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[pepperonific]

Interlude: Movie Night & Binary

Summary: Dick and Steph didn't really get it, don't really get it, and probably aren't going to get it. But Jason needs to make some peace. (Mostly because Tim said so.)

&

Dick really does want to understand their relationship. He wants to learn, and Jason is willing to teach him. There are conditions, of course, but when aren't there?

--

Tim tells Jason, after the almost-disaster at the club, that he has to try to make peace with the family. Dick and Steph know about their relationship now, and though they don't know if the Golden Boy of the Bat family told Daddy about what Jason and Tim were up to, they had good reason to try to settle things between them a bit. So, during patrol one night, Jason suggests a movie night to Dick over the comms. Tim waits, listening carefully, as Dick hesitates, and then agrees. They ask the others soon after, and before the night is over they have plans to spend that Thursday night lounging in Jason's apartment, watching a movie (they agree to let Cass choose, as she has good taste, and isn't likely to pick something objectionable) and bonding a bit as a family.

Tim is nervous, by the time Thursday night rolls around. Jason's apartment is generally a safe space for him, is the place where he is Jason's sub, and Jason is his Dom, and there's no pressure to be anything that they aren't. They reserve non-BDSM sex and family gatherings for Tim's place, usually. This will be different, and Tim doesn't know what to expect.

It's easier than he had feared. They squish together on the couch, Jason on one end, then Steph who leans into his side and flops her legs over Damian's lap, who growls at her but curls into Dick anyways, who is in the spot at the other end of the couch. Cass curls into the squishy armchair that Tim found for Jason at a yard sale a few months ago, and watches the goings on with a fondly neutral look, as she does. Tim flops on the floor, stretching out and leaning his side against Jason's legs. It's all a bit of a mess, really, a comfortable pile of limbs and squawking and awkward elbows, and Damian complaining and Dick grinning sunnily at his siblings.

Tim finds himself warm, and happy, pleased to just be with the people that he loves. There's an amount of chatter, and Jason orders pizza, and once it arrives they put in the movie- WALL-E, as per Cass' request. Jason had grinned at her when she suggested it- it is one of both her and Tim's favourite movies, and he knew that it would relax everyone to be watching something so light hearted.

About half way through the movie, Jason realizes that Tim has relaxed against his legs, instinctively tucking his legs up underneath himself so that he is not quite kneeling, and is pressing his cheek into Jason's knee as he watches. Jason smiles down at him, fond, and cards a hand through his hair. In his peripheral vision, Jason catches Cass watching them, her head tilted. He meets her gaze, and pets Tim again, wondering if she is going to say anything. She gives Tim a long look, and then nods once at him, and goes back to watching the movie. No one else notices the exchange, but it gives Jason a feeling of contentment. He knows that Cass cares deeply for Tim, and that she is very good at reading body language. If she's happy that Tim is happy, then Jason must be doing something right. Even as he thinks that, Tim sighs softly, and shifts against Jason, pressing further against him. Jason grins, helpless, and tangles his fingers in his boy's hair, well aware that the feeling will let him slide down into the soft top layers of subspace, and settle there for a few mellow hours.

A little while after that, Tim turns his face up to Jason, and whispers, "Can I get up?"

Jason nods, aware that the whisper had drawn the razor sharp attention of the others. "Of course," Jason murmurs, keeping his voice down, even though he's sure that even Dick, who is furthest from him, can hear perfectly well. "Getting a soda?"

Tim nods, and shifts himself, slowly drawing away from Jason. Once he's up, and shuffling past Jason on the way to the kitchen, Jason catches his wrist. "Get me one too?"

Tim nods again. "Yes, sir," he murmurs, and heads into the kitchen.

"Um," says Steph, and Jason turns a hard glare on her.

"Don't say anything," he hisses. "Tim is my boy, here, and this is a safe space for him and for me. If you fuck that up, I swear to god..." He leaves the threat unfinished, because Tim comes back into the room then, two cans of pop in hand. He passes them both to Jason, and then flops to his knees at Jason's feet, leaning back into him immediately. He's hazy enough not to really be aware of the looks he's getting from Steph, Damian, and Dick, and simply accepts the can that Jason opens and passes to him, and goes back to watching the movie.

When the movie ends, Cass says goodnight, and drifts out, dragging Steph with her. Damian stalks out of the apartment, looking confused and a bit unsure, a bit angry. Dick lingers, and Jason sighs. He tugs on Tim's hair, and Tim looks up.

Jason leans over and presses a soft kiss to his lips. "Go run a bath," he says. "Then wait for me. You know how."

Tim nods, and gets up to do what Jason says. Jason also stands, and with a firm hand he guides Dick to the door.

"I know you still don't understand," Jason says to him in an undertone, and Dick toes on his boots. "It's hard to without being a part of it, or at least having a serious inclination to find out. If you want to know, you're going to have to go the distance, here, Dick. You're going to have to choose not to judge, too."

"I can do that," Dick says, sounding affronted.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"Well," says Jason, "then I might be able to talk Tim into letting you sit in on one of our sessions." He doesn't even know what he's going to suggest before he suggests it, but it makes sense to him after it's come out of his mouth. "So that you can really see how he is, how I am with him. It's- he's so beautiful, Dick." He shakes his head. "I can show you. Teach you. But you have to want to learn."

"I don't- I don't know."

"I know you don't," Jason says. "That's why I'm going to tell you to get the fuck out of my apartment, and call me in a few days. Think about it, and let me know in a few days. And then I'll talk to Tim about it. No guarantees- he might say no, too."

"I know."

"Good. Get the fuck out of my apartment."

Dick grins, a shadow of his normal smile. He looks a little haunted, still, an echo of his face on that night in the club, and he look unsure. "I'm going to have to talk to Damian."

"Yeah. Sort it out, Goldie."

Then Jason unceremoniously shoves Dick out his door, closes and latches it behind him, and goes to find his boy for a bath and some cuddles. And maybe a blowjob.

--

"I want to learn," Dick says to Jason, over the phone. Jason can hear the distress, the disgrace in his voice, and he shakes his head.

"There's nothing wrong with that, Dick," he says, his tone serious. "But you have got to be prepared to follow my rules, okay? And you have to respect whatever Tim needs here. You're going to be there to learn, not to participate, not to fucking anything that's not okay with the both of us and you."

"I know," he says. "Or- I don't know, I just. I can listen."

"Good," says Jason. "I'll talk it out with Tim." Then he hangs up, and sighs. This is going to be stressful. 

 --

Tim agrees, eventually, to let Dick watch another of their sessions. The time in the club had turned out okay, and the Batsibling movie night had been just fine- though, he had been just far enough under to be feeling good, safe, and not really care what his siblings thought. However, he has one condition for Jason. "I don't think I can have him in the room with me," Tim says. "I'm going away soon. Business trip. We could do it over Skype?"

Jason nods. "We'll have to be careful though, you know that."

"Yeah," Tim says, and stops pacing his living room to join Jason on the couch, snuggling close to him. "I trust you."

"I know you do, baby," Jason whispers into his hair, placing a gentle hand on his thigh. "It's him I'm worried about." 

 --

Jason calls Dick over to his apartment a little while before Tim is due to call him, and sits him down at the kitchen table. Dick looks nervous, his cheeks a bit flushed, his hair mussed from his running his hands through it. As Jason watches, he does it again, throwing up cowlicks. Jason eyes him for a minute, watching him squirm, and then says, "Here's how it's going to be."

Dick swallows. Jason's voice is already his Dom's voice, low and rough, commanding, and the acrobat can't help but squirm a bit. "Yeah?" he asks.

"Yeah," Jason says. "We're going to go sit in the living room, and I'm going to set this shit up so that I can use the TV screen. You're going to sit in the arm chair, where you'll be just on the edge of the image, behind me, and you're not going to move. You aren't going to get up, you aren't going to make any drastic movements with any kind of speed. You're not my sub, Dick," he says, and pauses. Dick nods, and Jason carries on. "I'm not going to ask you to sit completely still. But you need to not attract his attention with your fucking fidgeting."

"I'll try," Dick says. Jason nods approvingly- Dick looks sincere, earnest.

"Good," he says. "You're also not going to say a fucking word unless I address you directly, okay? You're not a part of this. You're here to watch. This isn't about you, and unless I choose to make you a participant, you get zero fucking say. And by that I mean I want to hear absolutely fuck all nothing out of you."

Dick promises to try again, and Jason moves on to his last rule. "Don't. Fucking. Touch yourself. I don't care how hard his pretty noises make you, if you pull out your cock, I am kicking you out of my apartment for the rest of your life. It'll just freak him out."

Dick nods. "I won't. I promise, Jason, if there's any pleasure for me in this, it won't happen here."

"Good." Jason sits back in his chair, and looks at Dick again. "I'm going to go set up. Get yourself some water or whatever, and I'll tell you where to sit when you come out."

Jason leaves Dick in the kitchen, and goes to hook up his laptop, and set up the hi-def webcam and microphone on top of his TV. He's done this with Tim a few times before, though usually they avoid doing scenes like this by distance. The last time they did, they'd been interrupted, and Tim had had to run an emergency meeting still halfway down into subspace. This time it would be different, Jason was sure. He just wasn't sure that it would be better.

Dick shuffled into the room just as he was finishing with the set up, and settled into the chair, curling himself into what might have been a very uncomfortable position, but was probably perfectly fine for someone as flexible as Dick was. Jason glances at him over his shoulder, and then looked back to the screen. They sat together quietly for a minute, Dick shuffling around awkwardly in his chair, Jason watching the screen carefully, until Tim came online. Within seconds of Tim logging on, Jason's computer was binging at him, notifying him that he was being called, and he answered quickly.

Tim's image appeared on the screen, the picture grainy for a few seconds before it cleared up. "Hey," he said, quietly, smiling shyly at Jason. He's wearing his clothes from the day, still, a red button up shirt and black slacks, though he's shed his tie already. Jason can see it lying on the bed. Tim's eyes dart up to where Dick is sitting.

"Hey, Dick," Tim says. "How are you?"

"Good," Dick says, and then grimaces.

"It's okay," Jason says, glancing at him. He stands from the floor and moves to sit on the chair that he's set in the middle of the living room. "I told him he couldn't talk," he explains to Tim. "Or disrupt the session in any way. I thought about making him sit off screen, but I know you like to be aware."

"Thanks," Tim says. "We should- get started. I think. Are you ready?"

"I've been ready all day, baby," Jason says, his voice just a little rougher than before. He watches at his tone makes Tim shift on the bed, the fine fabric of his clothes rustling against the bedsheets. The noise comes through the speakers just a little hazy, less clear than Tim's voice. "I wish I could touch you."

"Me too," Tim says, and leans back into the pillows he has piled behind him. "Want to be there with you."

Jason smiles at him, then says, "I want to see your skin, Tim. If I can't touch, I want to see."

Tim takes deep breath, and then sits up to unbutton his shirt and slide if off his shoulders, a little self-conscious. He's never quite managed to be comfortable enough in his own skin to strip off his clothes like he's trying for anything more than nakedness, never quite managed to try to be sexy, but he's sexy anyways. He's beautiful, place skin and sharp, narrow lines. Jason loves watching him undress, just for the way the fabric slides across his angles.

"Good," he says, once Tim has squirmed out of his pants as well, and is sitting back on the bed in just a pair of briefs. "Stop there, for now."

Tim nods, and settles back, relaxing just a little. His eyes dart over to Dick briefly, but return to Jason immediately. "Don't look at him," Jason says. "I'm the one in charge here."

"Yes, sir," Tim says, and bites his lip. "What do you want now?"

"Tell me what you have with you," Jason says. "I know you brought toys."

Tim blushes bright red, and reaches out to the bedside table just off the screen, and comes back with a small bullet vibe, a thick dildo, and a tube of lube in his hand. "I was hoping..." he says, and trails off, setting the items down beside him. "But, whatever you want."

"Those are good choices," Jason says, approving. "Are you hard yet, baby?"

Tim shakes his head, turning even redder. "I'm nervous," he admits.

"Can you get yourself there, or do you want me to help you out?"

"Help?"

Jason nods, and sits forward to strip off his shirt, then leans forward and braces his elbows on his knees. "You're so pretty," he starts. "Flushed all down you chest. Play with your nipples a little, Tim, I want to see you aching for me. I want to touch you, too, but you're all the way out there, and I'm here." He smiles, predatory. "You know what's going to be waiting for you when you get home, don't you? I can't touch you now, but you're going to be so good for me, and when you get home I'm going to make you come with my hands, with my mouth, and with my cock. I'm going to make you please me, and then I'm going to make you cry. Sound good, baby?"

"Jay," Tim says, whines, and Jason watches him reach up to pinch and tease his nipples with one hand, tugging them until they're red and peaked. Jason wants to catch them between his teeth, wants to bite Tim's flushed throat until he bleeds. He tells Tim that, and watches his eyes close, and his hips jerk against the air.

"Good," Jason says, "don't stop." Tim's already dropping, not as quickly as he would from Jason's touch, but easily. He's certainly forgotten about Dick, though Jason hasn't. "It's time to see all of you, baby."

Tim moans, and nods, and shimmies out of his underpants, tossing them off the bed impatiently. He goes for is cock with the hand that isn't still pulling at one nipple, but Jason barks out a sharp, "No."

"Sorry," Tim gasps. "Sorry."

"You're not going to touch any part of yourself until I say you can," Jason says. "You know that rule already, Tim."

"I know," Tim whines. "Please."

"You're going to take punishment for that, but not right now. A little something for later. For now, I want you to slick some of those pretty fingers. No more than one inside until I say."

Tim nods. "Yes, sir." He pops the cap off of the bottle, and slicks two fingers, then pressed one to his opening. He takes it easily, huffing out a soft breath, and opens his eyes. He watches Jason's face as he fucks himself with the one finger, bucking against it. He clearly wants more, but Jason makes him wait. It only takes a minute for Tim to break. "Please," he says. "Jay, sir, master. Please don't- please, I want more."

"One more," Jason says. "Good boy." He knows that Tim can go longer without it being worrying, but he's dropped most of the way into subspace now, can see it in the way his head falls back, in the shakiness of his hands, and can hear it in his slow panting and quiet, shuddery moans as he starts to fuck himself with two fingers, his legs spread wide for the camera, baring himself.

"Jay," Tim breathes into the air, his head tosses back, his eyes drifted half-shut. "Jay. I want-"

"I know," Jason says, and leans back in his chair. "Tim."

Tim opens his eyes, catching the firmness in Jason's tone.

"If ten is fully with me, and zero is all the way down, where are you?" Jason doesn't normally do these verbal checks, because he can gauge from the way Tim feels beneath his hands, or else he doesn't worry about it, but today he needs to know. He's not sure how aware Tim is of Dick, and he's not sure how far gone Tim really is.

"Four?" Tim replies, sounding unsure. He's still fucking himself, loosening himself up, the motions jerky and just on this side of rough.

"Good," Jason says, because that would have been his guess. At least he has an idea of how Tim is doing. "Third finger, Tim."

Tim frowns. "C-can I just...?" he says, and gasps as he curls his fingers to brush against his prostate.

Jason considers for a minute, then says, "No. Third finger."

Tim moans, sounding a little desperate, a little agonized, but he removes his hand and slicks his three fingers again, then slides them into his hole, harsh and quick. Jason scowls, and says, "Tim. Hands off."

Tim's lips part, but he pulls his fingers back out of his bod slowly, arching into the slide, and lets go of his abused nipple. He clenches his hands in the bedsheets, looking at Jason with his brows furrowed.

"You're not to hurt yourself," Jason says. "I said three fingers because I wanted you to prepare yourself properly. If you're going to be overly rough, you're going back to two."

"No," Tim moans pitifully. "Please, Jason, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, I just, I want. I want you."

"I know you do," Jason says, gentling a little. Tim's sunk low by now, and he softens his expression as much as he can. This is a delicate situation, and he can hear Dick shifting around behind him. "You want this to hurt, huh, baby?"

Tim nods, and Jason says, "You want to be rough, like I'm rough with you."

Tim nods again. "Please," he says, and tosses his head a little, his hands clenching tighter in the blankets.

"Pinch yourself," Jason says, finally. "The inside of your thigh, five times. Not in the same place."

Tim gasps, and immediately obeys, pinching harshly at the delicate skin of his inner thigh. He leaves a neat line of red marks, and then forces himself to stop, moaning and shuddering.

"Good," Jason says. "I'll let you have the vibrator now, but you aren't getting the dildo. You're going to wait for my cock, understood?"

"Yes, sir," Tim says, and grabs for the vibrator, pushing the silver bullet inside his ass with two fingers, curling them to press the cool plastic to his prostate. He doesn't turn it on, but he grabs the remote hard with his other hand, shaking a little. "Can I?" he asks, begs, sounding shuddery and unstable. He looks at Jason imploringly, his blue eyes hazy and dark.

"Yeah," Jason says, his voice catching in his throat. He licks his lips. "First setting, babe."

Tim flicks the vibrator on immediately, and moans as it comes to life where he has it pressed against his prostate. Tim could come just like this, Jason knows, but it would take patience, and probably dirty talk. Right now, Jason isn't really in the mood for either of those things, so he only waits a minute before he's telling Tim to turn up the intensity. Tim shudders, and cranks it up, writhing. He still has two fingers inside of himself, holding the small vibe in place, and his hole is red and slick with lube. Jason watches hungrily as Tim's hips jerk, his fingers sliding in and out by fractions of inches.

"Good boy," Jason says, and presses his palm hard against his own cock, sitting back finally to give himself some relief. Tim cries out, looking at him through half-closed eyes. He looks drugged and hungry, and Jason wastes no time in pulling out his cock and wrapping a loose fist around it. He hears Dick shift slightly again, probably uncomfortable as fuck, but Jason doesn't give a shit. He doesn't give a shit about anything but his pretty boy all laid out of him, with a vibe in his ass and his bottom lips caught between his teeth. "Gonna bite you lip red for me?" he asks. "Or scratch your chest until you're all painted in my colours?"

Tim chokes on a moan, and drags the nails of his free hand down his chest like Jason suggested, leaving trails of reddened skin. He bites at his lip harder, and then harder still, until he breaks the skin and a trickle of blood slides down his chin. His tongue darts out to catch it, smearing red across part of his face.

"Jesus, Tim," Jason says, and strokes his cock a few times, trying to take the edge off. "You're perfect."

"Sir," Tim whines. "Jason." He's fighting to keep his eyes open, shuddering and moaning and leaking all over himself, pre-come dripping from his cock and sliding down his shaft. He's getting close already, Jason thinks.

"Turn it up," he says, commands, stroking himself slowly. "All the way, Tim."

Tim does, moans for it and arches and begs, "Please, Jason. Master- ahn, please, let me- I'm s-so close."

"Pretty little slut," Jason says, his voice low and rough and affectionate. "You just want to give it all to me." Behind Jason, Dick draws a sharp breath, but he doesn't say anything.

"Yes," Tim says, squirming as he presses at his hole with a third finger, but he doesn't put it in. Jason smiles, and says, "Just a little longer, baby."

"Yes, sir," Tim says. "Ah- Jay, please, please- mmnh."

Jason starts stroking himself in earnest, sliding a thumb over the tip of his cock, his grip tight. "Good," he groans. "Good, Tim. Don't you dare- nh. Don't touch your cock, but when you're ready, you can come."

Tim gasps, meets Jason's eyes through the screen, and digs his fingers into himself hard, forcing the vibe against his prostate. He arches, cries out, and then comes, his body stretched taught. Jason watches the beautiful pale line of him as he slowly relaxes on the bed, shuddering moans escaping his lips, along with whimpers of Jason's name and the rush of his breath. He lets his fingers slide out of his ass, but doesn't remove the vibrator, and doesn't turn it down. Instead, he leaves it there and digs his hands into the sheets again, his knuckles white with the strength of his grip.

Jason watches, pleased, as Tim squirms against the continued sensation. "Good boy," he murmurs. "You stay right there. I'm close, Tim, you're being so good for me." He tightens his fist a bit more, stroking his cock and thinking about being inside Tim, about leaning over his body and kissing him and fucking into his tight hole right along side the vibrator, making Tim cry. "Yeah- yes, Tim. Good." And then Jason is coming too, his shout blending with Tim's mounting cries. He tosses his head back, arches into his fist as his hips jerk.

"Jay," Tim moans on scream, and shakes his head, the first tears slipping down his cheek. Jason thinks that maybe Tim will be able to come again, that's he probably almost there, just needs a little push. He takes a moment to gather his breath to talk Tim right over the edge, to say all the right things, and-

"Jesus, Timmy." And that's Dick's voice. That's Dick's voice, and Tim is shuddering on screen and falling over the edge, his cock twitching. He comes dry, not as hard as before but surely just as intense, and Jason freezes.

"Damn it," he mutters, and shoots a glare over his shoulder at Dick, who is already looking horrified, then turns back to Tim. Tim who is slowly coming back to himself, who is still barely aware but he's shaking, and not in a good way.

Tim gasps in a harsh breath, and breathes out, "Binary."

Jason snaps up right, his eyes widening. "Collar off, Tim," he says. "Vibe out. Come on, baby, I'm not there, you need to do it."

Tim nearly yanks the vibrator out of himself, doesn't even turn it off before he's closing his legs and curling up slightly, his breathing unsteady and his nails digging into his palms. "Jason," he says. "I'm sorry, I- I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, baby," Jason says. "Tim, it's okay. You do what you need to to feel safe, okay?"

Tim nods, but Jason can see him shaking, can see uncertainty played out across his face. This is the first time Tim has used his safeword in a long time, and Jason's not even there to hold him, to give him proper aftercare. He curses himself silently, and makes soothing noises in Tim's direction, gentles him with his voice as best he can. He eventually talks Tim through putting away his toys and wiping the covers down with a tissue, and directs him into the shower, leaving the feed open. Then he turns on Dick.

"What the fuck," he hisses, "did you think you were doing?"

Dick swallows, his face pale. "I didn't- I'm sorry. He looked so... overwhelmed, and I didn't. I didn't like it, I couldn't stop myself. I'm so sorry, Jason, I didn't mean to."

"Doesn't fucking matter. You saw his face. He used his safeword, Dick. He hasn't done that with me since... I don't even know. I cannot remember when the last time he used his safeword with me was. Maybe not ever."

Dick shivers, and bows his head. "He- I'm sorry."

"That's not good enough," Jason grinds out. "Get out. You can make you apologies to Tim when he gets back."

"But-"

"Get. Out." Jason's tone brokers no argument, allows nothing but strict obedience, and Dick rises from his chair immediately, grabs his coat from the living room, and leaves the apartment without another word. Jason watches him go, and then puts the chair he's been sitting on back in its place, and settles on his couch. He waits for Tim to get out of the shower, and listens to him shuffle around, getting dressed. When Tim finally reenters the picture, folding back the blankets and climbing into bed, Jason says, "Hey, baby. How are you?"

Tim shrugs, looking tired and tense. He's not relaxed at all, not languid like he should be after a scene. "Okay," he says. "I'll be fine, Jason."

Jason sighs. "I know, baby. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"I know. Doesn't matter." Jason frowns. "I'm your Dom, and when we're doing a scene, it's my responsibility to make sure that you feel safe. And I failed."

"Jay..." Tim is looking at him sadly, shadows in his eyes and a gentle shaking at his fingertips where his hands are lying in his lap.

"I love you, Tim," Jason says, looking at him intently.

"I love you too." Tim smiles, small, a bit tired, but real. "I should sleep."

"Yeah. I'll talk to you tomorrow- call me. And I'll see you again in a few days."

"Night, Jason."

"Good night, Tim."

[pepperonific]

Jolene

Summary: Love is a complicated creature.

A/N: OKAY SO. I WROTE A THING. AND THAT THING IS AN EXTREMELY ANGSTY JAYTIMSTEPH FIC INSPIRED BY JOLENE, BY DOLLY PARTON. woops. This is super depressing, tbqh, and I apologize. HOWEVER, it took me a really long time to write, and I'm quite proud of it. YEAH. GO ME.

Warnings for attempted suicide, depression, and infidelity. 

This is really long (by my standards at least), so I'm not actually going to post it on Tumblr: here is an AO3 link.

[pepperonific]

Against the Dying of the Light Epilogue

A/N: This is it. The end. The last chapter of this godforsaken fic, that has taken me way too long. I'll probably write more someday, but... yeah. For now, this is it.

Ra's is waiting with open arms when Timothy returns to his side. Tim does not accept his comfort then, nor for the rest of that day, but night falls heavy on Tim's shoulders, and he finds himself curled like a small child in Ra's' lap as deep night ticks over into the blackest parts of the morning.

“I warned you about love,” Ra's murmurs to Tim, setting down the book of Hebrew poems he had been reading aloud.

“I know,” Tim says, and then turns his head into Ra's' chest and cries, embarrassed of himself, but unable to hold back any more. Not when he has been shaking internally all day, shuddering apart in the confines of his own mind, trapped, agonized, and betrayed.

Ra's holds him gently, old, strong hands on his back and at his waist, or combing through his hair, or wiping away crystal tears as they fall. He is a sun-warmed stone, Tim's last bastion of strength, and it is only him presence that gets Tim through the night. He allows Tim to break apart in his arms, and then puts him back together with soft-spoken Arabic, and gentle promises of nothing that he cannot give.

In the morning, Tim pulls himself away from Ra's, and says, “Thank you, my lord.”

“I would give you the world,” Ra's says, “if I thought that you might like to have it. But you are happier here, I think.”

“I would be happier with Damian,” Tim says.

“I know. As would I. But he has made his choice, and until such a time as the Detective becomes less unreasonable, he will have to live with it.” Ra's strokes a hand down Tim's cheek. “I know my grandson. He will not be happy without you, either.”

“Then why did he send me away?” Tim whispers.

“Because he is young, and falling in love.” Ra's pauses. “I remember when it was you.”

“You sent Jason away.”

“I did, and you are stronger for it. As is he. Damian is not the same as you, Tim, for all your similarities. Nor am I like Bruce Wayne.” With strong hands, Ra's shifts Tim so that he is more comfortably situation on Ra's' lap. “Love is dangerous, Tim, and no one knows that better than I. It would have broken you, because you love too easily, despite what you might like. Damian, on the other hand, is too hardhearted, and needs to learn that sometimes it is good to allow others in. All is as it was meant to be.”

“We were meant to be apart?” Tim's eyes are pleading, young like he has not been in a long time.

“No,” Ra's says, and pets Tim's hair gently. “You were not. Your destinies are entwined, now and forever. But separation is important, at times. It will make you closer, ultimately.”

“When I left, I told him that he would kill me one day.”

“And perhaps that will be true,” Ra's says. “But you will not die until you are ready, my Nightingale, and not before I am ready either.”

Tim hums. “As you say, Ra's.”

“Indeed it is,” Ra's chuckles. “Now, come. Food, tea. Then I want to watch you kill something- that is a joy I have not had in too long a time.”

Tim laughs, free and easy, and follows Ra's to find a meal, and a man who has displeased his lord.

[pepperonific]

Against the Dying of the Light Part 4

Chapter Title: The Bats

A/N: aHAHAH HA WOW THIS IS LATE AND I SUCK AND IM RLY SORRY

THIS IS THE LAST FULL LENGTH CHAPTER THOUGH SO

YEAH

ENJOY

Damian settles in much more quickly than Tim. That is a surprise to neither of them, though they had expected Damian to have more trouble than he does. Fortunately, Dick Grayson takes a great liking to Damian, and takes him under his wing in what seems like no time at all. Tim is happy for Damian, that he is able to fit in with his father, and his adoptive brother so very well. Unfortunately, Damian's training, and the time that he spends "bonding" with Grayson and with his father leave Tim at loose ends more and more as the days pass. He finds himself wandering the halls of the manor, or sitting in the library with a book of myths, or sitting quiet and perfectly still in the kitchen while Pennyworth cooks.

Of the household, the only person capable of being civil to Tim is Pennyworth himself, who seems happy enough to spend time with Tim when he isn't busy with chores or cooking, and sometimes when he is. Tim enjoys talking with the old, British man, debating philosophies of kindness and servitude, or just discussing chess. They play, and Tim wins some and loses some, a delight for him who loses anything so very rarely. It is a wonder for him to have a rival who is not out for his blood.

Weeks pass, and eventually Damian starts going out on patrol next to the Bat. At first, he wears black, a shadow who darts in and helps, not yet ready to stand on his own, to wear the red and green. But his time comes, and Grayson bestows upon him a Robin costume of his very own, different from all those that came before, and yet so very familiar. So very iconic. He goes to see Tim, first, when he puts it on for the first time, bursting into Tim's room and throwing himself at his brother. Tim crushes the instinct to toss his assailant into the wall and instead grabs Damian in a hug, smiling widely.

"You've done well," he says. "And I am proud of you."

Damian smiles up at him, a small thing. "Thank you," he says. "I worked hard for it."

"You don't need to tell me that," Tim says, and then looks up. Grayson is standing at the doorway, watching their embrace with an affectionate glint in his eye. Tim's face closes off, and he pulls away from Damian. Damian looks up at him, frowning, and then seems to realize. But he doesn't close himself off the way Tim does when he turns to look at Grayson.

Grayson looks at Tim for a moment before kneeling to place a hand on Damian's shoulder, and grin. "We'll go out tonight," he says, ignoring Tim. "Your very first night out as Robin. Bruce and Jason will join us, I'm sure."

"I will join you," Tim says, quietly. "If that is permitted."

Grayson glances up, his gaze sharpening. "I'd much rather you didn't," he says, and Damian pinches him. "Ow," he whines. "What?"

"Do not disrespect Timothy," Damian demands. "He is every bit the warrior you are, and perhaps your better."

Tim smirks, and Dick huffs, then nods. “Fine, Dami. But he's not allowed to patrol alone- Jason will have to stay with him.”

The smirk fades from Tim's face. He remembers, still, what it was like to be with Jason. He remembers what it felt like to take the first steps towards falling in love. He remembers happiness; true companionship for the first time in his life. He remembers leaving, and knowing that Jason would be gone when he returned. He remembers that he hasn't seen Jason since he arrived in Gotham with Damian. “No. I'd much rather stay with you, and Damian.”

“Tonight is the first night Batman and Robin will be seen out together for a long time- we can't have a tagalong.”

“I thought you reputation didn't matter.”

Dick snorts. “I wish. But our image is important. Our reputation makes up about a third of our power in Gotham, because when it comes right down to it, we're all human. You're a disciple of the League of Shadows, surely you understand.”

“Ra's can afford slips of image,” Tim says, “because he has the power to back it up. If you do not have that power, perhaps you should find it, or else you will all fall eventually.”

“Everyone dies,” Dick replies. “If you try to deny that, you're as much a monster as your master is.”

Tim bristles. “You know nothing.”

“I know enough.”

Damian pinches Dick again. “Do not disrespect my grandfather, either.”

“Sorry, Damian,” Dick says, but he doesn't look away from Tim. “Why are you so afraid to patrol with Jason?”

“We have history,” Tim says. He doesn't deny that he is afraid- it would be a lie. He is not so strong yet as to escape fear entirely, and even if he were, to abandon fear entirely would be folly. Fear is a weapon, as well as a shield from overconfidence. The trick was to not let it stop him from excelling as a warrior. “It doesn't matter, I suppose. If your only demand is that I patrol with Jason- I mean, Todd, then yes, I'll do it. Now get out of my room. You aren't welcome here.”

Dick narrows his eyes, but stands, and steers Damian towards the door. “We'll see you in a few hours, then. Timothy.”

“Grayson.”

-- 

Night falls, and Tim changes into the wispy charcoal robe and simple body armour that lets him become a shadow. Then he goes to find the others in the underground cavern dubbed the Batcave. He finds the name a bit ridiculous, but keeps that to himself in the face of Damian's excitement. Any other child would be near to bouncing off the walls- Damian is just bouncing on his toes, the motion barely there, but enough that Tim smiles at him for a brief second, his brother's joy warming his own heart.

"Are you ready?" he asks, raising and eyebrow at Damian.

Damian nods, and rolls his shoulders, his cape fluttering at his ankles. His boots give him some height, and his blooming confidence helps him stand tall- Tim can see it best in the firm line of his waist under his armour, the set of his shoulders, and most of all in his eyes when he meets Tim's gaze. "I've never been more ready in my life," Damian says, and it sounds like an oath. A promise that he will be able to bear the weight of the costume he wears, and the legacy it carries.

Tim is proud of him. He wants to gather Damian to him, to kiss his forehead as Talia did when Damian was young, to take his hands and dance with him as though they wore silks and henna, not kevlar and cotton. But he is suddenly, strikingly aware of Grayson at the computer banks, and Jason standing at his shoulder. Jason is watching Tim, his green-blue eyes dark, angry. Hurt. Tim wants to look away, but does not. Cannot, not with Damian looking at him like he has come this far to see Tim smile, and Jason looking at him like he would see Tim's heart break as his own broke all those years ago.

Tim wants to say sorry, suddenly. To beg forgiveness as he would beg it of Ra's, by throwing himself at Jason's feet, giving his own blood to sooth the hurts between them. He remembers what it felt like to fall in love with Jason, and remembers knowing that love would destroy him. He thinks now that perhaps love has already destroyed him, not that he would ever let it show on his face. Tim knows full well that while weakness is inevitable, it is also best kept within his skin, just like everything about himself that he values, or else those things will be taken. That is why he cannot love Jason, or anyone- to have that would be to let all those precious things escape his skin, and leave marks like scars, or targets.

Instead of saying sorry, or spilling his soul to Jason, or even to Damian, Tim squares his shoulders steps away from Damian to make a final cursory check of his weaponry. Damian watches him do it, a small smirk on his face, and when Tim is done, Damian asks, "Are you ready?"

"I've never been more ready in my life," Tim replies, just a little bit teasing, and then they go together over to Jason and Grayson, as prepared as they could possibly be for a night out.

They stay at each others' sides as long as possible, until Grayson is ushering Damian into the Batmobile, and Tim is standing off with Jason beside a motorcycle, just a little bit awkward.

"You're not driving," Jason says, finally, long minutes after Grayson and Damian peeled out of the Cave. "Just... don't fall off, and don't squeeze too hard."

Tim hums, and seats himself behind Jason on the motorcycle, his grip around Jason's waist firm. "I don't expect I will fall," he says into Jason's ear, eliciting a small shudder, and then they take off out of the Cave as well, the wing whipping Tim's hair away from his face, his hood flapping behind him.

They patrol together for close to an hour before they meet up with Batman and Robin, as Phoenix and his near-invisible, deadly shadow. Tim wears his hood pull so far over his face that Jason assumes that he's blinded by it, and so does not hide his looks, suspicion and distaste clear on his face. Tim grows tired of it quickly, but maintains his silence rather than starting a discussion, knowing that he will get nowhere with Jason. More than that, he has no desire to ruin Damian's first night out on the job by maiming or being maimed by one of Damian's new brothers.

Thinking of Jason and Richard as Damian's brothers makes Tim scowl behind his hood, and the next thug he comes up against falls in an unnecessary, but very satisfying spray of blood.

"Watch it," Jason says, and Tim rolls his eyes, safe in the darkness of his cowl.

"Certainly," he drawls. "Next time, I promise not to break his skin."

"I meant the trail of bodies."

Tim hums, as close to a laugh as he will allow himself. "I am an assassin, Jason. I kill. If you have an issue with that, please take it to the man who trained me."

"Don't call me that," Jason snarls, but says nothing else to Tim until they spot Damian and his menacing minder, swinging down from a highrise towards a lower rooftop. Jason and Tim take off after them, and join up with them as they break up a fight between two rival gangs, Grayson kicking guns out of hands, and Damian breaking bones.

No necks, though, which makes Tim feel at once proud of his brother for his control, and irritated with the Bat's pacifist ways. The fight ends quickly, and Tim and Jason drop down next to Grayson and Damian. "Good work," Tim murmurs quietly to Damian. "You are strong."

Damian beams up at him for a split second, then turns back to Grayson. "Are we done here?" he demands. "I would very much like to move on."

Grayson laughs. "Of course, Damian." He looks at Jason. "Are you joining us?" He pointedly does not acknowledge Tim, which makes Damian's scowl deepen.

Jason shakes his head, though. "I'm done for the night," he says. "Tired of picking up the bastard's bodies." He jerks his thumb at Tim, not that his meaning was unclear originally.

"You did no such thing," Tim says. "All you have done all night is break bones and narrow your eyes at me. I cleaned up my own messes, and for that matter I did not need to worry about anything as useless as zipties and police calls."

"You're a murderer," Jason says, "I can call you what I want."

Somehow, Tim thinks, he is under the impression that name-calling bothers me. "I am efficient," he replies, instead of making a sarcastic remark like he so desperately wants to. "And I am good at my job. Please stop trying to make this about morality." He wants to argue that if anything, he has the moral high ground. Those men are not the kind who could ever be rehabilitated, and now they are off the streets for good. They also won't need to suffer from their injuries, or place a strain on the city's medical resources for their care. They are dead, and the world is richer for it.

"It is about morality," Grayson says, his tone insistent. "You don't just get to choose who lives and who dies. You don't know who they are, or their stories."

"Their stories? Why should I care even the slightest about their stories?" Tim asks. "They are scum-sucking bottom feeders, only a step below the men who grow rich and fat on the suffering of others without even bothering to get their hands dirty. Just because I kill does not make me and better or worse than you, and for that matter it does not make me worse than them. The world turns on an axis of reason, Grayson. Motive. What thrives in the bowels of Gotham City is mindless violence, with no reason to it at all but sadistic pleasure and survival. And neither of those things can be erased by prison."

Grayson just shakes his head, a pitying frown on his face. "You really don't understand," he says. "Do you?"

Tim throws his hood back and very nearly snarls at Grayson, instead settling for cold fury that paint every inch of his face. "It is you who does not understand," he grinds out, and then he leaps for a fire escape and takes off through the night, cursing Grayson for his idiocy, himself for his loss of control, and the world for its ingrained sickness, the likes of which could be found nowhere but in the hearts, minds, and actions of human beings.

-- 

Something changes after that. Something subtle, in the way Timothy interacts with the Bats, and is interacted with. The way Grayson looks at him, maybe, or the tone of Jason's voice. Not something he can put a name too, but enough to make him feel... off. Wrong. Like something is crawling beneath his skin and settling in his veins, something that makes him feel at once like his bones are made of lead and liable to shudder out of his own skin at the slightest prompting.

He wonders if he has been poisoned, but remembers that that is absurd. That is something Ra's might do to teach him a lesson, not a Bat tactic.

Then he takes a step back, and thinks about his life as it is now. Bruce Wayne does not speak to him. Jason will sometimes hurl a spiteful comment his direction if he seems vulnerable, but besides that sticks to stony silence and glaring. Grayson has, of late, begun to seek him out on rare occasion, though, to ask him about Damian, or needle him for information on the League of Shadows. The first, Tim provides cautiously, the second he does not provide at all. But Grayson seems less cold, somehow, and it makes Tim wary. He fears a ploy to make him comfortable, to take him off his guard and discover his weaknesses, before destroying him utterly. Death is the one thing the Bats will not promise Tim, and that in itself is one of the worst things he can imagine. They could do anything to him, a thousand tortures at their disposal, but they would not kill him. Not even if he begged, he thinks, and so Grayson's careful interest is deflected as best as Tim can.

Most days, Tim hides himself away. He spends time with Damian, when he can, but Damian is drawing away from him, slowly but surely. He hears Damian snarking with Jason, laughing with Grayson, having quiet discussion with his father, or just plain quiet with Cassandra Cain, who appears out of the shadows a few weeks after Damian's first night as Robin. Tim likes her, in a distant way, but knows that she of all of them will have the easiest time in penetrating his defences. So he avoids her, too.

The last straw is a boy, really. A small boy, a street rat with eyes that hold the whole world, and quick fingers that tighten into fists when he laughs, and bandaids on his face, and hair that is red like fire, and just as untameable. He has horrors in his past, but his soul is made of iron, and it will take very much to break him, even though he seems the type to break before he bends. He is cheerful, and strong, and flawed in the way all humans are.

His name is Colin, and Tim watches Damian fall in love, in the way that only a child can. In a way that he did, maybe, years ago. Tim knows, then, that he does not belong here anymore, if he ever did.

He makes plans to leave, starting then, but he does not. He cannot tear himself away from Damian, even though every day lays another straw upon his back, adds to the unnameable something that crawls in his gut.

(He refuses to call it fear, because what does he have to be afraid of? Being alone? Surely not, when his life has been such a solitary one so far. And more than that, if he calls it fear, he is admitting that this is something that cannot be truly conquered. In this, he must be strong.)

Then comes the darkest day. When Tim is sure that yes, today he will say his goodbyes, because Damian did not need him any more. And then everything changes, the rug torn from beneath Tim's feet by a pale hand of a man who is not a man at all.

The Joker takes Damian, and Tim cannot leave Gotham yet.

-- 

No one but Timothy knows it, but there is a microscopic tracker embedded in the skin at the base of Damian's spine. Or at least, no one knew it until Tim informs Grayson, Wayne, and Jason that he is going to go after Damian, and that they are not allowed access to the information.

The demand to know, of course. To help. But Tim smiles at them in the manner that Ra's taught him, the one that looks mild and promises blood and pain, and says, "He was my brother before he was anything to any of you. Since you clearly cannot be trusted to keep him safe, I will be the one to recover him."

Tim knows, then, that he will not leave so easily. He is surprised at himself that he would give up as he takes off on a borrowed motorcycle, losing Wayne and the rest as quickly as he can and setting off into the New England countryside. He thinks about Damian, about everything that has happened in the past weeks, and wonders when he grew so weak. That he would simply leave, return to Ra's' side when he was still charged with Damian's protection seems to Tim a failure of character, and he resolves to be stronger in the future.

For the moment, though, the only strength he needs or wants is the kind that is used for ripping people's spines out through their mouths.

When Tim finds the warehouse in which the Joker is holding Damian, he wastes no time in finding a skylight and taking in the situation. Predictable, he thinks, because there is a bomb ticking happily in the corner, and the Joker is standing over Damian with a crowbar, a wild grin on his face. Damian is bloodied and broken, sprawled on his back both his legs and one of his arms twisted awkwardly, and a trickle of blood at his mouth. His costume is torn, and his face is swollen. Damian's condition does not serve to shock or dismay Tim. Instead, he feels cold fury flash through him like iced lightning, and he waits for an opportune moment to drop to the floor behind the Joker and make quick work of the bomb. The device is simple, nothing that Timothy cannot handle, and the second he is finished he prowls across the floor towards the Joker.

Once he is mere inches away, he pulls a blade from his belt and slips it between the Joker's ribs, finding a spot that will have him in agony, without any risk of immediate death. The Joker chokes on his own saliva, and drops to his knees at Tim's feet, casting a glance over his shoulder.

"Ooh," he says, "Blackbird, come out to play." He starts to laugh, and Tim raises his foot and kicks the wretched creature hard in the side of the head, sending him down onto the concrete with a solid thump.

"Damian," says Tim, and Damian looks up with pain-hazy eyes.

"Tim," he whispers, and then coughs weakly.

"Stay still," Tim says, his tone gentle, and then he turns to the Joker.

Damian obeys, lies still and silent as Tim systematically breaks every major bone in the Joker's body, stabs him several times in the chest, and then cuts his throat. Only at the very end does the choking, gurgling laughter finally dry up, and then the only sound is that of Damian's wet breathing.

"Let's get you home, shall we?" Tim says, and transports Damian back to the Batcave as smoothly as he possibly can.

 --

It is immediately clear to Tim that the Bats are displeased with his choice of justice, but he doesn't care enough to hide what he did. The only thing that matters to him is that his brother is safe and sound, and on his way to being healed. He is confident that he made the right choice. Or rather, he does not care whether what he did was wrong or not. It was the thing to be done, and he had done it.

When Damian is fully recovered, the elder Wayne calls Tim into his office. All of the Bats are gathered, excluding Cassandra.

“Timothy,” Wayne says, his face dark. “Do you know why you're here?”

Tim snorts. “I am not five,” he says. “Do not treat me like I am.”

“I will take that as a yes.”

“Take it however you want,” Tim says, challenging, cold. “Though I am sure you would anyways.”

“Timothy,” comes Damian's voice from one corner, over by the wall. When Tim looks at him, something dark shudders through him, because Damian's face is conflicted, at once grieving and angry and at peace. “Listen to him, please.”

“You are sending me away,” Tim says, and does not look at Wayne. Damian looks up to meet his gaze, and then immediately flinches away. Tim wonders what is showing on his face. He feels too numb to have any idea.

“Yes,” Damian whispers, and then pushes himself away from the wall and walks out of the room at a pace that would look normal to anyone else, but to Tim signifies flight. Damian is running away from him.

Wayne is frowning at Tim when he looks back up, and opens his mouth to say something. Anger flares, paired with a sick sense of betrayal, and suddenly Tim does not have a single care about keeping his composure.

“Fuck you,” he hisses, venomous. “How dare you take him from me, and then pretend that it is because of you that I am going? You have never had any power over me, nor my favour, nor my trust, and now you never will. I do not care for your ignorant notions of right and wrong, and I do not care for you. He is the only thing in the world I have ever cared about, and if you had seen that, you might have turned me even against Ra's. I would have done anything for him. But you have proven that you cannot take care of him, and I will destroy you and all you love just as surely as you will have destroyed me if I even learn that he has been hurt because of you.” Then he stops, and goes silent as the grave, his eyes a blaze of blue fire in his snow-pale face. Something creaks at the corner of the room, and the other three men glance over. When they look back at Tim, he is gone.

“Oh,” says Jason, into the silence. Dick collapses into a chair.

Bruce thinks that maybe this is what it feels like to rip a boy's still-beating heart from his chest. He wonders if he had done the right thing, in convincing Damian that Tim could not stay, and knows that it is too late now to fix anything if he had been wrong after all.

 --

Damian finds Tim packing, throwing the last of his belongings into a bag with as little care as he has ever seen his brother display.

“Timothy,” he says, and Tim goes still.

“Damian,” he says, after a moment, and stands, slinging his back over his shoulder.

“I am sorry,” Damian says. His eyes are shadowed, and he is biting his lip.

“Do not apologize,” Tim says. “There's no point now.”

“I don't want you to go. But my father...”

“I understand.” Tim shifts his bag a bit higher on his shoulder. He is not looking at Damian, rather, he stares at the door. “One day,” he says, “you will kill me.”

Damian startles. “Never,” he vows, and Tim snorts.

“That must be the way of things,” he says. “Would you like to know why?”

“Why?”

“Because, Damian. Because you are a Prince of two kingdoms, and I am the monster that fits into neither.”

Then, Tim walks past Damian, never looking down at him, never looking back.

[pepperonific]

Full Moon

Summary: Sirius knows something he shouldn't, but he choses to help, not to hurt.

A/N: HARRY POTTER FIC. FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER.

This fic takes place in a 'verse where Sirius is a Slytherin, though he is sort of pal-y with James. It involves bullshit magical rituals!!! And Remus nearly having a heart attack!!! WOO.

Remus' partner in Potions class is Sirius Black. He's one of the less unpleasant Slytherins, and he's even moderately friendly with James, but he still puts Remus on edge for some reason. There's just something about him that's utterly distracting, something sly, dark. But it's not the kind of darkness that so many of the other Slytherins give off; he's not slimy, it's a clean, smooth darkness, like the shadows of a new moon. Remus can't put a finger on what it is about Sirius that gives him that feeling, that diverts him so much, and it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up sometimes. Like right now.

He's mincing pickled toad liver, trying to ignore the way that Sirius is watching him out of the corner of his eye as he stirs their potion. It's the perfect colour, at least, and Remus tries to focus on that instead.

"So, Lupin," Sirius says, and Remus nearly jumps out of his skin.

"Um," says Remus, "yes, Black?"

"Tomorrow is the full moon."

Remus freezes, his knife half way back down to the cutting board. Every part of his being goes still, his train of thought stopping in its tracks. Panic flares in his gut, and he jerks, dropping the knife. "Um," he says, and then tries to gather himself, because this isn't incriminating at all. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

"But I'm sure you knew that already." Remus can feel Sirius' eyes on the side of his head, his dark grey gaze piercing.

"I-I didn't, actually," Remus says, lying through his teeth. Lying badly, probably, because his hands are shaking, and Sirius is still looking at him.

"I'm certain you did," Sirius says, quietly, and reaches out to pull the blade from Remus' shaking fingers, then nudging him out of the way to take over the cutting. "Please stir that," he says, nodding at their cauldron. It's beginning to bubble ominously, and Remus takes up the stir stick immediately.

"Er," says Remus, staring down at the midnight blue liquid in their cauldron. "Why would I know something like that? I don't- I know some purebloods practice moon-based religions, but I'm no pureblood. You know that."

"I also know that you're not entirely pure human," Sirius says, his voice dropping to an even lower level. He's almost silent, and if it weren't for Remus' wolf, he probably wouldn't be able to hear him at all.

"Th-there's no way," Remus says, and his voice is too loud. A few people look up, and Remus can see James off to the side with concern on his face. Remus clears his throat, and ducks his head. "I mean, of course not. Why would you think that?"

"I saw you," Sirius says. "At Samhain. The full moon fell on the 31st this year- I was out in the moonlight. I heard the screaming. You don't get along well with your wolf at all, do you?"

Remus swallows, hard, and knows that he's gone pale. His hands are shaking harder, now, and he almost bares his throat. He knows, though, that that will only make it worse. He has little enough control as it is, letting the wolf's instincts capture him is a Bad Idea. Bad. Really. "Please don't tell anyone," he whispers. "Please."

Sirius raises an eyebrow, and tosses the minced liver into the cauldron. Remus stirs automatically, looking out of the corner of his eye as Sirius rest his hip against the desk, facing him. "What makes you think I would," he says, still quiet. "I don't have anything against you, and more than that, James is my friend. One of the few I have. Why would I sacrifice that just to hurt you?"

"You're a Slytherin," Remus says, blunt. "You're all out for yourselves. I mean nothing to you, and though James would never forgive you, the Potters are a Light family. You have nothing to gain from being friends with him."

Sirius looks a bit taken aback by the venom in Remus' tone. "Nothing to- look, I know you Gryffindors don't think much of us Slytherins, but that doesn't mean we can't have friends."

Remus shakes his head, and squeezes his eyes shut. "It doesn't matter," he says. "I just- you can't tell anyone."

"I found out a month ago," Sirius says. "If I haven't told anyone by now, I'm not going to tell anyone. Look, I just- I want to help you. I found something."

"You what?"

"I think there's a way we can ease your transformations. James and I, I mean, and Pettigrew too." Sirius runs a hand through his hair. "We can't really talk about it here. Class is almost over, and it's too easy to overhear."

"If people are already eavesdropping, it's too late now."

Sirius shakes his head. "I set up a privacy charm. Just enough to muddle what we're saying, no one will notice. It'll just sound like we're talking too quietly to be properly understood."

Remus sighs, and stares at his hands. They're still shaking a bit, but he's calmed a lot. Merlin knows why, the situation hasn't gotten any better. "The library," he says, "tonight. Right after dinner, okay?"

Sirius nods. "Of course. I'll see you there."

Remus almost breathes a sigh of relief when Sirius falls silent, but then their cauldron explodes, leaving them both covered in a bright purple goo that smells like grape. There's a tense silence between them for a moment as they turn to stare at each other, and then they realize that they completely forgot about their potion, so caught up as they were, and they both nearly fall over laughing.

--

When Remus gets to the library that evening, James and Peter at his side, Sirius is already waiting for them. It set Remus on edge immediately, given that he hadn't seen Sirius leave the Great Hall. He's lounged in a chair in a private corner of the library, a stack of books on the low table in front of him and a small black book in his hand with nothing on the cover.

Sirius looks up when Remus and the other approach, and he stows his little book away in his robes. "Hello," he says, and sits up in his chair a bit.

Remus nods. "Hello, Black. Mind if we sit?"

Sirius shakes his head, so Remus takes the seat across from him, and Peter sits next to him. James stays standing, just behind Remus' right shoulder.

"Not going to sit down?" Sirius asks, raising and eyebrow at James. Remus turns a little to see his reaction, but there isn't much of one. James just shrugs, and narrows his eyes a little. "Suit yourself, then," Sirius says. "This isn't really about you anyways. Well- I say it isn't about you, but it involves you at the least."

"What's going on, Black?" Remus asks. "You have information that you shouldn't, and I'd like to know what you want. Or what you think you can do."

"Well," says Sirius, and taps the top of the pile of books in front of him. "I did some light reading after I stumbled upon you, and I found something interesting regarding werewolves. Or, really, wolves in general. They're pack animals, Lupin."

"I know that," Remus snaps. "I, of all people, do not need a lesson in wolf behaviour. Get to the point."

Sirius rolls his eyes. "Rein it in, Moony. I'm saying that your wolf, just like any wolf, is going to be much more comfortable if it has companions."

"And where is it going to get companions?" James questions, from behind Remus. Peter is muttering 'Moony' under his breath like it's the best thing he's ever heard, and is clearly not listening any more.

"From us," Sirius says, and pulls his small black book out of his robes, then tosses it on the table. "That's a complete guide to animagus transformations. I nicked it from my family library over the break."

"Ani- that's illegal, isn't it?"

Sirius shrugs. "Only if we get caught. It's not dark magic or anything, just a bit risky. The Ministry is too strict about this kind of thing, and we're underage anyhow. Look- who cares? At the rate you're going, you're going to be dead before you graduate anyway. Your wolf is going to tear you apart, so who cares if you're doing something illegal? Do you want to die?"

"No," says Remus. "I don't. I hate what I am, but- I don't want to die."

James puts a hand on Remus' shoulder. "So, we would be able to transform into animals, to run with Remus on the full moon? Would we all be wolves, or...?"

"It doesn't work like that," Sirius says, and pats the book. "You set up a ritual, then meditate to find your animal. Everyone's is different, just like a patronus. The ritual passes you through the first transformation, and then back, and then all you have to do is practice. It's old magic, probably as old as magic itself.”

Remus hums, and James leans forward over his shoulder. “Do you think we can do it?”

Sirius nods. “I've done as test already- I did the first step on my own. I know what my animal is, and I've transformed a few times, but I'll get better with practice. That's easier with other people, though, so I decided to talk to the rest of you before we do this.”

“The full moon is tomorrow,” Remus says. “There's no way to be ready.”

“No.” Sirius shakes his head, then grabs the book off the table and tosses it to Remus. “We likely won't be ready until next month's moon, but it should be soon.”

“What's your animal?” asks Peter, leaning in. “We're going to have to wait to find out ours, but I want to know yours.”

“A dog,” says Sirius. “A great black shaggy thing.” He grins at Remus, something wild and thrilled lighting his grey eyes. “We'll get along just fine, Lupin.”

“If I don't die tomorrow,” sighs Remus, leaning back in his chair. He passes the book up to James, and closes his eyes. “I can already tell it's going to be a hard one, what with the scare you gave me today.”

“Sorry,” says Sirius, somewhere between sincere and unrepentant. “Had to do it.”

“Did you really have to do it now, you tosser?” James asks, his nose buried in the book.

“Probably not.” This time Sirius isn't sorry at all. “Anyhow, I'd best get back to my common room before my housemates start sniffing around. We'll meet here, same time, five days after the moon; I'll start prep for the ritual in the mean time. Read up.”

Then he stands and brushes past James, leaving nothing but a stack of books and an echo of presence behind.

--

The full moon is hard, and Remus takes four of the five days given to them by Sirius to recover. He's still feeling drained when he, James, and Peter arrive in the library on the fifth evening, to find Sirius waiting for them again.

“Do you eat?” James asks, prodding Sirius' shoulder. “I didn't see you in the Great Hall.”

Sirius shrugs. “I eat.” Typical Slytherin, Remus thinks, answering the direct question, but not the implied one.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “So, are we going to do this?”

Sirius nods. “I've got everything we need in my bag.” He pats the book bag he has with him, and then stands. “Follow me.”

Sirius leads them through the halls up to the seventh floor, and they watch as he paces back and forth in the middle of one of the hallways, muttering to himself under his breath. All three Gryffindors are surprised when a door materializes in the wall, and Sirius opens it for them and bows them inside.

The room that appeared is small, round, and mostly empty, with only a round table set in the middle with a silver bowl sitting on it, and a circle of white stone laid out into the floor. There's a window in the far wall that gives them a perfect view of the waning moon, the only light in the room. Sirius goes around and lights candles placed evenly around the circle, and then goes to stand at the edge of the circle, with his back to the window.

“It's a ritual room,” he explains, answering a question no one asked. “We'll do the first steps here.”

“This looks like dark magic to me,” James says, looking around warily.

“It's not,” says Sirius. “Just trust me. I'll lead the ritual, and Lupin, you have to stay out of the circle, or else we'll end up locked in here with a very pissed off werewolf. They don't take well to being drawn out when the moon isn't full, though with this kind of ritual it's very possible.”

Remus swallows, and nods, then steps back outside the circle. He goes to sit down with his back to the door, watching carefully as Sirius positions James and Peter at either side of the alter, and then gives them quiet instructions to close their eyes and place their hands flat on the altar, in the light of the moon. Sirius himself moves around to the other side, so that his back is to Remus and his shadow is cast right to the edge of the circle, and then he raises his hands, palms up, and says in an even tone, “May the Goddess lend Her clarity to this ritual, performed in Her light, and bless us as we find ourselves.” He reaches into his robes and pulls out a vial of water and a few feathers, which he places into the bowl and then pours the water over them. “For Her blessings, I offer feathers lost by a bird on the wing, and water from the Black Lake.”

“Is this part of the ritual?” whispers Peter, and James shushes him.

“Alright,” says Sirius, and then he places his hands on the altar as well. “Now for the fun part. I'm going to lead, like I said. James, you should catch on fairly quickly, you must be familiar with at least some of this kind of magic. Pettigrew, just follow his example.”

James nods, and then Peter does, somewhat more hesitantly. Sirius smiled wryly. “I had to do this by myself, be grateful that someone else can do the closing rites while you're recovering. Now, don't speak unless prompted, or this entire thing could end very badly.”

Peter squeaks, but he says nothing more as Sirius raises his hands again. “I name myself Sirius Black, and call upon the magic that dwells within myself, and that is held within this place, and that dwells within those who stand within this circle to come together in this Rite of Transformation.”

James and Peter both gasp as something tugs on their magic, and Sirius tenses. “I call upon those who stand within this circle to state their names, and be known by this Rite of Transformation.”

“I name myself James Potter,” James gasps. “And enter willingly into this Rite of Transformation.”

“I name myself Peter Pettigrew,” Peter says, his voice nervous. “And enter willingly into this Rite of Transformation.”

“I call upon our magics, and the magic of this place to teach James Potter and Peter Pettigrew their Wild nature.” Sirius lowers his hands, and places one of them on James' shoulder, and one on Peter's. James jerks, and Peter squeaks again. Remus, still tucked up against the wall, watches worriedly.

“I call upon our magics to impress upon James Potter and Peter Pettigrew the truth of their Wild nature, and so allow them to become themselves.” James and Peter both still, and then, slowly, a change overcomes them, their silhouettes morphing in the light of the moon. Remus stares as they change, the exact process alien and indefinable, but in seemingly no time at all, Sirius is standing with his hands raised above a bright-eyed stag, and a large, grey rat. And then, in a much shorter time, the animals become James and Peter once again.

“Do you know yourselves?” Sirius asks, his voice strained.

“I know myself,” James gasps, “as James Potter, and as a stag who is Prongs.”

“I know myself,” says Peter, “as Peter Pettigrew, and as a rat who is Wormtail.”

“And I,” says Sirius, “know myself as Sirius Black, and as a wolfdog who is Padfoot. May the magics that dwell within us three, and the magic of this place impress this knowledge into our minds, bodies, and souls, and so be released. So mote it be.”

“So mote it be,” echo James and Peter, in unison.

Electric tension that Remus hadn't felt gather in the room relaxes, and James and Peter both slump to the ground. Sirius' head bows, and then he knelt beside them, placing a hand on each of their shoulders.

“We've done well, lads,” he says, sounding exhausted. “We've done well.”

Remus stands, and steps into the circle, feeling a crackle of magic along his skin that makes his wolf shift in the back of his head, and then he comes to kneel beside Sirius. “That was amazing,” he says, looking at Sirius in wonder. “How did you know to do that?”

“I knew the words of the ritual from that book,” Sirius says. “It only went as easily as it did because I made an offering first. I didn't bother, the first time, and I was weak for days after. As it is, I'm drained.”

“I feel fine,” says James, glancing up. “It should have taken more, shouldn't it?”

Sirius shakes his head. “Most of it is the effort of manipulating the energy, controlling it. I was leading the ritual, so I did that. You just provided the power.”

“Thank you,” says James, quiet. “You've done us all a service.”

“I'm a rat,” says Peter, and sits back with his palms on the floor, bracing him up. “I don't really know if I'd call that a service.”

“Merlin, Peter,” says James, and then they all laugh, slumped together around the altar, magic buzzing in their veins.

--

On the next full moon, Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs all run together for the first time. Wormtail curls into Padfoot's scruff, his claws digging into the thick fur as the wolfdog gambols about with Moony, play fighting, learning each others' scents, something clicking deep in their brains that means pack. Prongs gallops along beside them, racing ahead, and then prancing back, his antlers gleaming pale ivory in the moonlight. Neither wolf nor dog can catch him, and he tosses his head, proud and elated.

And when the forest rings with a wolf's howl, for the first time it is not a pained, tortured noise. Instead, it is harmonized by a dog's differently-pitched howling, and the thunder of a stag's hooves, and the squeaking of a small rat.

[pepperonific]

How to Save a Life

Summary: Part of being a hero is doing what has to be done.

A/N: Fuck-or-die, somewhat subverted. This isn't happy. This is porn, of a sort, but it's not meant to be sexy. It's mean to be horrifying.

Warnings for rape/non-con, PTSD, etc. This is pretty bad you guys, I'm a terrible person.

Tim is bleeding when he is thrown down beside Dick. He's been stabbed, or shot, maybe, by one of the bastards holding them captive, and there are bruises on his face. He still smiles at Dick.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he says, his voice weak, and Dick smiles back as best he can, scooting over to his brother across the cold concrete to put hard pressure on the large wound.

“This is bad,” Dick says, blood seeping between his fingers. He looks up at the guards standing at the gate of the box-cage. “Hey, you, you got any bandages? Robin isn't going to be a great bargaining chip if he's dead.”

The guard, a tall, skinny guy with a pockmarked face, jabs his equally tall but much more bulky partner. The bulky guys scowls, but leaves the room, hopefully to ask for bandages.

“Thank you,” Dick says, and the tall guy snorts.

“You ain't getting' nothin' without payin' for it,” he says. “You just better hope the bosses don't want nothin' you can't give.”

Dick nods, then looks back at Tim, who shrugs, and then winces.

“You okay?” Dick asks, concerned. He doesn't remove his hand from the cut in Tim's side.

Tim nods. “I'll be fine, Nightwing. They dislocated my shoulder, but I managed to roll it back in on the walk back. It just hurts.”

“What did they want to know?”

“Our identities.”

Dick snorts. “Well, that's boring. Can't these guys be more original?”

Tim shakes his head, and opens his mouth to say something when the door bangs open and about a dozen guys stream in, including a grey-haired man in a suit. They're all older, some fat, others thin, but all of them are well dressed and seem unarmed. Mob bosses, probably, or other underworld higher-ups. Th grey-haired man comes right up to he bars as the other spread out around the cage, and he leers at Dick and Tim.

“Robin,” he says, “Nightwing, so kind of you to join us. I hope you're enjoying your stay.”

“Not so much,” Dick quips. “Really, the room service could be a lot better.”

The man's face darkens for a moment, then smooths into a pleasant mask. “Well. You see, I deal in commodities, and that means that I don't do favours without something in return. If you want your partner to live, Nightwing, you're going to have to do as I ask.” He puts emphasis on Dick's alias, and a shiver crawls down Dick's spine. Whatever this man wants, it isn't going to be good.

“Sure,” Dick says, trying to sound cheerful and accommodating, even as he puts more pressure on Tim's wound, trying to stop his brother's life from leaking out from under his hands. “What's it gonna be, buddy?”

The man smiles, sinister and dark. There's an edge of something terrifying there, something dirty. He gestures at the men around him. “You boys are going to put on a little show for me and a few of my friends.”

“A show?” Dick asks, and one of Tim's hands lifts to rest on his arm.

“They want us to-” Tim says, speaking up for the first time, but he can't finish his sentence. Dick looks down at his brother to find his brows pinched tight together, a pain expression on his face. It's not just the physical, Dick know, because that can't have gotten any worse. It's something else.

“You're going to fuck him,” the grey-haired man says, and horror blanks Dick's face. “And we're going to watch.”

“Are you kidding?” Dick shouts. He glares at the man, furious. “You can't- he's fourteen! And he's bleeding out! I won't!”

“Then I suppose we'll all just sit here and watch him die, won't we?”

Dick closes his eyes tightly, ignoring the chuckles from the men filling the room, and lets out a shaky breath. The hand that Tim has on his arm tightens, and he opens his eyes again to look at his brother.

“It's okay,” Tim says. The tension in his body says differently. “Really, Dick. Just- just make it quick, and then they'll let you wrap this cut. I'll die if you don't.”

“But- but you don't want this,” Dick whispers, agonized, and curls over Tim's prone form. He knows that the fuckers are watching avidly, but he tries to ignore them in favour of his little brother. His little, underage, injured brother. Fuck.

“I don't,” Tim says. “And neither do you. But we'll get through this.” He relaxes a little bit under Dick's hands. “I don't want to die.” He sounds like a terrified child for a moment, and Dick flinches.

“You won't,” he says. “I promise.”

Dick hesitates for another moment, but then Tim is pulling himself up a little and grabbing for the zipper at the back of Dick's costume, pulling it down as he lies back again. He moans quietly when he rests back on his injured shoulder, and Dick hushes him. He's more aware, now, of the leers of the men who are watching them, and he wants this to be as bad for them as possible. Dick stands to strip off his costume, making sure that Tim is applying pressure to the wound as he does, and then kneels again to help Tim out of his own clothes, pulling off his tunic. Tim is wearing an undershirt, which Dick pulls off as well and uses as a quick makeshift bandage to keep Tim alive until they're done with this. It's white, and Tim bleeds through it before Dick can finish getting his leggings off, but it's better than nothing.

“How are you doing?” Dick asks, once they're both in their underwear.

“Dunno,” Tim says, and then blinks slowly. “Gonna lose consciousness soon, so probably you should hurry. Unless you think it'll be easier that way.”

“It would and it wouldn't,” Dick says, but he hurries in stripping off his underwear and Tim's. He knows it's selfish to want Tim to be awake for this, because it's only going to hurt him more, but he doesn't think he'd be able to do this with Tim's unconscious body. As it is, he'll barely be able to do it at all, and only because Tim will die if he doesn't.

It's Tim's blood that covers Dick's hands as he jerks himself to full harness, his eyes closed tight and all his attention focused on the cool skin of Tim's thighs bracketing his hips. It's Tim's blood that Dick uses as lubricant as he stretches his brother as best he can. But it's Dick who bleeds when Tim digs his nails into Dick's arms on the first thrust, even though his strength is faded from blood loss.

"I'm sorry," Dick says, and Tim just whines and tosses his head, barely lucid, but lucid enough to feel pain. To feel fear. "I'm sorry, Robin." He wants to call him baby brother, babybird, but he knows that it will destroy that for them forever, so he keeps it trapped behind his teeth.

Tim moans, pained, and tried to curl away from Dick, but Dick forces himself to grab Tim's hips and stop him from squirming. He wants to get this over with, and having to fight his brother throughout it will only make it worse. So he does his best to get on with it, snapping his hips forward as if he wasn't raping his brother, trying to think about sex, about pleasure. Soon enough he's panting, wishing this didn't feel so good, that Tim wasn't so tight, so lithe beneath him. Tim is crying, Dick thinks, tears soaking into his domino and then seeping past, marking his face. He's shaking, now, whimpering or moaning occasionally, but he lost both strength and will to fight a while ago. Normally, Dick would take that as a sign of his ability to please a lover, but none of it has to do with pleasure. When Dick is about to come, he pulls out, and strokes himself off onto Tim's belly, not wanting to leave Tim feeling dirty inside as well as out, and then collapses back away from Tim, curling into a ball.

The man with the grey hair laughs, finally breaking his silence. "Your boy hasn't come yet, Nightwing," he says. "Don't you know how to take care of him?"

Dick glares up at the man through his mask. "There's not enough blood left in his body, you bastard," he snarls. "And you damn well know it. I did what you wanted. Now help him."

"True enough." The man smirks, and gestures at one of the guards. He leaves, and then returns a minute later with a small first aid kit in hand. He opened the door of the cage of a moment and then shoved it through the gap, leaving Dick to scramble over to grab it and then set to work patching Tim's wounds as best he could.

When he was done, he wiped himself and Tim down with Tim's bloodied undershirt and a few wipes from the first aid kit, and then dressed himself in his costume again. Tim had fallen unconscious, finally, blessedly, so Dick wrangled him into his tunic and then curled close, trying to keep his brother warm. His skin was cool from the blood loss, but at least the bleeding had finally been stopped.

Dick wakes up before he realizes that he's fallen asleep. There is someone hovering above him, and he shouts, lashing out with his fists. For a second, the figure above him is feminine, and it's raining, pouring, and he's drowning in guilt and despair and it's all my fault, please, please I didn't mean to, but then his vision clears and it's Batman, a frown on his face.

"Br- Batman!" he gasps, scrambling to sit up. Bruce helps him up, a hand on his back.

"Nightwing," he says, and looks over to the side. "What happened here?"Dick shivers. "I-" he starts, and then his eyes catch on Tim, curled away from him, his legs still bare, and he had to turn away from Bruce to throw up. There's nothing in his stomach, and he's dehydrated, and Bruce pats his back as he dry heaves, choking on nothing, tears in his eyes. "I want to go home," he says, when he's done, his voice raspy.

Bruce just looks at him for a moment, concerned, and then nods. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah," Dick says, and stumbles to his feet, wavering a little. He's exhausted, and nauseated, and sore from sleeping on the hard ground, but he's okay. He's doing better than Tim, who looks dead in Bruce's arms, pale as a ghost and completely still.

"Bruce?" Dick says, once they're in the Batmobile, headed away from that godforsaken warehouse. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, Dick," Bruce says, his voice gentle. "You couldn't have known about the trap."

"That's not what I meant."

Bruce glances over at him. "What happened in there, Dick? You've been gone for two full days."

"They- they hurt Tim," Dick says, and Bruce looks over at him sharply. "Not in the way you're thinking- that was all me."

This time, Bruce sucks in a sharp breath, but Dick keep going before he can say anything. "They stabbed him, and I needed medical supplies, Bruce, and they wouldn't give them to me unless I- unless- I didn't want to. I didn't."

"I believe you," Bruce says, but Dick can barely hear him, his breathing gone quick and shallow, grey spots filling his vision. Unconsciousness is a relief when it finally comes.

[pepperonific]

Against the Dying of the Light Part 3

Chapter Title: Interim Chapter 1- Arrival

A/N: Have you noticed that every time I have a huge gap between posts, it's because I'm working on AtDotL? This thing is my baby and it totally sucks up my brain.

This is a really short chapter, but hopefully it'll tide you over until you can have the next part.

No warnings.

Timothy and Damian arrive in Gotham, and it is nothing special. They decide to spend a night in the city before turning up on the doorstep of Wayne Manor, and they employ their skills and Tim's old knowledge of the Batman's habits to follow him through the pitch black shadows of the city. They are silent, comfortable with quiet as they always are, and when they return to their hotel room in the early hours of the morning, they feel tired. It is a strange feeling to the both of them, who are trained to be resilient in the extreme, but they are tired, and they fall into the single bed together, their backs pressed together, guarded. They are wary and out of place in this big, noisy city, but they both sleep like the dead with their closest ally at their backs.

They wake close to two in the afternoon, and they turn towards each other and speak of all the things that the evening is sure to hold. Damian talks about how his father has been as a god to him until now, and it's strange to have seen him for the first time last night, even from a distance. It was strange to see him strike down his enemies, hear the sound of armour against skin, and remember that his father is human. Timothy smiles at him and says that even though Jason was no where to be found, he could feel his presence in the city. Damian asks if Tim is still in love with Jason, and Tim says no. It's the truth. It has been for a long time, though Tim has never forgotten what it felt like.

Damian asks Tim what it did feel like, and Tim isn't able to answer. There are no words, he tells his brother. And he tells him that one day he will know for himself. Damian sighs and tucks himself against Tim then, and they hold each other close, because they know that it will be a long time before they are allowed this much weakness again. Maybe they will never be allowed this much weakness again.

--

It takes a few hours, but the brothers gather their strength and pack their bags, and then make themselves presentable. Timothy changes into a red linen shirt that is cut close to his waist, but hangs loose enough around his arms that he can tuck blades against his wrists. He wears black pants, simple and comfortable, and tucks the dagger that Ra's gifted to him so long ago into the curve of his back, right against the lowest part of his spine. His shirt falls just below it, barely loose enough to disguise its shape. He leaves his hair down to brush against his jaw, the longer strands in the back touching the collar of his shirt.

Damian wears white, a close cut tunic and soft leather pants showing off the strength of his body. He looks like a warrior, even though he still has a child's face, with his short hair and his fighter's dress. He looks to Tim for approval, and to appraise his brother in turn, and they give each other nods. They are ready. As ready as they will ever be, that is.

There is no true readiness for an event that they both know full well will change their lives forever, for good or for ill.

Tim drives across town, headed for the mansion that belongs to Bruce Wayne. He leaves his bike propped outside the gate, and together Tim and Damian scale the wall and walk across the wide grounds to the front door. Tim knocks, once, and then steps back to stand at his brother's back. This is not about him, for all that he will be important in the coming days.

Alfred Pennyworth, who Tim met once when he was young, and studied for the purpose of this journey, opens the door. The old man raises an eyebrow at them, then asks in an accented voice if he can help them.

Damian smiles, and tells him that they are there to see his father. Alfred starts, and gives Damian a measured look, then assesses Tim with the same amount of caution. After a moment, he allows them entrance. They have no coats for him to take, but he shows them where they can leave their showed, and then he shows them through the mansion to the oak doors of a study. They enter, neither of them sure what will be awaiting them inside.

Bruce Wayne himself waits for them.

“Who are you?” he asks, and Damian bows deeply to his father.

“My name is Damian. This is my companion, Timothy. My mother, Talia al Ghul, sent me to meet you for the first time, father.”

Bruce blinks at them, shocked. “You're my son?”

“I am,” says Damian, and he glances at Tim. Tim glares at him for the weakness betrayed in the gesture, but Bruce doesn't seem to notice. He's been taken off guard as well.

“Talia told me nothing of you, the last time I saw her. How old are you? And why did she keep you from me?” Bruce strands from behind his desk and walks around it, stopping to stare down at Damian.

“I was not ready, father. I am meant to be a partner to you, and eventually to take your role as the Bat. I've trained my whole life to be your equal, and my mother has nothing more to teach me. I am yours, now, to train. To make perfect.” Damian bows again, and then slides into a combative stance. “I will fight you, here and now, if I must prove that I am worthy.”

“You don't have to prove anything to me,” Bruce says. There's something cold in his tone now, something that had been erased by the shock earlier. “You're an assassin.”

“Yes, father.”

Bruce shakes his head, and shoots Tim a wary glance. “I won't train an assassin. That's not how I work. Tell your mother that I'll take you, if you really want to be here, but I won't keep your... companion in my home. He's not welcome.”

Tim narrows his eyes. “Despite what you may think, Mr. Wayne,” he says, “I am not here to kill you, or either of your wards. Or Mr. Pennyworth. I am here to be a friend to Damian in an environment that has already proven to be... less than accepting.”

Bruce glares. “Damian is my son.”

“You know nothing about him. You've just met him.”

“And?”

“And,” says Tim, “nothing. Talia may have ideas about his destiny, but I am his brother, and if I believe you to be an unfit guardian for him, I will take him. I care very little for what Talia will try to do to me, or to you for losing her son.”

“Fine,” says Bruce, after a long pause. “But don't think that I trust you.”

“Do please expect the same from me, Mr. Wayne.”

Damian turned to frown at Tim. “Be civil, Tim.”

“Only if he is, Dami,” Tim says, and smiles at Damian, some real warmth seeping through the cracks in the facade of fake brightness.

“Don't do that,” Damian demands, and then turns back to his father. “My apologies. He can be a bit ridiculous at times, for all that he has a fearsome reputation within the League.”

“I see,” says Bruce, and purses his lips. “Well. I suppose you should get settled in. I'll have Alfred set up rooms for you both.”

“Thank you, father,” says Damian, and he bows again, and then he follows after Alfred when he appears to lead them to their rooms. Tim lingers for just a second to stare Bruce down, and then follows, his footsteps brisk.

Alfred throws him a look over his shoulder when he catches up that says, I know what you did.

Tim smiles, and knows that this will be fun.

[pepperonific]

Blood Red Right

Summary: It gets bad, and then it gets better.

A/N: For mgnemesi, because of this post. Fun fact: I am the queen of vague summaries.

Warnings for self-harm and almost-suicide, though it wasn't really intentional. 

Amusingly, the note this ends on is fluffier than pretty much anything else I have ever written, despite how rude the fic is. Woops.

It's quiet. Too quiet, and it has been for a while, really. No bats have been poking their noses into Jason's business in the last while, and that's a huge red flag. He's aware that Bruce is dead, but it's a surprise that Dickie hasn't come to bother him yet. Or, for that matter, the Replacement, who Jason hasn't even seen on the streets in the last few weeks. It's weird. The kid is usually all up in his business.

So, Jason decides that he's going to go bother the kid, just for a change of pace. He doesn't really want to talk to Dick, and he really doesn't want to show up at the Manor, because Alfred will guilt him into taking off his coat and eating things and that'll just end badly. So he heads for the apartment that he knows the kid uses, and hopes that he'll be there instead of at the Manor mourning with the rest.

He slips quietly in through Tim's window, his boots thumping down on the carpet with a soft, dull sound. It's warm in the house, and a bit steamy, and Jason can see light from under the closed bathroom door. He can't hear water running, but he guesses that Tim is taking a bath. That seems a bit strange to him, because his Replacement is nothing if not efficient.

Jason toes out of his boots and leaves them under the window, and then goes over and knocks on the bathroom door.

“Heya, Replacement,” he calls. “What's shakin'?”

There's no response, and Jason frowns. Maybe the kid had fallen asleep in the bath. “Replacement?” he says, louder this time. “Timmy?” He knocks again, but there's still no response. Jason narrows his eyes at the door, something like panic blooming. He shoves it down and knocks harder. “Tim. Tim!”

“Jas'n?” Tim's voice is barely audible, slurred and quiet.

“Shit,” says Jason, and then tries the knob of the door. It's locked, but that doesn't deter him for more than a moment before he's throwing his shoulder against the door. The frame cracks and the door is flung open, baring a brutal scene to Jason's eyes.

Tim is lying in the bath, his head leaned back against the edge. He eyes are mostly closed, his lips parted, and he could be half-asleep. But he's not, because one of his arms has letters carved into it in blocky writing, spelling out sometimes Jason can't even process right now. There's a bloody razor lying on the floor, and Tim's other arm is hanging over the side of the tub, cuts on his fingers left from wielding the small blade. He's bleeding profusely, the water of the bath stained pink.

“Jesus,” Jason says, and steps into the room. He leans over the side of the bath and pulls Tim out, cradling him in his arms and pulling him close. He's only half-aware that Tim is naked. It doesn't matter right now; all the matters is that he stop the bleeding before Tim dies.

Jason carries Tim into the almost immaculately clean bedroom and lays him down on the bed, then flounders for a first aid kit. Fortunately, Tim's practicality is prevalent, as always, and it's tucked within easy reach under the sink when Jason goes back into the bathroom. When he pugs it back to Tim's room- it's fucking heavy- and opens it, gauze and bandages are right at the top. “Thank god,” Jason breathes, and immediately places a few pieces of gauze against the wound on Tim's arm and applies pressure with one hand, reaching with the other for bandages.

Tim is watching him dazedly, his blinks slow and languid. “Why?” he murmurs, so quietly Jason is barely sure that he heard it.

“Fuck,” says Jason. “Jesus Christ, Timmy, you can't just- no. Okay, we'll talk about this later.”

“Jay,” says Tim. “Please.”

“Tim, no. Not right now, okay?”

Tim frowns, just a little, and then says. “Okay.” Then he closes his eyes, and his breathing slows even more.

“God damn it, baby bird,” Jason curses, “don't you dare give up on me.”

He pulls the gauze away and replaces it, and then wraps Tim's arm as tightly as he can without completely cutting off circulation to his fingers. Not that much blood was getting there anyways, considering that it was all leaving Tim's body.

He puts bandaids around the smaller cuts on the fingers of Tim's right hand, and then he sits down on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. “God,” he says, again, under his breath. “Jesus.”

Jason sits like that for a few minutes, then glances over to make sure that Tim isn't bleeding through the bandages. He's not, and his breathing is even, if slow. His skin is cool, but that's normal for that amount of blood loss. Tim looks peaceful in his sleep, like there isn't anything troubling him, even though there is. Clearly. Jason swallows and thinks back, and realizes, Fuck. Tim had carved the word perfect into his own skin with a razor. There was no telling if it would scar, but if it did, Tim would have to live with that forever. That seems- unfair, to Jason.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, trying to master his fear and his frustration, and his anger. It had been a long time since he'd been angry like this. Anger had become something dirty, something violent, but this isn't. This is clean, born of panic and hopelessness. It's strange, but it's enough to give him some momentum, to drive him up off of the bed and into the bathroom. He has to take a moment once he steps inside, but then he sets about cleaning up, draining the water, grabbing a washcloth and wiping the blood off the the rim of the tub, and then giving the floor a cursory wipe. Everything else will have to wait; he doesn't want to leave Tim alone for too long.

--

Tim doesn't wake for a few hours, and even then, he's bleary. He's not really awake enough to get anything across to Jason, so Jason just gives him water and tells him to go back to sleep. Jason goes back to his silent vigil. Somehow, it's one of the hardest things he's ever done.

“-son? Jason, why are you still here?”

“Muh?” Jason rises from sleep, slowly becoming aware that he's sprawled in an awkward, slumped position across someone's legs. Then the memories of what had happened return, and he jolts upright. Tim is sitting with his back against the headboard, and Jason has fallen asleep slumped sideways next to him. When Tim sat up, Jason's weight had fallen across Tim's thighs. “Shit.”

“Hey,” says Tim, his face pale. There's a pinch of stress between his eyebrows and at the sides of his eyes. “Why are you still here?”

“Jesus Christ, Timmy,” Jason says. “You think I'd fucking leave? After finding you like that? Shit, baby bird, I know what attempted suicide looks like.”

“That wasn't... It wasn't that.” Tim looks down, and Jason glares.

“Then what the fuck was it?”

“I needed, um, a reminder.” Tim glances at his bandaged arm, and Jason follows him gaze.

“That's bullshit,” says Jason, and Tim flinches. “You don't- you're already perfect, kid, Christ. Why would you want to carve it into your skin?”

“But I'm not,” Tim says. It sounds like he's begging. “I'm not. Jason, you should just go, okay? I'm not going to hurt myself. Um, more. I'm not going to hurt myself more.”

“Right,” Jason snorts, and it almost catches in his throat. “I'm not leaving, Tim.”

“Jason,” says Tim, and he look back up to meet Jason's eyes. “I'll be okay. You can go.”

“Uh,” says Jason. “How about no.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Nope.”

“Yes.”

“Nada. Nah. No.”

“Jason!”

Jason smiles. “You know how stubborn I am. I've managed to sustain a fight with the god damned Batman for years, baby bird. I ain't leaving until I'm sure that you're gonna be 100% okay without me.”

“I will be okay,” Tim insists. His hands clench in the blankets, and he glares. “Maybe not a 100 percent, but can you blame me? Everyone I love is-” He chokes a little, and then continues through it. “Gone. They're all gone, Jason, and Dick fired me in favour of the demon brat, and I don't think Bruce is actually dead. I have to find him, I just... wasn't ready.”

Jason stares. “Tim...”

“I'm not crazy!” Tim nearly shouts the words, and Jason thinks that maybe this is a fight that he's had with Dick as well.

“I know, I wasn't going to say that. I was just going to say that I'm not sure how carving letters into your forearm will make you more ready to try to find the big bad bat.” Jason reaches out tentatively and lays his hand on Tim's leg through the blankets. The muscles tense for a moment, and then Tim relaxes.

“I needed a reminder,” Tim says, quietly. “That I'm not perfect. That I can't do everything, and that I'm... poisonous. I kill everyone that gets close to me, or else they leave me, and because of that I have to be perfect. I can't afford to be anything else, and I needed a reminder that came from the same kind of pain that could result if I slip.”

Jason thinks, That's awful. He says, “That's bullshit. Fucking bullshit, you got me? Any time you need help, you fucking call me, okay? You are as perfect as you could possibly get, and I don't want to hear you talking shit about yourself.”

“Jason, I'm not perfect, I-”

Jason reaches out and snares the back of Tim's beck, pulls him forward and leaning in until their foreheads are nearly touching. “You. Are. Perfect. Got it? Or am I gonna need to say it again?”

Tim shakes his head, his breath shuddering across Jason's face. This is almost a lover's touch, Jason knows, but he doesn't give a flying fuck right about now. “Good,” he says, and then leans back, but he doesn't release Tim's neck. Instead, he slides up the bed until he can keep his grasp on Tim's scruff easily, without any discomfort.

“I'm going to stay until you're better,” Jason says. He's not sure when he decided any of this, but he might as well tell Tim. Fair warning, and all that. “And then we're gonna go find B together, okay? I don't want you to be alone.”

Tim stares at Jason as if he's just revealed himself to be some kind of alien (and not the easy-going, Kryptonian kind, either), and then nods slowly. “Okay,” he says. It's an agreement for neither of them to be alone until both of them are ready, and that's how it starts.

Later they agree never to let it end, until death do them part.

[pepperonific]

Join the Club

Summary: Dick and Steph don't approve. Jason and Tim put on a show.

A/N: this is about 3600 words of bad porn and i'm really tired so here enjoy

disclaimer i don't know how sex clubs work i've never been in one

this is porn of the d/s kind

I HAVE NOT EDITED THIS

“You ready, babybird?” Jason says, one hand on the back of Tim's neck. The touch an echo of what is to come and Tim swallows around the lump in his throat.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yes. Jason.”

“Sir,” Jason growls, and Tim nearly whines.

“Sir,” he repeats, instead, and then he opens the door of the car and steps out. He shivers in the cool air of the night, the tight black pants he's wearing doing very little to shield him. The fishnet shirt does less.

Jason steps out of the driver's side and slams the door, then locks the car and walks around the car to stand at Tim's side. His hand returns to Tim's neck, and then he leads Tim towards the club entrance in front of them.

Tim glances upward at the sign that proclaims the name of the place to be 'Slipknot', and then does a quick check up and down the street. There are a few other people moving towards the club, but beside that the dark sidestreet is empty. He shivers again, this time from trepidation rather than cold, and follows Jason docilely towards the door.

The doorman gives them both a look, and then steps aside to allow them passage. Normally, Tim know, they would each be asked whether they were a dom, a sub, or a switch, and then what their purpose is. But not tonight. Not with Tim wearing a simple silver chain clipped tight around his throat, and Jason's hand so utterly possessive on his skin.

Then they step together into the warmth of the club, and all thoughts go out of Tim's heat. There is smoke in the air, a deep herbal incense that Tim knows immediately is an aphrodisiac. It isn't needed, not with the smell of sex just as heavy in the air. The atmosphere is heady, the walls draped with red fabric and the floor a stark black where there aren't people standing in close groups. Music fills the air, the beat quick and heavy, and Tim's heart speeds to match it, his breathing finding a faster rhythm as well. There are people dancing in a cordoned off area on one side of the floor, and the rest is taken up with platforms. Some are occupied, all kinds of things going on that are indistinct to Tim's eyes, but he has an idea. He can hear the moans and quiet cries from where he is, at the tops of the stair leading down to the floor. To their right, in a raised area level with the street, there is a bar, but neither Tim nor Jason need any alcohol to be entirely intoxicated.

This is not their first time coming here, but it is the first time Jason brought his bag of toys, and it is the first time that they intend to put on a show. But first, they head for the dance floor. They don't really need it, because they know this place now, and he excitement is sunk deep into their bones already. However, it's fun.

Tonight, dancing first was the wrong choice. Because before even five minute have passed, a harsh hand is wrapping over Tim's shoulder and jerking him away from Jason, pulling him back into another familiar chest. He tips his head up and sees the black fringe and stubbornly set jaw that can only belong to his eldest brother, and Tim flinches violently. He looks back at Jason, eyes wild, but Stephanie has stepped between them and has the right amount of tension in her shoulders to be glaring at Jason.

Jason glances over her shoulder at Tim, who is still wrapped in Dick's arms, and then steps back, moving through the crowd towards the edge of the dance floor. Tim tries toshrug Dick off, to follow his partner, but Dick's hold is firm.

“Timmy,” he says, and he sounds a bit sad.

“We need to get out of the way,” Tim says, and then elbows Dick just hard enough to make him let go. He pushes forward, headed in the same direction Jason had gone, but Jason and Steph have already vanished by the time he reaches the edge of the crowd. He sighs, disappointed, and then turns to face his brother.

“What the hell are you doing here Dick?” he demands, and places his hands on his hips.

“I only want what's best for you,” Dick starts, and that's all Tim needs to hear.

“I get that you disagree with what I do, and I understand that you don't like the fact that I do it with Jason. But this is a public place, and you have no right to come here and look down on not only us, but everyone here.” Tim purses his lips, and wonders why this had to happen tonight. He had been looking forward to it. “We're going to go find Jason and Steph, right now, and then you're going to leave, okay?”

“I-” Dick sighs, seeing the look on Tim's face, and then says, “Okay. Fine, we'll go get Jay and Steph, but I'm not leaving.”

“Your choice,” Tim says. “But I won't be at fault for what you see if you don't.”

They make their way between the people on the floor, all of the in varying states of dress and stages of arousal, until Tim spots Jason and Steph standing by a wall, arguing fiercely. As he walks up, he hears Steph say, “-what he wants. And how do we know that you're not getting off on hurting him?”

“I do get off on hurting him,” Jason growls. “That's the whole point.”

“And I get off on being hurt by him,” Tim says, stepping up to Jason. Jason immediately wraps an arm around his waist, then turns to bury his face in Tim's neck, muttering about stupid people who don't understand. Tim hushes him, and then looks up to meet Steph's eyes. “I know that you don't understand all of this, Steph, and you too, Dick, but you have to respect our choices and the choices of everyone who lives this lifestyle. Jason is my dom, and I love him. And I love everything he does to me. Now, I intend to continue my night as planned, and you can either leave, or you can stay and watch. Your choice.”

Dick and Steph share a look, and Tim realizes, shit, they're going to stay. But he offered, and no matter how embarrassed he might be of them seeing what's going to come next, he's going to have to deal with it.

“We'll stay,” Dick says, and Jason picks his head up and immediately throws it back, howling with laughter. A few people look over, and then shrug and dismiss it.

“Alright,” says Jason, once's he's calmed a bit. “But you might not like what you're going to see.”

Tim and Jason go to put their names on the roster for one of the platforms near the centre of the room, and then go to watch some of the other couples until it's their turn. They end up watching a curvy domme fuck herself on her male sub, who is build like a brick wall and whines like a child every time she rocks her hips down on his cock. It's erotic and slow, and they have a decent crowd. Jason stands, and presses Tim to his knees beside him, then cards his fingers through Tim's hair slowly as they watch.

Dick and Steph haver behind them, glancing around nervously. They obviously don't fit in, and they attract a number of amused looks from the assorted patrons of the club.

And then a pretty sub who works for the owner of the club wanders up to Jason and taps him on the shoulder, then bows her head and tells him that their platform is ready. Jason smiles at her, and tugs on Tim's hair. Tim rises, his eyes already somewhat unfocused, and he follows Jason over to the platform, Dick and Stephanie right behind him.

Jason tugs Tim up on the platform and presses him to his knees near the centre of it, then open the chest of toys at one edge of the circle and considers it for a long moment. Then he turns to Tim and says, loud and clear for everyone's ear, “Do you want me to tie you up, or are you going to be a good boy and stay still when I tell you to?”

Tim licks his lips, and says, “I can be a good boy, sir.”

“Are you sure?” Jason asks, pacing over to Tim and grabbing a fistful of hair, then using it to tug his head back so that he's staring up at Jason, his lips parted. “You gonna be a good boy for me, with you brother watching?”

There are a few murmurs from the crowd that has begun to gather. Jason and Tim are new, and Tim is beautiful, so there are already close to a dozen people standing around watching. The group will only grow, Jason knows.

Tim moans, quietly. “I can be good,” he says, his voice quiet and desperate. He's already hard inside his tight pants, and his pupils have gone wide with arousal.

Jason smiles. “That's good. Hands behind your back, baby. No touching- yourself or me, got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Tim says, and crosses his wrists behind his back. He tilts his head up further, looking pleadingly at Jason. “Kiss me, sir? Master? Please?”

Jason's smile grows. “Since you asked so nicely, pet.” Then he crouches, his legs splayed, and steals Tim's lips in a punishing kiss. Tim gasps into his mouth, then moans when Jason mites sharply at his lip. When Jason pulls away, Tim's lips are bloodied, and he looks even more dazed than he did before.

“Master,” he says, and looks up at Jason. “More?”

“No,” says Jason, sharp now, and then he slaps Tim across the face. Tim sways to the side, even as Jason reaches out with his opposite hand to cup the cheek he just struck and strokes it gently. “I allowed it once, but don't think you can just ask for whatever you want. You have to earn it.”

“I'm sorry,” Tim whimpers, “I'm sorry, sir. I'll be good.”

“Damn right you will.” He presses a thumb against Tim's bottom lip, tugging at it, and then he smears the blood across Tim's cheek. “So pretty,” he says. “Bleeding for me.”

He just barely hears the noise of protest that Dick makes, and it makes him grin, wild and savage. “I'm going to fuck your mouth,” he tells Tim. “And then I'm going to hurt you until you come all over yourself like the pretty slut you are.”

Tim moans and writhes in place. “Anything you want,” he pants, and Jason can see it in his eyes- he's gone. Dropped into that strange place that he always goes when he's submitting to Jason, his mind split between deep inward focus and trying to please Jason with everything he has.

Jason's free hand goes to the button of his jeans, and he pulls it open, then untangles his hand from Tim's hair and says, “Do the rest with your teeth. And remember to keep your hands where they are.”

Tim nods and leans forward, taking the zipper between his teeth and sliding it downwards, then using his face of push Jason's jeans out of the way a bit. He takes a moment to mouth at Jason's cock through his boxers, then tries to pull the waistband down. He fails, because the angle that he has to crane his neck at to get at the elastic of the waist band is too much, and Tim simply cannot get a good grip. After a moment, he whines and rests his head against Jason's hip. “Master,” he says. “I can't. Please, help?”

Jason chuckles, and strokes a hand through Tim's hair, then fists it there again. “I knew you wouldn't be able to.” Tim whines again, and Jason tugs down his boxers until his erection is free. Tim smiles up at him, his gaze adoring, and then he bends his head down to take Jason's cock in his mouth. Jason groans at the first touch of Tim's hot lips, still sticky with dried blood, and he thrusts shallowly into Tim's mouth. Tim dribbles a little, and moans around Jason's cock.

From the back of a crowd, a raspy voice shouts, “He can take it! Just fuck him!” Jason looks up from the top of Tim's head and meets the eyes of an older dom with streaks of grey in his hair and eyes so dark they're almost black.

“Shut the fuck up,” he growls, and thrusts gently again. “If you're in the habit of gagging your subs on your cock, you go right ahead. But I prefer to take some fucking caution, you careless cuntbag.”

Tim bobs his head, taking a little more of Jason's cock, and Jason chokes on a groan, still glaring at the back of the group.

“He's gagging for it already,” the asshole argues. “Give us an actual show, not some newbie playtime.”

“If you don't like what you're seeing,” Jason grits out, “fuck off.” He punctuates his words with a stronger thrust into Tim's mouth. Tim moans around him again, helpless and drooling. His lip is bleeding again, smearing red on Jason's cock every time Jason pulls him back off.

“You're just a newbie,” the guys grumbles, then starts to wander away. Some of the other patrons are giving him dirty looks, and Jason thinks that he's never going to get a sub with any sense ever again. He doesn't know how to treat his boys right.

Tim, on the other hand, is doing a wonderful job sucking cock. Jason returns his full attention to the hot mouth wrapped around his cock, and he groans and thrusts deep into Tim's mouth. “Perfect,” he says, tugging at Tim's hair. “Such a slutty mouth, baby. So good.”

The next thrust is deep enough to make Tim choke a little, and he coughs wetly, his mouth still full of Jason's cock. His lips are redder than ever, and Jason pulls him off for a moment to take in Tim's face, with his glazed blue eyes, red lips and flushed cheeks. He's stunning. And he has a job to do.

Jason pulls Tim's head back down and thrusts into his mouth hard, fucking his mouth without any care for Tim's ability to breathe. Tim is drooling, not quite choking but certainly feeling it, because he's moaning almost non-stop. It becomes overwhelming very quickly; the feeling of Tim's mouth combined with Jason's awareness of the eyes on him and his pretty boy. Especially the eyes belonging to their family members. Tim feels so damn good, and pleasure curls in Jason's gut, the knot of it building and tightening with every thrust. He glances through the crowd and catches Dick's shocked blue gaze, and then Tim brushes his teeth again the head of Jason's cock and he's coming so hard it's ridiculous. He feels like a fucking teenager, it's been years since he came this quickly, but Tim is amazing and the incense has him strung out, and Jason just feels good in every possible way.

He slides down off of the orgasm high easily, slowly, and Tim works him through it with a gentle tongue pressed against his cock and an easy swallow. Jason pulls out of Tim's mouth after a moment, and tucks himself back in his pants. He does a check and is pleased to see that Tim's hands are still at his back, though his knuckles are pressed into the skin so hard that they're likely to leave bruises.

“Now,” he says to Tim. His voice is still heavy with pleasure, and Timmy is being so very good. It's amazing. “What did I promise you, again?”

“You said-” The words catch in Tim's throat, and his voice is rough and ravaged. “You said that you would hurt me until I came all over myself like the p-pretty slut I am.” Tim only stutters on the compliment, which is common for him. Jason has been trying to work up his self-esteem, but it's not an easy thing to do.

“That's right,” Jason says, petting Tim's hair. “I'll even let you choose, since you sucked me so sweetly. Whip, crop, or bare hand?”

Tim shudders. “Bare hand, master, please.”

Jason's not at all surprised that Tim chose that. He loves the closeness of spanking, and Tim loves being bent over Jason's lap and grinding against his thigh while Jason strikes him again and again. He walks away from Tim for a short moment to grab a chair set just off the platform for his use, and then places in next to Tim and sits down. “Across my lap, baby boy,” he says, patting one thigh.

Tim scrambles to fold himself across Jason's legs, and Jason tugs his pants down just far enough to bare the pale skin of his ass.

“Count,” he demands, and then lets his hand fall. The sound of skin slapping against skin is tantalizing, and Tim moans out, “One,” after a moment. Jason smiles.

“Good.”

His hand falls a few more times, quick, light taps, and Tim counts hoarsely. When he gets to five, Jason stops, slows his motion and starts delivers hard smacks where Tim's ass meets his thighs. Tim is nearly choking on the numbers, rocking his hips against Jason's lap. He's hard inside his pants, and Jason is amazed that he's even lasted this long.

When he gets to fifteen strikes, Jason returns to the quicks swats, delivering a few to the same place and then moving on. Tim lasts until he gets to twenty four, and by then his voice is so choked he can barely speak. He comes hard inside his pants, thrusting against Jason's thigh helplessly, his voice breaking on moaning and quiet repetitions of “sir” and “master”.

Jason slides his hand along the reddened skin of Tim's ass as he comes down hushing him and whispering endearments. Once Tim calms a bit, he hauls the smaller boy into his lap and tugs him close, letting Tim bury his face in Jason's neck as he shivers with aftershocks, and with the feeling that comes from being as deep in subspace as he is.

Tim always drops lower right after a scene than he does during it, no matter how low he had been before. Jason loves that about him, but it also worries him sometimes. Tim had already been pretty low, and he thinks that probably it's time for them to get out of there.

The crowd around them is starting to disperse. A few doms come up to Jason as Tim slowly stops shuddering in his lap, and they give him compliments on how well he handled Tim, how gentle he was even as he kept complete control over his sub.

Once Tim has mostly calmed, Jason rises, helping Tim to wrap his legs around Jason's waist. He steps down off the platform carefully, well aware that Dick and Stephanie are watching him, and that they follow him as he heads for the entrance to the club. Tim is still wrapped around him, his face pressed to Jason's neck, though he's calm now. Not entirely lucid, Jason thinks, but calm. He's not deperate like he was a few minutes ago.

Jason thanks the doorman on the way out and makes his way to his car, then gently unfolds Tim from around his torso and sits him down in the car. He shuts the door, giving Tim a reassuring look through the glass, and then he turns to face Dick and Steph.

“So,” he says. “Do you get it now, or are you going to have to follow us home as well? Because I can tell you what exactly we're going to do when we get there, and it won't be as interesting as this little adventure.”

Dick swallows. “What are you going to do?”

“Shit,” mutters Jason, because he walked into that one. “Probably, I'm going to take Tim home and strip him out of those clothes, and we're going to take a bath together. And then I'm going to dry him off and give him a bite to eat and put him to bed, and we're going to sleep. That's it.”

“That seems a bit... tame,” says Steph. “Compared to what we just saw.”

“It's called 'aftercare',” says Jason, too tired to be snappish with them. “He's pretty deep in his own head right now, and it could fuck him up pretty bad if I don't give him that. Really he just needs to be held, or to be told that he was good, or whatever, but I like to go the extra mile with him. He's never been taken care of before in his damn life. I want to take care of him now. Do you get it? This is all a part of that.”

Dick and Steph just look at each other, and then back at him. “We'll leave you to go home,” Dick says, after a minute of watching Jason shift uncomfortably. “I'll see you both later.”

Jason hums, then walks around the car and gets in. Next to him, Tim buckles himself in.

“Jay?” Tim asks, once they pull away from the curb. “It's all okay, right?” His words are a bit slurred.

Jason nods. “We're all good, baby. Don't worry about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

[pepperonific]

Next

Summary: The morning after.

A/N: This is the immediate followup to First. There isn't actually any porn in this part, I'm sorry to say, but it's implied. Also, you should really read the first part first, or else this will make little sense.

Tim wakes warm and comfortable, and more at ease than he has felt in his life. He sighs, murmuring sleepily, and arches between the warm bodies bracketing him.

Then he freezes. His eyes snap open, meeting familiar dark blue, and he tries to squirm away, pushing back from the broad chest in front of him.

Jason's arms tighten around him, and at his back the slightly smaller man (Damian, he thinks, it must be Damian) presses close, tossing one arm over both Tim and Jason.

“Good morning, pretty bird,” Jason says, his voice husky with sleep and heavy with fondness.

“What the fuck,” Tim hisses. “Where am I?”

“At the loft,” Damian says, nuzzling the back of Tim's neck. Something settles within Tim, Damian's Beta influence pressing down the panic that was rising in his chest. “You are safe, beloved.”

“No,” Tim says. “No. No, this isn't happening, this did not happen. You can't- No.”

“Tim,” Jason says, frowning now. His arms tighten further, although Tim has stopped squirming. “It's okay. We're glad that you came here, we want you. It's fine. Please don't freak out, okay? You were... begging. You were pretty much gone, last night, and it was better that we did what we did.”

“This isn't about sex,” Tim says, and shoves backwards, then pushes himself up and over Jason and out of the bed. “This is about- about my status. As an Omega. No one knows, Jason, not even Bruce. Maybe Alfred, if he's found the suppressants, but...”

“That doesn't matter to us,” says Damian, rolling over and propping his chin against Jason's shoulder. “You came here.”

“In a heat. I didn't have any control. If I had, I wouldn't have come here.”

Damian recoils a little, and Jason scowls. Tim can feel their hurt, their anger, and it makes him want to whine and beg forgiveness. His shoulders tighten, and he forces down his instincts and the lingering heat, trying to keep his composure.

“That's not true,” Jason says. “You trust us, Timmy, don't you even try to deny it. We were your best option, because you needed an Alpha and all the others are taken, except for Cass. And you don't want her, do you? You wanted us. So you came here, and we took care of you.”

“I didn't want you,” Tim spits. “I wanted- I wanted someone! Anyone! I would have rolled over and begged for Ra's al Ghul, and you know it.”

“But that would have been a rape,” Damian says. “He would have been cruel, and he would have lorded it over you, taken you for his own. We would never presume to own you.”

Tim snorts and bends down to snatch a shirt off of the ground. It's huge- Jason's. He slips it over his head, feeling the flare of possessiveness and arousal that comes from Jason in response, and then says, “Then why are you fighting so hard to make me think that you did me some kind of favour? Why can't you just accept that I didn't want this for myself, or for you, or for anyone?”

“Because you are panicking,” says Damian, rolling over Jason and rising from the bed. He's entirely unselfconscious, young and strong, and well-aware of how handsome he is. Tim swallows. Damian is taller than him now; Tim is the shortest in the family besides Cass.

“Of course I am!” Tim shouts, backing away from Damian. “There's a reason I never let anyone know that I'm an Omega, Damian. You know exactly what Bruce would say if he found out, and I can't let something like this control my life. It's not my fault that I'm some fucking puppy just waiting to lie down for the bigger dogs and let them take what they want.”

“Is that really how you see us?” Jason narrows his eyes at Tim, and sits up behind Damian. “We only wanted to help you.”

“You wanted to own me,” Tim says. “You wanted to- to fuck me, to take without thinking of whether or not it was what I wanted.”

“That is not true. You came to us in need, and though it is unlikely you could have fought us in that state, you were willing. Those were our names on your lips, not anyone else's. And Timothy- Tim. Do not ever presume that we would think less of you for something you cannot control.” Damian's voice is calm, cool and gentle, soothing Tim's fear and anger like water over a burn. He's being rational, Tim knows. But even so...

“You wouldn't be the first ones, if you did. Judge me, I mean.”

“Timmy?” Jason stands up, moving to stand just behind Damian. Damian leans into him, his shoulders pressing against Jason's chest, and Jason's hands settle on Damian's hips without any conscious thought. Tim shivers at the easy display of affection, and takes another step back.

“Omegas are rare,” Tim says. “And most people think that they're weak, or less than Betas or Alphas. My parents, when I was tested- they paid the doctor a lot of money to keep him quiet. They told me never to tell anyone. So I didn't. You don't understand what I've had to do to keep this secret.”

“I'm surprised that Steph doesn't know,” Jason says. “Weren't you two sleeping together?”

Tim shakes his head. “I've never done any of that. Not with anyone; you two were my firsts.”

Jason stares in shock, and his hands tighten on Damian's hips. “Oh. Timmy- oh, god, I'm sorry. I wish I had known. I would have been more gentle.”

Tim shakes his head. “There's no way you could have known, Jay.” The nickname slips out before he can think better of it, and then he sighs. “I can't say that I hate either of you for this. But you have to understand why I'm not happy.”

“Certainly.” Damian leans further into Jason, lifting one hand in an invitation to Tim. “If you wish, we can keep this from the others. It need never happen again.” Jason grumbles unhappily, but doesn't refute Damian's offer. Tim looks at them both, trying to assess their sincerity.

“Why would you offer that?” Tim asks, edging forward a little.

“Because we care about you, you idiot,” Jason says. “We want you to trust us, and if that means never touching you again, fine. Though I would appreciate it if you would let us help you through the last of your heat. I can tell that you're not done yet just by looking at you.”

“I've been taking suppressants my whole life,” Tim murmurs. “Of course I'm still in heat. It'll likely come back stronger later.”

“Don't those drugs have really shitty side-effects?” Jason asks.

“Yes,” Tim says. “They do. And due to trouble with drug interactions, most other medications that I take don't work very well.”

Damian hums. “There is one other option available to you,” he says, letting his hands fall back to his side.

“And what's that?”

“You could form a triad with us,” he says. “We care for you, Tim. We want to see you taken care of, whole and hale. If you continue the way you are, it will only be so long before something like this happens again, and then what? Next time, it may not be us that you go to. But if you bond with us, we can take care of you. And when your status does become known, we will be able to stand for you and be believed when we say that you are stable and strong, and that you can take care of yourself. That you do not need an Alpha keeper.”

“But Jason would be my 'Alpha keeper',” Tim says. “So what's the point?”

“In public, he would be seen as such. In private, he would be nothing of the sort. You are autonomous and powerful in your own right, and we both know that you do not need a keeper.”

The wheels turning in Tim's head are almost visible to Jason and Damian, and silently they both pray that he joins them. He is beautiful, and intelligent, and strong, and they want him. Their relationship has never been perfect, messy and barely legal as it is, but Tim would make it something right. Something whole.

“I'm not in love with either of you,” Tim says, finally. “But I do care for you, and I do love you. I want to try.”

Jason laughs and steps from behind Damian striding over to Tim and wrapping one arm around his waist. He pulls Tim against his chest, then tangles a hand in Tim's hair. “So,” he says. “Is this okay?”

The heat flares, low in Tim's gut, and he laughs as well, low and husky. “I suppose. Just- be gentle. I'm sore.”

“Of course you are,” Damian says, his voice gone smooth and hungry. He moves around to Tim's back, sliding his hands under the large shirt Tim had pulled on and grabbing Tim's hips. Jason's hands find their way to Tim's ass, his fingertips kneading Tim's skin. “Jason was quite thorough last night. And now, beloved, it is my turn.”

Tim moans, and then heat swamps him and all the uncertainty is gone from his mind.

[pepperonific]

In Which There Is A Perfect Christmas

Summary: It's easy to forget, sometimes, that Tony is human. And Christmas is never easy.

A/N: I made myself cry writing this, so fair warning, it's upsetting. Sorry.

Crossposted to AO3.

The Avengers gather in the kitchen on the morning of Christmas Eve and sit around and drink coffee, and eat muffins that someone had bought yesterday, and mumble greetings to each other for close to twenty minutes before anyone realizes what's wrong.

“Where's Tony?” Bruce asks, glancing around the kitchen. And sure enough, Tony is absent, his usual spot at the island empty, and his travel mug gone from the shelf.

“Master Stark left a voice message, if you would like to hear it,” says JARVIS, and Natasha jumps a little in her seat. No one laughs, because they all jumped a bit when they were first getting used to JARVIS, and Natasha is the most tightly wound of all of them. Especially first thing in the morning, before anyone is finished their second cup of coffee.

“Uh,” says Bruce. “Sure.”

Tony's voice comes over the speakers in the kitchen. “Hey, guys, uh, got some PR shit to deal with today, I'll be back for dinner? I hope, fuck, I don't know. Look, I'm so sorry. Fury probably has stuff for you all to do today as well, I guess? Or tomorrow. Or both. Again, I don't even fucking know. I'm sure he'll call you. I'll see you later, bye.”

He sounds harried, rushed, and he has a strange note in his voice. Everyone puzzles over it for a moment, then they dismiss it as Tony being Tony.

“Thanks, JARVIS,” Steve says. “We'll see him tonight, I suppose. Let us know if his plans change, alright?”

JARVIS takes a pause that would be a sigh if he were human, and then says, “Of course, Captain. Director Fury has in fact left a schedule for today and tomorrow with me; there are several events that the Avengers should appear at. There are a number of items to choose from; I would suggest that you split yourselves into pairs, or threes, so that you may maximize your time.”

This sounds like the opposite idea of fun to everyone but Thor, who loves PR work. But Steve tell JARVIS to put the schedule on the glass that makes up the counter of the island, and they set to work dividing up destinations for the day.

The list is extensive, with two morning events, and four evening ones, just for Christmas Eve. Thor, being Thor, volunteers to make an appearance at the fundraising event for the city's orphanages, which usually just involves a lot of hugging small children, smiling, and laughing. He makes children happy, and happy children encourage donations. Bruce is assigned to go with him, because he gets along well with the older children who are still trapped in the system. He has been there, in a way that Thor never has, and he is a good calming influence.

There is a brunch happening for war veterans, which Steve immediately agrees to go to. He knows how to shake hands with old men and women, and he knows them. He knows what they've been through. Plus, he enjoys it.

Clint and Natasha get the morning off, but are each sent off alone in the evening. There is a homeless shelter hosting a dinner, and Clint is going to volunteer to serve food to the needy. He is a friendly face, and familiar with the streets. Unlike Steve, or Thor, he does not particularly enjoy his task, but he understands its necessity. Natasha goes to a feminist gala, which is throwing some support behind women's reproductive rights, as well as raising money for a rape-relief foundation. Natasha is invited to give a speech is she wishes, and she plans to. These are issues she knows her mind on, and she is glad for the chance to speak it.

When they get home, Bruce and Steve have made dinner, a homey, Christmas-y thing that smells like oregano and chicken, and mostly tastes like home. They eat and make merry, as you should on Christmas. And they had hoped, it being a later dinner, that Tony would appear in his suit, as tired as he always looked after a day with his public face on.

But Tony never shows up, and by the time midnight rolls around, the Avengers are beginning to retire to bed. Thor goes first, though he needs the least sleep out of all of them. However, he feels no need to wait for Tony, and he enjoy sleep. Then it is Clint and Natasha, and then Steve, and then only Bruce is left. Bruce waits up on the couch until close to 2 AM, and dozes off. He is woken from a half-waking dream by the sound of a soft curse.

He opens his eyes to find Tony there, staring at him.

“Why didn't you go to bed?” Tony asks, sounding befuddled.

Bruce shrugs sleepily and drags himself off of the couch. “No one should come home to be alone on Christmas.”

Bruce leaves the room, then, well aware that Tony's gaze is on his back. “There're left overs in the fridge,” he calls over his shoulder, and then yawns. “Merry Christmas, Tony.”

--

Christmas Day dawns bright and cold and clear, and this time when the Avengers rise Tony is waiting for them in the kitchen, hunched miserably over a cup of coffee. They all mumble greetings to them, and he acknowledges them and then goes back to his slow sips.

“Are you okay?” Bruce asks him quietly, and Tony tries on a smile for him.

“I'm fine.” It sounds like save me, but Bruce knows that unless Tony tells him something, and offer of help will be soundly rejected.

He finishes his coffee and speaks up. “So, uh, I talked to Fury and you guys are off for the day. I've got shit to do for SI, still, but you can do whatever you want, I guess.”

“You sure?” Clint asks, half a muffin stuffed in his mouth. “'Cause you look tired as fuck.” His words are a bit muffled, but he gets his point across.

Tony nods, and smiles again. “Christmas sucks,” Tony says. “All work and no play.” He shrugs. “No rest for the wicked, I guess.”

Clint hums through the rest of his muffin, and slowly conversation drifts away from Tony. He stays for a little while, and then slips away without a word. He's still pale and tired looking when he goes, and Bruce watches after him.

“So,” Clint is saying, when Bruce turns his attention back to the conversation. “What do you guys want to do today? We've got the whole day, after all.”

The group starts to discuss plans, and Tony vanishes from their minds, just like he vanished from the room.

--

They settle on having a nice afternoon in, but by the time four o'clock rolls around, Natasha wants to go out for dinner, and Clint is suggesting drinks afterwards. Thor is booming with enthusiasm, and Steve and Bruce are wearing quiet, content smiles. It's a nice Christmas, if not an orthodox one, and the dinner is good. They go out for Mediterranean food and then they hit a bar afterwards. They sit around, making merry and signing autographs for anyone who recognizes them. It's cheerful, and Clint tries to force terrifying eggnog concoctions of them (Bruce refuses, and though Steve drinks, they have no effect on him, as usual).

Somewhere around eleven o'clock, Bruce's phone rings. It's the shrill sound of an emergency ring, cutting through the noise of the bar, and all of the Avengers look up. Bruce yanks his phone out of his pocket and checks the caller ID, and then answers the call and puts it on speakerphone.

“You're on speaker, JARVIS,” he says, setting the phone down in the middle of the round table the Avengers are sharing. They all lean in so that they can hear.

JARVIS sounds more disapproving than any of them have ever heard him sound, when he speaks. “When I was learning human customs and mannerisms during my first year 'alive', I was taught that Christmas is a time to spend with one's family. One's whole family, regardless of any level of affection. For someone like Master Stark, who has built his family from the scraps of others, times like this are all the more important. I would have liked to think that such an esteemed group as the Avengers would think of that before entirely forgetting about their other teammate.”

Then JARVIS hangs up on them, and the Avengers are left staring at each other across the round table, a sick feeling growing within all of them. Because JARVIS was right. They'd forgotten about Tony.

--

It was quiet in the Tower when the team arrived back. There was the quiet sound of a crackling fire coming from the direction of the den they use the most, even though they don't have a fireplace, and they head that way. When they get there, they all stop and simply look.

Tony is asleep on the couch, curled into himself like a child. He's wearing his slacks from the day and a Christmas sweater that is too big for him; clearly stolen from someone else's closet. The TV is showing the loop of a fireplace, the logs burning down. One candle is lit in the middle of the table, a scented one that is filling the air with the scent of cedar, and that mixes with the smell of fresh pine from a small, undecorated tree that has been set up in one corner of the room. There are a few neatly wrapped gifts under the tree.

“Jesus,” mutters Clint. “I didn't think-”

“None of us did,” Natasha says. “We all assumed that he didn't care, because he was busy. We should have thought about it, but we didn't.”

“Often I find that we think the worst of Tony,” Thor continues, his voice as hushed as they have ever heard it. He sounds mournful, too, and it carries all of this thousands of years into his voice. “We consider him careless, and insensitive, and self-absorbed. We forget that he has emotions as well, that his heart can be broken.”

Bruce just shakes his head and walks over the the couch. Steve is saying something about how Tony doesn't always think the same as them, but that he's still human. Bruce doesn't really care. Right now he wants to make sure that Tony is alright, and that means not letting him wake up alone.

“Tony?” he says, softly, coming to kneel next to the couch. He rests a hand on Tony's hunched shoulder, noting how tense his friend's frame is, even in sleep.

Tony comes awake all at once, a flash of panic in his eyes, and then he relaxes. “Bruce?” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep. “Wha' time's it?”

“Late,” Bruce says. “I'm sorry. We made you come home alone, even after what I said.”

Tony shuffles around in a motion that might be a shrug. “S'okay. You were out having fun, I get it.”

“No, it's not okay,” Bruce says, and shoots a warning glance at where Steve is approaching the back of the couch. Tony doesn't need anything Steve has to offer right now. “We're your family, and we should be with you on Christmas. It was unfair of us to leave you behind.”

“I laid down on the wire,” Tony mumbles, and Bruce thinks that maybe he's not awake yet. He's rarely this honest when he's paying attention. Behind the couch, Steve flinches. “I did the dirty work, you got to have some freedom. Someone had to, s'okay. Really.”

“Tony,” Bruce sighs, but Tony waves a lazy hand.

“There're gifts. Under the tree.” He looks over at it and smiles. “It's kind of perfect.”

“You made a perfect Christmas, just for us,” Bruce says, and tries to smile. He thinks that it doesn't work, though, because Tony just looks worried.

“Yeah.” Tony frowns a little. “I wanted to do somethin' nice. For us all. But you weren't here, and now you're not happy.” He's still half-asleep, and that is most certainly a measure of how tired he is.

“I'm very happy,” Bruce says. “I'm just sorry that I missed it. That we all missed it. You made it perfect, and we messed it up.”

Tony shakes his head, and wakes himself up a little. He blinks at Bruce, and then smiles. It's a Tony Stark smile, all easy assurance and charm. It looks fake in the candle light, with sleep still brushed along the lines of Tony's face. “Doesn't matter now,” he says. “I'm going to go to bed. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Tony,” Bruce says, and does that thing where he watches Tony walk away, and no one stops him. No one stops him to tell him that he's allowed to be here, with them. That he's allowed to sleep on his own couch if he wants to, and that he doesn't have to lie and say that he's going to bed even when Bruce can already see the workshop in the set of his shoulders. It makes Bruce sick, to see the way Tony does a half-disguised double take when he sees the rest of the team in the door way, watching him with grief painted across their features. And he suddenly cannot abide it any longer.

“Tony, wait,” he says. “Please? Stay and open presents.”

“I doubt anyone bought me anything,” Tony says, a wry smile on his face. “I have pretty much everything.”

“Christmas isn't about things, Tony,” Steve says. “Will you accept it if I say that our gift to you is time where you don't have to make yourself into something you're not? Or, just time with us, to be happy?”

“I-” says Tony, and then he shuts his mouth and stares at them. They all stare back; Bruce still kneeling on the floor, and Steve behind the couch, and Natasha and Clint and Thor still in the doorway.

“Please,” says Bruce, again, and Tony nods jerkily.

“Okay.”

[pepperonific]

Untitled

Clark has a certain degree of selective hearing; he needs it in order to stay sane. And it only makes sense that he's tuned in on the people he cares about: Lois, Ma, Pa, a good chunk of the Justice League and many of their sidekicks, and, of course, Bruce. When there is little else to do, he finds himself tuning in to whichever of his friends is having the most interesting conversation, or being the loudest, or being the most out of character.

Today, he finds himself listen to Bruce as he gets ready for sleep on the other side of the country, the quite shuffle of cloth, the sound of running water, and Bruce's steady heartbeat below it all. It sounds like he's taking a shower, so perhaps he has been training down in the Cave? Clark doesn't know, but it doesn't matter. There's the sound of water pattering against skin, and Bruce sighs quietly, contentedly. It makes Clark smile, because Bruce sounds happy so very rarely these days. Or ever, if he's being honest.

Then something changes in the timbre of Bruce's breathing, in the rhythm of his heart. Clark wonders what's happening for a moment, and then comes the smooth sound of skin sliding against skin, and Bruce breathes in sharply, and Clark thinks, Oh.

The sound of Bruce- touching himself. Is slick, and easy, and slow. Languid. Bruce is taking his time, relishing whatever fantasy is occupying his mind, and his noises are near silent. Hitches of breath, and quiet moans, and hard swallows. Anyone else would need to be pressed against Bruce, skin-close, to hear most of them. But Clark hears everything, and for some reason he can't stop listening.

He's never done this before. He's not like this, he's no voyeur. That doesn't stop him from imagining Bruce's hands, with his scarred knuckles and rough calluses, wrapped around- well. It's an interesting image, to say the least. Clark certainly feels interested.

Bruce takes his time, but he's human, and as he peaks his noises get somewhat louder, turning into deep groans that catch in his throat. Clark finds himself biting his own lip, listening intently and still thinking about what it looks like. Trying to imagine Bruce's face, and to guess what he might be thinking of. Bruce doesn't speak anyone's name, just moans, and then takes a minute just to breathe. He finishes his shower and heads to bed, and Clark thinks that maybe he's allowed to breath now too. Not that it's at all easy, with all of that burned into his brain.

[pepperonific]

Against the Dying of the Light: Part 2

Chapter Title: Growth

A/N: WOW IT HAS BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE I POSTED ANYTHING SORRY GUYS. Okay this chapter is kind of rude? And there is JayTim. That is not the final pairing for this fic, which is going to end up being Tim/No One. Because I am apparently not allowed to be nice to Tim in this 'verse. BUT THERE IS JAYTIM IN THIS PART.

Warnings in this chapter for beating as punishment, consensual underage sex, and Ra's being an asshole.

Crossposted on AO3.

Jason Todd comes into Tim's life like the striking of a match: so small as to be nothing, and the beginning of something wild and powerful. At first, when he is still broken and thin, shattered until he was a mindless doll, Tim sees no reason to deal with him. But seeing the way Talia doted on Jason, even to the point of ignoring Damian and Tim himself, he becomes curious. He knows who Jason is, of course, he had followed him for a long time when he was still Robin, and he had heard from Ra's' Gotham spies what had happened. But now, a year after Jason's death, the boy himself mysteriously back from the dead and living in Tim's home, Tim feels that Jason is a stranger, and therefore is to be learned.

Tim discovers quickly that there is not much to learn of an empty shell. Jason is only a shadow of what he once was, and though there is something in his eyes that makes Tim think that he could be saved, it is distant and dying with each passing day.

He tells Ra's as much, a month after Jason joins them, and Ra's smooths his hair and whispers that Jason means nothing, that he is a simple pet of Talia's and her interest will wane. Tim frowns, because many things are short entertainments to Talia, but she has sent away Damian to be trained elsewhere while she dotes on Jason, and that is wrong. There is something different about Jason, it seems, that he has managed to capture not only Talia's attention, but also Tim's. The only one resistant is Ra's, for a reason unknown to Tim.

It is not a surprise to Tim when Talia asks her father for use of the Lazarus Pit in order to heal Jason. It is also not a surprise that Ra's refuses. His lord is not a kind man, nor a particularly generous one, except in regard to those he cherishes. And again, it does not surprise Tim in the least when Talia defies Ra's' wishes.

He does somewhat surprise himself when he comes upon Ra's berating Talia for her actions, his hand raised to strike her. Instead of standing by as he would if it were any other member of the court, he steps in and takes the blow for Talia. Ra's freezes, and Tim simply stares at him. “It was my idea,” Tim says, and hopes that Ra's cannot see through the lie. “I wanted to know Jason Todd, not this shell.”

“Did you now?” Ra's asks, narrowing his eyes over the top of Tim's head at Talia.

“He did,” Talia says. “We both wanted it, and I agreed to try whether you allowed it or not. He asked that I not take the fall, but I didn't want him hurt.”

“Do not hit her,” Tim says, pleading just a little. “It was my fault, I just wanted to meet him.”

Jason is unconscious behind Talia, bandages still wrapped around his body. He had escaped the pit in a frenzy, and it had taken many ninja, including Talia herself, to subdue him. But she stands over him protecting him as if he were her own, and Tim sees it when Ra's comes to realize the meaning of her actions.

“As you will,” he says, and looks to Timothy. “Follow.” And then he turns and walks away, leaving Talia to tend to Jason. Tim glances over his shoulder at her only once, an uncharacteristic nervousness rising in him. He does not know what plans his lord has for him. Talia meets Tim's eyes, and in silence she tells him that he will be fine, that when it is over she will be there to help. Tim tries to smile, and fails, and then trots after his lord, silent as the grave that Jason had crawled out of.

 --

After, Ra's lets Tim curl into his lap while those old hands soothe the hot marks on his back with balm and wipe away tears with gentle fingers. He tells Tim that he cried so quietly, that he bore it well, that he was noble and brave. He tells Tim that he is not sorry.

Tim knows.

 --

Damian comes home. He walks to Talia with the grace of a killer, or a dancer, of an al Ghul, and greets his mother formally, and bows to her as if she is a goddess. She blesses him with a single kiss upon his brow, still so young and smooth, and he allows himself a bright smile for her. Then with his eyes he begs her for permission to greet Tim as a younger brother would greet the elder, and when she grants it he runs across the hall. He tosses himself at Tim, a small solid weight that Tim catches and pulls close, despite the lingering pain in his back.

Around the room, battle-hardened warriors and pretty, useless people smile in just the same way as their princes reunite. Many know the nature of Damian's absence from the citadel, but very few know of the punishment that Tim bore only nights before, and that is as it should be. Damian is the heir to Ra's' empire; his life has never been his own.

Damian is a comfort to Tim, who until know has not known the harshness of his master's hand, had not understood the cruelty that the Lazarus Pit has bred in Ra's over the years. He does his best to remember that he brought it on himself, that he had asked to take the blow for Talia. But the does not negate the memory of the whip falling across his back again and again, of the way Ra's had not stopped until he screamed, sobbed, begged and promised never to be so selfish again. It does not make him forget that Ra's had left him tied to the post long enough to drag his finger across the marks he left on Tim's skin, none of them quite harsh enough to cause him to bleed, but every single one a lash of lingering pain.

Tim tries not to linger on that, though, and instead retreats with Damian, taking the younger boy away from the court and from his training, if only for a day, to curl close and share stories of the good and that bad that has befallen them while they were apart. Damian does not tell Tim of everything he has done, and Tim does not speak of his punishment, and they are happy.

 --

Jason wakes three days after Damian arrives home, and Tim goes to see him while Damian is spending time with his mother.

Jason is groggy still, staring at his ceiling blankly when Tim slips into the room.

“Jason Todd,” Tim says to him, and settles in a chair next to the bed.

“That's m'name,” Jason mumbles. “D'n't wear t'out.”

Tim smiles. “My name is Timothy. Please call me Tim.”

Jason turns his head to blink at Tim. “I dunno where I am,” he says. “But I know i's no' home.”

“No, you are far from your home.” Tim looks down. “What do you remember?”

“Laughter,” says Jason. “Pain. And then-” A shudder wracks his body, and he shuts his eyes tightly against whatever demon is haunting him.

“You died,” Tim says, unwilling to soften the truth. Jason will need to face it, and now is perhaps the best time, when he is free to sleep and hide and weep if he will.

“Yeah.”

“Have any of the servants told you where you are?”

“No.”

Tim looks at him, and tilts his head just a little to the side. “You are in the home of Ra's al Ghul.”

Jason looks at Tim, his eyes narrowed. “Oh. An' who're you, his whore?”

Tim laughs, restrained but truly amused. “No, I am nothing of the sort. I am his ward.”

“Like I was Bruce's,” Jason says. His eyes are a bit more clear than they were only minutes ago, and Tim thinks that having company is beneficial to Jason's recovery. Silently, he resolves to visit every day until Jason is well again.

“I suppose,” Tim says. “Although Ra's is less of a a father and more of a master, to me. He cares for me, but he is not my parent. Nor will he be yours; do not think to try to make him so. He is father to no one but his daughter, and grandfather to no one but his grandson.”

“I got a dad,” says Jason. “And a mom.”

“As do I.” Tim bows his head, remembering Jack and Janet, and how they were at once good to him and the absolute worst. “I left them, though. This is better.”

“Is it?”

Tim nods, and Jason just looks at him. His blinks and slow, and heavy, and his eyes are tired.

“Sleep,” Tim says. “I will return tomorrow.”

Jason nods, and then his breathing evens into patterns of sleep. Tim watches for a moment, then slips out of the room to find Damian.

 --

Damian leaves the castle again, returning to his training. Tim mourns in a way, missing his brother from the moment he is gone. It seems as though he will be gone forever, although Talia tell him that unless something changes, he will be gone only a few years.

Tim is almost eleven, and by the time Damian returns, he will likely be fifteen, or even sixteen. It makes him feel sick to know that his brother will be gone for that long, despite Ra's' assurances that he will be allowed to visit from time to time. And of course, Damian will not forget him. He is only five years of age now, but he loves Tim more than anyone but Talia. That will not change. Tim knows it.

In the mean time, Tim must occupy himself, must continue his training and learn of the world and gather experiences. He reads and rides horses, and fights with the ninja. He takes some small assignments for the League of Shadows, and he learns to kill without remorse. His training steps up, leaving him with very little time to himself, but what time he does have, he spends with Jason.

Jason is interesting to Tim, and something strange blooms between them as the months whirl away, like sand into the wind. Tim doesn't think of it as love, but more as freedom, and the right to have what he wants because he wants it. Jason is amusing, and sweet, and he indulges Tim's moments of needy tactility. He is always hugging and touching, stroking his fingers through Tim's hair while Tim reads aloud to him, or sparring with him until they collapse to the practice mats in a heap. Jason warms the ice that grows within Tim, and Tim banishes the darkness from Jason's eyes.

Tim is eleven, and then twelve, and then thirteen, and then fourteen, and his training reaches its peak, and his relationship with Jason evolves. They share kisses in dark places, and they lie together in the pitch black shadows of night, where Jason runs rough hands over Tim's body and teaches him what cannot be taught. Jason is older, almost eighteen, and he is something that should be forbidden, but isn't.

Ra's allows their relationship for a time. But then Tim starts to drift away from him, to spend his time tucked away with Jason instead of sprawled across Ra's' lap as he holds court. Tim starts to fall in love, even though he knows that he should not. Ra's sees that, and comes to Tim before he leaves on an assignment and tells him that what he had with Jason is over. It hurts Tim, but he does not mourn. Not like he did Damian's leaving. When he returns from his mission, his blade bloodied and his eyes dark, Jason is gone.

Talia says, “He went home, to be with his family.”

Ra's says, “Love is poison, Timothy. Never forget.”

Tim commits the words to memory, even as he asks for a day with his brother. Ra's smiles and allows it, and tells Tim that family comes above all else. That this is why Jason left, and that it is why Tim will always stay. Tim turns his face into Ra's hand, and thinks that he will never be Ra's' son, but that for Damian he would go to the ends of the earth and back again.

 --

Damian is almost ten years old when he returns to the citadel. Tim is soon the be sixteen, and Talia has grand plans for the both of them.

She pulls them aside one evening, and says, “My sons.”

Damian nods, and Tim smiles his Nightingale smile, the one that is his.

“You are young, and yet nearly grown. Perfect, or as perfect as I can make you. And now you must go. Leave the nest, so to speak, and fly on your own.”

“You are sending us to father,” Damian says, and Tim cocks his head. He has never met the man that was once so important to him, and that is now so important to his brother, and to Talia.

“I am,” Talia says, and takes Damian into a tight embrace, and then releases him. “I do not feel ready to let you go, but it is time.”

“I am ready,” Damian promises. “I have been ready for a year, mother. You know that.”

“No,” Tim says, quietly. “I was with you a year ago, for a few days. You were not ready.”

Damian glares, but does not contest Tim's words as he would have if it were Talia that had spoken. He knows that his brother knows him better than anyone, and that Tim is never wrong about him.

“Timothy,” Talia says now, turning to Tim. “You will go with him.”

“Yes. What am I to do?”

“Protect him,” says Talia, laying a hand on Tim's shoulder. “Keep him on the right path, guide him, and above all else, make sure that he has an ally. A brother, to be by his side, and care for him, and be his friend when the world stands against him. Because it will, at least at first.”

Damian looks disgruntled that his mother is speaking as though he isn't there, but says nothing. Tim just nods, and puts on his Blackbird face. “Always, ma'am,” he says. This is the easiest mission he has ever been given, Tim thinks. Not even a true mission, because it is a duty he wants to perform.

Damian says, “When are we to leave?”

Talia tells him that they have a day to pack their belongings and say their goodbyes. Damian nods, and immediately scurries away to pack and they say goodbye to his tutors and teachers. Tim has no one to say goodbye to, and so lingers a moment with Talia. She walks out onto a balcony and looks down into the ravine below, and Tim follows her.

“You should pack, Tim,” she says, quietly.

“In a moment,” he says. “You have done well by me.”

“This is not the last we will see of each other,” says Talia, a warning in her voice.

Tim disagrees, but does not tell her so. His gut feelings have often been right, but he does not want to upset her now. Not when he feels unlikely to see her again, once he leaves her side. “Of course,” he says, instead, and bows his head. “Even so. Thank you. You did not need to treat me so kindly as you have; I am not your son.”

“You are no one's son, Timothy. Perhaps you never have been.”

That is true, and Tim tells her so. Then he says, “You asked me to protect Damian, and I will. But you must also understand-”

“That you are not nearly so emotionless as you present yourself to be. I know. I trust you with him.”

“Thank you. Goodbye, Talia.”

Then he turns and walks away, and pretends that he doesn't hear Talia whisper a goodbye to the wind.

[pepperonific]

First

Summary: Nobody knows that Tim is an Omega. However, that exact status becomes a... problem. Good thing Jason and Damian have a handle on it.

Notes: This is ABO 'verse, with JayTimDami. This is their first time together, and Tim's thought processes are somewhat impaired. He's consenting, but he's also not really caring about what exactly is happening, so this might be iffy for some people. It is also somewhat iffy for Jason, if that helps.

I blame this entire thing on Cait.

Crossposted to AO3.

Being an Omega in an Alpha's world is tough for anyone; it is tougher for Tim Drake. His orientation is his deepest secret, because he knows that if anyone found out, he would lose Red Robin in an instant. Bruce, Jason, Cass, and Babs are all strong Alphas, and Dick, Steph and Damian are Betas. Of the family, only Alfred is an Omega, and he has long since proved his mettle.

As Tim grows into his abilities as an Omega, and into the instincts and urges that come with being one, medicated or not, he finds it easier just to distance himself from his family, rather than risk being outed. He's careful to monitor the periods of heightened sex drive that would be heats if he weren't taking drugs to suppress them, and to avoid his family them. He reigns in his Resonance, the strange empathy that all Omegas have, and he resists the mild Commands issued by Bruce and the other as best he can. It's hard, so hard, when every part of him is screaming at him to fall to his knees and expose his throat, or to lay back and spread his legs for the Alphas who take such good care of him.

Instead, he tucks those parts of himself away, and starts taking higher doses of medication, and retreats to spend time with Steph, who found out his secret a long time ago. He wishes that she hadn't, because she's only a Beta, and if Bruce Commanded she would be forced to tell. But it's good that there is someone, and when he's inches from whimpering for someone to take him in hand, he can go and curl up with her. She is good for him, she treats him well, running gentle fingers though his hair and asking for nothing more than what he will give.

Spending time with Steph leads Tim to spending time with the other “Bad Robins”, in the penthouse apartment in downtown Gotham that they have claimed as their lair. Privately, Tim thinks of it as the Den, and it is a safe place for him. Damian and Jason spend more and more time there, and though they radiate anger most days, it is better than the absolute nothing Tim gets from Bruce. They don't know what he is, and that's okay too. He can go there and play the part of the Beta, and let Jason boss him around a bit, and curl up with Steph on a couch to watch Jason and Damian take shots of liquor and at punching bags and at each other.

It's not all legal, and it's not always happy, but it's comfortable, and it's safe.

And then Tim gets caught by the Scarecrow, and he spends days whimpering and whining, begging for them to forgive him, that he hadn't meant to lie. No one knows what he's talking about except for Steph, and Alfred figures it out shortly after. All the rest are simply trapped in the grasp of strange fear and sickness, and a deep, deep sadness. They spend the entire time that Tim is out of commission lurking around the manor and hovering over his bed. Eventually, the fear-fever dreams lift, and Tim is left sleeping. Jason and Damian return to the Den, and the other return to patrol, and the what feel like the longest two nights of all of their lives are over.

When Tim wakes, he realizes that his body is not done with him yet. In the days he was ill, he missed a dose of the medication to control his heats, and the weight of every heat he has compressed and tucked away slams into him. He runs.

Tim doesn't know where he's going, only that he's not safe, that he's burning from the inside out and he wants. He's almost sick with it, and halfway to where ever he has to stop and slump against a building, panting and clutching at his arms, trying to control himself. It isn't working, and god knows that it's dangerous to be out here, trapped in a heat and surrounded by strangers. Any passing Alpha might sense the heat on him and just take him, but that's not what he wants, he wants- he wants- he doesn't know what he wants, just that he does.

When he reaches his destination, he finds that he's run straight for the Den, where he's safest, and he's falling through to door and into Jason, who is demanding to know what happened, and who hurt him. It's obvious the moment he realizes what's happening, and he still, his hands clasping tightly around Tim's arms.

“Oh,” he says, quiet. “Timmy. You.”

“What is it, Todd?” Damian demands, coming over to where they're standing. He takes in Tim's slim form slumped against Jason, fingers tangled in his shirt, and stops as well.

Tim is Resonating powerfully, the desperation sliding off of him in waves, the pain and the fear and the pure need. Jason groans under the weight of it, and wraps his arms tightly around Tim.

“Why didn't you tell us?” he nearly growls, the Alpha in his rising sharply, yanking at his control. He wants Tim spread out beneath him now, but he has to keep control, because his Omega (his, his, his and no one else's) needs him now.

“I- I couldn't,” Tim whimper, whines, into Jason's shirt. “I didn't want- I didn't. Please, Jason, please.” He's nearly incoherent, not even making full sentences.

Damian sidles closer, his head tilted back. Jason gives him a glance, and then looks back to Tim, which Damian takes as permission to slot himself up against Tim's back, pressing Tim tight to Jason's chest and supporting him between their bodies.

“Can I?” Damian asks, quietly, and Jason looks at him again, then nods. A smirk flashes across Damian's face, and then he presses his lips to Tim's neck, biting at him. He's careful not to leave a mark, not before Jason does, but the noises that Tim has been making have been driving Damian crazy and the relief that comes of tasting Tim's skin is nearly overwhelming.

“Tim,” Jason says, drawing Tim's face up. Jason meets dazed blue eyes with his own, and then mends to brush his lips across Tim's. Tim is panting, grasping at Jason and bending his neck to allow Damian more access. It's clear what he needs, but first Jason has to know if he's sure. It's easy for an Omega to be taken advantage of during a heat, especially one as powerful as this, and he needs to be sure that Tim came to them for this, not just for safety.

“Timmy, do you want this? Me, and Damian?”

Tim nods frantically, reaching up to try to catch Jason's lips, but Jason pulls back.

“Are you sure, babybird?” he demands. “Because if you say yes, I'm not going to stop until we're all exhausted, with you fucked out and sprawled across my bed.”

Tim whimpers. “Please, Jay. Jason. I want you.”

“And Damian?”

“Damian too,” Tim moans, and Damian yanks Tim's collar down to scrape teeth over his shoulder in reward.

“Good,” says Jason, and then decides that that's about enough talking for the time being. He leans down and captures Tim's lips, slipping his tongue between Tim's parted lips and sliding it along the roof of Tim's mouth, then tangling their tongues together. Tim isn't even breathing, and Jason can feel the movements of Damian's hands as they slide along Tim's waist to settle on his hips, just above Jason's. They're a tangled mess of limbs already, standing in the middle of the front room of the penthouse, and Jason wants both of his boys naked and caught up in each other beneath his careful eye and reverent hand.

Tim is pressing desperately against Jason, kissing back sloppily and moaning breathlessly against Jason's lips. Damian is still paying close attention to Tim's neck and shoulder, and Jason tangles one hand in his hair, tugging just a little. It's both permission and a warning; Damian's doing well, but he doesn't have the right to mark Tim first. That's Jason's and Jason's alone.

Jason is perfectly happy to kiss Tim forever, but Tim's moans are getting frantic, and he's heard horror stories about the damage an intense, unfulfilled heat can do to an Omega's body and mind. So he pulls away completely and tugs Tim forward, towards the bedroom, Damian trailing after them like a lost puppy.

Tim stumbles along after Jason, begging brokenly under his breath. It's almost disturbing to see Tim like this, when he's usually so strong, so stoic. Jason wants him to be better, now, and he hurries a bit. Within moments, Jason's tumbling backwards onto the wide bed that he and Damian sometimes share, Tim falling forward to splay across his chest, straddling his hips and rocking against him.

“Shh, baby,” Jason murmurs, and helps Tim to strip off his shirt. Beside the bed, Damian is methodically divesting himself of his clothes. Jason takes a moment to watch him, his hands busy at the button of Tim's slacks, and then he returns his attention to his Omega, and to the pale length of his Omega's neck. Tim has his head thrown back, his throat vulnerable and lovely, and Jason pulls him down so that he can bite and suck a mark into the juncture of Tim's neck and shoulder. Tim's breath hitches, and Damian nearly throws himself onto the bed next to them, his hands trailing along Tim's sides and grasping at his hips

When Jason pulls back, there's already a bruise forming on Tim's skin, dark red and perfect. It's a claim, Jason's claim, and it looks right. He smiles, untamed and hungry, and Tim whimpers, reaching up to grab at Jason's shoulder to try to pull him back down. Jason doesn't budge, and instead flips them on the bed so that Tim is on his back, with Jason lying between his spread legs. Damian, next to them, slides his hands up Jason's back under his shirt, fingers trailing over scars and hard muscle.

“Easy,” he says to Jason, eyeing Tim carefully.

“I know.” Jason nearly growls the words, because he doesn't want to listen to reason, doesn't want Damian's Beta influence putting rationality back into his mind. He just wants to fuck Tim stupid, damn everything else. But Damian was right to pull him back to himself before he got lost; he could have seriously hurt Tim if he'd lost control, or else dropped him so far into Omega subspace that they would never have gotten their Tim back.

As it is, Tim is far, far gone. He's lost in his own head, eyes hazy and unfocused, his grasp weak. He's enjoying the press of Jason's body against his, the way their erections are ground together, but at this point he's barely aware of it. Jason could be doing almost anything and Tim would enjoy it. Damian is doing his best to exert calming influence over both of them, but the speed at which the heat had dragged Tim down and the amount Tim is Resonating is making it almost impossible for him to do anything.

Jason hushes Tim again, and then shoots a look at Damian, who drags himself from the bed reluctantly, going to look for lube. Tim whines quietly, one hand reaching out beside him, searching for Damian's touch, and Damian nearly throws himself back onto the bed, lube in hand. He passes it off to Jason and then curls up close to Tim, biting at the underside of his jaw and pressing against his side.

Jason sits up and smiles at the image his boys make together, then wiggles his way out of his clothes and yanks at Tim's pants and underwear until he's naked as well. He settles back so that he's sitting on his heels and trails his hands down Tim's body, skirting around the jut of his cock and stopping on his thighs, gripping the pale, scarred skin tightly. Tim moans and arches up, trying to get Jason to touch him properly, but Jason only taps his thigh in a gentle reprimand, and lets go with one hand to grab the lube that he had let fall onto the bed and pop it open.

He drizzles some onto his fingers and reaches down between Tim's legs, trailing his hand across Tim's opening.

Tim moans and arches again. Damian presses down on his hips, preventing him from pushing down onto Jason's fingers, and he thrashes a little, trying to fight the hold. He fails miserably, his fevered state weakening him, leaving him pliant beneath their hands.

Jason groans and slides one finger into Tim carefully, pressing past the ring of muscle. Tim is relaxed around him, but still tight, and he begins to fuck Tim gently with the finger, adding a second as soon as he can. He doesn't want to hurt Tim, but god damn does he want to be inside him.

“Jason,” mutters Damian, from his place beside Tim. “Four fingers.”

“No,” Jason snarls, thrusting his two fingers hard into Tim. The Omega whimpers, arching his hips to meet Jason's hand. “I don't want to wait.”

“And I do not wish for him to be injured.”

“I want him to be feeling it tomorrow.”

“Jason-”

“No.” This time it holds the weight of Command, and Damian folds. Tim moans brokenly and presses into both of them as best he can, feeling the Command as well.

It takes Jason another few minutes (far too long, in his opinion) to finish preparing Tim, and then he reaches a hand out to Damian. Damian rolls his eyes and slides around to Jason's back, reaching around him to roll a condom on with deft fingers.

“Fuck,” Jason swears, thrusting into Damian's grip. His cock brushes against Tim's with the motion, and Tim moans.

“P-please,” he stutters, arching up underneath Jason. It's the first coherent thing he's said in a while. “Jay.”

“One more moment, beloved,” Damian says over Jason's shoulder, and then grasps Jason's cock firmly and guides him to Tim's entrance. “Ready?”

“Yes!” The word comes from Tim and Jason in unison, Jason growling and Tim whining.

And then Jason slides in in one smooth stroke, slotting himself into Tim's body right up to the hilt with no hesitation. Tim gasps, and then sighs in pleasure, his lips parted with satisfaction and indulgence. He looks happy, complete, and Jason can't restrain himself from rocking his hips, grinding against Tim. Tim makes a quiet noise in response and arches up against Jason, slim thighs spread wide, the long line of his waist presented for Jason to slide his broad palms against.

Damian ruts shamelessly against Jason's back, his cock a slick slide along Jason's spine, and Jason shifts, drawing out of Tim and grinding against Damian. Damian moans, his voice cracking, and Jason knows damn well that Damian's not going to last long. That in mind, he slams back into Tim, wringing a sharp cry from him. And then again, breaking Tim apart with slow, hard thrusts. Damian is ever more frantic against his back, his instincts to keep calm and steady in the face of an Omega in heat falling by the wayside, swamped with pleasure and Tim's broadcast desperation.

Jason only thrusts a few more times before Damian is coming against his back. He rides it out, hips jerking, and Jason grins wolfishly. “Good?” he says to Damian, his voice gone low and rough.

Damian just moans and slumps to the side, curling against Tim's writhing body, sated and warmly catlike in his tactile affection. He rolls to the side to wrap a lazy hand around Tim's neglected cock, and to bite at one of his peaked nipples. Tim nearly sobs when a flick of Damian's thumb over the head of his cock comes at the same time as Jason slamming in hard, pressing against his prostate.

“Jason,” Tim cries, “Dami, Jay, please, mh!” His words are slurred, nearly incoherent. Jason bows over Tim's body, biting and licking at his throat, and rocks into his body in short, quick rolls of his hips. Tim's noises get louder, entirely uninhibited and completely overwhelmed, and then he's coming between their bodies with no warning. Jason holds back as best he can, because he wants to fuck Tim until he's over-sensitized and sobbing, but the truth is that Tim is too perfect beneath him, and he follows Tim over the edge only moments later.

Everything whites out, and Jason sinks his teeth into the join on Tim's neck and shoulder. He's barely aware of the taste of blood in his mouth, but it still adds something, makes it perfect. An aftershock sweeps over Jason, and he jerks inside Tim again, his eyes squeezing shut. Tim is keening, and Damian is whispering sweet nothings into his ear, saying, shh, Beloved, and, perfect, dearest, perfect, you are so beautiful.

When Jason comes down, slumped across Tim, Damian is shoving at his shoulder. He grunts and rolls off of their half-conscious Omega.

“Are you okay?” Damian asks Tim, fingers finding the bloody mark on his neck.

“Mmm,” says Tim, and curls into Damian. Behind him, Jason chuckles roughly.

“Oh, he's okay,” he says. “I'm sure he's just wonderful.” He slides up close against Tim's back, sticky and a little disgusting, but comfortable and warm and sated.

“This will be awful in the morning, Todd,” Damian grumbles.

Jason shrugs a careless shoulder. “In the morning, this is gonna happen all over again, and we can just do it in the shower. No problem.”

“Will I get my turn?”

“Sure thing, brat,” Jason mutters, and realizes that sleep is reaching out for him. Tim's heat is unlikely to have been exhausted, but he's sleeping now, sandwiched between Damian and Jason, and they should be taking this chance to rest. For at least another day Tim will be caught up in his heat, and then after that they'll have to talk him down from his inevitable panic attack when he realizes that not only do they know that he's an Omega, but also that he's bonded to them. Because he will be bonded to them by the end of this; Jason won't have it any other way. With that thought in mind, he surrenders to sleep, falling after Damian and Tim into the grasp of good dreams.

[pepperonific]

Eleven (out of Twelve)

Summary: They meet in the winter, and in the winter they stay.

Notes: I BLAME CAIT AND ALSO AVANALAE. This is DC/RotG crossover fic, the pairing being Jack Frost/Tim Drake. It's actually not very shippy? IDK, if I ever write a second part it will be shippier. Bluh. I'm going to hell.

1. Alike

Tim's childhood is cold. It is frigid in every way, filled with windy rooftops and words that cuts like shards of ice, freezing Tim right to the bone. Nothing seems real, sometimes. Everyone around him treats him like he's some shining ice sculpture that would break or melt away the moment they touched, and so he's left alone, out in the cold, in the rain. In the snows and the ice and the frost.

One of his caretakers tells him once, “Bundle up before you go out, or Jack Frost'll be nipping at your nose in no time.”

Tim nods and doesn't ask who Jack Frost is. When he gets home after school, he looks up the name, and reads pages upon pages about the impish figure who makes the pretty patterns of frost on window panes, and bits at the noses and toes of the incautious, and punishes those who have done wrong by freezing them right to the bone. He is young and old and amazing, and Tim thinks, he's like me.

That night, when he sleeps, he doesn't see the boy with the white hair and the staff that perches on his windowsill and thinks, he's like me.

2. Fall

Tim stands on a frigid rooftop with a camera in his hands, his coat shifting in the cutting winds of a winter night, and shivers. He has long lost feeling in his fingers, and he can tell already that the night will be a bust. It's too cold for even Batman and Robin, and the black ice forming on the edges of the rooftops would be dangerous even for them.

Tim thinks that maybe he should have considered that earlier when he slips on the step of a fire escape and slams hard into the rusty guard rail. It breaks, frozen and weakened by time, and Tim tumbles over the edge towards the ground.

Oh, is the only thought in Tim's mind as he falls. So this is what flying feels like.

And then he lands in a snowdrift that he knows wasn't beneath him before, and he stares up at the stars, wondering how he is still alive. Far above, someone leaps between rooftops, flashing through Tim's line of sight. Tim cannot see more than white and blue, but he feels like he is correct when he whispers, “Thank you, Jack,” to the cold, empty night.

3. Pure

Tim breathes on the glass of his window, and then draws patterns in it, mimicking the frost that is reaching from the edges of the panes, and the flakes of snow that are falling outside. He can't recreate them perfectly, he knows, not with just fog and fingertips, but he can trail his fingers aimlessly over the glass until his skin is wet and there is no fog left, just droplets of water on the glass.

He stares out into the blizzard that has taken over the night, white blotting out black, and wonders if school will be closed tomorrow.

It is, and Tim stays inside and draws snowflakes instead of going outside. It's warmer here, is what Tim tells himself, but what he really means is that he doesn't want to ruin the purity of the snow on his lawn. It's too lovely, too perfect. It's a gift from Jack Frost, the unblemished white covering even the darkest stains on the city that Tim calls home.

4. Wake

Tim wakes to fingers in his hair, close as ice and twice as gentle, and he doesn't move. He's careful not to let the stranger know that he's awake, and instead keeps his eyes closed.

The hand is gentle, and cards through his short hair once before pulling away, trailing across his shoulder to pull his blanket up closer, and then slipping away completely.

“Thank you for believing,” says a voice, young and male and smooth, and then cold wind is swirling through the room. Tim opens his eyes just in time to see a boy only a few years older than Tim close the window and throw himself into the winds from Tim's windowsill. He has hair as white as snow, and he's wearing a blue hoodie, and carrying a long staff with a hook at one end, like a shepherd.

Tim knows him instantly as Jack Frost, but by the time Tim reaches the window to call after Jack, he's long gone, taken by the winter winds.

5. Caretaker

On Christmas Eve, Tim sends home his caretaker with assurances that someone else is coming to watch him for the next two days, and they she should spend the time with her family. She nearly cries when she thanks him, and almost runs out the door.

No one is coming, but she doesn't need to know that. She would have stayed, if only so that Tim wouldn't have to spend Christmas alone, and Tim didn't want that. It would be wrong to force her to spend the holiday with a child that was not her own, and that she did not love.

6. Alone

Tim wakes on Christmas morning to find the boy with white hair watching him, perched on the foot of his bed. He stares for a moment, and then gets out of bed. He throws on a bathrobe and heads down into his front room to start a fire, mindful of the teen following him, his bare feet making no noise against the carpet.

Once the fire is started, Tim settles down on the couch to stare into the flames. The boy settles next to him.

“Can you see me?”

Tim nods, silently.

“Thank you,” says Jack, and Tim smiles.

“No,” he says. “Thank you.”

“No one deserves to spend Christmas alone.”

7. Death

Jason Todd dies three weeks after Christmas. Tim goes to the funeral, and lingers in the snow for a long while after, watching Bruce Wayne break apart in silence. He knows that it's probably not his right to watch this, but there is no one else, and someone needs to see. Someone needs to know. Who better than Tim, who has been watching for years, and knows better than almost anyone just what is going on inside Bruce's head?

Jack shows up afterwards, sitting beside him on the bed. “I'm sorry,” he says.

Tim shrugs. “It wasn't your fault.”

“I should have done something. He was a child too, and the winter is my domain. Christmas is over.”

“Nothing could have stopped it. Not even you, Jack.”

“You loved him,” Jack says. Tim nods, because he had. But he had loved the idea of Jason more than anything, the idea of Robin. It was childish, and he knew it. He wouldn't mourn for long.

“There's nothing to be done about that, either.” Tim looks at Jack, watches the emotion in the tightness around his eyes and the set of his mouth. “But it's over now.”

8. Wait

Eventually, Jack leaves. The spring is not his dominion, and he has duties in other places as winter draws to a close. The weather is warming, he says, and he can't just keep it winter all the time. That wouldn't be right. So he goes, and tells Tim that he'll be back once the summer is over.

Tim promises that he will wait, that he will never forget. That he will always believe in Jack, and that he'll look forward to the winter. Tim misses Jack the moment he is gone.

He becomes Robin three weeks later, just as the last bits of winter are drained form the air, and spring flows in like a rebirth. He smiles as Batman hands him a domino, and thinks that this is going to be a very long summer.

9. Summer

It is a long summer, and the winter that follows is cold, and empty, and Tim is alone.

Jack doesn't return.

10. Late

Tim turns 17, six years after he met Jack on that cold winter night. It's autumn, and the chill is just starting to creep in again. Tim still thinks about Jack, but he stopped waiting a long time ago. He kept his promise though, he never forgot, and he never stopped believing. So when he finds himself with a companion as he races across the rooftops one night, all he can say is, “You're late.”

“Heh.” The sound a is a bit choked. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Tim glances at Jack out of the corner of his eye. They're the same physical age now, but Jack wears confidence now, and Tim wears scars, and both of them are older in many ways. When they met, Jack was a mischievous child, unsure of who he was and hiding it with false assurance and power he didn't understand, and Tim was a porcelain statue with hairline cracks in it, just waiting for someone to come and chip away the mask to find the boy inside. That is no longer who they are.

“You said you'd be back in the autumn,” Tim says. “You never said of what year.” Apology accepted, is what he means. Jack gets it.

11. Because

“I told you once that I loved Jason Todd.” Tim stares out at the city, pointedly not looking at Jack, who is crouched next to him. “And then I told you that he was gone, and it was over. And that that was okay. If someone asked me about you, I wouldn't say the same thing.”

“Because you never loved me,” Jack says, resigned, but Tim shakes his head.

“Because I never stopped.”

[pepperonific]

Speaking in Tongues

Summary: Sacrifices must be made to protect the most vital of secrets.

Notes: Written for Pro's mute!Tim prompt. It has Tim feels, but is probably not as dark as it could have been? Anyways. It's short. But, uh, enjoy.

--

Dick's not ashamed of the tears he sheds when they get Tim back. He's been missing for two weeks, three days, and nine hours, and they'd all been starting to think that he'd never be recovered.

Bruce finds him and brings him home, and Dick cradles the small limp form and brings Tim to Alfred with tears on his cheeks, and they begin to piece Tim back together as best they can. He is still breathing, but his body is broken and torn, and there are pieces missing. Dick thinks that he's going to start screaming when he realizes the price that Tim paid to keep the Bat's secrets. Alfred doesn't cry, and neither does Bruce, but Damian turns his back and Dick is not at all ashamed of his tears.

He'd lost part of Tim a long time ago, to the war they all fight. He had hoped not to lose any more.

--

When Tim wakes, he doesn't cry, or scream. He's just silent, and he watches and listens as his family buzzes around him. Dick is so happy, so happy, to have Tim back, and Tim can tell from the redness around his eyes that these are not the first tears he has shed. He can tell from the pain at the back of his throat that not all of those tears had been happy.

Tim cannot say, in both the literal and figurative sense, whether he regrets what he did. He feels as though he has done well, but it was also a personal loss. In the end, he decides that it was a sacrifice worth making, and that he would make it again, though he would never be happy about it.

--

Tim is on an IV for a long time, and he becomes thin and pale, tucked away in a room to recover. The first time he tries to eat solid food, he chokes and coughs, and then he coughs blood because he's not quite healed yet.

--

The manor is silent. Dick's voice has gone quiet in his sorrow, and Damian has no one to bicker with any more, nor does Alfred have someone to banter with. For Bruce, he simply beings to realize that he hasn't heard Tim's voice in a long, long time, and he regrets it.

They're all beginning to forget what Tim sounded like.

--

Tim is weak and sick for a long time, and he will be silent forever. That, more than anything, is hard for his family to adjust to. Tim had always been quiet, but now Tim's nature has nothing to do with it. Dick feels sick, sometimes. He wonders what Tim's last words were, and what he would say if he could.

They're all learning sign language, and Tim has already begun to speak with his hand and with his eyes and with his body, perhaps more than he ever has. Or perhaps not, and none of them were paying attention before. Cass becomes Tim's favourite, in many ways, because she understands silence, and she has always been able to read Tim. She is not sorry for his condition, nor does she blame him, or wish that it could be changed. She just accepts it, and that is what Tim needs. Acceptance.

Damian, too, becomes something of a comfort to Tim. He spends time with Tim, even though he has his reservations. It doesn't affect him, or rather, it does and he doesn't let it change him. It is obvious that he doesn't know how to deal with Tim's new and nearly oppressive silence, but he pushes through it, more than Dick or Bruce, or even Jason, who showed up to pry the names of Tim's assailants from Bruce.

(No prying was needed. Bruce gave the names freely, and helped Jason in making the bodies vanish after.)

--

They do their best to take care of Tim, to keep him safe and hold his close, but that isn't what Tim wants. He wants to get back out, to protect Gotham. He can't be Timothy Drake-Wayne anymore, can't be the public figure and businessman that he was. He's been deformed, and so much of his self was ripped away by that.

He buries himself in work for the international Batman Inc. initiative, but it isn't long before he's itching to go back to fighting crime. No one in the family wants that for him, but they don't have a choice. Tim makes his point with swift gestures and sharp looks, and they cave, because there's not really any other choice once Tim has an idea firmly in his head.

They give him a panic button to attach to his belt, that will send out a distress signal if he finds himself in hot water, and they ask that he stay close to at least one other member of the family at all times. Tim agrees. He knows full well that there is no other way for him to do this, and he really can't go on without having Red Robin back. The rest of who he is has been stripped away, and it will be so much easier if he can vanish into his other identity.

--

Life is strange, for Tim. He's never alone, not any more. There is always someone hanging around, be it Dick placing gentle hands on his shoulders, or Jason ruffling his hair, or Bruce's stony presence, or Damian demanding a spar from Tim. Or Steph asking him to go shopping with her, or Cass and her silent acceptance, or Alfred and his tea and chess.

Tim has been lonely all his life, and now he isn't. He's not sure how to feel about it.

--

Tim realizes, one day, two and a half years after he bit off his own tongue to save the secrets of the Bat, that he is happy.

Silence is hard, sometimes, because he wished that he could explain to his family with words just how much he loves them. But they're around him all the time now, they have come together because of what happened to him, and for that he will always be grateful.

[pepperonific]

Against the Dying of the Light

Summary: Ra's al Ghul is a strange man, and the young Timothy Drake is a strange boy. It makes sense, really.

Notes: NO, THIS IS NOT ACTUALLY RA'S/TIM. THIS WILL EVENTUALLY BE JAYTIM, SOMETIME IN THE FUTURE. This is part one of at least two, and I am currently writing part two. 

This chapter just sets up the AU (the one where small, pre-Robin TIm meets Ra's and Ra's is like, yeah, you're coming home with me). Enjoy.

Crossposted to AO3.

Ra's gets in a fight with Batman, or rather, his ninjas do. He is in Gotham as well, overseeing, watching from afar. He expects things to be fairly routine, he doesn't really expect to win, but keeping Bruce on his toes is an enjoyable pastime.

However, the normal flow of events is interrupted when one of his ninjas brings him a child. A small boy, practically a waif, dressed in good quality rain gear and carrying a camera, he is conscious in the ninjas arms, watching everything around him, not letting a single detail escape him.

Ra's looks at the small child who is placed before him, who could not be older than seven, and maybe as young as six, and wonders.

“Who are you, child?” he asks, and the boy just stares at him with dark blue eyes, the colour of pure sapphire or perhaps the deep parts of the sea.

“My name is Timothy,” the boy says.

“And how old are you, Timothy?”

“I am eight.”

Ra's blinks slowly. He had thought the boy much younger, considering his size. But his speech was very clear, and he sat very still. “Why were you watching the Bat, Timothy?”

“Batman and Robin are heros,” he says, leaning forward just the slightest bit. This is something Timothy loves, Ra's can see.

“They are, yes. And do you know who I am?” Ra's asks.

Timothy thinks for a minute. “From what I understand, you command the assassins that attack Batman sometimes. Are you a villain?”

Ra's smiles, letting it become something slow and menacing. “I am.” But the child doesn't even blink.

“Are you going to kill me?” Tim asks. “The Batman will not pay ransom for me, or sacrifice trade Robin for me. He doesn't even know I exist.”

“No, child,” Ra's says. “I am not going to kill you. I am not enough of a monster to murder a helpless child.”

In response, Tim shifts so that he is standing in a half-decent martial arts stance. “I would not go without a fight,” he says.

“I like you, Timothy. But now you should run home to your parents.”

Tim relaxes his stance and looks up at Ra's with his huge blue eyes. “My parents are in Turkey,” he says, entirely matter-of-fact. “They are not due back for another three weeks, and my nanny does not like me, because I am smarter than she is, and I scare her.”

Ra's looks at the boy then, and the boy looks back, and all of this strikes him as profoundly wrong. This is one of the most stunning beings Ra's has ever seen in his long life, brilliantly intelligent, beautiful in a way he had never thought possible and oh so very sweet, and yet this boy, Timothy, is completely alone in the world. Even to the point where he stalks Batman. It sickens Ra's, and he is all of a sudden determined not to let it go on. “You will come with me tonight when I leave,” Ra's says. “You will return to my home in Israel, and you will live by my side.”

Tim frowns. “I do have a life here. My parents will probably not look very hard, but I do not think I can just vanish.”

“I have my ways. Now, will you do it, or shall I force you?”

“No,” Tim says, “I'll come with you. Just...” He looks down. “I don't want to become a weapon, and if that is your purpose, I will fight you for my freedom.”

“I would not turn a creature such as you into a mindless warrior for my cause,” Ra's replies. “And even if I wanted too, I doubt that I could. You are too strong already for that.” It occurs to Ra's that Tim is far too old for such small bones as he has, and that once he is grown he will be as ancient as Ra's is, deep in his heart.

Tim nods. “Thank you. I will go with you, then.”

And with that, it is settled.

Ra's teaches Tim everything. Teaches him how to ride, to act, to fight. Teaches him art, and music, and poetry, and teaches him how to smile without meaning it. He also teaches Tim how to smile and mean it with the absolute fullness of his heart, because that is something Tim has never known. Ra's tells Tim his deepest secrets, about the Lazarus Pits and about Talia, who Tim does not meet for a long time. He tells Tim about what life was like when he was a king in the very dawn of his long days upon the earth, and of meeting gods and monsters and men. Ra's tells Tim that of all those he has met and loved and lost and conquered, the humans have been the most terrifying. Because a god, he says, believes himself eternally steeped in light, and a monster has never known the balance of its own darkness. A man knows light and dark, and embraces both, and that is where strength comes from.

When Tim meets Talia, he is surprised how much she is at once like her father and utterly different from him. The first time he sees her she is just returned from a venture, and she is covered in blood. He is standing in a shadowed corner of the entry hall, practicing being unseen by all those who pass by, and she strides in like a queen, drenched in the scarlet life of those who would challenge her. “Damian,” is what she says, and one of the young maidservants that Tim has seen attending Ra's hurries from a side-door, a small child held close to her body. The child- a boy, Tim can see, perhaps two years old- is handed over to Talia, who takes him with hands that still have blood caked under the nails, and hugs him close.

“Ummi!” he crows in childish Arabic, and Tim watches, surprised, as this powerful woman holds him as warmly as any mother he has ever seen holding their child does. Somewhere deep in the part of Tim's mind that is still a child, he wishes for that too.

Talia smiles at her boy, at Damian, and she says, “Were you good while I was away?”

The boy nods.

Her smiles widens. “And the tutors have begun to teach you the value of silence.”

Damian nods again, and suddenly Tim is angry. Because no child should be taught silence. Not like he was.

“Are you having fun?”

“Yes!” Damian says, in Arabic. “I hide, and if the tutors hear my noise, they find me!”

“That is correct,” says Talia, gently, and she starts to make her way up the stairs. Tim loses the thread of the conversation, his Arabic not good enough to follow once the language is muffled by distance. He stands very still for a while longer, determined not to be seen, but his mind is busy, mulling over what he had heard.

Damian, clearly Talia's son, was growing up an assassin. That did not mean that Tim would not protect him, even from Ra's, if it came to it. Every child deserved to have someone, someone to be a friend in a harsh world, who never asked anything of him. Tim had not had that, but Damian would not go without. That much Tim was decided on.

Tim does not call Ra's father, or grandfather, nor does he call Talia mother. But he calls Damian brother, and he is sad when the younger boy leaves the castle to train with other masters. Tim remains behind, and to comfort him Ra's gives him a lavish gift, and then teaches him how to use it.

It is a knife, a stunning item that is long and slim, and tucks neatly against one of Tim's pale thighs when it is not in use. Ra's teaches Tim how to kill with it before his target even realizes he is there, and then sends him out to terrorize the ninjas. Tim is small and silent and stealthy, and soon, with his training, he becomes something of a gauntlet for the newest recruits to the League of Shadows. Any ninja unskilled enough to be unable to detect his presence or react within the space of an instant finds themselves cut and bleeding from small knife wounds, again and again, places closely enough to vital areas that should Tim be trying, they would be dead.

In those days, some trainees lose their nerve and flee, and the League is better for it.

When Tim turns ten, Talia begins to teach him the woman's arts. How to dance, and decorate his skin with henna, and how to beguile with words and false promises and flirtations. Tim learns how to wear clothing that is as lovely as he is, and how to use his body to draw attention and lower the guards of lesser men. He is young still, she says, and makes him promise that he will not go to anyone's bed until he is entirely ready. And because Tim knows what rape is, he agrees, and learns from her the ways to prevent wandering hands and forced touch.

Tim is stunning, even at such a young age, moon-faced and pale, and he moves with the grace of a dancer and the lightness of a bird on the wing. His limbs are delicate, and his fingers flittering and lovely, and very few who catch his deep-sea blue eyes are able to look away before Tim does. His black hair begins to grow out, hanging long enough that he can tie it back into a short ponytail, leaving out his bangs to frame his face.

When he is still learning, Tim neglects the coloured silks and linens in his wardrobe in order to favour black. Most days he wears the simple clothes in which he practices fighting, and acrobatics, and marksmanship, both with a bow and with a gun, and dance. But once Talia takes him under her wing, he begins to wear bright colours for the first time in his life. Bright red is his favourite, and he loves the baggy silk pants he owns, with the thick belt that comes high on his waist. Often, he will wear those and nothing else, instead allowing Talia to paint his shoulders and chest with henna. He also finds favour in white linen shirts, loose and undecorated, that show only the slightest bit of skin at his collar, and in western style tunics, dyed in all colours of the rainbow and embroidered with beads at the waist and hems. And he loves wraps, long sheaths of cloths that he can twine around his body, sometimes wrapping long, sheer scarves around his waist or over his shoulders, sometimes even veiling his face. More than anything, though, Tim loves jewelry, circlets in gold and silver, bangles of tiger's eye and garnet, slave bracelets studded with opal and quartz. Earrings, pendants, hairpins, all of them shining gems against the canvas of his skin.

He becomes an enchanting butterfly in Ra's' household, a rumour among courtiers and warriors both. He will sometimes sit at Ra's' side, or in his lap, and whisper in his ear as the lord holds his court, a strange a pretty thing that many do not understand. Those who know him only as the shining gem in Ra's' crown call him the Hummingbird, who hovers and whispers and glitters and distracts. He flitters through consciousnesses, untouchable by all, and no one knows him. Some strangers assume that he is a woman, a sweet girl caught in Ra's' web, or a boy who is a slave, bought for pleasure. Tim knows that he is neither, and when he leans against his lord's chest, being fed sweet grapes by one of the most powerful men in the world, he feels like a prince.

In the night, when all the lights of the court have gone out, all the pretty, useless people have taken their troubles and gone home, Tim becomes something else entirely. He becomes an al Ghul, a shadow even in darkness, the one that the League calls the Blackbird. He is a shade, something dark and deadly, and no one knows this part of him either, because rather than showing so much that they see nothing, he simply tucks away every part of himself that is anything, and becomes the waif that he was before Ra's found him, an empty child searching endlessly for something to fill the gaps in his heart.

He is more of a complete person now, and it makes Tim happy to know that of himself. And Ra's calls that complete person the Nightingale. Tim is Ra's' Nightingale, singing sweet, sad song, inspiring and bringing light and joy and something new into his heart and his house. That whole happiness consumes them all, and for a year, nothing changes.

And then, something does. Everything does.