down his spine.

Batman didn’t harm innocents. His choices weren’t hers so, by all intents and purposes, she was innocent. She didn’t choose her heritage.

Tim tucked her into his neck where normally his scent would be strongest. He just hoped he would keep her safe in his absence.

Amalia snuffled and nuzzled against his skin searching for his scent currently patched over. When she couldn’t find it, her little lip wobbled and clenched her fists.

Pups needed scent to help regulate their delicate nervous systems and they only left the house a few times a month for diapers and formula or groceries (and the occasional Bat safehouse break-in) so she was used to it near 24/7.

The fact that Dick caught him was a fluke.

Just before laying her down on the changing table, Tim breathed out, trying to still his beating heart, and lifted the scent patch up just enough for her to catch a whiff. Almost immediately she went lax in his arms, letting out a huff of air. Any chance of her crying was snuffed out in an instant.

Crisis averted.

Tim took a breath to calm himself and held her there, gently rubbing her back. He guessed, for just a moment, he could have this.

Alfred could wait.

-

Changed out of her swaddle and sleep clothes, Tim shuffled back into the kitchen, the same bitter fear of rejection in his gut. Amalia was settled in the cloth pack on his chest, smacking her lips, making it known that she was ready for breakfast. He, on the other hand, was not.

Breakfast meant facing Alfred but there was only so long he could keep putting it off—put off their conversation.

When he rounded the corner, it was to a clean kitchen. In the time it had taken to get the pup up, most of the laundry was folded and ready to be put away, including pairs of socks he hadn’t seen in months (how Alfred did that, he’ll never know).

The mountain of dishes had been diminished to a clean sink and the dishwasher running. Crumbs and spilled formula had been wiped away and Tim… all Tim could do was stare, a wave of shame is like cold water.

Thank god he’d reapplied the scent patch because this would be embarrassing. Luckily, the carrier smelled enough like him, that, for now, Amalia was settled.

Alfred finished folding a faded band tee and turned his attention back to Tim. Eyes were immediately on his pup and Tim waited for something. Shame? Disgust? But Tim found none of that.

Instead the elderly Beta’s expression softened. “I apologize, I seem to have gotten a bit carried while you were away. A bit of a habit, I’m afraid.”

Tim swallows hard, wrapping a protective hand around the pup, eyes drawn to the unimpressive greige carpet. “I’m sorry it’s been a long week and she’s been so fussy. If I’d known you were coming over I would’ve cleaned up.” His eyes were hot. He was not going to cry—he was not going to cry.

“Nonsense,” Alfred’s voice is gentle and insistent. “It is one of my joys in life to care for my charges. Trust me when I say this is nothing compared to young master Dick’s room, a few dishes and clean laundry is nothing in comparison to the ecosystem I have found on occasion.”

He could tell Alfred was trying to be humorous but it did nothing to ease his conscience. “I shouldn’t need to get caught up. I should’ve just handled it when it happened but I’m just…” Exhausted? Overwhelmed? Missing the pack he doesn’t even remember having?

“I understand and I mean this when I say, I pass no judgement.”

Tim risked a surprised glance. “How?”

Alfred smiled, “I wasn't always just a butler. I was a parent too once upon a time before coming to work for the Wayne’s.” He continued, “Believe it or not, I, too, have a daughter.”

“…you do?”

He nods, “I do, back in England—Julia. We don’t have the best of relationships. It seems the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I’m afraid.” He chuckled a bit sadly before changing the subject, “Now then. How would you feel about some breakfast?”

Almost as if at the mention of food, Amalia started to wriggle, very obviously done with their dilly dallying. Tim breathed a sigh and nodded. He didn’t normally eat breakfast but it was nearly lunchtime and his stomach was starting to make its presence known in a feed me or else sort of way. “Breakfast would be nice.”

Ding ding ding. By the look on his face, Tim answered correctly. Go him. “Will scones hold you over while I prepare something more substantial?”

“Scones sound…nice.”

Which is how they ended up in the kitchen, a plate of scones with clotted cream and tea in front of him while Amalia went to town on her bottle, ravenous. One little hand was on the bottle and the other fisted in his shirt.

Tim was sitting at one of the bar chairs glancing up at Alfred every so often, watching for something, anything to go wrong, (a dash of poison, or paralytic, Alfred disappearing into thin air) as he cooked up a proper English breakfast.

Before Alfred, his fridge had nothing more than some flaccid celery, a weeks old pizza from Rao’s a few blocks down, and half a bottle of ranch. Now, it was stuffed to the gills with fruits and veggies, eggs, and other household staples.

(No wonder his bags looked so heavy. How he carted them up five stories and a broken elevator was beyond him. Bats, am I right?)

“Her name is Amalia.” Tim said awkwardly after a few minutes of silence. “I don’t know if Dick told you.”

“Master Dick did not mention it but there was some…speculation, that something more was going on, on master Bruce’s part.”

An arch of dread runs through him, “Bruce knows?”

Of course Bruce knows. Why wouldn’t he know? He’s Batman. Alfred being here all but confirmed he knows about his apartment, too. And if that thought doesn't make him want to high tail it out of Gotham.

Hearing the hoarseness of his voice, Alfred looks up, “I am truly sorry. I should’ve listened to master Dick. This was your secret to share and I forced your hand.”

Tim shook his head, “I should’ve known, it makes sense, I just-“ he wanted to pull his hair out and scream. It makes sense. It’s just—he wasn’t ready for a boatload of Bats invading his nest.

Amalia was still so little. Being taken from her at this age… if birth trauma and the subsequent fallout hasn’t hurt her, this will. It could kill her.

“It isn’t alright.” Alfred sounded genuinely remorseful as he pushed mushrooms around in the pan. “I was being selfish and did not take into account the trauma you’ve been subjected to.”

Tim mulled over those words trying to tamp down his inner Omega stirring, wanting to reassure the elder Beta that it was okay, the wanted to bask in the feeling of being cared for. There were whispers of pack at the back of his mind.

Alfred had brought him groceries and meals—he was providing for him, showing he cared, but no, no, no. His arms tightened around the pup.

The old Tim may have been pack but that was Before and this is now—the After. Who wanted a broken murderer of an Omega? One that had broken the Bat Code of Conduct whose number one rule was don’t kill.

Alfred turned off the burner and slid the mushrooms onto the plate beside the eggs and sausage just as the toaster popped. Tim looked up briefly when the plate slid in front of him. After a terse moment, Tim said, “Thank you.” The weariness on his tone almost makes him flinch.

Almost.

“My pleasure, Master Tim.” His inner Omega preened at the title. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

Tim glanced down at the pup in his arms, finishing up her bottle. And, before he could think the words slipped past his lips. “…do you want to hold her?”

Safe, the Omega crooned. He wouldn’t let Dick hold her but Alfred… Alfred was different.

At those words, Alfred’s face lit up like it’s Christmas. “Are you quite sure?”

No, Tim wanted to argue, while the Omega practically screamed, yes.

It would make eating easier and here, in his apartment, he was in control. The collapsible bo-staff was heavy in his pocket. In just a few steps, he could have him neutralized if he dared to do anything to harm her, but part of him just knew he wouldn’t.

Tim bit his lip and nodded, “Can you burp her? She isn’t rolling over just yet so she still needs to be burped.”

Alfred gives him a gentle smile, seemingly genuinely happy at the offer. “I would be delighted too.”

There’s a smile on Amalia’s chubby cheeks, kicking his little legs in delight when he leans down and nuzzles her. She laughs in delight, warming his heart and making it that much harder to let go. She smells content and full, making a grab at his too-long hair. “Just a few minutes, hayati, be nice for Alfred, alright?”

In true baby fashion, she squeals when he rubs his nose against her cheek. He finishes off with a a long kiss to her forehead, lingering on the scent of his pup.

It was getting stronger the longer they were in Gotham. She was getting stronger.

Tim carefully untangled her fingers from his hair, pressing a kiss to each finger before looking to Alfred who was standing in front of him, eyes soft. “I am honored you’re allowing me this opportunity. I promise, I will take excellent care of her.”

He didn’t trust himself to answer so he nodded and slowly passed her to his waiting arms, trying to remember to breathe.

At first, realizing she was changing arms, her little lip wobbled, but Alfred murmured something soft in her ear just for them, holding her close and she was all his.

He didn’t stray far, grabbing a burp rag from the pile of carefully folded laundry, staying in Tim’s line of sight. Close enough that if Tim suddenly needed to jump in, he was right there.

But she didn’t fuss. In fact, by the time Tim had plowed through his breakfast, she was burped and settled, her face pressed into his neck, milk drunk and content. It made his heart ache, wanting her back all the more.

He made quick work of rinsing his plate and dropping it in the sink for later. It was the first time in months his belly felt full and he felt like his battery wasn’t running on 5%.

Rushing back into the living room, Alfred had moved to the gliding chair, rocking the cooing pup.

He smiled up at Tim. It was all he could do not to make grabby hands for his pup—his baby. “You’ve done well with her. She is lovely.”

“Can I-?” Without needing to finish the sentence, Alfred carefully passed her back.

“You need not ask, my boy. I am grateful for the moment with her.”

With her in his arms, he could breathe again, squeezing her just the right side of tight to his chest. She was safe, he had her, she was his.

“She will always be yours. I would never dream of taking her from you.” Alfred assured standing up from the rocker. Oops. “I assure you, neither would Master Bruce.” Until he finds out about Ra’s. “Now, I believe you both have had quite the afternoon, perhaps if best you retire to your nest? I have a few things to finish up here and I will be on my way.”

His nest sounded nice but- “You don’t have to do that.”

“As I stated earlier, it’s no chore helping you with these things. Please, let me help you.” Let me help you. Tim’s eyes felt hot again. (Translated to: Let me take care of you)

He was not going to cry… not now, at least.

Okay. This was okay, this was, “Okay.” Tim’s voice is strained but Alfred doesn’t say anything about it.

Instead, he tentatively reaches a hand out, giving Tim enough time to pull away, but he doesn’t. He placed it on his shoulder and squeezed. It’s a warm and reassuring touch, grounding, and now Tim is actually going to cry. Damnit.

Tim has to blink quickly, trying to stave off the tears that will inevitably fall once he’s back in his nest and able to be vulnerable. His instinct is to lean into the touch, to sink and melt, and let himself have this one moment, but he can’t.

He can’t get close.

Tim goes rigid under his touch but doesn’t pull away and Alfred? Alfred smells…happy. Happy in a way that forces Tim to choke down a purr.

“Very good. I know that my coming here was unexpected but it was so good to see you.” He is not going to cry. “You don’t need to make a decision now, but it’s alright, I would like to come back, this time on a day of your choosing. It’s perfectly alright to say no but I’ve missed you so much.” His eyes are wet when he says, “Between you and Master Jason, I have never regretted anything more in my life.”

He has an out, the ability to say no, but what comes out instead is, “How does Tuesday sound?”

[ditzyredrobin]

Before and After

Chapter 1

For Whumptober 2024 Day 27, Before and After, Alternate universe

-

So, I guess I forgot to post this one here? Originally, this was just supposed to be one shot—Dick and Lazarus!Tim bonding but 4,613, chapter 2 is on the way. 😂

-

In a blink, the knife is out of his hand soaring across the living room, towards the intruder. All the while without dislodging the bottle from the fussy pup in his arms. After hours of crying—of soothing, and changing, and singing, and bouncing, and burping she had refused to go down until now and Tim was Exhausted™️.

If he didn’t know any better, he would have assumed the black and blue costumed vigilante was another assassin sent by the League—Nightwing moved with easy grace, easing his way through the window, movement flowing like water and air. But not even the best of the League had managed to crack his security without electrocuting the shit out of themselves.

The room was illuminated by Friends reruns and the Gotham skyline peaking in through the crack in the curtains.

Nightwing ducked and weaved, only narrowly missing a knife through the delt. He rolled back to his feet without a hitch, shocking blue eyes wide and wild with the whiteouts down. The knife stuck in the wall with a satisfying thunk.

Without missing a beat Tim uttered lowly, “Breaking and entering is punishable offense. At the very least it’s C felony, at least 10 years in prison, and upwards of a $250,000 fine.” Not that he could actually get a judge in Gotham to prosecute without a hefty bribe.

Nightwing held up his empty palms in surrender keeping his feet firmly planted. “I’m sorry, we haven’t heard from you and I wanted to check on you.”

Tim discretely adjusted the cashmere blanket across his lap over the pup with a silent prayer she didn’t wake up. “Well, you can tell everyone I’m fine. If I needed help, I would have asked.” He snarks, adding. “But I didn’t.”

I don’t need a keeper.

But that was the thing about bats—they had a tendency to be too nosey for their own good, to pick, and poke, and prod until you were on the verge of wanting to pull your hair out and scream.

Boundaries? I hardly know her.

If Nightwing noticed, he didn’t say anything, opting to remove his domino and tucking it away, his brows were furrowed.

Tim knew how he looked—gaunt, deep purple bags under his eyes, cheekbones sharper than they should be.

Welcome to being a single parent.

“I know you didn’t ask but it’s what family does. I want to help.” Dick sounded painfully desperate earning an eye roll. “No matter what you will always be my little brother.”

Tim scoffed, “If I needed help I would have asked.” What part of he’s fine was not getting through that thick skull of his? Maybe it’s just all the years of vigilante-related concussions. “Maybe in another life we were family but I’m not your brother, Dick,” not anymore , “you don’t even know me.”

Dick breathed a heavy sigh, moving around the overstuffed couch to sit. It took everything in Tim not to bare his teeth and growl. “Of course I know you, Tim. You will always be my little brother.”

“But I’m not!” Tim finally snapped, startling Amalia awake. Her little lip wobbled, her nose scrunched, and Tim went into oh shit mode. Her wails made his inside twist and churn with the need to fix it , as she shook her tiny fists in anger.

He set the empty bottle down and adjusted her so she was upright in his arms to burp her. “Shh, ya Rohee,” he crooned, patting her back.

My soul.

She was his everything—his sun, his moon, to the moon and to Saturn. The only good thing that came of his time with Ra’s after the Council of Spiders and the Pit.

He could feel Dick watching him but didn’t look up, opting to instead rock his infant. She was small, even for a babe of her age, he still had a hard time imagining her anything other than fragile.

He nuzzled her, her patch of almost black, whispy hair tickled his nose, purring softly. It was a little uneven with disuse but it soothed her enough to bring her wails down to whimpers. She smelled milky and soft and like his . He did his best to ignore the hint of spicy incense underlying in her scent from her other father.

She was his and no one else’s. It would change in a few months and maybe he would finally stop seeing him in the shadows.

There was no way she was going down now but he’d lost all hope of that when Dick disengaged his security and decided to sneak in (an issue he would be working on a patch for later).

His eyes felt hot but he ignored it. He didn’t need a nap anyways, right? He’d worked more on less after all. This should be cake , right?

Eventually, as the pup calmed down, Tim dared to glance up at his unwanted visitor. There was a complicated expression that Tim couldn’t quite discern despite all of his training. “You don’t know what I’ve been through. I don’t even know who I am.”

For a long moment, Dick sat with that, a complex flurry of emotions crossed his face before settling on something soft. A fondness, watching the small pup in his arms. “You have a baby?” Talk about understatement of the century.

Tim rolled his eyes, continuing to pat the pups baby. “Yes, last time I checked I did, in fact, have a baby. I have the stretch marks to prove it. You want to see?”

Dick shook his head, “That isn’t what I meant. I just…How old is she? What’s her name?” He sat forward with his elbows on his knees.

Tim had to think for a long moment, back tracking the dates. The escape had been four days following her birth, still sore and as unsteady on his legs like a newborn fawn. There hadn’t been a choice—it was escape or lose Amalia. She had been born weak, words like failure to thrive had been tossed around. Ra’s Al Guhl was gifted with another disappointing heir.

“Well, Timothy, we’ll just have to try again, won’t we? Surely you won’t disappoint your Alpha a second time.” The or else was implied.

He had still been on his back, bleeding from the long birth. His milk supply hadn’t come in and the tiny pup wailed across the room with the wet nurse.

“Tim?” Dick sounded concerned, snapping him back into the present. His grip on Amalia tightened just a hair, her warm weight against his shoulder grounding.

“Amalia,” he said remembering the question. “Her name is Amalia and she’s-“ If he had been in Gotham for nearly a month, days before being found out and the trek from the Cradle to Gotham had taken around two weeks… “Her birthday is July 19th.” He said instead.

Fresh out of the Pit, time was hazy, seasons and dates made little impact on his life and Gotham’s perpetually gray skies.

Dick had a worried look on his face. “What about her other the father?”

“Dead.” Tim said succinctly.

That he made sure of.

Dick made a soft noise of acknowledgement, continuing to watch the baby with a fondness in his eyes. He didn’t push the matter. “She’s beautiful. You did so well.” He croons softly, “I’m sure it was hard for you.” He didn’t know the half of it.

“It was hard,” Tim admitted softly, basking in the Alpha’s praise. Finally, Amalia burped. “I had a few people that helped—Talia and an assassin I saved after-“ before he died, after the Pit, and before Amalia. “After. They made it easier but Talia wasn’t around often. I don’t think she was overly fond of what he was doing.”

“What about the assassin?”

Tim bit his lip, his eyes felt hot. “I don’t feel her bond anymore.” There was a bone deep ache without her. Whether she had cut it herself to save him, or really hadn’t made it out after Ra’s death, was all up in the air. “I’ve looked for her but-“

“But she’s part of the League.” Dick filled in and Tim nodded. He was quiet for a long moment before promising, “We’ll find her.”

Tim looked up from the pup quickly, “What?”

“We’ll find her.” Dick repeated with all of the seriousness in the world. “For you. I promise.”

Tim held his eye for a long moment, gauging the whether or not believe his words but Dick’s resolve never faltered. He felt his pulse pick up and a bright blip of emotion he didn’t want to think about. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. What about Batman? He doubt he’ll be a fan of having a member of the League in Gotham.”

“I’ll handle Bruce.” Dick promised. “Just focus on you and your pup. We will find her.”

Tim bit his lip nodding once. He didn’t trust it but maybe… maybe just this once he would try.

[ditzyredrobin]

I was pecking away at a fic (as one does when one is in-between binge-reading of fics) when I was taken by the cracktastic idea of Tim Drake having a Roomba as a best friend growing up and then somehow my hand slipped

[ditzyredrobin]

Broken Glass (and Other Fragile Things)

I’m back again with a new fic! With the help of @balthazarusrex and the Wip Wednesday Game community, I’ve finally been able to sit down and focus again. Thank you so much for pushing me to write again!

@araydre made a beautiful piece of are here inspired by a snippet I put out recently so please show them some love! 💜

Chapter 2 of 2 should be along shortly.

-

Chapter 1 of 2

The shluck of blades ripping through flesh and viscera, once, twice, the hoarse gasp of air leaving Z’s chest cavity. Pru and Owens choking, drowning in their own blood, hot and sticky and wet.

Blood. So. Much. Blood. And he was couldn’t stop it. He just laid there in agony while his friends died, just bleeding, while the Widower grinned over him, “The Council of Spiders thanks you for your participation.”

All that blood and for what? His friends were dead and dying and he couldn’t move as agony ripped through him like the assassins blade to his gut. His fingers fumbled like frankfurters, numb, and stiff.

He couldn’t die here—if he did, everything he had been working towards, everything he sacrificed would be lost, everything they sacrificed. If he died, Bruce died with him.

He had to get up, he had to move, he had to—to do something, he—

Tim gasps, chest heaving, coming back to himself. The Widower—the Widower, the Council, is gone. He made sure of that, and the League had seen to the clean up, any outlying factions were long gone. Ra’s didn’t take to having a mockery made out of the League, which, in turn, was just an extension of himself. No one made a fool of Ra’s Al Ghul. Tim had experienced that first hand, tumbling out of a high rise without a grapple.

The Council was dead and buried and had been for the better part of three years, Bruce was back from the time stream, Pru was still griping his ear off on a semi-infrequent basis, but part of Tim was still back in Iraq, bleeding out in the sand dunes under the stars.

He saved the day—he was a hero but at what cost? Was there something more he could’ve done? A better way that didn’t involve dragging his friends to their death? Not just Z and Owens.

Tim Drake is a plague.

Everyone around him died eventually, Kon, Bart, Steph, his mom, his dad, Bruce—some were just fortunate enough to make it back.

Some much blood, the stench was heavy in his nose, hot and sticky, oozing between his fingers, he feels like he’s going to be sick. Gasping, choking, and—and he doesn’t know when he got out of bed, or how the Nest became some dingy Gotham back alleyway.

He’s on the ground in a dark alley, his heart pounding in his chest, blood roaring in his ears, the only light coming from his cracked phone screen. He’s barefoot, hands and feet stinging and there’s blood actually oozing out of a cut on his palm. Glass reflects off the faint light and the blood makes his stomach churn and—

“Hey babe you there?”

Tim freezes. There’s a selfie of Roy with Lian, grinning, both covered head to toe in ice cream after an ice cream fight Jason was less than thrilled about. He slowly lifts the phone to his ear, smearing blood on the screen.

“Hi,” his voice is with hoarse with misuse, like he’s been crying or screaming—maybe he had been.

“Everything okay?” Roy asks excruciatingly gently and oh so patient, unfairly so for this time of night.

Tim has a hard time fishing for the right words, eventually landing on, “I’m bleeding.”

There’s movement on the other end of the line, blankets rustling, and Tim can make out the sleep-heavy tone of Jason’s voice in the background.

They were in bed. Of course they were they were in bed, he realizes, it was just after 4:30am, there was little doubt in his mind that they had just gotten in from patrol and settled.

“It’s okay—Jay and I don’t mind.” Roy reassures with a muffled yawn, sitting up and stretching. “Do you need help?” Oh, he must have said that out loud. Oops.

“Yes,” is all he manages.

Roy hums, “Alright, I’ll send Jay.” He says like a promise. “Can you tell me where you are?”

Tim shakes his head only to realize Roy can’t see that over the phone. “An alley.” He’s trying to be more precise but it’s dark and his brain feels like sludge between his ears, giving the world a hazy sort of quality.

“Can you see any landmarks?” Roy asks. “We can trace your call but it’ll take Jay a little longer to find you.”

Tim blinked dumbly, looking up from the blood pooling in the palm of his hand. After a long pause, Tim is able to gather enough brain juice to make sense of his surroundings in the dim glow of sodium lights. There is the faint glow retro neon sign from the pizza parlor across the way, and the dulled bass of a club a couple of blocks up. “I think I’m near the video rental,” the pain is a distant thing, blood oozing between his fingers. “The one we went to last week near Rao’s Pizza.”

Jay is coming.

Jay is coming for him.

There’s soft voices over the line again as Roy seemingly relays the info before he’s back, giving Tim his undivided attention. “Jay is on his way. Can you tell me how much you’re bleeding?”

“A little,” Tim supplies numbly. “I cut my hand.”

“A little by vigilante standards or civilian standards?”

Tim pauses to think, “Civilian.”

“That’s good, I’m glad.” Roy sounds pleased and it sends a little thrill down his spine. “Lucky for you, you’re not very far from the apartment. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Tim’s face prickles and his eyes burn, and he nods. “My feet hurt, I stepped on glass.”

“We can fix that.” Roy promises, muffling another yawn.

“I’m sorry.” It was late (early?) for a vigilante.

“Don’t be. You know we’re happy to help you anytime you need, even if it’s late.” Tim nods again even though Roy can’t see it, hugging his knees to his chest. The damp pavement was soaking in through his night pants sending goosebumps down his arms and legs.

He tries to will himself to say something along the lines of, I’m okay, no seriously I’m fine, or like seriously okay, but headlights illuminate the alleyway before he can say anything.

A beat up Honda pulls up in front of the alleyway, headlights illuminating it with more light than should be allowed. Tim squints against the light as Jay steps out of the beater. He rounds the hood, outlined by the headlights.

“Jay,” Tim breathes.

Roy says something but he can’t make it out, his voice a distant din, because Jay is here.

His hair is mussed with sleep with dark shadows under his eyes and a furrowed brow. One look at Tim and he’s shrugging off his leather jacket, wrapping it around his shoulders. It smells like Marlboro Reds and aftershave and it’s the first time Tim feels like he can breathe.

“Roy said cut your hand?” Jason asks and Tim finds himself nodding. “Can I see?”

Tim, without thought, holds out his bleeding palm. Jason carefully takes it in his own large and calloused, tilting to the light. “S’not so bad—nothing a set a tweezers and some antibiotics can’t take care of. You hiding anything else?”

“My feet,” is all Tim can say.

Jason grunts and sets his palm back, moving on to his bare feet. He cradles one delicately, repeating the same careful ministrations. “Roy’s gonna have a field day with you.” He muses, moving on to the other foot.

“I’m sorry,” Tim whispers, hot tears finally slipping down his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Oh baby doll, come ‘ere,” Jason sighs, gathering their Baby Bird in his arms like the delicate thing he is. “You don’t gotta be sorry about anything, me ‘n Roy are always gonna come when you call. You hear me?”

“But-“

“But nothing. Don’t gotta to worry ‘bout nothing but bein’ here with me now, yeah?” Jason says, in that silky, loving drawl of his. “‘sides, if anything, I should say sorry to you. I wouldn’t expect Roy to let you go ‘til at least the bottoms of your feet have healed up.”

A week or so of cuddles on the couch might be nice, he thinks absently, burrowing into Jason’s neck. He’s warm and solid and protects him from the lazy Gotham drizzle.

“That Roy still on the phone?” Jason rumbles, cradling him to his chest with one arm, using his free hand to open the passenger side door.

“Oh,” Tim blinks, pulling the phone away. Roy is still illuminated on the screen. “Yes.”

Jason settles him in the car, the seat warmer is already on high and toasty under his ass, “Can I talk to him?”

“Okay,” Tim agrees distantly, holding it out. He doesn’t think there’s anything else he can say.

Jason, ignoring the blood smears on the screen, takes it, holding it between his shoulder and ear as he buckles him in. He pushes Tim back against the headrest, his hand gentle yet firm.

Tim just rolls with it.

He becomes aware of the seatbelt clicking into place and Jason talking above him but the words don’t register. He doesn’t mind, though, letting his eyes shut.

The heater is on full blast which feels nice but it doesn’t fully chase away the chill or the sand.

“The Council of Spiders thanks you for your participation.”

-

When he opens his eyes again, Roy is opening his door, eyes wide and so so green, looking a little frantic.

“Pretty,” Tim mumbles, letting himself be manhandled out of the car.

Jason snorts behind him which Roy pointedly ignores, but a little tension eases from his shoulders. “Let’s get you upstairs, ‘kay? I have dry clothes and a hot bath waiting for you once we get you patched up. Sound good?”

Dry clothes sounded nice, a bath with his vigilante boyfriends sounded even better.

Roy just smiled and bundled him in close to his chest. When Tim blinked again, he was sat on Roy’s lap while Jason tsked over his over his feet. The tackle box of a first-aid kit was spilled out over the bathroom counter.

“I don’t like this one bit, Sweets, somethin’ just ain’t addin’ up. Why was he out there barefoot in the first place?”

Roy hums considering and smoothes the hair off of Tim’s forehead, his touch more gentle than his mother’s. “We’ll just have to wait and ask him,” he says gently. “What do you think, Redbird?”

Tim burrows his face into the crook of Roy’s neck, just breathing. His heart is a steady best under his ear—unlike Owens, or Z, which would never beat again. They died choking on their own blood and he did nothing to stop it, lying in his own agony.

He stopped the Council, stopped more people from needlessly dying, assassins or not. He should be happy—he should be proud—he—he is aware of Roy’s arms tightening around him, holding him close, while he and Jay talk in low, soothing tones over him, too quiet to make out.

His hand and feet are cleaned and he’s being maneuvered again as they stripe him out of his damp sleep clothes, starting with Jason’s jacket, still tucked around his shoulders, which Tim isn’t a fan of. In fact it leaves him feel naked and without shield, but Tim doesn’t have the strength to protest.

It’s odd, not being full in control of his motor functions, but he’s too heavy and spent to put up a fight.

Together, he’s carefully stripped down until he’s bare, hanging limply between his boyfriends. There’s nothing even remotely sexy about it.

They keep murmuring gentle reassurances even when his eyes fill up and spill over at uneven intervals.

He’s passed from one strong set of arms to the next as he’s lowered into the warm water. His back is pressed against the front of either Roy or Jason, he can’t tell, his vision blurred from tears that just keep falling.

He remembers gentle hands methodically cleaning away blood and back alley grime and fingers massaging shampoo and conditioner through his too long hair. They spend extra time, massaging his scalp until he’s a limp mess between them. His hands and feet are carefully kept out of the water.

When he was done, there were fluffy towels patting him down before being dressed in something soft and familiar, and laid in bed, the blankets tugged up to his chin.

Then, and only then, a kiss was pressed to his hair and he drifts away.

[ditzyredrobin]

Short!!

[ditzyredrobin]

Some of the mods from @corefourweek are throwing one last event next year and prompt submissions are OPEN! @timkonweekend the event will run from October 31st through November 2nd.

If you’re interested check both events out! Submissions are open for @corefourweek until December 19th!

Welcome to TimKon Weekend! ❤️

Join us for a week-long event celebrating the relationship between Tim Drake and Connor Kent/Kon-El.

TimKon Weekend will run from October 31st to November 2nd 2025, no sign ups necessary! Any and all fan works are welcome!

❤️TimKon Weekend Schedule❤️

• Prompt Submission Period OPEN: Nov 21 - Dec 21 - SUBMIT HERE

• Prompt Voting Period: Dec 22 - Feb 1

• Prompt Reveal: Feb 7

• Work Period: Feb 6 - Oct 31

• Core Four Week Begins!: Oct 31 - Nov 2

Questions? Check our Rules and FAQ, or send us an Ask.

[ditzyredrobin]

Wednesday Wip Game Fill 11/13/24

The fill I forgot to post last week for @post-and-out. Thank you for pushing my to write!

Requests were made in the amazing Wednesday Wip Game Community. Thank you so much for pushing me to write! I hope you check us out and play!

Written in tandem with @ditzyredrobin

BW24 - 269/Kit (CW: for needles, minor blood and injury)

-

Jason’s threads the needle through flesh with the ease of a man who’s done this a million times over, fingers nimble and quick yet with an air of caution. Their little bird was already starting to crash, hitting the wrong side of adrenaline, listing to one side. His eyes glazed over and the dark bags under his eyes more prominent.

On Jason’s other side, Roy is perched on the kitchen counter, swinging his legs like he was five. The tackle box of a first aid kit was spilled out between them, a fresh suture kit neatly laid out and ready.

“Can you stop?” Jason growls, not looking up from his continuous row of sutures. The cut was clean and not very long but the piece of shrapnel had cut deep—deep enough butterfly stitches weren’t enough. “I don’t know if you can tell but I’m in the middle of something right now.”

“I can,” Roy grins but continues swinging his legs.

Jason has to suppress a groan, trying to focus on the task at hand, but the steady thump thump thump of Roy’s socked feet again the kitchen cabinets made his jaw ache.

Deep breath in, hold, deep breath out, he reminds himself.

“I can finish up by myself,” Tim mumbles, words almost incoherent. He looked dead on his feet even before he was sat down. “I’m sure there’s a lot of stuff to do—I can’t —I can finish the stitches and you can—“

“Yeah, no, sorry to burst your bubble, sweets, but that ain’t happening.” Jason snaps. “You couldn’t even get out of your suit on your own. So stitches? That’s outta the question.”

Tim glared up at him, looking more like a child upset they weren’t getting a second round of dessert, than a fearsome Red Robin.

“Ahhh, you know you look like one of those little kid memes when you’re mad.” Roy grinned.

If looks could kill, the one Tim turned on him would’ve had Roy vaporized on the spot.

“Roy,” Jason warned. “If you don’t knock it the fuck off, I’m not going to stop Tim when he decides enough is enough, you feel me?”

Roy snickered, “C’mon, Jay, you know you wouldn’t let Little Red hurt me.”

Jason paused, shooting Roy a look. “What makes you so sure about that? This whole thing is your fault so as far as I’m aware, it’s fair game.”

“Aw, don’t be like that. You know you love me.” Roy pouts, crossing his arms. “And it was an accident and you know it.”

“Babe, I said I was sorry, plus it’s not my fault I thought you said go, not no. My comm was busted, remember?”

“There were options, Roy, you almost got him killed.” A green haze was starting to creep along beyond the field of his vision, liquid and oozing like the pit. “And you-“ Jason snapped, turning his ire on their little bird. “Why hadn’t you cleared out? If I remember correctly, you called the all clear before Roy got trigger happy.”

Tim’s expression twisted, and he looked down at his newly sprinted wrist and ankle. “I’m sorry. I thought I had more time.”

“Yeah, no, sorry isn’t gonna cut I this time. That was a stupid call even for you.” Tim opened his mouth to speak but Jason cut him off. “You’re lucky a broken wrist, a sprain ankle, and some stitches is all you got away with. For that, you’re benched.”

“No,” Tim snapped quickly. “You can’t do this you’re not my—“

“You want me to call Dickie.” Jason countered. “‘Cause I will and you know how he gets when one of his little birds is hurt.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Jason smirked, “Wouldn’t I?”

Tim grumbled under his breath but didn’t say anything else, earning a laugh from Roy.

“And you,” Jason turns to Roy. As far as he was concerned Roy wasn’t getting away with shit either. “You’re out too until Timmy is better.”

“What? Why me?” Roy said, aghast.

“Did the crime, face the time. You caused Tim to get hurt, you get to put him back together.”

[ditzyredrobin]

Wednesday WIP Game Fill 11/20/24

Fill requests for @wizisbored @twyrewolf @aparticularbandit @somefishycat @zyrafowe-sny @eriquin @bald-rights @asha10100101010 @enigma-the-mysterious for Whumpcember Day 15 - broken glass.

Requests were made in the amazing Wednesday Wip Game Community. Thank you so much for pushing me to write! I hope you check us out and play!

Written in tandem with @ditzyredrobin.

CW: minor blood and injury

-

“I’m sorry,” Tim whispers, hot tears finally slipping down his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Oh, doll, come ‘ere,” Jason sighs, gathering their Baby Bird in his arms like the delicate thing he is. “You don’t gotta be sorry about anything, me ‘n Roy are always gonna come when you cry. You hear me?”

“But-“

“But nothing. Don’t gotta to worry ‘bout nothing but bein’ here with me now, yeah?” Jason says, in that silky, loving drawl of his. “‘sides, if anything, I should say sorry to you. I wouldn’t expect Roy to let you go ‘til at least the bottoms of your feet have healed up.”

A week or so of cuddles on the couch might be nice, he thinks absently, burrowing into Jason’s neck. He’s warm and solid and protects him from the lazy Gotham drizzle.

“That Roy still on the phone?” Jason rumbles, cradling him to his chest with one arm, using his free hand to open the passenger side door.

“Oh,” Tim blinks, pulling the phone away, Roy with Lian, grinning, covered in ice cream after an ice cream fight Jason was less than thrilled about. “Yes.”

Jason settles him in the car, the heated seat already on high and toasty under his ass, “Can I talk to him?”

“Okay,” Tim agrees distantly, holding it out. He doesn’t think there’s anything else he can say.

Jason, ignoring the blood smears on the screen, takes it, holding it between his shoulder and ear as he buckles him in. He pushes Tim back against the headrest, his hand gentle yet firm.

Tim just rolls with it.

The heater is on full blast but it doesn’t fully chase away the chill.

He becomes aware of the seatbelt clicking into place and Jason taking above him but the words don’t register. He doesn’t mind, though, letting his eyes shut.

When he opens his eyes again, Roy is opening his door, eyes wide and so so green, looking a little frantic.

“Pretty,” Tim mumbles, letting himself be manhandled out of the car.

Jason snorts behind him which Roy pointedly ignores, but a little tension eases from his shoulders. “Let’s get you upstairs, ‘kay? I have dry clothes and a hot bath waiting for you once we get you patched up. Sound good?”

Dry clothes sounded nice, a bath with his vigilante boyfriends sounded even better.

Roy just smiled and bundled him in close to his chest. When Tim blinked again, he was sat on Roy’s lap while Jason tsked over his over his feet. The tackle box of a first-aid kit was spilled out over the bathroom counter.

“I don’t like this one but, Sweets, somethin’ just ain’t addin’ up. Why was he out there barefoot in the first place?”

Roy hums considering and smoothes the hair off of Tim’s forehead, his touch more gentle than his mother’s. “We’ll just have to wait and ask him,” he says gently. “What do you think, Timmy?”

Tim nods dumbly and winces when Jason pulls out another shard of glass. Jason looks up with an almost apologetic look and Roy presses a kiss to his hair.

[ditzyredrobin]

A reminder from my friends over at JayRoyTim Weekend— don’t forget to submit prompts for the first annual Core Four Week June 29-July 5! Submissions are open until Dec 19th and voting begins the 20th! ❤️

Welcome to Core Four Week!!

Join us for a week-long event celebrating the relationship between Connor Kent/Kon-El, Tim Drake, Cassie Sandsmark, and Bart Allen.

Core Four week will run from June 29-July 5 2025, no sign ups necessary! Any and all fan works are welcome!

Core Four Week Schedule

• Prompt Submission Period OPEN: Nov 19 - Dec 19 - SUBMIT HERE

• Prompt Voting Period: Dec 20 - Jan 17

• Prompt Reveal: Jan 24

• Work Period: Jan 24 - Jun 29

• Core Four Week Begins!: Jun 29 - Jul 5

Questions? Check Rules and FAQ, or send us an Ask.

[ditzyredrobin]

A reminder from my friends over at JayRoyTim Weekend— don’t forget to submit prompts for the first annual JayRoyTim weekend March 28-30! Submissions are open until Dec 3rd and voting begins the 4th! ❤️❤️❤️

PROMPT SUBMISSIONS FOR JAYROYTIM WEEKEND 2025 ARE OPEN!

From now until December 3rd submit your prompts HERE!

Submissions close December 3rd and voting begins December 4th!

[ditzyredrobin]

PROMPT SUBMISSIONS FOR JAYROYTIM WEEKEND 2025 ARE OPEN!

From now until December 3rd submit your prompts HERE!

Submissions close December 3rd and voting begins December 4th!

[ditzyredrobin]

Welcome to JayRoyTim Weekend!!

Join us for a weekend-long event celebrating the relationship between Jason Todd, Roy Harper, and Tim Drake.

JayRoyTim weekend will run from March 28-30, no sign ups necessary! Any and all fan works are welcome! ❤️

JayRoyTim Weekend Schedule

Prompt Submission Period OPEN: Nov 18 - Dec - SUBMIT HERE

Prompt Voting Period: Dec 4 - Dec 18

Prompt Reveal: Dec 25

Work Period: Dec 25 - Mar 28

JayRoyTim Weekend Begins!: Mar 28 - Mar 30

Questions? Check Rules and FAQ, or send us an ask.