spookyson

[spookyson]

Wait why is this so accurate-

Damen 🤝 Neil Josten 🤝 Will Kempen

[spookyson]

Okay soooo just wrote like my longest fic ever I'm so happyyyy

A lil peak;

Dick Grayson gets home to find his little brother missing.

Which was, unfortunately, not rare or new, but this was infinitely worse. Because Tim was a baby.

Dick, along with most of the team, rummaged through the Manor and Batcave. They had gotten back home around an hour ago, sometime after 3, and the routine debrief had been abandoned when Cass noticed the empty bed.

“Tim! Timmy!” said Dick, his voice growing hoarser by the minute. “Come out, buddy! Please we’re not trying to hurt you.”

Dick was upstairs, investigating the manor along with Damian and Stephanie, while the rest of them double-checked the cave—no sign of him.

What if he wasn’t even here? What if he was in the city? What if he was in danger-

Fuck, fuck. Dick had grown used to it, the fact that all of his family were usually in a life-threatening situation. He was the same and if Batman, the most controlling asshole Dick had ever managed to love, let all of Dick’s siblings head out at night to fight crime, then he could too. It’s just that everyone else was trained, experienced, and older than 3. Also, this was Tim. Who always managed to make the worst enemies and get into the worst situations. What do you mean Ra’s al Ghul wants your babies? Why the fuck don’t you have a spleen? Assassin friends? Why do you have assassin friends?

Bottom line; Dick was stressed and he would not be sleeping tonight unless Tim was at home and under lock and key.

God, Bruce had already called Clark. And Bruce never called Clark. It was like a pride thing or something, Dick wasn’t really sure, he never paid much attention to what Bruce said back when he was Robin.

Dick frantically checked Tim’s room for what must have been the twelfth time in the past twenty minutes. There wasn’t a lot in it, Tim had moved most of his stuff into the Nest, but Dick meticulously checked under the bed, closet, and adjoining bathroom for any sign of his brother. There was none.

“Richard!” called Damian from the threshold of the room.

Dick looked up from the closet. “News?” He fought to keep his voice level. Damian was still so young, he didn’t want to scare him.

Nodding, Damian gestured for him to follow. “Drake has been located. He should be arriving shortly, Father wants all of us in the Cave.”

When they arrived, Tim was already there.

Old photographs of the kids hung on the walls, baby photographs that no one was quite sure how Bruce had procured. Or were too scared to ask about it at this point. The photo nearest to the door of the kitchen was one of Tim’s, an image from when he would have been around eight. He had been a small child.

This Tim was even smaller, clinging to Kon with one miniature hand and arguing with the Batman.

“Why am I here?” he said, large eyes narrowed at the crowd assembled before him. Dick must have not missed much. He spotted Clark in his Superman costume, sporting the awkward look he got sometimes when any of them talked back to Bruce.

Bruce was still Batman, only his cowl was lowered to reveal a tense face. "You are compromised. It would be safer for everyone if you remained at the manor."

Baby Tim's face screwed up into an adorable pout. Dick physically held himself back from scooping up his (currently) youngest brother and wrapping him in a blanket. The third Robin possessed a youthful quality to his looks, often appearing much younger than he was, and Dick had never considered its devastating effect. He wondered how Bruce had stopped himself from adopting Tim on the spot. According to all Dick knew about Tim's pre-Robin years, he's been attending many of the same parties as Bruce.

"I know I look 3, but I'm not actually that age, B. I won't snitch, you don't have to worry," says Tim. He looks to Kon, who nods his agreement.

"Uh, yes sir. Tim's his usual self."

Which is not exactly the problem Timmy. "Nevertheless, I think the team would rest easier if you remained home today." If you hadn't known Batman for as many years as Dick had, you'd think he didn't care, but all of this was pretty much Bruce-speak for ‘I am very concerned about you, please stay in my field of vision for the foreseeable future’.

Dick couldn’t judge. There was something about Tim, his smallest brother (since Damian had recently surpassed him in height a few months ago; something they still managed to fight about) becoming even smaller. Tim was also just really freaking adorable. He had those big blue eyes, a shade lighter than Dick’s, chubby cheeks and he was also clad in the smallest Superman t-shirt Dick had ever seen. Which actually, he flicked a look at Kon, was probably meant to be a Superboy t-shirt.

Anyway, Tim was cute and Dick wanted to hug him. He was also painfully vulnerable and had so many enemies and why would they let him out of the best-protected place in Gotham when he could be safe right here? Matter resolved.

“I can’t waste time over here, B. I have other responsibilities.” Tiny Timmy sighed and rubbed his small hands up and down the bridge of his nose and Dick was grasped by a sudden urge to dress him up in a miniature suit and provide him with a small briefcase. And then take a fuck-load of pictures. Tim proceeded to yawn adorably, therefore proving that the mini photo shoot needed to happen now. “Red Robin aside, WE needs me.”

“What’re they gonna do with ya right now, baby bird? Nap time?” crowed Jason.

The glare that Tim aimed at Jason was poisonous enough for it to have been terrifying, but at the moment, Tim was 3 and just about the most precious thing anyone in that room had ever seen. Dick cannot hold himself accountable for swooping in from behind Bruce to scoop up his smallest brother into a tight hug.

Tim’s frail little bones knocked harmlessly against muscles gained from years as an acrobat and vigilante, so Dick was free to squeeze in a way Damian would have never allowed and Jason would have bit him for. “You’re so cute, Timmy! Why did you never tell me you were adorable?”

“I’ve always been adorable,” sniffed Tim, weak arms straining against Dick’s chest in an effort to pull me away. “Now lemme go… I need to sign contracts and drink coffee.”

“And chase down the bitch-ass magic boy,” added Kon, his face impassive.

“And chase down the bitch-ass magic boy,” repeated Tim.

To his credit, Bruce only raised an eyebrow and continued; “All of which can be handled from here. I will return to Wayne Enterprises and we will cite your absence as a family matter. Zatana is due to arrive shortly, we will know anything vital to your current condition. Red Robin’s patrols will be covered by the rest of the team in shifts. Any running cases will need to be handled by the other vigilantes in Gotham.”

Tim ceased his relentless wriggling and swerved his head to Bruce. “That’s really… nice of you, Bruce,” said Tim. His small forehead wrinkled in thought. “But I don’t mean to impose for long. Kon and I can handle it.”

“Tim,” began Bruce, and then stopped. Because Tim had fallen asleep.

This is just a little part. The actual fic is 18k words omfg so if u enjoyed I put in the link to the whole thing down below. Please tell me what u think!

[spookyson]

Hiiiiiii wrote something on my ao3 and decided to post it here!

Jason’s legs are only steady because of experience, otherwise, he had no doubt he would be on the floor and shaking.

“You disregarded my orders, jumped in without thinking, and nearly compromised the entire mission!” yells Bruce. “Exactly what was going through your head?”

Jason fights to keep from fidgeting and focuses on one of the ears of the Bat-cowl. “I saw an opening and I went for it.”

“You entered the fray and almost got yourself killed,” snarls Bruce. Jason’s never been scared of Bruce. Not after those first few months where he was convinced Bruce was going to kill him or do worse. He wouldn’t say he’s scared of him now either, but the fine trembles in his hands indicate otherwise.

“I’m sorry,” he says because what else is there to say? It had been a good night. Batman and Robin were on a mission, a drug bust. They had studied the case for weeks and trained and practiced until both of them knew exactly what to do. It should have gone perfectly. It did not. In between the fight, a fight that Batman had explicitly ordered him to stay out of, Jason had spotted the opportunity to knock out one of the leaders of the whole operation. If he could just get to him then they could learn where the other warehouses were.

Jason has to admit it did not go that way. He’s nursing bruised ribs, black eyes, and a bullet graze on the side of his stomach. Worst of all, he’s getting yelled at by Bruce. Bruce who never so much as raised his voice at Jason. Who always always preferred to talk things out. The guy who had to get Alfred to give Dick and Jason punishments because he couldn’t bear to even ground them for a week.

That Bruce, the gentle one, was furious at Jason. “Jason, I don’t know how we’re supposed to work if you can’t follow basic instructions.”

“Bruce, I’m sorry!” blurts Jason. “I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“I’m benching you,” says Bruce. Like he didn’t hear Jason at all. “For a month.”

“What?” exclaims Jason. The shock momentarily overrides Jason’s fear response. “A month? Bruce, I can’t be out for a month. Gotham needs me. You need me.”

Bruce aims a disdainful glare at him. “I don’t need you like this,” he informs him coolly.

—

I don’t need you like this. I don’t need you… I don’t need you.

Jason gulps back the sobs threatening to escape his mouth. He’s already thrown the dark hood of his jersey over his head to cover up the tears but he knows that wailing in the middle of the night on a Gotham street is the fastest way to get mugged.

He moves quickly, not eager to get caught out by some opportunistic mugger but with no real destination in mind. Jason just can’t stay at the manor. He knows that much. He knows that leaving now will save him the pain of listening to Bruce kick him out and he doesn’t know if he can survive that.

Before, when he was on the streets, he didn’t know what a warm home and a kind family were. His father was in and out of prison and more often than not stuck with his dick in a hooker or he wandered around the city with a gang. His mother spent half her time high on heroin and the other half wishing she was. And all this was before he had to live in the alleys of Gotham City, America’s crime capital. But he had been able to survive because he didn’t think there was anything better. Now though, after having experienced kindness, affection maybe even love, however little, Jason knew he was too weak.

Maybe he should cry. He should scream loud enough for the entire city to hear him. Some rogue could take him out before Bruce’s words did him in.

The chill of the night air penetrates Jason’s hoodie, cutting him to the very bone. He knows it used to feel worse when he was all skin and twiggy limbs, but he can’t ever remember being so cold. Jason rubs his hands up and down his arms, hoping to generate some semblance of warmth. It doesn’t do an awful lot.

He heads further into the city. There’s nothing else he can do. Gotham nightlife is not for tourists, it’s barely for the locals. Jason has to shake off 3 tails in the span of an hour and all because the hoodie he’s wearing is one of the new ones Bruce got for him. It’s expensive and he guesses that people picked up on that. Jason will probably have to rough it up a bit if he wants to keep it. He instantly rebels at the idea of ruining the clothes. If he recalls correctly, Dick gave it to him for his birthday.

Thinking of Dick only makes it worse. Bruce’s eldest son is… perfect. He’s tall, handsome, smart, charming, and everything Jason’s not. Every night when he puts on the suit he can feel the ghost of Dick Grayson haunting him. An invisible presence that judges every move he makes and every word he says. He knows that Bruce can hear it too. It’s obvious on the training mats when he takes too long to pick something or when he doesn’t smile enough or talk enough or-

It would be so much easier if he could hate Dick, but Jason can’t even manage that properly. How can you hate someone when they make the people you love happy? Bruce’s smile is always brighter when Dick visits. Alfred has that pleased look on his face when Dick informs him that he’s sticking around for the weekend. Jason’s not cruel enough to hate that. He just wishes that was the end of it. But it’s not. He doesn’t hate Dick, rather he wishes Dick loved him. Because Dick is amazing, just like everyone says he is. He’s clever and funny, and Jason knows he only throws out stupid puns so people don’t know that. He’s the most talented fighter Jason knows, better than Bruce or he’s going to be and Jason wants to be just like him. Dick is caring. He loves people with such strength that it leaves Jason breathless.

Jason also knows that Dick hates him. For taking Robin when he had no right to and Jason understands. He gets it, okay? Dick doesn’t want some no-name street trash taking the mantle he made legend. Fair enough. But someone has to do it. People will say Gotham needs Batman to fight the darkness but it needs Robin to shine the way just as much.

Jason knew Dick would hate him for that. He wishes not to care so much.

Jason almost trips over his feet, Robin training be damned, when a scream slices through the night. He grabs a wall to brace himself and idly wonders if that was him and then it comes again. Loud and scared. They sound young.

Jason’s moving before he knows it, running at top speed down the street and the source of the noise. He was good at navigating Gotham by streetlight years ago but Bruce’s training has toned the muscles in his arms and legs. He’s only slightly hampered by his injuries from earlier.

Another gut-wrenching scream later Jason finds what he’s looking for down an alley. A group of men are gathered in a half circle around a smaller figure pressed to a wall. He slows his approach, even if he’s raring to rush in and smash their heads in. Bruce’s words from earlier replay in his head. Think, Jason, think. Almost all of them are taller than Jason but he’s willing to bet that he’s the only trained fighter here. Then again, they have the advantage of numbers and he has someone to protect.

He creeps closer, near enough to hear the exchange.

“Stop screaming will ya? Ain’t nobody gonna come running ta help,” drawls a pale guy in a green beanie. There’s a lewd smirk on his face that further unsettles Jason’s stomach. “So why don'tcha be quiet and let us have our fun, eh? Promise it won’t hurt too much.”

Now that he can see more clearly, Jason realizes that the victim is a dark-skinned female, maybe a few years older than Jason, with an expression that alternates between a scowl and a fearful frown. She’s frightened but she doesn’t want them to see that. “Fuck off,” she spits. “Before I bite your dicks off.”

Another man with a red jacket slams his hands onto her mouth. “Shut the fuck up, bitch.”

His friend, Green Beanie, tugs his arm away. “Shit, dude. Don’t fuck her up yet.”

“Let the rest of us have a taste first, eh?” adds another guy.

Jason doesn’t need to hear anymore. He waves a hand and captures the girl’s attention, gesturing for her to run. She locks eyes with him and shakily nods, fear finally breaking through her bravado. Jason keeps the scowl off his face as he silently picks up the lid of a trash can. He creeps a few steps closer and slams the lid down on the biggest guy’s head. It works like a charm, he drops to the ground.

The rest of the gang paused, shock coloring their faces. The girl uses it to escape, dashing out of the alley with impressive speed. That seems to wake them up.

“Oi,” says Green Beanie. “Fuck do ya think you’re doing, runt?”

Jason lunges at the guy nearest to him, a strong punch to the gut and the dude keels over. “Beating the shit out of you.” Yeah, he doesn’t really have Robin’s penchant for puns and jokes.

They collectively realize he’s a threat and finally, run at him.

He ducks low to avoid a punch and kicks his attacker’s legs out from under him. The man goes flying, conveniently tripping up another of his friends. Jason’s already moving to dodge a kick coming for his thing. He swings a punch at Red Jacket, the dude who hit the girl and winces a little when his fist meets solid muscle. It does the trick and Jason’s sure it’ll leave a nasty bruise, but his estimation of the skill level in the alley may be a little off.

He’s got no time to regret it though, because Green Beanie procures a wicked-looking baseball bat and lifts it high to bring down on Jason’s head. He throws himself to the side, rolling to recover and Red Jacket’s in his face with a mean smirk and a meaner-looking fist. Jason. A silver knuckle buster decorates his thick fingers. Jason knows this will hurt.

He cries out, gasping in pain when the metal connects with his ribs. Fuck, the bruises. Jason slumps to the ground, almost blacking out because it hurts too much. He hears a scattering of footsteps around him. Fuck, they have him surrounded.

Jason weakly lifts his head and looks right into at Green Beanie, who tosses the handle of his bat from hand to hand and grins. “Well, well, looks like you’re the fun for tonight, buddy. ‘Specially ‘cause you let the whore run off.”

He only has enough breath to pant, “Fuck you.” before the bat connects with his shoulder.

Jason feels every single blow on his softened skin. It hurts more now as if his grueling training as Robin had somehow softened him. Every brutal kick from someone’s shoes that bore metal studs cut into his skin. The bat came down relentlessly, ruthlessly slamming bone harder into the unforgiving concrete. Jason couldn’t hear a lot more above his own screams and grunts and how it hurt so fucking much.

He tried to reason the hurt away. It would be like this more often from now on since he would need to head back onto the streets prior to finding a job. Jason’s older now, but in no less danger of being jumped. If he couldn’t take a beating now then he wouldn’t survive long in Crime Alley.

It only makes Jason cry. If only Bruce loved him. If only Dick loved him. He wouldn’t be here. He could go further back. He wouldn’t be here if his mother had loved him more than her drugs, he wouldn’t be here if his father had cared for anyone other than himself.

But that’s the kicker, isn’t it? The punchline of the tasteless joke that’s Jason’s life. Nobody loves him. It’s time he accepts that.

Jason almost doesn’t notice when they stop hitting him. Trapped in a haze of hurt and pain as he is, it takes him a while to realize that it’s oddly silent. Jason has just enough common sense to excruciatingly push himself up on his elbows. They’re shaking and he’s not confident in his ability to stand but he knows he has to get up.

Jason looks up to realize the men attacking him and unconscious and on the ground. A lone figure stands between them, cloaked in darkness and for one wild second Jason thinks it’s Batman. Come to save Jason Todd from himself again. The person steps closer and Jason falters when he recognises them.

Nightwing slowly strides closer to Jason, every powerful muscle in his body subtly angled submissively, just enough so that a victim (and Jason registers that he is the victim right now) remains calm enough for him to administer any first aid.

But Dick can’t see him like this. He can’t know just how stupid and pathetic Jason really is. Dick would hate him more than he already does for sullying Robin.

Jason uses his relatively unharmed hand to pull his hood up and scrambles backward, wincing when his skin rubs against the alley concrete. “Don’t-” he cringes at how broken his voice sounds but is grateful for it all the same. It covers up his natural cadence. “Don’t come any closer.”

“Hey, kid, calm down. My name’s Nightwing, I’m with Batman. I’m here to help,” says Dick. “I need to see if you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” Jason lies. “Please just. Leave me alone.”

Something sad flashes over Dick’s face but it’s gone as quick as it came. He takes a step back, giving Jason more space, but he knows the older vigilante well enough to know it’s not an out. “Alright. Walk out then.”

Jason glared through the hood. Dick must know he can’t stand. He’s probably waiting for Jason to admit it.

“I’m not showing you where I live,” he says instead. It’s a little hard to talk though. Jason feels tired.

Dick easily grins. “I won’t follow you, scout’s honor. So long as you can get up.”

He knows it’s a lie. He knows that. Jason still tries to stand. He grabs the wall with one hand and heaves himself upward, pointedly ignoring the potent ache in his gut. Fuck, what if his ribs are broken? He takes a deep breath and almost kneels over. It hurts so much. He needs- He needs to go to the Cave. But he can’t, so he’ll have to make the trek to Leslie’s clinic. She could recognize him though…

Jason’s not surprised when he trips and hits the ground. His head slams into the concrete, along with his tender abdomen and he can’t hold anything back as he screams.

Dick’s on him in seconds, his gentle hands quickly lifting him off the ground and flitting up and down Jason’s body to catalogue all the injuries he has. It’s a lot, Jason would know. Dick’s hands reach his hood, probably to check his head and Jason cannot stop him. The last thing he sees, just before he blacks out, is Dick’s gaping mouth.

“Jason?”

“Jason!”

Jason jerks awake only to be pushed back into a soft surface. There’s a face floating above his face but everything’s so blurry.

“Jason? Jay, how are you feeling?” Their voice sounds as though Jason is underwater. “Hey, Little Wing. C’mon, tell me how you’re doing.”

Dick? But that’s impossible, Dick’s not nice to him. Jason decides it’s a dream and it can’t hurt to talk to the Dick-whose-not-real. “I’m okay. What about you?”

Nightwing laughs, the sound accompanied by strong fingers threading through Jason’s hair. “I’m okay, but you took quite a few hits, huh? Wanna tell me what you were doing out there?”

“I was going back,” mumbles Jason, suddenly saddened.

“Back where?”

“Back to the Alley.”

The hand in his hair stills for a fraction of a second before Dick continues his grooming. “And why were you going to Park Row?”

Jason doesn’t want to talk about it yet he doesn’t want to make Dick angry. He likes nice Dick, he doesn’t want him to go away. “Bruce don’t want me anymore.”

“What?”

But Jason’s eyes are growing heavier and he can only hum in response as sleep claims him once more.

The second time he wakes up is less pleasant than the first. For one, there’s no one by his bed. Secondly, the pain that was blissfully absent at his first waking has come back with vengeance. His chest and arms throb with pain and he can barely reach for the water bottle on the table next to him without crying.

He’s also in the Batcave. The medbay to be exact.

He can’t hear much beyond his own heavy breathing but Jason’s learned to pick up other signs of Dick and Bruce’s arguments. Whenever Batman and Nightwing fight, one can see it in the Batarangs that Dick tosses around in frustration. It’s obvious in the way Bruce opens up cold cases to wind himself down. Jason can just barely see the Bat-computer screen from his bed and groans when he reads that the murder dates back to 1943. Of course, the family deserves justice, but Jason wished it wasn’t at the expense of his family.

He digs his nails into the flesh of his palm. This is not his family. He should remember that.

Jason feels steady enough despite the aches to try standing. He’s pleasantly surprised when he manages to stay upright and even elated when he learns he can walk. Jason should be able to move quickly enough to avoid any more potential beatdowns.

He walks to the med bay doors and catches the sound of Dick’s voice. It’s low and furious and Jason is not surprised. He must be talking about Jason.

“-him? What the fuck is wrong with you? He was, oh my god, his ribs were broken!” yells Dick. He’s shedded the Nightwing suit and is clothed in a loose Gotham University hoodie and sweatpants. Dick had probably gotten showered and changed while Jason was sleeping. He pauses and turns around, meeting Jason’s eyes. “You’re awake.”

Jason ducks his head. “Uh, yeah.” He makes himself meet Dick’s eyes. “Thanks for the save.” Jason looks to Bruce. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to come back. I’ll get out of your hair.”

Jason’s not even given the opportunity to face the Batcave exit. He knows Dick’s not a speedster, that’s the Flash 2.0 he hangs around with, but he swears that no human should have been fast enough to cover the distance between them in 2 seconds flat.

Dick is mindful of Jason’s injuries but firm when he grabs Jason around the waist and yanks him to him to Bruce. “Where do you think you’re going, Little Wing?” he asks, false humor in his voice.

“Jason,” interrupts Bruce. He’s never looked more forbidding than he does right now, even though he’s dressed in civvies. An impassive stare resides on his face. It doesn’t help Jason’s nerves one bit. “What happened?”

“I was at Crime Alley, I uh, got jumped,” responds Jason. He awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. “It’s fine, it happens.”

Bruce reaches out with a shaky hand. Jason stays still. He knows Bruce won’t hurt him but it has not been a good day. The tips of his fingers lightly brush over the swollen areas of Jason’s eye, so gently he can’t almost cannot feel them. Jason relaxes, Batman won’t hurt him, even though he is about to fire him.

Dick softly pushes Jason into Bruce, who envelopes him into his body. The hug is harsh and unyielding but arranged so it does not aggravate Jason. He can smell the soap from the showers and the detergent Alfred useless from Bruce’s clothes, as well as a faint hint of expensive cologne. He would say it smells like his father and just for this second, he can pretend he has one.

“Never do that again,” says Bruce, whispering right into Jason’s ear.

Jason can only agree because he doesn’t want this to end, even though he’s not sure he knows what Bruce is talking about.

Bruce’s larger form abruptly scoops Jason up and for once he doesn’t have the energy to feel embarrassed about it. He still hides his face away when he sees that Dick is still there.

“We should ice his ribs, B,” says Dick. “They must be hurting by now.”

Bruce only grunts in acknowledgement but Dick’s exasperated sigh is practically a flag of peace. Jason smiles a little.

They sit him down on the same bed. Bruce squeezes his hand once more before leaving to alert Alfred and fetch an ice pack. Dick elects to stay behind with Jason.

He defensively hunches up a little. This must be when Dick rails at him for ruining Robin. He knows he deserves it but that doesn’t make it any easier to bear. “I’m sorry,” he says instead. “I know I fucked up.”

“Kid.” Dick sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I think we gotta clear something up.” Jason doesn’t say anything, Dick continues. “I’m not going to be mad at you for getting beat up by a pack of thugs. I know it’s probably not your fault and no way am I going to yell at a kid with broken ribs. I’m not B.”

“Okay.”

“And I also think that B’s gotta clear somethings up too. I know he’s a dumb jerk sometimes but he probably didn’t mean to kick you out for one little fuck up on a mission,” finishes Dick.

“But I’m not you,” exclaimed Jason. “He loves you, he doesn’t… he doesn’t think like that about me.” And if Bruce doesn’t love him then he must hate him because if his own parents didn’t care enough to stick around for him then a wealthy man who is better of in every single way probably resents him for taking his real son’s place. Fuck, Jason just had to agree to Bruce’s proposal, didn’t he? He couldn’t tough it out for a few more years, find a job and maybe not feel so fucking pathetic right now.

There’s wetness on his cheeks. He’s crying. He’s crying in front of Dick Grayson. He’s crying in front of Robin. Maybe Willis was right. He might’ve been a good-for-nothing asshole but he obviously knew something if he managed to survive to adulthood in Crime Alley. Whereas Jason almost had his fucking head busted open, he was only alive because Nightwing decided to step in. He really was worthless, wasn’t he? A waste of space just as bad as his father.

Who the fuck had he been kidding? He didn’t belong here. Jason was the son of gang member and a drug addict, not Batman, not Bruce Wayne. And he definitely wasn’t Dick’s brother.

Nightwing looked surprised. “Uh kid? I mean Jason. Jason, what’s wrong?”

Jason doesn’t even know what he says next. It’s probably something cringe-inducing, considering his emotional state at the time. All he knows is that one second he’s weeping out his heart on the med bay bed and the second he’s wrapped up in Dick Grayson.

At first, he doesn’t quite compute it. Jason’s always reckoned with the fact that there will be some things in life that will be unattainable for him. It used to be his parents and college when he was on the streets, and though some things are within reach thanks to Bruce, a hug from Dick Grayson never registered on that list. It was too far-fetched, even for Jason’s dreams.

It feels real now though. It smells like old clothes and feels like hard muscles and it sounds like someone slowly breathing and encouraging Jason to slow down.

“Jason. Jay, slow down. It’s okay,” says Dick. “I got you. Nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

Jason nods from where he’s pressed into Dick’s shoulder. “Okay,” he breathes.

Dick slowly pushes away a little, just enough for them to make eye contact. “Hey, listen. I know I haven’t been the best brother.”

Jason can’t help it. “We’re brothers.”

“Yeah, Jay.” One of Dick’s hands reaches up to brush Jason’s cheeks. “We’re brothers. I’m sorry for being an asshole, it wasn’t your fault.”

Brothers. They are brothers. Jason always wanted a sibling.

“And I won’t ditch you. No matter what you do. Bruce won’t either, but I’m not him, I don’t have all his million rules and hang-ups.” Dick leaned in so their foreheads touched. “When I say you’re my brother, I mean that it’s all that will ever matter.”

Jason was a street kid, one needs a hefty amount of paranoia to survive that. But it also taught him how to differentiate the truth from a lie. Nothing in the determined set of Dick’s lips and earnest expression in his eye spoke of falsifications.

He meant it when he said he cared. He meant it when he said nothing else was important.

“Okay.”

Also link to ao3

Alsoooo opening up requests, if anyone has a gen batfam prompt I'd be happy to write it!

[spookyson]

Also link to my ao3

I have some haikyuu, temeraire and soa

[spookyson]

Ummm literally just made an account and have no idea how this works. Then found this wip in my docs. I have no idea where I was going with it but it will now see the light of day. Omg I didn't even proofread it pls ignore my typos.

Tim woke up in a bed that was not his own.

Not unusual. He sometimes slept in his parents’ bedroom. It smelt like them and would sometimes feel like being with them. But this wasn’t any bedroom that Tim knew.

It was bigger than his room, with navy walls and dark curtains that covered a window larger than the one he was used to. It was also empty, with a few necessities furnishing the sparseness. Tim’s bedroom had never known emptiness after Mrs Mac had given up on it when Tim was 9. 

There were some clothes on the ground. Which was something. He sat up, pucshing off teh soft blanket that gathered at his waits. His bare feet hit the carpeted floor as he continued his research. The clothes on the ground were too big for him. A collared white shirt and charcoal slacks. He found a tie of matching colour under his bed. It reminded him of Dad, this was the sort of thing he wore when he went to the office. 

He looked to the closet and found nothing else. More shirts and ties in different shades, a pair of dress shoes, and a plain yellow hoodie. He didn’t know these clothes. Tim glanced down at his current outfit, a loose black shirt with Superman’s symbol on it and a pair of sweatpants he’d folded three times at the hip for them to stay on. The shirt was something he would wear, so maybe…

Batman had protocols for time travel. Nothing that he had ever explicitly told Tim since he was way too busy devising ways to make Tim quit, but files that Tim had read over when he had a minute to spare, The rules were fairly simple, should he go back in time, he was not allowed to inform anyone he knew of the future nor could he change anything. Things were a bit loose on how to proceed if he traveled to the future, but not to ask any questions and seek the quickest way back home was the best summary of the lengthy text. 

And, it looked like he was at Wayne Manor. So Batman must be around. He would know how to fix this. And, would Tim be able to meet himself? The adult version?

He fights the urge to grin as he tugs open the bedroom door and makes his way to the cave on silent feet. Batman find it unprofessional. Tim’s never actually been in the family wing before, so he goes into the wrong room. It’s an office, but not Bruce’s. There’s a desk in the middle of the room, a whiteboard tacked to one large wall and an old couch near the doorway. Tim wanders inside. He’s never seen it before. There’s an open laptop on the table, so Tim goes there first. It’s likely locked, and he’s not surprised when he finds a neutral blue screen asking the pincode, what’s actually surprising is the person ID. Tim Drake. This is his laptop. 

He doesn’t know why but the first number that comes to him is the day he learnt how to ride a bike. It was nothing super amazing. Some of the other kids in class could do it with no hands, or do wheelies. But Tim was proud. He had figured it out on his own, his father didn’t need to teach him. It baceme the most important date to him for a while.

He taps in the numbers with hesitant fingers and presses the enter key. It’s accepted.

The laptop opens on a video.

“Shit,” says a much older Tim. “You must be 14. Oh god.” 

So there's been some manner rouge attack and the outcome of said rounge attack is that Tim's been deaged to 14. Tim is also Red Robin. Tim also doesn't have a spleen. There may also be ninjas attacking him at random in order to seduce him to their evil immortal overlord's side and likely into his bed. He's also the CEO of Wayne Enterprises. 

"Yeah, I get that it's a lot. But uh, we've always had to deal with a lot, huh? This is a little different from usual, but eh semantics. So, if you're ever confused about anything, find the phone under your pillow and call a person named Pru, she can help you out with any Leaugue of Assassins business and call Kon if it's about anything else."

Big Tim smiles and it's shocking how similar he looks to Tim. He's not s chubby, he's got sharper eyes and cheekbones and his hair is longer than anything Tim would dare to try, but his smile is the same. It's a little joking, a little happy, and just like the thing Tim had seen on the surface of the Batmobile when Batman told him he did a good job at patrol. 

"But you're me, so you got this," says Big Tim. He suddenly looks up over the camera and his expression fades into something neutral. Two seconds pass, Tim hears a door close. "Also, you should get out of the manor as quick as you can. That place wasn't safe for me and it isn't safe for you now. Jason Todd is alive and he hates us. Avoid the Robin in a katana, he's got it out for us too. Bruce can't keep us safe" - Tim notes a miniscule shift in the muscles of Big Tim's jaw - "or won't, if it's possible, he's even harder to read now. Dick is…"  Tim watches as his face falls and something that looks alarmingly like a tear wells up in his eyes. "Dick is… We're not the most important thing to him. Don't count on him to have your back, it's better if you ditch before he sees you."

There's a lot to think about. And before he has the time to give any idea in those last few sentences any serious thought. The Tim on screen is already moving on. 

"Address, phone, laptop and everything else should be in the hidden compartment above your bed. Feel around for the switch. Get to the apartment and send an email to Tam Fox, use the words 'I am unwell and cannot make it to the office. Please postpone my meetings and cancel the order' she'll know what that means. That should be everything. Good luck, kid. " 

The screen cuts to black and Tim's up and moving before he can stew on the contents of the video for too long. It was a selfish thought anyway, that Bruce and Dick and Alfred woul ever love him. He's the replacement for a dead boy, it would have been impossible to live up to him, Tim doesn't know why he tried. And oh god, Jason Todd hates him. The back of his throat burns and he gulps down a swallow, unwilling to let the sounds of his sob infect the silent manor. His hero hates him. The boy he loved the most in the world hates him. 

Dick Grayson was an ideal. Something perfect and untouchable, he wasn't actually. Nobody was perfect, But the first Robin and now Nightwing had always given off the aura of untouchable idealility. He was the example to follow, the person everyone strove to be or wanted to be near. In his brief stint as Robin, Tim noticed how he drove people towards them. Bruce didn’t know it, but he was lighter when Dick was around, and Barabara was more likely to join patrols. The older Titans gravitated around him, like planets in his orbit, a product of long-term trust and friendship, but even strangers seemed to know that Dick was all that is good. 

Of course, Tim knew that he could never replace Jason as his brother, but in the deepest part of his heart, he had always hoped to become family adjacent. That one day Dick would look at him with the same softness he only reserved for Bruce and Alfred. To know that he could not even trust him… Well, that hurt more than he thought possible.

Through some miracle of God, Tim didn’t cry and managed to find the hidden compartment above his bed. In a square hole the size of a small cabinet he found a slim laptop, a phone, and a thick stack of money bound together by a rubber band. There were no clothes he could switch into, but this Gotham was likely similar to his Gotham, no one would bat an eye at a boy wearing oversized clothes. He found some sneakers in the closet, too big, but he fit them over his feet anyway and snuck out of his room for the second time. 

Silence reigned supreme in the manor, bearing an uncanny resemblance to Tim’s house. Big Tim said his house was destroyed in the aftermath of an earthquake that changed a lot of Gotham’s cityscape. The address he found on the phone in his hand was somewhere in the middle of the city, so the second thing he did was call for an Uber in the most silent voice possible. The person on the phone informed him of a twenty-minute wait, which would be plenty of time for Tim to escape Batman’s house and wait outside Drake manor.

The phone was shoved into pockets of his sweatpants, while the money and the laptop rested in a bag he had discovered, and after much exploration, he found what looked to be a family room. 

Tim cursed. This may take longer than his estimated time. He set off down another promising hallway, only to stutter to a stop when he heard voices.

“So? ‘S he alright? Baby bird took a pretty bad hit,” says a voice. It’s rough, like the voice of a smoker, and possesses a thick Crime Alley accent. Male. 

Tim feels his heart stop when he hears the first man’s companion respond. “Alred says he’s healthy, so we moved him up to his room. Timmy should be waking up soon.”

It’s Dick. No no no- He’s supposed to be avoiding Dick. That’s what Big Tim said to do. He shouldn’t be here. He should be moving. 

It’s all for naught because that’s when the men turn the corner and run right into Tim. He runs a quick glance over them. Tall, muscular, and big. One’s bigger than the other and has a white streak through his hair. The other is… it’s Dick. Older, with more lines near his eyes and mouth, but the same person he saw at patrol earlier (or later, depending on who you asked) that day. 

The person who didn’t love him. Who didn’t even like him maybe? 

Tim can’t help it. When their eyes widen and older Dick takes a step toward him, he bursts into tears.