#Bruce tries to connect with the ghost of his dead son.

[kizzer55555]

DP x DC: My Brother’s Ghost

So there are a bunch of fics where Danny and Damian are twins and Danny eventually has to go to Gotham or Damian/another bat interacts with Danny as ghost king. But I do you one better. Danny faked his death because of failing a mission/he actually died and his mother brought him back. (Or maybe he revived on his own after constant Lazarus exposure over time and knew he couldn’t go back). Anyways, Danny knew that he needed to go to Bruce Wayne in Gotham if he ever needed anything but only as a last resort as they would expect him to go there. So he’s been monitoring Bruce from afar and immediately knew when Damian joined the bats. He clocked him as the new Robin and started following his hero career more closely. He was content to watch his family from afar. Even after the accident. Then something happens where Robin was said to go missing and when no news showed up after a few days, Danny got worried so figured it couldn’t hurt to do a quick trip to Gotham.

He dresses in all black and a hood made using an old ninja Halloween costume. Not nearly as much protection as his old league uniform but with his ghost powers he doesn’t really need protection. Just anonymity. He goes to Gotham in phantom form, making sure all his white hair is carefully tucked in the black hood so only his green eyes remain. He uses his old assassin training and finds Robin drugged and captured in an old warehouse by the court of owls. Robin clearly isn’t thinking straight but Danny puts him in a simple choke hold to knock him unconscious anyways. Better safe than sorry. He quickly frees the boy and drops him off in an area he knows the other bats are searching. After watching to make sure Damian is safe and a bat finds him, he leaves.

Damian could barely remember his capture but he thought he saw a figure in black with glowing green eyes. He could have sworn the future was trying to kill him but…he woke up looking at another bat (or maybe even the manor). Did his family save him?

Meanwhile, Danny can’t stop thinking about Damian. Despite his assassin training, he was drugged and hurt. Danny thought he could handle himself. He thought he would be safe. But what if this happened again? What if the colony of bats wasn’t enough? So Danny couldn’t help the occasional visit to Gotham to make sure his twin was ok. Most of the time he didn’t do anything, just watched. Sometimes, though, there would be an instance where Damian got out of a dangerous situation and no one knew how. A building collapsed, Damian appeared unharmed outside. A goon was about to get a lucky shot? Somehow the bullet missed or the goon got taken out when no other bats were nearby. Fear gas? Damian faintly remembers warm hands hugging him as he struggled. And while he thought it was weird he heard his brother’s comforting voice when it should be a nightmare, he chalked it up to the fear gas anyways since there was no other explanation.

Yet every time there is a particularly dangerous encounter, he swears he sees the figure in black. Damian sees the figure more and more yet none of his family do. They swore to keep an eye out anyways in case. You never know. Sometimes the figure becomes more clear and Damian has tried to chase them but always loses them quickly. One time the chase lasted at least five minutes and Damian managed to corner the figure in an alleyway only for them to pass through the wall.

The bats suspect that this could either be meta abilities or magic. The funny thing is, there were no traces. No one sees the figure except Damian. No one hears them, and there’s is nothing to indicate their presence, not even footprints. It’s like they were never there and no matter how hard they try, there is no footage of the figure. Sometimes cameras glitch out and sometimes they only show Robin, sometimes neither or they seem to loop on themselves. So the bats are leaning towards Magic.

They call Constantine to give Damian a thorough check and he declares that Damian shows signs of interacting with a ghost. And that stumps everyone. A ghost? If it was a friendly specter like Deadman then he would help everyone, not just Damian. If it was hostile, it would never help Damian. So why is this ghost only focusing on the youngest bat and why? Is there even someone that would come back from the afterlife to help the demon brat, let alone have the will strong enough to manifest a ghost that can affect the living? Damian was a former assassin after all and he’s hardly the friendliest bat. So who would help him that has already died?

Throughout this, Damian is silent. Because there is one person he knows to have died that might do this. One person skilled enough to avoid the other bats and evade Damian during a chase. One person Damian would acknowledge as having a will stronger than his own. But something was wrong…because he was sure that that person didn’t have green eyes.

So the next time the figure shows himself Damian attacks. Not just a chase but an outright challenge. Hand to hand combat. And as Damian punches and kicks, the figure expertly parries each attack. And as the fight goes on, Damian watches. And he knows those moves. Those dodges. Those blocks. He can read this figure’s fighting stance like the back of his hand because he grew up with it.

And Damian knows without a shadow of a doubt as the figure disappears into he ground, that despite the changed eye color, the tan skin, the increased height, his brother’s ghost has come back to watch over him.

And for the first time in many years, Damian cries. That’s how the bats find him.

[deadsetobsessions]

Danny Fenton is so damn sick of rich fruit loops. It’s worse now, since he’s one of them.

It’s not Vlad that he’s with, thank the Ancients, but Danny isn’t sure that this is better.

Because he’s Timothy Drake, a baby, and he’s been reincarnated after the Ancient of Reincarnation accidentally drank too much wine.

He’s going to kick their ass so hard when he gets back.

Danny huffs. He rolls over, ignoring the silent manor. Sure, he’s read the comics. Sure, he laughed and imagined being adopted by Batman- come on, Danny had black hair and blue eyes even back then, he was totally adoption bait- when his parents gave him reason to lose trust in their love. But that’s it, that’s all he thought it was. A day dream, a wish for a universe that didn’t exist.

Danny hadn’t understood the reality of the whole Infinite Realms thing, a place he was now the King of. Batman? Real. Danny? Reincarnated. Hotel? Trivago.

Like, this wasn’t what he meant, dammit.

And now he’s stuck as Timothy Drake, and Ancients, he was starting to see parallels.

——

Danny tried photography. He really did. He wanted to at least stick to the source material. But that’s not who he is. Even with the shiny new brain that memorized, catalogued, and put together clues at the snap of his fingers, but Danny’s never been one to take photos. It’s a respectable art, for sure, but Danny preferred to live in the moment instead of capturing it to remember forever. It’s just-

He watched the Graysons fall. He watched Dick Grayson turn into Robin. And Danny can’t and won’t ever betray his Obsession like that, ever again. He can’t let Jason die for his “story” to begin. That’s not how Danny works.

He’s there to protect.

Danny hasn’t ever been just Tim. Danny was also Tim and the Ghost King without a haunt. But now? Gotham is his haunt. He, in lieu of an actual city spirit, is Gotham. He’s also a Drake. And Drakes were meant to hoard.

Batman and Robin? They are his.

He claimed them, as a Drake. But that claim is weak. So he claimed them as their city, and that is a claim that will never be able to be challenged.

Danny’ll be damned before he allows some lanky starved clown beat the life out of one of his Robins. So, for the first time in his nine years on this planet, Tim-Danny goes ghost and flies.

“Who- who. Are you?” Robin slurred from his place in Danny’s hold. He is broken, yes. But not dead. Danny infuses some of his vitality, his ecto, into Jason’s injuries to help them heal.

“Gotham.” Danny replied, layering his ghostly voice with those of the city.

“Goth’m?”

“Gotham. Sleep, little bird. Your city has got you.”

When Robin, Jason, settled with a sense of trust that tugs at Danny’s core, Danny carried him to Batman, whose eyes were wild and manic. He glared menacingly at the green and white ghost in front of him, who was holding his broken and beaten son-

Well, it’d be menacing if Danny hadn’t watched him eat bricks and mortar, crashing into a building while using his grappling gun.

“You-”

“I am Gotham.” Danny cut him off. Despite his wary nature and natural paranoia, Batman settled at his city’s gaze rested on him. Danny knew that Batman recognized his city. Batman’s head bowed, but his eyes stayed on Robin. “You were supposed to take care of Robin.”

“I- I know.” And that voice was all Bruce Wayne the Dad instead of Batman the Vigilante. Danny gently placed Robin in Batman’s arms, taking in the tremors as he held his son close.

“Go back, Bruce. And make sure Jason knows how much you love him.”

He laughed as Bruce whipped his head upwards. “I am your city. You are mine as much as I am yours. I’ve known of you before you were born.”

Technically? Not untrue. But Bruce will chalk it up to weird magic shit. It’s not like it’s a secret that Gotham’s kind of curse. Besides, this way, Danny will be able to help out more often. And Bruce won’t be able to connect Tim Drake to the “Spirit of Gotham.”

“Return, my knight. This is not your city. I can not protect you as well as I can in Gotham.”

“Thank you… Gotham.”

Danny sighed. He wondered when he’ll have to field questions from a John Constantine. He’s pretty sure Bruce will call in magical help, even if it was his own city he was investigating.

Batman’s lucky Danny liked him enough to allow it.

[rubydubydoo122]

As much as I hate to say it, and as much as I love Jason ToddI'm gonna need DC to kill him again, and keep him dead this time.

Now before you come at me, let me explain why I think this. Jason Todd is a character that while alive will always be connected to Gotham, and because of his differing morals with Batman, he will always be in a cycle of conflict with him. We saw it in UTRH, we saw it in RHATO, we saw it in Gotham Wars. Because Jason isn't a villain (I feel like in UTRH he was an anti-hero, and any actions that didn't align with the morals he set during that time is because he was villainized by Batman) Bruce's actions feel overtly brutal (batarang to the neck, beating him so har his helmet broke, chemically altering him to feel fear) especially since it's towards his SON the one he claims to have mourned. It's a vicious cycle that isn't fair to Jason, and it's major character assassination of Bruce. It's overdone and I am sick and tired of it, but I do not see either characters backing down from their moral stances.

Now you might be thinking, just because Bruce and Jason don't get along doesn't mean they can't make up-- they've tried. Multiple time. Every time Jason and Bruce take a step in the direction of being close to each other again, Bruce becomes a control freak and abuses Jason like he's his own personal punching bag, and there's only so many times someone can forgive someone before enough is enough.

But I still haven't explained why specifically I think Jason should die again. And it's because of two reasons. Jason deserves peace, and as long as he's a ghost walking on earth, he won't be able to get that. Also because it would make Great Angst. We all know Bruce would break if he lost Jason again. He's going to push everyone away, and if you're going to have Bruce push everyone away, give him consequences for his actions.but we saw how protective Dick got during Gotham Wars. Just imagine Dick walking up towards Bruce and saying, "It might've been my fault last time for not picking up his calls, but this time, you can't deny that this, is all your fault." "How dare you! He was my son!" "You lost him once, and when he came back you treated him worse than any of the loonies in Arkham. You don't miss him at all. You only feel guilty because of your goddamned savior complex. You only treat him like your son when he's dead."

and while we're at it, maybe Tim can have a complete crisis. He had to pick up the pieces of Bruce in the aftermath of Jason's death last time, and look where that got him. All of his friends and family died. He was never truly recognized for guiding Bruce out of the dark, and we all know that Tim is one inconvenience from killing a bitch. Maybe this is it. I actually think it would be hilarious for Tim to take up the Red Hood mantle, Only to screw with Bruce. Because he knows that's what Jason would've wanted.

Have Damian afraid of what Bruce has become in guilt. Have Damians castle of worship for his father come tumbling down, because Damian always knew his father loved all of the previous Robins more than him, and if his father no longer wanted them, what was stopping Bruce from sending him back to the League.

Like DC if you're going to use Jason as a catalyst for an event, kill him off again. last time it was on a whim. This time, do it on purpose. This time, give his death a purpose. This time, make sure his death changes something, because god, Bruce has fucked up so much.

[bluerosefox]

Across My Memories

......

.....

-hums Once Upon a December-

Ghost Prince!Jason.

..... ghost prince!Jason where when Jason died instead of waking up in his own door room (headcanon doors are private rooms all ghosts gain once dead, its their safe spot, rooms can expand into lairs if the ghost gets strong enough) he wakes up in the Ghost King gardens.

He's found and taken to (older) King Danny who takes one look at the newborn baby ghost, (verbally) rips into his guards for manhandling a baby, and offers Jason a place to stay while they try to locate his room so he can recover and stable his core. (That's why ghosts stay in their rooms upon being made until they're strong enough to leave and venture out, Jason is advised not to run off since they have no idea where his room is and Danny being King of the Realm can basically substitute the ectoplasm needed to stable him just by being around Jason)

Over time and Jason slowly learning to trust Danny, Danny starts treating Jason unknowingly like a son and Jason slowly sees Danny as another dad (only less emotionally constipated (Bruce) or abusive (Willis))

Everyone in the Kingdom knows it too, but since Danny hasn't made it official they don't call Jason 'Prince' or 'Young Master' instead they call him 'Favored Star' and 'Starlight' since Danny adores space and stars and the Ghosts honor Jason with those title's.

They realize that they've been treating each other as family when Jazz comes to visit and points it out. Danny freaks out for a moment before going to talk to Jason, whose been hoarding himself in the royal library. They talk, Jason freaks a bit (maybe runs off trying to figure out his own emotions over it. Doesn't want to get hurt again by a 'father figure' again, maybe gets in trouble? Or runs into Jazz and talks about it to her)

Eventually Danny decides to make it official and Jason becomes Prince Jason of the Infinite Realms. Everyone is excited, and a huge ball is thrown in Jason’s honor. Its a night Jason keeps close to his core because once the ball is over, Danny and Jason go sneaking into the kitchens to get some hot coco and goes into Danny’s study where Jason reads his favorite book out loud next to the fireplace while Danny works on some paperwork but is listening to the story.

Anyways since time in the Realms is weird that despite being dead for a small few years in the living Realm, Jason feels like many more years have passed in the Infinite Realm and because he’s been around Danny (and is Prince of the Realms) he has grown older (its why when he’s brought back he looked like the way he did when he died but was comatose, his ghost/soul didn’t match the body anymore and it isn’t until he’s tossed in the Pits that it corrects his body to match who he was now, its also why the Pit Madness stays with him for so long) Jason has grown into his role as a Prince and he’s happy with his (after)life (and has come to terms with many things in his life, thanks Auntie Jazz)

So when one day the Prince goes completely missing, to the point he can no longer be felt in its Realms, the Infinite Realm ‘awakens’ to the rage and worry of their King.

Meanwhile, Jason awakens underground in his coffin, dazed, confused, scared and crawls out of the ground, his soul/ghost despite being in its body isn’t attached correctly and thus his mind is blank, he’s alive but not really there. It isn’t until later when he’s tossed in the Pits and rage overtakes him that his soul/ghost is connected again, wrongly put together but connected at least. It isn’t until later when his core slowly tries fixing the rage/Pit Madness when he starts getting fuzzy and hazy memories of someplace he can no longer remember but wants to go back to, wants to find.

A sky of shifting shades of green, a castle with knights, a ball and dancing figures, the sound of a fireplace crackling and a pen scrawling across paper as the taste of hot coco phantoms its way in his memories.      

[wrencatte]

is the leverage one a leverage au?? + not me trying to figure out which one is drove through ghosts!!

also while i'm at it, friendly reminder that you're writing is so SO good and encompassing,, absolutely lovely

yes!! It is! I mainly thought of it because Tim being a thief and a grifter are like my go-to roles for him instead of the more obvious hacker. also, thank you <3 I'm glad you like my stories <3 drove through ghosts is under it's own folder "ghosts" here's a snippet from chapter....7! Which is bruce's chapter because we are NOT going to talk about Dick's chapter that bastard

Until he comes across one slightly ajar, light and music filtering through. He stops, almost continues walking pass, but he carefully knuckles open the door instead.

It opens to a dimly lit bar. Music and murmurs in Mandarin, the haze of smoke in the air. Bruce steps through, eyes sweeping over the gathering of people, until they land on an almost-familiar figure tucked in the corner of the counter. He doesn't know what Jason looked like at seventeen – he imagines he probably looks the same as he does at twenty-three, as he did at nineteen.

The face in front of him is slim, like it had been when he first came to Gotham and tore off his helmet. Those cheeks then had been sunken in, his expression wary and weary and oh-so-angry.

Now, he looks haggard, like he's been eating only enough to stave off starvation, chewing on his lip in a bad habit Bruce doesn't want to be relieved to see but he is. Gods, he is. Because that's Jason. That's his son. Still there.

Staring at a beat up, ancient, corded phone like it's going to bite. No one's talking to him. The bartender is giving him side-eyes that aren't necessarily antagonistic but aren't friendly. Jason's head tilts when a conversation gets loud and boisterous, something calculating flits across his expression – and that's when Bruce realizes this is a mission.

His eyes don't leave that phone though. His nails tap the hardwood countertop. His drink sweats in front of him, untouched. His shoulders curl in further and further the longer he stares.

Then, finally, he picks the phone off the cradle, presses it to his ear.

And punches in a number without a single second of hesitation. Memorized it, Bruce guesses. Whatever number that is. He's memorized it.

The line ringing loudly makes Bruce jump, looking around before he realizes it's just Jason's line. Whatever this is – memory, his brain supplies, this is a memory – has keyed him into the call.

It rings and rings. The unusual sharpness of Jason's canines score through his lips and make them bleed. Bruce comes closer, sees the little white marks and indents around his mouth from getting used to them. 

Are those a Pit thing? Or are they a whatever brought Jason back thing? He never got an answer. He almost doesn't want an answer. Getting an answer would acknowledge that he doesn't know what brought his baby back from the dead because it wasn't him who did it. It wasn't him to tried. A hero vigilante of decades who's seen the rise and fall of multiple heroes and villains, and he couldn't figure out this one little thing?

Jason grips the phone with a white-knuckled fist, his eyes getting misty. He closes them when the line rings again, resignation flickering across his expression.

But then it clicks, connecting. And –

"Wayne Residence. This is Alfred speaking."

Bruce and Jason freeze at the same time. The butler's cool, crisp accent comes through as he says "Hello? May I ask who's calling? Hello?" the longer Jason stays silent.

Jason breathes out shakily, scrubs his shirt sleeve over his eyes, and hangs up.

[fantasticgothicpeachsludge]

Hello it is I connection terminated the random Tumblr user!

Ideas had:

Directly after waking upafter being controlled by a bunch of psychotic clowns for like a year Michael went to Henry for help. Henry built him the end of skeleton shell so he could do stuff again But also made Michael internalized the idea that his life is basically useless unless he does vigilante stuff. Also the idea that it basically didn't matter at all what happened to Michael himself as long as he could still walk and punch...

"Nightguar" Michael Is introduced at a charity event hosted by William. (I think he definitely has a "oh you have dead parents I have dead children isn't that so sad" talk with Bruce at some point) Also Tim is there. Then suddenly as Williams giving this speech about "Look at these new robots I made they have a criminal detection system will protect Any children who walk into my establishments!". When Michael bursts in through the glass ceiling and tries to kidnap/maybe kill his dad. But because The crowd and Batman don't know the context it just looks like scary villain came down from the ceiling and is now trying to kill nice children's entertainer William Afton. Basically Michael runs after that and has a little rooftop fight with Tim. Throws down a flash Bang and then runs away.

All of the fun times can easily disguise as humans everyone except baby is just really bad at acting normal. It's also not something they need to do much-

Michael has a lot of hang-ups about being the only non-human member of the bat family for so long. Like everyone else can kind of take off the mask and do normal people stuff (mostly). But Mike physically can't do that.... He also happens to live in a city where most of the metahumans are villains and most of the heroes are normal human people. He kind of sticks out and sometimes gets mistaken for a villain (Kind of a loose adaptation of the whole looking like William hence people wanting to attack him thing for cannon)

Whatever kind of ghost or something like that Michael Charlie and most of the other cast from fnaf are Makes anyone who is in the presence of them feel really Uneasy.. This kind of fades the more time you spend around the person. (This is a head cannon I have for normal fnaf too I just think it'll be fun here)

Cassidy's powers are based on how much pain herself and the people around her are in. Either emotional or physical. she shares a vessel with Evan (because it's easier To say then crying child) His constant sadness is A Perfect power booster! If you're wondering what her abilities are she can trap people in nightmares, Teleconesis, Telepathy, Reality bending,

Thank you for listening to my ramblings here's a sketch of Cassidy! More of a little concept sketch than her final design LOL but I hope you like it

Ah! Hi! Sorry for taking so long to answer I was recovering from my sister’s second baby shower (I didn’t have a panic attack at this one yay) but it’s been a few weeks and now I’m ready to type! (mainly hearts and key smashs)

HENRYYYYYYY!!!!!! I know you have good intentions but you are giving my blorbo even more of a complex than he already has :(

*lights up the bat signal to let Bruce know to make sure he has the emergency adoption papers ready*

Of course William would have the fucking audacity I want to hit him (and I know that that man is so good an actor probably the only member of the batfamily to notice anything off would be Cass and ether she’s not settled enough to go to galas yet or literally hasn’t joined the family)

There is no doubt in my mind that he pulled out the “I am so sorry about the loss of your son Mr Wayne. There is no pain worse than the loss of a child. I would know” I want to break his nose

Is it really a robin teen vigilante romance if it doesn’t start with a misunderstanding and a fight?

Of course she’s a good actor, she loves playing pretend. kill me

I have no words for this one just tears

Tim: Hey guys! this is my boyfriend Michael.

*the entirety of Young Justice about to beat up a corpse Because he has bad vibes*

Tim making distance between them with his bo: Back! Back I say!

I love her so much💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕 her little hat is everything to me

[arty-shadow-morningstar]

Graveyard Siblings (3)

Some for revenge and some sibling bonding.

[Masterlist]

(Part 1)(Part 2)

-------

Adrien was next to be visited. Plagg woke him up from his sleep.

-------

“Kit, wake up. I want camembert.”

“Plagg, silence. You are not getting any cheese if you do that.”

“Sorry, Adrien but you are not my ‘master’ anymore.”

“Plagg? Why are you here? Where’s the ring?”

“The ring is as far away as possible and kept safely away. I am here because someone wants to talk to you.”

“Who?”

A cloaked, hooded figure stepped out of the shadows to his room.

“Kitty. My Chaton. Did you miss me?” A sweet, familiar but yet so terrifying voice came from the figure.

She pulled down the hood to reveal Ladybug with a wicked-looking black mask with white lenses.

“What am I talking about? You do miss me. Your Bugaboo. Too bad I don’t feel the same, Adrien.”

Lightning flashed and it started to rain. The mask was gone, revealing his dead classmate, Marinette with chilling red eyes. The pigtails grew longer and curved upwards, giving the illusion of her having horns. Twin blades flashed and she leaped towards him. (Damian gave them to her with some lessons in exchange for spending time with, babysitting, the kwamis.)

Adrien scrambled away from the bed in the nick of time. A sword impaling the spot where he just was.

“Plagg, help. Where is the ring? I need to transform.”

“Sorry, kitten. I am not telling you. Even if you did have the ring, it’s not going to be much help.”

“Kitty, stay still. Then, we can be together. Just like you wanted.”

Adrien continued to dodge.

“What do you mean?” He all but screamed at Plagg.

“Pigtails, here, is a vengeful spirit. She’s not going to stop until she is satisfied. How about asking her what she wants?”

“Ladybug, what do you want?”

“What I wanted was a partner I could rely on, someone I can trust with my life, someone who wouldn’t stab me in the back for his own selfish gain. I wanted a friend who would have my back and not tell me to keep quiet at the price of my mental health and my relationships with people I care about. WAS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?!”

She managed to get a cut on his left cheek.

Soon, he was on the ground, bleeding out on the round.

“Tell Hawkmoth that he better watch out. Because-” lightning struck and Plagg and Ladybug had disappeared, “his downfall is coming.” Her voice echoed through his room.

Adrien laid bleeding until Natalie opened the door after hearing a crash from the room and came to check on him. As she called an ambulance for Adrien, she wondered if it wasn’t too late to ask for redemption and be spared from Ladybug’s wrath for her part in her murder.

Adrien had the word ‘TRAITOR’ carved into his back. Forever reminding him of his crimes.

--------

He wasn’t in school for a week after the incident. They all were told that Adrien had an accident while fencing.

Gabriel was a little panicking now.

He hired an exorcist, (John Constantine got a hefty amount and did a few flashy magic tricks to appease Gabriel but he didn’t lift the curse Maria put on the place. She is not someone to be on the bad side of and he thinks that he can’t lift it even if he wanted to.)

Emilie gets a little sus at Gabriel when he brought this strange man with a British accent into their home after their son got attacked in his own room with security tighter than Fort Knox.

She doesn’t buy that ‘accident’ bullshit that her husband, son and even Natalie tries to sell her. She thinks it is connected to what happened while she was in a coma.

-----

Adrien has a curse too.

(Credit to @raeuberprinzessin for giving me an idea)

He couldn’t act like the ‘Perfect Adrien’ in public anymore. Acting more like Chat Noir at first then, later a spoiled brat. His friends thought that he was finally rebelling against his father and encouraged it a lot.

Adrien started criticizing other people, strangers at first then to the people working on the photoshoots to his fans to his other school mates, people in his class and his friends. (The curse planted ideas into his head about what he should say and he said them all without thinking about the effect it has on other people)

People started avoiding him not liking his attitude and his comments about how they should behave and change something about them because he doesn’t like it that way and guilt-tripping them when he doesn’t get his way. Even Nino started to distance himself after he saw how Adrien talked to a fan.

The public thought it was a phase but as he got progressively worse, people started despising him. Adrien doesn’t realize this of course so far, happy that his father let him get away with ‘ruining the Agreste image.’ (Gabriel was worried about a potential vengeful ghost and making sure his wife didn't know about his stint as a supervillain. There was also the fact that the Afterlife made more sales than him again and managed to get on the cover of Vogue when he should have, dammit.) He was finally able to say what he wanted to without repercussions. Until he realized when Nino and everyone else cancelled for a hangout for the third time that week that he was slowly losing his friends.

He panics and tries to fix the situation. He didn’t want to be alone again.

He talks to Nino about it and to his horror, he couldn’t stop himself from saying many things that were a little hurtful. (Second part. The moment he realizes he is going to be alone. He is going to find out that yes, lies can hurt people. He is going to see it happen firsthand.)

Nino moved seats and told Adrien that their friendship was on hold until he apologized.

Soon, nearly every time his mouth opened, lies and insults about his friends or their embarrassing secrets came spilling out. Everyone hated him now and Mme. Bustier tried to give him a reprimand about his behaviour, which when he tried to defend himself, he found himself unable to speak.

He managed to explain to his father what caused his unpopularity by writing what happened to him. Unfortunately due to his poor behaviour before the second part of the curse was activated, his fan base was dwindling and people didn’t like him anymore so there was a hit on the Gabriel brand.

He no longer has to do modeling, clearing his schedule. But no one would spend time with him.

The best solution he could do with his predicament was to keep quiet and endure the loneliness and the glares of his classmates at school. Adrien was relegated to the back and nearly everyone avoided him. He was now a social pariah.

Even Lila avoided him because of her own curse which made Adrien turn into one of her previous victims. (She also didn’t ponder why Marinette rarely appears compared to the others.)

If Adrien felt a tiny bit remorseful or guilty for making Marinette keep quiet or betraying Ladybug, he can gain a little control over what he says.

The curse can be broken if he apologizes to Maria herself or to her grave.

------

The first few months, while Marinette adapted to living with the Waynes, Jason stayed over at Wayne Manor because having Maria living with him at his apartment wasn’t a good idea and he had no clue how to take care of a teenage girl.

On paper she is adopted by Bruce because Jason can’t. (Some CPS reasons.)

Making Jason a little more salty towards Bruce. “I found her first. I called dibs.”

Brought Maria to meet the other Outlaws and they adopted her too. “Hey, guys. She’s my sister first.”

Jason was the one to teach her how to shoot a gun because he was ‘the most capable’ of teaching her.

The first few months were a little tense with Marinette not fully trusting them and the same with the rest of the Batfam.

Jason warmed her up a bit to him by telling a little of why he took her here.

He was also the one to book them flight to Paris with Bruce’s credit card so she can tell her friends that she wasn’t dead in person.

They bonded more after stopping some nefarious plot in Paris while they were there. Let’s say Gentleman Ghost and something involving the catacombs in Paris. (I watched some Batman: Brave and the Bold for childhood nostalgia.)

Kwamis were animal-shaped and they were interesting creatures to be around. And very very curious.

There was a stressful day for Maria when all the Kwamis decided to play hide and seek. Damian somehow got roped into helping her as the only available person in the Manor and he will deny that he enjoyed it.

Damian is the little brother she always wanted and she is more tolerable compared to his brothers. There is also the fact that she trusts him with the kwamis and deep down, he feels super-honoured. (I just love older sister!Mari)

Tim and her being insomniac/coffee buddies. There has been many many interventions to stop this.

I get that Marinette is this selfless person and loves making people happy but she has siblings now and them eating the stuff she made for herself to enjoy, should get on her nerves after a while.

She makes a box with booby-traps in which she puts in her cookies and food.

There are many different layers of traps because this is the Batfam and each of them is non-lethal and more ridiculous.

Okay, I once read a fic about Marinette making a bear-trap style box to hide the Miracle Box so this box is also like that but kept for food. (Traps and Sneaks by quicksilversquared)

Someone (I vote a hungry Dick or Jason, maybe a suspicious Bruce) made a mistake of putting their hand into the box and the first trap activated.

Screams filled the house.

Everyone came down including Marinette.

Bruce asked, “Who did this?”

“It was me.”

“Why?”

“They kept eating the cookies.”

“There are other ways to stop them from doing that you know like a ‘Do Not Touch’ sign not a death trap box.”

“They are non-lethal.”

Bruce locked it away but Tim later stole it to tweak it and store his coffee. ------ (Part 4)

[americasmarauders]

I Had a Dream--Jason ToddxReader.

Summary: She dreamed about him once. And then he appeared in front of her and she just couldn’t believe it. 

words: 9,756

author’s note: so, here it is. the last of this year. this one is special. it’s based on a dream i had with a guy I went to middle school with. I mentioned it on the group chat and @batarella​ said this sounds like a fic, write it. and so I did. It’s immensely personal. Basically reader is me, the friends I mention are my actual friends and the coversations with the therapist are vaguely based on conversations I had with my own therapist (specially the first one). I hope y’all like it. I had a blast writing it. Special thanks to my best friend Julia and @offendedfishnoises​ for proofreading it. Also thanks to every one in the group chat who cheared me on and made me finish this monster. 

don’t forget to check out my jason playlist here. also. please reblog so more people can see the fic :)

#

“I just haven’t had the opportunity to be in love, I guess,” she explained, her psychologist writing stuff she had said down. 

          “Is that so?” the therapist lifted her eyes, her eyebrows shot up in confusion. 

          “Yeah,” she shrugged. 

          “‘Cause the way I see it is you’ve never allowed yourself to fall in love,” the therapist commented. 

          She felt heat coming to her cheeks and tears rise in her eyes. “No, no, that’s not like that,” she whispered, refusing to admit that her psychologist was right. 

          The therapist let out a small sigh. “Have you had crushes when you were a kid?”

          She shook her head. “The boys weren’t that nice and…” she drifted off, thinking of a couple of crushes she might have developed when she was a young teen. “No boys were interested in me.”

          “I find that hard to believe, Y/N,” the therapist said. “Let’s think of it this way: were there any boys who picked on you?”

          She snorted. “Plenty,” she responded. “I wasn’t exactly popular in middle school,” she shrugged. 

          “Yes, yes, I remember,” the psychologist said. 

          “There was one boy that used to run around recess calling me a weird nickname he had for me: peanut.”

          “That’s not weird,” the therapist pondered. 

          “It is when you’re 13 and you love eating packed peanuts in recess,” she countered. 

          “Well, this boy did you like him?” the therapist asked. 

            “Yeah, he was nice,” she omitted that she had a crush on him in ninth grade before she left the school and never saw him again. “He was one of the few boys that talked to me without wanting me to help him with his homework or anything.

            “I remember one day in eight grade he stopped to talk to me before class but I was kinda rude to him and he never really talked to me again,” she shrugged. 

            “Why?” the psychologist quizzed.

            “I thought he wanted something out of me,” she sniffed, brushing a strand of her hair out of her face. “They all wanted something out of me. It was safe to assume, I guess.”

            “You scared the boy away, Y/N,” the therapist said kindly. “I think that boy liked you,” she finished. 

            “No, no, Todd, he--” she shook her head negatively, “he was kinda popular, I was a nobody. He didn’t like me.”

            “He liked you, Y/N.”

#

#

#

That conversation stayed in her head for days. The words of her therapist echoing in her head. You scared the boy away. The truth was: she had scared the boy away. It was heartbreaking to think that she could have had what she wanted, a romance, someone to hold and to be held by. Instead she was alone, an adult who had never even dated anyone for that matter. 

          It wasn’t just that boy from middle school. It was every boy that ever tried getting too close to her. It would be comical if it wasn’t so tragic. A romantic at heart, completely alone. Thank god she had her friends. 

          She hadn’t thought about Jason Todd in years. He hadn’t so much as graced her thoughts since she last saw him in ninth grade. Then she dreamt of him. And things started to change. 

          In her dreams she was his girlfriend. He was loving, he would caress her delicately, look into her eyes lovingly as if he was seeing the whole world in her eyes. He would kiss her tenderly, she could feel his lips when she woke up. 

          He had gotten so big in her dreams, even more handsome than he was when he was 15. Jason was a lanky and tiny kid, but somehow her brain imagined him tall--very tall--and very muscular. His eyes were green, and not the blue she remembered. He looked beautiful and waking up after the dream, she could feel her heart race. 

          After she dreamed about him the first time, she dismissed it. It was her brain making weird connections, it made sense: she had talked about her pseudo-love life and about him that week. But after the second dream she knew there was something wrong. 

          She decided to look him up on the internet. What appeared wasn’t something she liked. 

          News coverage about how he had died mysteriously. ‘Adopted son of Bruce Wayne dies at age 16.’ She couldn’t help but tear up a bit on those headlines. The most recent ones though reported him being wrongfully declared dead and how he was estranged from his family. It even showed a couple of pictures of him and she was surprised to see her dreams were not very far off.

          Other than a couple of tabloid headlines, there was no trace of this guy on the internet. He was almost a ghost story, and  she felt her heart beating faster in anxiety. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pity for him. 

          She otherwise forgot about him--other than the occasional thought about what if that would cross her mind. That is, until she literally stumbled into him. 

#

#

#

A part time job to help with the finances, that’s what working in the bookshop was supposed to be. It would help pay tuition and her insurance. Her parents had said that she didn’t need to do it, they could pay and it wouldn’t even make a dent in their bank account. But it wasn’t for them, it was for herself, a sense of achievement. 

          It was supposed to be just that. No meet cutes, no falling in love in a bookshop, just boring old work. Work for half of the afternoon, close up, get her salary and move on with her life. 

          The shop was quiet that day. No one had come in to buy or even browse anything. It didn’t really bother her. She occupied herself with other things: homework, studying, drawing, texting her friends, the list was endless. She was so engrossed in her drawing, she didn’t even hear the bell ringing and the door opening. 

          She heard someone clear their throat and she looked up from her drawing to meet their eyes. She gaped a bit as she met his gaze, intense blue eyes meeting hers. She closed her mouth quickly, trying to cover the fact that she was clearly staring at him. The gods must be really enjoying themselves playing with her life like that. Of course, she thought, of course that he would fucking appear in her life like that: out of nowhere. The one day she had a calm evening and Jason Todd, the guy who was haunting her dreams and thoughts like a ghost, appears. 

          “May I help you?” she asked, professionally, ignoring her racing heart and the anxiety increasing in the pit of her stomach. 

          “Yes,” he replied. “I’m lookin’ for the complete H.P. Lovecraft collection. I stopped by the other day and a guy separated it for me,” he explained. His eyebrows were furrowed in confusion, and she hoped that he hadn’t recognized her. 

          “Oh,” she said. “Wait a moment, I’ll check if it’s in the back.”

          She walked controlled, to mask the fact that she wanted to run out of that place as fast as she could. 

          She closed the inventory door and leaned her back against it. She breathed heavily, trying to calm herself. It was only a guy, she had talked to plenty of guys before. She calmed herself down, steadying her breathing. 

          She glanced around the shelves looking for his book. The sooner she ended this the better. She could move on with her life without his face haunting her. She found the book (almost like a brick). She got it and took a deep breath before stepping out of the inventory and calmly walking to the front desk. 

          He stood there calmly , his eyes glancing around the shop. He had picked another book to buy, something significantly smaller than Lovecraft's collection.  She itched to see what  it was, before catching herself and stopping her curiosity. She couldn't get attached, even if just a little bit. 

          "Here," she said, resting the book on the counter. She smiled at him kindly, her hand open for the book resting in his hands. He handed it to her, confusion plastered on his face.

          "It's 60 dollars," she stated, calmly and controlled. 

          He handed her the money. She accepted it and packed his books neatly. He clocked her moves as she did so, she felt a bit uncomfortable under his gaze. 

          "I'm sorry, do I know you?" He asked. "I feel like I know you."

          She gulped imperceptibly. So he had recognized her. Goddammit. "I don't think so," she replied, hesitant on whether or not he would see right through her lie. 

          He hummed. His eyes then  shifted down to her name tag, and she knew he had put the pieces together. "Did we go to school together?" He insisted. 

          She smiled tightly. "I don't know, probably," she shrugged. "I went to a pretty big school, there were a lot of people there," a lie. Gotham Academy was big, but it was nowhere near as big as she made it sound. It was the kind of school where you knew everyone, even if you had never talked to them. 

          He smiled at her coyly, sensing her awkwardness. Maybe it was just that that made him finally remember her, or maybe not. Either way she did not like that he indeed recognized her fully. "I remember you," he trailed off. "We had English together," he stated. 

          She pretended to search her memory for him. She couldn't give away that just days before she had dreamed about him yet again. How pathetic, dreaming about a boy from middle school. "Oh yeah," she dragged. "Jason, right?"

          "That's me," he whispered. "I thought you had moved."

          She smiled, it was cute that he remembered enough of her to know that she didn't stay in Gotham for a couple of years. "I did move," she explained. "I came back for college."

          "Why?" He asked, confused by her statement. "Gotham is a shit city, you should've stayed elsewhere."

          She tried not to take offense to it. "It has its appeal," she shrugged. "Besides the science program in Gotham U is very good, it was the best move."

          Jason smirked. "Science huh?"

          "Yeah," she breathed out. She slid the package to him, a sign that she maybe was done talking. 

          Thank the gods his phone rang. She couldn't handle anymore of that. She averted  her attention once more to her drawing, his voice talking angrily on the phone only a background noise to her. "I gotta go," he said and her eyes went back to him. "It was good seeing you, Y/N."

          She tried not to notice how her heart picked up the pace at the sound of her name leaving his lips. "You too," she smiled shyly and he left the store, the bell ringing as he closed the door and her mind plagued by the image of him. 

#

#

#

If she thought Jason Todd had plagued her mind and dreams before she had seen him at the bookshop, now he was downright living in her head rent free. She just couldn’t get him out of her mind. The dreams about him, the ones where she would be tenderly loved by him, were getting more frequent and more intense. When she woke up, she would still feel his arms around her and an emptiness would settle in her chest. 

          Why did it have to happen to her? She just wanted to go through life unnoticed, why did the gods have to pull this prank on her?

          She huffed as she closed the shop, the sky already dark enough to be considered dangerous to stay out. It was only a couple of blocks to her car, she could get through the walk unscathed, she had done it before. 

          But then again, it seemed that Fate had it out for her. 

          She could feel someone following her the moment she had left the shop. The looming presence of a threat made her hyper aware of everything, her heart beating out of her chest. She tried to think of ways to lose the guy--she assumed it was a guy, it usually was--but her mind came blank. She thought in passage if her friends would miss her, who would contact them if she were to die. She shook the thought quickly out of her head and hastened her pace. 

          But the guy gained on her, and as soon as she could blink, she felt his arm snake around her neck. She gasped for air desperately, clawing at his arm trying to take it off. It was then that she felt a cold metal press against her back. A gun. She felt the tears coming to her eyes. If the guy were to pull the trigger, the best case scenario was she wouldn’t be able to move her limbs anymore. The worst, well, who would tell her friends she had died in a robbery?

          “Give me your bag,” the guy--now confirmed for his gruff and raspy voice--whispered in her ear.

          “Please, take it,” she begged. “Don’t hurt me.”

          She heard the guy scoff as he pressed the gun further on her back. She whimpered. “We’ll see about that,” he said, his voice laced with malice.

          It was then she heard a loud bang coming from behind her. She thought the guy had pulled the trigger, and she was ready to feel the wetness of her blood sipping through her clothes. Instead, all she felt was a splash on her shoulder and his grip on her loosening considerably. The guy had fallen to the ground behind her, clutching his shoulder and screaming in pain. She turned around to see him and a pool of his own blood forming beneath him. She was paralyzed in fear of the sight.  

          “The police’re on their way,” a distorted voice sounded. She looked up and found a massive man, standing menacingly on top of the thieves body. His red helmet glinted in the moon’s glow. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said softly. 

          She breathed out. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I--I--,” she teared up again, “I would’ve died. You saved my life.”

          “It’s what I do,” he shrugged. “I’ll walk you.”

          “How about the…” she pointed towards the guy laying on the floor in pain.

          “If he wants to live to see another day, he’ll stay exactly where he is,” he said, his voice serious and threatening. 

          “Shouldn’t I give the police a statement?” she whispered. 

          She swore she heard a chuckle of amusement through the voice disruptor he had in his helmet. “I have a video to prove he was tryin’ to rob you, you don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna,” he explained softly. “So, wanna lead the way?”

          She looked down at her feet, nervous to look at him. She nodded and started to walk once again towards her car. He walked behind her respectfully, and she felt the difference between him and the robber. He wasn’t trying to get something out of her, and his large physique felt like there was a literal wall following her to her car. 

          It was a blink till she got to her car. Her hand rested on the door handle and she gave a deep breath, trying desperately to calm herself, trying to remember the breathing exercises her psychologist had taught her. She opened her mouth to say something to the Red Hood, her eyes searching for him next to her. 

          But he was gone. And what was left was just the memory of him in her mind. 

#

#

#

“So how was your week?” her psychologist asked, sitting on her armchair, Y/N sitting cross-legged in front of her. 

          “Crazy,” she rolled her eyes in disbelief, her mouth quirking in a weird shape. “So much stuff happened.”

          “Oh do tell,” the psychologist urged her. 

          She sighed, thinking where to begin. “Well, you remember the boy I told you about?”

          “Yes, Jason wasn’t it?”

          “Yep,” she popped. “He showed up at the store the other day.”

          “You’re kidding.”

          “I wish I was, honestly,” she replied breathily. “I didn’t even realize he had come in.”

          “No way,” her therapist responded in disbelief. She seemed invested in the pranks the fates were pulling on her patient.

          “I was too invested in my drawing, mind you,” she smiled. “It’s been weeks since I’ve done a decent piece of scribble so I was excited.”

          “Yes, yes right,” her therapist acknowledged. “And how about Jason? Did you talk to him?”

          “Briefly,” she responded. “I was hoping he wouldn’t recognize me, but he did.” 

          “What did he say?” she quizzed, making notes on her paper. 

          “He asked if he knew me, which I denied at first,” her psychologist looked at her angrily and she shrugged. “Then he finally placed me and asked what I was doing in Gotham. I answered, said I was in college. He said I should’ve stayed elsewhere ‘cause Gotham apparently sucks.”

          “He isn’t wrong,” her therapist pondered. 

          “He isn’t but I like Gotham,” she shrugged once again. 

          “Did you get his number?” her therapist quizzed her. 

          “Nope,” she denied. “He left pretty quickly.”

          “Why don’t I believe that?” the psychologist smiled. 

          “It’s true!” she laughed. “He answered a phone call, got angry at something I didn’t really understand and left pretty quickly.”

          The therapist hummed. “You think you’ll see him again?”

          “I don’t know,” she sniffed. “He got pretty big books when he appeared, I think it’ll be a while before he needs another.”

          “You never know,” she conceded. “What if he does? Do you imagine what you would do?”

          “I mean,” she trailed off, “what I want to do is talk to him and maybe ask for his number,” she finished coyly. “What I will do is be very weird and awkward and scare him off.”

          “Y/N,” the therapist warned. “We’ve talked about this.”

          “I know, I know,” she waved off. “I won’t do it. I’ll try to be friendly.”

            “Good. What else happened this week?”

          “Almost died,” she swallowed, nervously, “quite literally, I’m afraid.”

          “What?”

          “Was leaving the store, it was pretty early in the night, I think. And a guy got me by the neck and pressed his gun to my spine,” she recounted quietly. “I thought I would die.”

          “But you didn’t,” her therapist comforted her. “What happened after?”

          “The Red Hood showed up,” she sniffed. “Shot the guy in the shoulder and then knocked him out.”

          “When did that happen?” her therapist’s voice was filled with worry.

          “2 days ago,” she replied quietly. 

          “I’m so sorry this happened to you,” the psychologist cooed. “Are you alright?”

          “I’m okay,” she nodded, her eyes filled with tears that did not dare to spill. “The Red Hood was very gentle, he walked me to my car and made sure I was safe.”

          “Uhum,” the therapist hummed, jotting down something. She always wondered what her therapist wrote down about her, but maybe it was for the best that she didn’t know what was written down. 

          “I did some research on him afterwards,” she diverted the subject out of her. “Turns out he’s very famous for protecting street kids.”

          “Is that so?” 

          “Yeah,” she nodded enthusiastically. “There’s a couple of stories going around social media of people who witnessed him, you know…” she trailed off. “He seems to look out for people in poorer neighborhoods. Like Crime Alley. He seems very active there,” she added.

          “I didn’t know that,” the psychologist said. 

          “Yeah, you’d get mistaken by the bat symbol on his chest, but there’s very few reports of him getting involved in Batman-esque adventures.”

          Her therapist laughed. “And what might those be?”

          “You know,” she shrugged. “Aliens, psycho-clowns, riddles, those kinds of stuff. Although there are a couple of people that said he did have a crazy huge fight with Black Mask once, there doesn’t seem to be any other. If there is, he sure made a good job hiding it.”

          “You seem very excited about this Red Hood,” the therapist noted. 

          “He was nice,” she shrugged once more. “And I’m thankful he does what he does. I wouldn’t be here if he didn’t,” she added quietly. “Literally.”

          “Well, then we got to make sure you live your best life after this second chance you got granted.”

#

#

#

As soon as the words ‘what if you see him again’ left her therapist’s mouth, she knew she would see Jason Todd again. Because the Universe was out for her like that. It was only a matter of when. 

          Turns out ‘when’ was a week later after the first time she saw him. She concluded he was either a hoarder or a very fast reader. She hoped it would be the latter. 

          This time, she was paying attention. She was organizing the shelves calmly, and as odd as it seemed, that was the best part of her job. It eased her anxiety to know everything was where it was supposed to be.

          She jumped at the sound of the bell, her heart beating faster and her mind racing at the worst case scenarios. But it was just him. And she was entirely relieved that it was just Jason. She settled the book that was about to go on the shelf--‘there you go Little Women, back to where you belong’--and got out from behind her hiding spot. “Hey, Jason,” she said and his eyes found hers. 

          He opened a smile that knocked the air out of her. “Oh hey,” he breathed out. 

        She swallowed her nerves down. She would make her therapist proud, goddammit. “How can I help you?” she asked, opening a smile she hoped it was charming. 

        “I finished the books I bought the other day,” he said, his face a tad bit nervous. Did she make him nervous? “Do you have any recommendations?” he finished, his hands shoved in his pockets, shifting his weight slightly. 

        “It depends what you’re looking for,” she trailed off, returning to behind the shelves. Her fingers trailed lightly over the spine of the books she had just organized. She heard him walk behind her accompanying her to wherever she intended to go. “What are you looking for?” she turned around to see him, and saw him gulp nervously. 

        “Romance,” he blurted out. “How about a romance?”

        “Ummm,” she hummed, her eyes once more trailing over the spines of the books. “A love story or a real romantic type of book? You know with loads of self pity and drama. Or maybe just a very long and nice novel?”

        He laughed airly. “Surprise me,” he teased, and it seemed all his nerves were gone. 

        She smirked. “Okay then.” She pulled a book off the shelf. It wasn’t a big book, it couldn’t be longer than 300 pages. She gave it to him. “Epitaph of a Small Winner,” she said. “A romance, a realist one but nevertheless a romance.”

        He grabbed the book, looking tiny in his big hands. His fingers tracing the title delicately. “What is it about?”

        “A dead person narrating their life and reflecting upon it,” she shrugged. “A very interesting read indeed, but you’d have to do a bit of research. It’s set in 1880s Brazil.”

        “I’m okay with that,” he smiled looking at her. “Any more recs?”

        “Not for now,” she smirked. “How else am I going to have you come back if I give all my recommendations at once?”

        His smile faltered for a split second before taking permanent residence on his face. “Who’s to say I wouldn’t come back even if you did give me all your recommendations?”

        She was left speechless. She felt heat coming up to her cheeks and he looked somewhat proud he left her flustered like that. “Well then, do make sure you come back after you’ve finished.”

        “I will, Y/N.”

#

#

#

Jason didn’t know why he went back to the bookshop. He truly didn’t. 

        He wasn’t expecting to see her working there. He wasn’t expecting to see her at all, actually. He barely even remembered her from his middle school days. He vaguely remembered finding her pretty and he knew she was very smart. Other than that, she was basically a stranger to him. Just like that version of himself was a stranger to him now. 

        It was a surprise to say the least. She had grown up marvelously, from what he remembered at least. She wore glasses now, and in his opinion it only made her prettier. His breath caught in his throat just remembering the sight of her that first time. His brothers caught up in his behavioral shift, and teased him endlessly. Jason stopped that rather quickly: it’s easy when you’re bigger and more intimidating than them. It also helps that they’re desperately trying to maintain the thin and fragile relationship they had. 

        Jason wanted to say he hadn’t rushed to finish those books to see her again, but he did. He wanted to say he hadn’t rushed to read her recommendation, but he did. He finished it in a day. He wished he had read it sooner. Somehow he felt like that sometimes, a dead man narrating his own story. At least he was strikingly different from the protagonist. At least he wasn’t an asshole. Not most times anyways. 

        He went back to the shop the next day, around closing time--he realized they were closing early and he wondered if it had anything to do with the incident Y/N was involved in. He was sure she would be there. Something told him that she would. He got in, as quietly as he could. The store was empty, after all it was a Thursday afternoon. The door made the usual bell sound behind him, and Y/N appeared behind the shelves, her face stony. 

        “I finished it,” he said with a smile.

        She smiled back at him, and his heart did a somersault. “That was fast, it is not an easy read.”

        “Well, it was a very good book,” he pointed. “It’s easier when the book’s good.”

        “What did you think of it?” she asked curiously.

        “It’s very complex,” he began. “You want to believe Brás but he’s just so….”

        “Insufferable?”

        “Exactly. And he’s a hypocrite too. Which just drives me fucking nuts,” he ran his hands through his hair. “The parallels you can make to the present, though, are just… very daunting,” he added. “It’s impressive the guy wrote this stuff in the nineteenth century and...” he trailed off.

        “Society hasn’t changed one bit since then,” she completed him, her eyes glinting. She was smiling pleasantly, and Jason found it confusing, after all they were talking about something entirely serious.  “So, you here for another rec?” She changed the subject.

        “If you have one, I’d like that,” he said sheepishly. 

        She smirked. “Let’s see,” she moved to behind the shelves once again, her eyes trailing the books expertely. “How about a nice little love story, huh?”

        He shrugged, his heart beating harder in his chest. “Sure, why not.”

        She smiled at him and took out a yellowish cover with a dagger drawn across it. The title was written in the middle of the cover in nice flowery letters. “It’s about a girl that has a special power. And she kinda is trained to be an assassin of sorts, and she is set to a quest with a prince that has the same gift as her. Kinda. But you get the gist.”

        “Yeah, I do,” he nodded, his fingers trailing slightly over the title. 

        “It’s an YA novel so be kind to it,” she warned. 

        “I’ll be.”

        They both made their way to the cash register. She was behind the counter when Jason’s phone rang. He took it out of his pocket and answered it without even looking at the caller. “Hello?” he said, trapping his phone between his shoulder and ear, to fish the money for the book out of his pocket.

        “Is this Mr. Todd?” the person--a woman--said.

           “Yes. Who’s speaking?” he asked. Jason could feel anxiety rising in his body and mind and he tried to push it down. Who the fuck was this person and, most importantly, how the fuck did she get his number?

            “I’m Principal Genoise-Beckham, from Gotham Academy,” she explained. What kind of name was Genoise-Beckham? “I’m calling because of your brother Damian. He got into a fight during the end of the school hours and you’re the next on his contacts list.”

            Jason sighed, a twinge of anger sounding through it. “So no one’s available?”

            “I’m afraid not, Mr.Todd.”

            Not even Alfred, and he knew that for a fact because Jason was the last on the contacts list. Bruce wouldn’t put him any higher, because Bruce doesn’t quite trust him. Not anymore. “I won’t have to sit through any meetings right?”

            “No, Mr. Wayne already arranged one,” the principal said, tiredly. 

            “Tell the kid I’ll be there in 20 minutes,” and then he hung up. 

            She looked at him quizzically, his book neatly packaged in parcel paper with a nice little bow on top of it. “Is everything okay?” she asked, concerned. 

            “My brother got into a fight at the Academy and now I have to pick him up,” he said grumpily. 

            “Oh,” her face fell, and Jason felt guilty. “I hope your brother’s okay.”

            “The little shit probably is,” he gritted through his teeth. He saw a twinge of sadness go through her expression. “Listen,” he started, “I really wanted to stay, but if I don’t pick him up, it’ll start a whole thing with my family and I…” he didn’t complete but he was sure she understood. 

            “It’s okay, Jay,” it was the first time she had called him by a nickname, and his heart beated faster at the sound. “I was about to close up anyways.”

            “Oh,” he breathed. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

            “Yeah,” she nodded, her eyes a bit glossy. 

            He turned around, his book on his hands, when he heard a small ‘Wait’. Jason turned back to her, she was looking at her feet, maybe embarrassed that she had called him, maybe she just didn’t want him to go. He didn’t want to go either. “Can you give me a ride?” she asked. “I mean, I live pretty close to Gotham Academy, it wouldn’t be too much of a detour.”

            His heart picked up the pace, and he fought a smile. “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

          She smiled at him. “Great,” she replied. “I just need to pick up my things and we can go.”

          She was very quick. She turned the lights off of the entire store and returned to the front desk with a small backpack and a few notebooks in hand. She smiled at him. “Lead the way.” 

           Like the gentleman he was raised to be, he took the notebooks from her hands and led the way, Y/N only a few steps behind him. She fished out a key out of her pocket and locked the front door. She tied a chain around the doorknob in a very specific way that almost seemed like a sailor’s knot. She put a locket in the end of the chain, and dragged a metal door down, then locking it to the ground. It seemed excessive, but it was Gotham, and Jason knew first hand what the city was like. 

           They walked a few doors down. Jason’s car glistened in the fading sunlight. He was fucking proud of that car. He had fixed everything in it, he knew that machine inside out. He made it what it was, a beautiful and powerful car. It was one of the few things he had done he felt proud of it. 

          He unlocked the doors with the alarm--yes, a 1962 black Corvette with electronic alarm, he had done that--and he heard a gasp beside him. He turned to see Y/N and her eyes glistened with amazement. “What?” he asked, confused. 

           “You have a ‘62 Corvette?” she asked, shocked. 

           “Yeah,” he dragged, still confused. 

           “I fucking love this car,” she said completely ignoring him and getting closer to the car, analyzing it carefully. “It’s so beautiful.”

           “It really is,” he got around it, looking at the street to see if there were any cars coming down. He then opened the door of his car and got in. “Get in,” he smiled at her. 

           She opened a beaming smile. She opened the door and sat on the passenger seat, her bag resting on her feet, her notebooks now on her lap, she noticed the roof of the car on--the better option for the approaching winter--the head rest he had added, the bright red color of the leather seats, and the original panel, even though she knew he most likely altered everything behind it. She looked like a little kid in it, and Jason could get used to the sight of her beside him. 

           He started the car and she squealed excitedly at the sound of the motor. He looked at her, a small smile on her face. “Is it the original motor?” she asked. “It doesn’t sound like it, it sounds electrical.”

           “That’s ‘cause it is electrical,” he responded. “The original one was very poluent so I switched it.”

           “That’s so cool,” she said, closing her eyes. Jason hinted she was trying to hear the sounds of the car, like someone you’d listen to music. “This is so cool,” she breathed out. 

           He hummed in amusement. “Never met someone who was as passionate about this car as me,” he noted. 

           “You didn’t meet people with good taste then,” she joked. “I’ve loved this car since I was a teen. Always wanted one, but I never had it in me to buy it.”

           “I found this one in a junkyard basically,” he said. “It was in pretty good condition considering where it was. Spent a year tryin’ to fix it to the original conditions, gave up and then another year buildin’ it to what it is today.”

           She looked at him, he noticed out of the corner of the eye, incredulously. “You’re so fucking cool, Jason,” she said. “You’re beyond cool, you’re just…” she trailed off. He looked at her quickly and she had a shy smile and she was looking at her hands. 

           “Thank you,” he thanked her. “People haven’t found me cool in,” he let out a breath, “forever.”

           “Well, you haven’t been walking with very nice people then,” she said. “No offense to your friends, but you’re just… you’re special, Jay.”

           And, fuck, did he love hearing that from her. She left him speechless. She turned to him and saw his stony expression--an expression of panic and chock, not of disgust as she thought--and she inhaled sharply. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” she said, desperately trying to correct her mistake. “I said too much. Forget I said anything, please,” she completed, smally. 

           “It’s okay, love,” he replied softly, the car stopping slowly at the intersection. He turned to her. He grabbed her hands, that were twisting nervously in her lap--a nervous tick he remembered noticing she had in school--and looked at her softly. “You’re fucking special too, Y/N.”

           She looked at him and her eyes filled with tears. “I--” she hesitated. She smiled at him, sniffing and wiping her eyes with one of her hands, the other still intertwined in Jason’s. “Thank you,” she said. “You have no idea what this means to me.”

           He smiled at her. “I’m just saying the truth, love.”

           That made her even more flustered. “You’re just being kind,” she said, shyly, looking at her hands entangled with his. She removed her hands of his, the traffic light turned green and Jason resumed driving the car. 

           “No, I’m not,” he denied her. “I’m telling you the truth. You’re special, and you’re amazing, Y/N.”

           She shook her head in denial, her bottom lip trapped by her teeth. “I’m not all that great,” she whispered. “I’m pretty annoying in fact. You just haven’t seen it yet.”

           “I don’t believe you. Why’d you think that?”

          She shrugged. “When you spend your whole childhood and teenagedom hearing that you’re nothing but an annoying crybaby nerd, you start to believe it at some point.”

Jason swallowed tickly at her remark. He couldn’t believe what she had just said. “Who said that to you?”

        She shook her head. “You don’t have to worry,” she replied, dismissing his concern. “It’s over now.”

           “But it still hurts you,” he noted. He noticed how this could easily apply to him. How he easily would get worked up on the little things Bruce would mention and Jason would brush it, say it’s over, it doesn’t matter, when it clearly does. It fucking does. 

           She looked at her hands, and sniffed. “It’ll always hurt, I guess.”

           Jason was rarely speechless. But, at that moment, he didn’t know what to say. Because he remembered hearing those things about her. He remembered people talking about her in that way, saying she was weird, and that they only talked to her when they needed help with homework. Admittedly, he never ever said those things about her--he didn’t even believe those things--but he never said a word to those who called her that. And that, arguably, was worse than saying those things. 

           He struggled to conciliate that guilt with the fact that he didn’t even feel like that boy--he wasn’t that boy anymore. That boy died by the hands of a clown. What had emerged from it was something entirely different. And yet, he still felt guilt over something he hadn’t done when he was that kid. 

           “I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

           “You don’t have to be sorry, Jay,” she said, her hands finding his, on the gear shift. “You didn’t do anything.”

           “But I--” he started, “I didn’t say anything about it. I knew about those things and I didn’t stop them.”

           She looked at him, and he saw by the corner of his eye. “It’s okay,” she said. “I’m sure you were going through other stuff and you just wanted to fit in.”

           How was she so fucking understanding? He scoffed lightly. The thing is: he wasn’t trying to fit in, he was trying to stay out of sight. So he just listened and said nothing. “How are you so good?” He said, incredulously. He was the first person to say Gotham was rotten, head to toe, and yet there she was, fucking pure soul. 

           “I guess I just am,” she shrugged. 

           And then they fell in a comfortable silence. Her hand was still in his, and he fought the urge to bring her knuckles to his lips and plant a kiss on it. Every now and then he would steal glances at her, and he swore she was glowing in the orange sunlight peaking in the window. 

           “That’s me,” she said, pointing to a tall modern building a block before Gotham Academy. 

           “That’s a big fancy building,” he noted slowly. 

           “It’s one of my parents’ apartments,” she explained. “I live in it rent free, but I have to pay for electricity and food and stuff. It was the condition for using it. They insisted they’d pay the tuition and I demanded this apartment in return, ‘cause I wanted to pay the tuition and they wanted to--” she trailed off noticing a weird look in his eyes. “I’m sorry I ranted.”

           “It’s fine, I like to hear you talk,” he said, smiling. 

         She smiled back, looking at her feet. “Well, I should get going,” she said opening the car door. “Thanks for the ride, Jason.”

           “No problem, love,” he shook his head slightly, and looked at her softly. 

          “Yeah,” she whispered, her eyes fixed on his, already out of the car. “Bye,” she finished awkwardly and quickly walked to the building. 

           Jason watched as she floated to her home, mesmerized by her. 

           Fuck. 

#

#

#

“Red Hood has been following me,” she manifested her psychologist looking at her with wide eyes. “It’s weird to say it out loud.”

        “Why do you say that?” her psychologist asked. 

        “‘Cause I’ve seen him,” she replied. “A couple of times actually.”

        “Are you sure?” the therapist asked. 

        “Yes, I am,” she nodded enthusiastically. “I just don’t get why he’s following me.”

        “Isn’t he supposed to be a good guy?” her therapist quizzed. “Following people doesn’t seem like a good guy thing to do.”

        “Yeah,” she whispered. “I’m not scared though. I know I should be, but I’m not,” she commented. “I know I haven’t done anything wrong, there's no reason for him to be following me, at least no reason like that. I don’t know,” she sighed, “maybe he just wants to be my guardian angel,” she shrugged. 

        “It sure is a weird angel,” the therapist noted. “Have you talked about this with Jason?”

        “I did mention it to him,” she nodded. “But he got all weird about it and changed the subject quickly.”

        “That’s strange.”

        “Yeah, he definitely knows something about this,” she said smugly. “I really want to find out.”

        “Well, on the topic of Jason,” her therapist said as if she hadn’t brought him up, “how’s things with him?”

        “They’re okay,” she shrugged. “He comes to see me at work almost every day. Then he walks me to my car or gives me a ride home.”

        “I see,” the psychologist noted. “And what do you guys talk about?”

        “I don’t know,” she mumbled under her breath. “Mostly about books. Sometimes about life,” she recounted. “He’s very reserved. He doesn’t talk much about himself.”

        “And you? Do you talk about yourself?” 

        She hesitated. There was no point in lying to her therapist, it would go against the very definition of therapy and if there was one thing she hated was hypocrisy. “No,” she shook her head quietly, “I-- everytime I try, something happens and…” she shrugged. “I guess I’m too scared of scaring him off.”

        “Y/N…” the therapist warned. “You need to open up to him. How do you expect him to stick around if you don’t share things about you?”

        “To be fair,” she said raising her finger as if it would make the point she was about to make more believable, “I’ve talked about myself once with him and it was… fuck, it was hard.”

        “How did he react?” the therapist inquired. “Was he a dick?”

        “No!” she was quick to reply. “He was the sweetest. But I’m just…”

        “Depriving yourself of a potential relationship,” her therapist completed for her. “You’re sabotaging yourself, Y/N.”

        “No, I’m not,” she denied, fooling herself. “I just don’t want to get my hopes up and end up heartbroken.”

        The psychologist sighed. “I know you’re scared of getting hurt, but you’ll never know unless you let him in,” the therapist stated. “You might be pushing him away and sabotaging yourself when investing in this relationship could very well be something right for you,” she finished.

        “I know,” she mumbled. “But I just,” she sighed, defeated. “I’m scared.”

        “I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to try,” her therapist added softly. 

        “Okay,” she nodded, softly. 

#

#

#

She waited at the edge of her seat for Jason to come in at the store. She was going to try. Fuck, she hoped she didn’t mess anything up. Up until that moment she didn’t know what she was doing, she just did it. She hoped she knew what she was about to do. 

        The bell rang and Jason walked in, his hair swept by the chilly wind and his hands stuffed in his jeans’ pockets. He wore that leather jacket she loved so much, it made him so much more beautiful. She just wanted to grab him by his shirt and kiss him to no end. She smiled at him and he smiled back. 

        “I was waiting for you,” she announced happily. 

        “Yeah?” he said, leaning on his elbows. His face was inches away from hers. His pupils were blown wide, his blue eyes twinkling with something she couldn’t quite place yet. “Excited for the next rec, huh?” he smirked. 

        “No, actually,” she corrected him. “I needed to tell you something.”

        “Oh,” he said. “Go ahead then, I’m all yours.”

        “Okay,” she whispered, her heart racing at his comment. She swallowed nervously, looking him in the eye. This was it. She was going to open up to him. “I was talking to my therapist actually,” she started, “and we agreed--actually no,” she laughed. “She said that I need to open up and be vulnerable more. And it may seem a bit weird that I’m saying this to you but I swear there’s a reason.  So here it goes,” she breathed out. “I really like you, Jay. Like, really really like you. And I’m sorry if I’ve seemed weird or standoffish or anything, I’m trying to work on that. So if you want to, I don’t know, take this, um, friendship somewhere else, maybe somewhere romantic, I’d be, you know, happy to take it there too. With you, I mean.”

        He smiled genuinely at her. His eyes shifted to  her hands. She was twisting her fingers nervously. He rested his hand on hers, her hand immediately relaxing under his touch. “I’d like that,” he responded quietly. “Wanna go on a date tonight?”

        She smiled, her eyes a bit teary. Her heart raced in her chest, the worst case scenario hadn’t come true. He liked her too. He wanted to date too. Her anxiety was wrong. Thank God for that. “Yeah, I do,” she confessed. 

        His smile got bigger somehow.  “Great,” he breathed out, and she could feel the nerves leaving his body. “I’ll pick you up at 8,” he stated. 

        She smiled at him. “Great.”

#

#

#

“I need you to cover patrol for me,” Jason said to Tim, his phone pressed between his shoulder and ear. He carried a bouquet of flowers, bags from the market and a suit he had it pressed and sent to the Iceberg Lounge.

        “Why?” Tim quizzed him. 

        “‘Cause I have a thing,” Jay responded. 

        “Yeah, Imma need more than that, Jay,” Tim said. “What thing?”

        “You’re a little fucker”, he answered, resting the bags on the floor. “You just want gossip.”

        “No, I want a reason why I’ll have to add the Narrows to my patrol tonight,” Tim argued. “It’s quite far from my usual route, y’know.”

        “Fuck you, Tim,” Jason muttered. 

        “Why such hostility?” Tim teased. Jason could practically hear his brother’s smirk over the phone. “Is someone going on a date tonight?”

        Jason exhaled deeply, trying not to lose his temper and drive to Wayne Towers to choke his brother to death. He was on a schedule, he had dinner to prepare. “Will you cover for me or not?”

        “Will you tell me why you're ditching patrol?”

        “No,” Jason gritted through his teeth. 

        “Then no,” Tim said plainly. Jason knew he was messing with him. 

        Jason sighed. There was no way he’d cancel on Y/N. Not because his motherfucking brother was toying with him. “I swear to God, Drake, if you tell anyone I'll kill you the most painful way possible.”

        “So you are going on a date,” Tim stated. 

        “Fuck,” Jason sighed. “Yes, I am. Now, please Timothy, would you cover patrol for me tonight?”

        “Who’s the girl?”

        “Tim,” Jason started.

        “Or boy, I don’t judge.”

        “Will you cover the motherfucking patrol?”

        “Yeah, yeah,” Tim dismissed. 

        “Thank you,” Jason sighed relieved. 

        “Will you introduce me to t--”

        Jason hung up on his brother. He had a date to get ready to. 

#

#

#

Jason spent the rest of his afternoon getting everything ready for the date. The food, the flowers, the ambiance of the roof. Everything was perfect, just like she fucking deserved. 

           He was nervous out of his mind. His hands were sweating and he couldn’t stop running his hands through his hair in a nervous habit. It was so long ago the last time he had gone on a date with someone he cared this much about. He didn’t want to screw it up. 

         She was so precious, so good. He didn’t know what someone like her saw in someone like him, someone tainted and broken. But she saw something, and she wanted him. And he wasn’t dumb, he wasn’t going to let her go. Even if everything in his life told him to run from her, protect her from a distance, don’t get close ‘cause she’ll become a target. 

         And he was doing just that, he was protecting from a distance as the Hood. He was being fucking dumb about it too, cause she had seen him more than once. But being distant was not enough, not anymore. 

          So there he was, in front of her apartment, black ‘62 Corvette, crisp black suit and blood red t-shirt. His hair was messy and his hands were in his pockets. He leaned on the hood of the car, waiting patiently for her to come to his encounter. He was early anyways, he could wait, even if he hated the looks of pity he was receiving. She would come and those fucking pedestrians knew nothing. 

           She opened the doors and stepped on the sidewalk. She was wearing a beautiful red knee-length dress with black heels and Jason was just paralyzed at her sight. Fucking hell. How can someone be so perfect? How can someone so perfect want him?

          She stopped in front of him, a smile framing her face beautifully, her glasses crystal clean. “You look great, Jay,” she stated. 

          “I--” he opened his mouth but no words came out of his mouth. Her face fell and her eyes flashed with worry. 

          “What’s wrong?” she said. “Is everything okay?”

          He breathed out and smiled at her. “Everything’s perfect, love,” he said. He picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles gently. “You look breathtakin’.”

          She looked down shyly. “Thank you, Jay.”

          He opened the door of the car for her. She thanked him kindly, and he closed the door for her. He entered the car and started the engine. “Where’re we going?” she quizzed him.

          He looked at her with a smirk. “It’s a surprise,” he stated. “It’s part of the charm.”

          She smiled at him. “You don’t need to surprise me to charm me, Jason.”

          “Cute you think that, but you’ll see,” he responded. “This is going to be a perfect night.”

          She looked at him and sighed quietly, like she was considering something. “It’s already perfect. I’m here with you,” she said coyly. 

          Jason looked at her quickly, her gaze fixed on him. He smiled shyly. One of his hands left the wheel and found hers, holding it tightly. He brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed it softly. He wanted to say three little words, and he almost did. But she was too precious and he couldn’t just waste those words in a moment like this, an immature moment at that. No, he would cherish her like she was supposed too. He would love her in secret for now, and when he was sure she reciprocated his feelings he would say it with all his heart, he would shout it from the highest rooftop. 

          But, for now, he just looked at her, hoping his look was enough to say what he couldn’t. She smiled like she understood what he was trying to say. 

          Yeah, she was perfect. He wasn’t going to let her slip through his fingers. Fuck the voices in his head saying to run. For once in his life he was going to welcome this feeling with open arms. 

#

#

#

“So, how was your week?” her therapist quizzed. 

        “It was great, actually,” she said. “Jay took me to the museum in Metropolis. I did well in a test and I got my salary early so I bought a new pin for my collection.”

        “You’re sure spending a lot of time with Jason,” the psychologist noted. 

        “Yeah, yeah,” she sighed softly. “I really like him, you know.”

        “I do know,” the therapist replied. “How does it feel to be in a relationship?”

        She looked down at her hands, flustered. “It feels nice and weird and...and…” she trailed off. “I have no words to describe it.”

        Her therapist smiled at her. “He seems like a nice guy, Y/N,” she commented. “How do your friends like him?”

        She twisted her hands nervously. “Henry was suspicious of him at first,” she started. “You know, Jay’s a bit shy and intimidating, Henry was concerned he’d hurt me.”

        “And how did you react to his concern?”

        “I mean,” she shrugged, “it’s a valid concern. But Jay wouldn’t…” she hesitated. “We’ve talked about this, y’know? He knows where I stand, he knows where my fears come from and he gave me his word,” she sniffed, her voice strained. “He promised. And so far he didn’t break any of his promises.”

        “You do trust him a lot,” the therapist noticed. 

        “I trust him with my life,” she added. “I hope he doesn’t break that trust.”

        She hummed and wrote something down. “What about your other friends?” her therapist questioned. “I know Henry means the world to you, but he’s not your only friend.”

        “Julie thought he was okay and the other boys were just very neutral about it,” she explained. “You know how they’re like. As long as I’m happy they’ll be supportive.”

        “Are you happy?” the psychologist inquired. 

        “Yeah,” she replied enthusiastically. “Fuck yeah. Jay’s just… He’s the best, you know. He gets me. He’s respectful and he’s smart and handsome. I really like him.”

        Her therapist smiled. “I’m glad you’re happy, Y/N,” she said. “It’s been a long time coming.”

        “It sure has,” she chuckled quietly. 

        “How about the Red Hood?” the therapist asked. “Have you seen him lately?”

        “All the time,” she replied. “Ever since I started dating Jay, I’ve seen the Hood when I wasn’t with him.”

        “Doesn’t that concern you?”

        “No,” she shook her head. “It’s weird but it doesn’t.”

        “Why’s that?”

        “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “He seems familiar, you know? Not because I’ve seen him up close or seen him more times than I can count but…” she pondered. “His posture and his stance, it’s so so familiar to me. I wonder if I’ve met him as a civilian.”

        “You could have,” her therapist pondered. “How does Jason think of this?”

        “He doesn’t,” she answered. “He always changes the subject very quickly every time I bring it up.”

        “That’s weird.”

        “Yep,” she agreed. “I know he’s up to something. I just haven’t had the courage to ask him. Yet.”

#

#

#

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. 

        Jason messed up.  He messed up bad. 

        He could live with the fact she had seen him a couple of times lurking in rooftops making sure she was safe. He could live with the fact she was onto him, that she knew he was hiding something from her, something related to the Hood. Jason knew eventually he would have to tell her, this double life would become unsustainable, and he’d have to merge it into one. As much as he dreaded that day, he would fucking do it. 

        But when she sat him down in her living room and said that she knew he was the Hood, he knew, he was fucking sure, he should have been more careful. 

        “I’m not mad, y’know,” she said quietly. “I get why you hid from me.”

        Jason remained quiet, trying to make sense of his thoughts. “How did you find out?”

        A smile passed on her face. “You were just so familiar, I guess,” she explained. “You felt so familiar even from afar. So I just started connecting the dots.”

        “I see,” he whispered. His heart beated faster and faster with anxiety. He couldn’t handle it, he thought he would have more time to tell her. He hadn’t realized she could very well discover on her own, he had given her enough clues to do just so. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

        “It’s fine, Jason,” she replied quietly. “You don’t need to feel sorry.”

        “I feel like I should,” he said. He sighed and grabbed her hands softly. “I owe you an explanation, Y/N.”

        “You don’t owe me anything besides your safety,” she cut him. “I don’t care about what you do at night, Jason. I care about you, I--” she looked at him, trying to search for something in his eyes. “I love you, Jay. And I don’t think I could bear to lose you.”

        Jason opened his mouth in shock. He wasn’t expecting that. “I love you,” he replied to her. “I’ve fucking loved you ever since I laid eyes on you, Y/N,” he grabbed her face and rested his forehead on hers. “I was just so scared to let you in on the secret. ‘Cause I know of the dangers, I know first hand how fucking dangerous this life is, and loosing you would kill me,” he explained. “For the second time,” he whispered. 

        Her hands rested on his cheeks, her thumb caressing him gently. She kissed him, softly, and he reciprocated it. 

        “I want to tell you,” Jason whispered, against her lips. “I have to tell you, how I became what I became.”

        “You don’t n--” she began. 

        “I do, though,” he interrupted her. “I do,” he whispered. He sighed, and looked down. He held her wrists carefully. “If you don’t want to see me after everything I tell you, I’ll understand. I won’t blame you.”

        “Imma stop you right there,” she looked him in the eyes. “You think I don’t know anything, but I know a couple of things, Jay. I did my research on the Hood,” she commented. “You don’t scare me.”

        “There are things that I’ve done that…” he shook his head. 

        “It’s okay, Jay,” she said softly. “One step at a time, love.”

        So he took one step at a time. He told her everything carefully. Some details were left behind, he couldn’t say them out loud, not even if he wanted to. She held his hands through it all, and he was truly grateful for it. 

        “I had no idea,” she whispered. “I’m sorry you had to go through all that.”

        “You don’t have to be,” he shook his head and squeezed her hands. “It led me to you.”

author’s note: here is the link to my jason playlist once again and the link to my masterlist.

[malcyon]

Dusk To Dawn 

Summary: “Alright. You don’t need my help,” Jason says, voice significantly quieter than it was. He glances at Tim hesitantly. “But do you want it?”

*****

Tim didn't mean to meet the Waynes, it just happened.

Ch 1

Read on AO3

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Tim’s dress shoes are too small as he stands in front of his father, trying not to fidget as the man does his bowtie with sharp, efficient movements. Mrs. Drake sits by the vanity, fixing her lipstick and watching him from the corners of her eyes. He wants to say something about how the tips of his shoes are pinching his toes.

She closes her lipstick with a snap.

Tim stays quiet.

Mr. Drake finishes with the tie, taking a step back to inspect his work, and Tim’s mother raises an eyebrow in the mirror. “Are you finally ready, then?”

“Yes, I think so,” the man says, dusting off the shoulder of Tim’s brand new, too big tux. He fiddles with the long sleeves, trying to ignore the itchiness of the cloth against his skin. His father frowns. Tim stops.

He hates parties.

His mother stands, heels clicking like a metronome on the shiny hardwood floorboards as she walks towards him. Janet Drake isn’t a tall woman, but Tim still has to tilt his head up to look at her. She takes his bowtie in her slender hands, tightening it until it’s snug against his throat. Her perfume smells expensive and it fills his nose.

“It’s an important night, Timothy.” She smiles a perfect smile. “Make us proud.”

Tim nods and smiles back.

They go downstairs and get into the waiting car without saying another word to each other.

He knows it isn’t normal to have parents that come and go out of his life the way his do. That show up for a couple of days every few months before taking off on another plane to another city. That don’t know his shoe size. That weren’t home for his birthday for the past four years in a row.

But it doesn’t bother him. It doesn’t.

And it isn’t hard to play the life Tim’s parents have created for him. His classes are relatively easy, and even though he doesn’t have any close friends, he sits at a lunch table with a few of the other kids. He keeps his grades high, just enough to make the teachers like him. He never gets in trouble and never breaks the rules.

And when his parents pluck him up and shoo him to one of their many parties, he smiles and goes without complaint. He charms the old women, makes the men in their stuffy suits chuckle and remember him as a future networker. Plays the room until his head is dizzy from the champagne in the air and his parents whisk him back to bed, leaving in the morning before he can even wake up.

Timothy Jackson Drake is a perfect student, a perfect son.

But Tim isn’t.

He isn’t exactly sure when he started paying attention to Batman. It began innocently enough; noticing the headlines and the news stories, ears perking up when the masked man was mentioned on the radio. And the information just . . . stuck.

He started to track the known locations of criminal organizations on a map in his closet, signed up for computer programming classes at school to learn how to code (and, on his own, how to hack), and started to listen to kids who he knew had familial connections to gangs. But it isn’t anything serious, just something to do when he got bored. Or, it was.

Tim was two when his parents had taken him to the circus. He still has the picture from that evening on a shelf in his room, him sitting on the lap of an older boy wearing a colorful costume. That same boy would go on to perform the Quadruple Flip of Doom as the rest of the Graysons flew through the air around him, all their tricks done without a net.

They should have had a net.

He had nightmares about it for weeks. Gave the nanny a heart attack every night when he woke up screaming. The tragedy was seared into his soul, branded into his brain.

And maybe that’s why it was so easy to put the pieces together. To figure out Robin.

Richard John Grayson. Formerly an acrobat prodigy at Haly’s Circus, currently operating as Nightwing at the Teen Titans base in New York City. Adopted at eight years old by billionaire Bruce Wayne after the tragic performance that left his entire family dead.

Adopted by Batman.

The realization was like a slap to the face.

It was hard to believe at first, that the man Tim had seen fall into his own fountain could be the same man that punched criminals through windows and dressed up like a giant bat. But the longer he thought about it, the more it made sense.

There was more to Bruce Wayne than he initially thought, and Tim had to know more.

So he watched. Started sneaking out of the house at night and catching the late bus, not like there was anybody that could stop him, a backpack slung over his shoulder and a camera clutched in his hands. And by now, Tim is sure he knows the city better than most people who live in it.

He isn’t an idiot, stays well away from the East End and Crime Alley. He even keeps pepper spray in his bag and a small pocket knife within reach, even if he hasn’t had to use them yet. Most people don’t even notice him as he slips in and out of the subway and bus stops, a tiny ghost among the city’s dim lights. Despite that, Tim keeps to the shadows, has figured out how to blend in with the darkness that appears at street corners.

That particular talent has kept him out of trouble more than once.

It isn’t like he’s seen anything horrible, just glimpses of gang brawls here and there, the Bats attacking one of their Rogues. Not that he sticks around long enough to learn what happens in any of those situations, Tim prefers to not end up as another smear on the sidewalk, thanks.

But still, he can’t help but wish that he could do something. Fight back, somehow—the way Batman does.

He’s never gotten close enough to really watch the vigilante work; it’s hard enough to guess where the man’s going to pop up. But still, hours of monitoring social media sites, searching the depths of the GCPD’s public records, and simply listening to street talk has gotten him pretty far. Sure he doesn’t see Batman and Robin a lot, but he’s seen them far more than anybody else in Gotham.

There’s a pointed cough in front of him, and Tim straightens from his slouch, thrust back into the bitter reality that he isn’t going to be on Gotham’s streets tonight. His mother leans over from where she’s sitting next to his father, plucking a microscopic piece of lint off his shoulder. He tries not to flinch.

Four and a half hours. He just has to make it through the next four and a half hours.

His father says, without looking up from where he’s tapping on his phone, “There are going to be several people I want you to meet tonight, Tim. Future connections. So smile, be polite,—” his dark eyes flick to Tim, once—“and do not be an embarrassment.”

The words are cold and Tim wants to say something in return, but his voice sticks in his throat. Instead, he swallows, nods, and goes back to staring out the limousine window.

It’s not often that Wayne Manor itself is used to hold the city’s annual charity gala, and his parents had pounced on their invitation, ready to primp and preen under the spotlight. They had flown in from his father’s digsite only yesterday, barely spared him a glance as they chattered about who was going to be there and was worth talking too.

He doesn’t know how they do it, this act they put on. Parading him around, telling the other rich socialites how, “Oh, yes, Timmy’s at the top of his class; he’s just so clever for a boy his age,” as if they even bother to check his report cards. Still, he goes along, beaming with every lie that comes out of his mouth about his wonderful, perfect family.

It makes something curl up and wither in Tim’s ribs, playing this game. Rotting him from the inside and making his smiles more brittle with every gala.

He wonders if this should be how most kids feel when their parents come home, like their chest is about to shatter as if made of glass. Like they’re going to snap. Tim stares at his reflection in the car window.

Only four and a half hours.

*****

Dick is already regretting this decision, and he hasn’t even entered the house yet.

The glittering lights and press blend together as he strides through the Manor’s front doors, offering the photographers a bright grin as he goes past. Their cameras light up like fireworks in response.

He ignores the questions yelled out to him (“Mr. Grayson, what brings you back to Gotham?”, “What’s your relationship with the model, Kory Anders?” and the favorite, “What caused the fallout between you and Bruce Wayne?”). Just keeps walking despite the stares burning into his back. The attention is almost tangible as it weighs down on him, and while Dick doesn’t mind being in the limelight now and then, the scrutiny makes him feel like an insect under a microscope. He suppresses a grimace as one particular older woman leers as he goes by.

There’s a reason he’s never liked these things.

Dick doesn’t stand in the front parlor to soak up his old home’s warmth, forcing himself to keep moving with the other guests down the roped-off path that leads to the ballroom. He doesn’t look at the walls, either, doesn’t want to see if Bruce has kept any of his pictures up.

His steps are fast on the old floors, whispers following in his wake as he enters the gala. He ignores them.

The party isn’t anything special, just another one of Bruce’s charity fundraisers. Dick can already feel himself growing bored with the backdrop of expensive velvet dresses and smooth jazz playing in the corner. He scans the people around him as he strolls through the crowd, looking for Jason or at least a familiar face.

Hell, he’d even take Bruce.

He keeps his head down as he passes millionaires and models alike, praying that nobody will recognize him for several more minutes. It doesn’t work.

The first woman seems nice enough, with long, dark hair and a blush covering her cheeks. She reaches up and straightens the bowtie around his neck, a blue that Kory had picked out. She’d told him it ‘matched his eyes.’

But the woman in front of him only says, “Your father really shouldn’t have let you out without fixing this first.” He smiles on reflex, but his stomach turns cold, and her words ring in his ears as several other party-goers quickly approach. Your father.

Their compliments and questions overlap and their faces meld together as Dick stares over their heads at the far wall.

Your father.

The first woman tugs lightly at his arm and he blinks, grinning to let her know everything is perfectly fine. She doesn’t look convinced.

He almost jumps when he feels a hand clasp his shoulder. Dick glances backward, relaxing as he realizes it’s only Alfred. The butler frowns, pulling him away from the small crowd that had gathered.

“I wasn’t aware that you would be making an appearance tonight, Master Richard.”

He shrugs and avoids the older man’s gaze. “It was a last-minute decision; Jason persuaded me.”

Begged was more like it. Alfred raises an eyebrow. “And Master Bruce’s invitation had nothing to do with it?”

Dick shrugs again. The expensive paper had stared at him from his nightstand the past week, a hesitant peace offering he’d received in the mail, one that he wasn’t sure he wanted to accept. At least, until Roy had practically kicked him out of the Tower, telling him to go sort out his daddy issues.

Dick had nearly pointed out how hypocritical that statement was but decided that being petty wasn’t worth getting shot with an arrow.

Alfred says nothing in response and only gives him a quiet smile. Dick returns it and lets the butler guide him in the direction of the desserts. No matter the problems he and Bruce have, Dick won’t bring Alfred into them. After all he’s done, trying to keep their broken family together, the man doesn’t deserve it.

As they pass tables laden with food, Alfred subtly nudges him in the direction of one of the columns in the room’s corner. Jason stands behind it, furiously tapping something out on his phone, and carefully hiding from prying eyes. Dick flashes the butler a grateful look and hurries over, trying not to grab anyone’s attention as he takes cover behind the pillar.

Jason glances up at his sudden entrance and his face splits into a blinding grin. “Holy fuck, you actually came.” Dick beams back and wraps his little brother up in a one-armed hug before ruffling his hair.

Jason grumbles and ducks out of the embrace, face scrunched in embarrassment, and Dick’s smile becomes a bit more real. Settling next to Jason, he says. “Course I came, wasn’t going to miss out on a chance for free food.” He gestures to the phone in Jason’s grip. “What’s that all about?”

Shoving his phone into his pocket, Jason mutters under his breath, “Just some bullshit.” Dick nods, words swirling around his mouth as he tries to figure out how to respond to that. He takes a stab in the dark.

“Girls?” Jason gives him a glare, and Dick flounders, tries again. “. . . Boys?”

Jason chokes, turning an interesting shade of red, “Jesus, no, no, I . . . Rena’s trying to get back together.”

“That girl in your social studies class? I thought you were still dating,” Dick says, tilting his head in question. A small part of him withers with his lapse in knowledge; when was the last time he had talked to Jason? Actually talked to him.

He knows that some of the other Titans worry about his little brother: Donna mothers him constantly, and Gar always tries to coax him out of his shell. And it’s helped, sure, but a small voice in Dick’s head whispers that Jason will look over his shoulder for the rest of his life. That no matter how much he trusts them, he’ll always be waiting to get stabbed in the back.

And that . . . that makes something deep inside Dick curl up and hurt. And the worst part is that some of Jason’s struggle is because of him.

Dick isn’t blind; he knows the comparisons people make between him and his adopted brother. He sees the wince Jason hides behind his smiles when they talk about ‘the new Robin.’ Forget the fact that Jason has held the title for years now; he’s always the one being dissected with every move, always in Dick’s shadow.

Not that he was always there for Jason either; Dick can own up to the fact that he was a petty asshole the first few months Jason had been taken in. A mixture of hurt, jealousy, and anger made it hard to even look the kid in the eye, knowing that whatever Dick had been as Robin, he hadn’t been good enough for Bruce. That his adopted father had decided to try again with someone new.

It took him too long to pull his head out of his ass. To personally give the kid his blessing and officially hand down the costume. Why the hell Jason even talks to Dick is beyond him considering how much of a jerk he’d been. He’s been trying to own up to it, stealing time for his brother when he could. Maybe that was why he came to the party and—God, he doesn’t want to think about that. That coming here tonight was just out of some messed up guilt for Jason’s sake.

He focuses back on Jason’s sour expression. Girl problems, he can do that. Maybe even give some advice. Isn’t that what older brothers are supposed to do? Give advice?

Dick raises an eyebrow and Jason shrugs, scuffing the floor with a polished shoe. He tries a grin, “Well, if you need any help, I’m only a phone call away.” Jason snorts.

“I think I’ll go to Barbara first, thanks,” he says, then freezes as the words catch up to him.

The air around them chills. Dick looks down.

Jason is the first to break the silence. “How . . . is she?”

He shrugs, ignoring the tight fists his hands have become. “ . . . Adjusting.” Jason nods, eyes flicking through the area around them, and Dick can suddenly see Robin doing the same thing on Gotham’s streets.

“Wanna talk someplace quieter?”

Dick forces a smile that he knows is too sharp. “Lead the way.”

Jason stares at him for a second, and Dick catches something fleeting and sad in his eyes before he turns away. They stay silent as they weave through the room, ducking and avoiding the attempts at conversation thrown at them.

Dick runs a hand through his hair, tries to focus on the back of Jason’s suit as they enter the areas of the house that were off-limits to guests. Distantly he realizes that Jason is leading him to the library, the one right next to Bruce’s study. He glances up at a picture frame as he passes by and openly winces at seeing his own, younger grin behind the glass.

He should have stayed home.

As soon as they enter the room, Jason shuts the door behind them before leaning against it to take a breath. Dick can’t blame him; parties were one of the worst parts about getting involved with Bruce Wayne.

Silence settles between them, and Dick bitterly watches the dust that floats through the air. Jason glances at him. “Seriously. How’s Barbie?”

Dick laughs, harsh and quiet. “Well, she’s lost all feeling in half of her body, so I’m pretty sure she’s not that great, Jason.” The other boy flinches, and Dick screws his eyes shut, rubbing his temples. Fuck, he’s not good at this. “Sorry, I’m . . . that was a shitty thing to say.”

He lets his head fall back against a bookshelf behind him, and Jason shrugs, but Dick can still see the hurt in his eyes. “It’s fine. I know you get tense when you’re around here.”

“Shouldn’t have said it, though.” Jason shrugs again. Dick takes a breath. “Babs is . . . upset.”

“No fucking shit.”

Dick actually snorts at that, stares at the ceiling. “God, it feels like everything is falling apart, you know? Including the Titans, I mean, Garth won’t talk to anybody about Tula, Roy is spending less and less time with the team, and he won’t fucking say why. Wally is literally running himself to death trying to live Barry’s life and–”

He stops, looks at Jason’s bewildered face, then presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. Makes a note to not unload this bullshit on the kid. Jason has his own problems, he doesn’t need Dick’s too. “Shit, I’m rambling, sorry. It’s just that I usually talk to Kory about this stuff, but we’ve been arguing lately.”

“I thought you guys were cool?”

“We are, this is the first time we’ve fought like this and—” He shakes his head—“Come on, aren’t I supposed to be giving you relationship advice?” The younger boy rubs his foot against the ground again.

“Maybe you should talk to her anyway,” Jason says carefully. Dick raises an eyebrow and he quickly continues, “I mean. . . Kory will always be there to listen and she probably wants to listen even if you’re fighting. You just gotta talk.”

Dick looks away and closes his eyes. “Yeah, maybe.” He frowns, forces his thoughts away from Kory and their differences and a million other things. “Speaking of talking, how are you holding up with B?”

Jason hesitates and opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but a thump followed by laughter echoes from behind one of the walls, makes him pause.

The door connecting Bruce’s study and the library suddenly swings open, and Bruce stumbles out, a giggling blonde latched onto his arm. Jason curses under his breath and Dick straightens up, jaw tensing.

Bruce freezes in the doorway with the woman still laughing into his neck. His gaze darts between them, the shock on his face snapping into a drunk smile. “Delphine, I believe we may have some company.”

The lady blinks up, looking over at Dick and Jason in surprise then back to Bruce with a bemused expression. “You need to talk with your children, yes?” she asks in a heavy French accent. Dick’s stomach lurches in a slow roll, and he forces himself not to look away from where Bruce’s gaze narrows at him.

He knows she doesn’t see the tightening of Bruce’s smile when he answers, “Yes, I’ll meet you in the ballroom. Save me a dance?”

She presses a red kiss to his cheek. “Of course, mon chéri.” The woman turns from Bruce, and Dick opens the door for her as she whisks past with a playful, “Merci.”

He nods his head and locks the door behind her, the metal knob chilling against his palm. Steeling himself, he turns back around.

Anything left of Brucie’s drunken facade is gone, and the man in front of him appraises Dick with familiar calculation. Dick can see Jason resting against the book-covered wall next to him from the corner of his eye, trying to appear relaxed but not quite pulling it off. Several tense seconds pass, marked only by the ticking clock above the dark fireplace.

Bruce looks him over. “Dick. I wasn’t expecting you.”

Dick stiffens, the words he wasn’t even going to say stilling on his tongue. “Wasn’t expecting me? You . . . You sent me an invitation, Bruce.”

The man blinks, looks between him and Jason slowly.

“I didn’t send you an invitation,” Bruce says, confusion barely marking his voice.

Something inside Dick goes very, very cold. Of course, he didn’t. Stupid, stupid, stupid, it must have been Alfred, or maybe his name had gotten mixed in with the invites somehow. It doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t fucking matter.

He glances over at Jason, who seems just as taken back, eye flicking between him and their adopted father like he’s watching a flaming tennis match. Dick bites his lip and tries not to squirm under Bruce’s stare as he scrambles for words.

“Oh. Well, I . . . I guess there’s no reason for me to stay, then. I can be gone in ten minutes.” He reaches back to open the door, and the handle jiggles in place. Fuck, he’d locked it, right. He fumbles, manages to get it open even though his hand is stiff and clumsy. “Just got to call a cab. Tell Lucius and Leslie I said hello.”

Shit, shit, shit, he needs to run. Has to get out of this house. Heat is crawling up the back of his neck, horrible and burning and he needs to leave.  

Jason starts desperately, “Dick, you don’t have to—”

But he’s already gone.

His steps are clipped and fast on the wood floor, heart thumping in his ears. He feels sick; hot and cold all at once, and, God, he never should have left New York. Fuck.

He doesn’t know why he thought it’d be different this time. Doesn’t know what he even expected by coming here tonight. An apology, maybe? But Bruce doesn’t do apologies, never has, probably never will. He should have known better.

Dick doesn’t even register the footsteps behind him until a large hand is on his shoulder and turning him around.

It’s Bruce. Face pinched and awkward and looking like he would rather be anywhere else, but it’s Bruce.

“I—No, no, don’t leave. I didn’t mean it like that, Dick.” His voice is cautious, gaze less intense than it was several seconds ago. “Stay, Alfred can make some tea. He’s missed you, I’ve— . . . We all have.”

Dick stares at him, brain scratching like a broken record. He can make out Jason peeking at them from behind the library door, expression hopeful. The younger boy locks eyes with him and nods meaningfully.

He shifts uneasily, looking back at his former mentor and noticing the red stains on Bruce’s cheek. “Don’t you have a dance with Delphine? And a party to attend?”

Bruce almost snorts but not quite. “I’m sure she’ll understand. And I host several parties every year that raise millions of dollars to keep this city running. Who gives a flying shit if I miss this one?”

Dick laughs, choked and a bit wet, and Jason makes an admonished noise from where he’d quietly joined them. “Why do you get to curse and I don’t? That’s total bullshit.”

Bruce deadpans, “And that’s a quarter in the swear jar. At this point, I might as well just put your allowance in there instead of giving it to the middleman.” Jason grumbles and lightly shoves at Bruce’s side. The man smiles at that and gives Dick’s shoulder an awkward squeeze. “You two can wait in the library while I hunt down Alfred for tea. I’ll be back.”

Dick manages a nod, head swimming with twenty different things he wants to say and not knowing how to begin. In the end, he doesn’t say anything at all and just watches as Bruce’s form retreats down the hallway. He looks back at Jason, who’s grinning from ear to ear.

Carefully, Dick lets himself smile back.

*****

It’s not even eleven yet, and Tim is already exhausted. As soon as they arrived, his parents were practically shoving him into the laps of old, rich ladies and men alike. The kind of people who would humor a small boy who gushes about his father, saying ‘how he wants to be just like him when he grows up.’ And when Jack Drake eventually comes up behind him, smiling cheerfully as he talks his way into these peoples’ money and minds, Tim looks away.

He’s used to feeling like a means to an end, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Still, he goes when his father prods him in his mother’s direction. She’s talking to a group of younger women who are wearing jewels as big as his fist. He quietly moves to her side, knowing the game by heart at this point.

On cue, right after Janet Drake makes a particularly witty comment that sends the other women into laughter, she lays a hand on Tim’s shoulder and pulls him to the front. It’s a matter of minutes before he has the ladies wrapped around his finger while his mother watches like a hawk right behind him. There’s no room for mistakes tonight.

Eventually, she nudges him back to his father. And Tim goes.

This is how these nights always play out, moving from group to group. Gathering possible investors and shyly introducing them to his parents. It’s not difficult, if anything it’s mind-numbing, repeating the same conversations over and over like they’re an everyday routine.

So Tim can forgive himself for zoning out for the first couple of hours. It’s not until he’s standing near the refreshments table, after sneaking away to grab some water, that he actually starts paying attention again.

To be fair, that could be because he’d just turned around and walked face-first into a wall of something hard.

Tim yelps, stumbling back, thankfully not into another person, and looks up at the man wearing a now soaked suit. The floor underneath Tim falls away as Bruce Wayne stares back.

Batman. Tim just ran into and spilled his drink all over Batman.

He can practically see the Bat in the seams of Wayne’s dripping, black tux. In the sharp cut of his jaw and brow. His hair is pushed back from his face, which is clean-shaven and a bit tired around the eyes. Tim clambers for an apology, refusing to let the words get stuck in his throat. But all he can think about is how he watched Batman take a bullet to the chest five nights ago during a gang shootout. He does his best not to stammer.

“Mr. Wayne! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see—” Wayne holds up a palm. Tim’s mouth goes dry, and he has to tuck his hands behind his back so the man won’t see how they’re shaking. The handle from his empty water glass is cold against his fingers. Bruce Wayne considers him, then shrugs.

“It’s fine. This is why I have a butler. And please don’t call me Mr. Wayne; it makes me sound old. Just Bruce will do.”

Tim blinks.

“You have a specific butler for when people spill stuff on you?”

The corner of Bruce’s mouth twitches. “No, just one butler that does general butler things. Actually, I’m looking for him at the moment, have you seen him?”

“I—uh, no?”

Bruce sighs, “Damn. I was hoping he could keep my CEO off of my back for the night. Or help me make tea. I’m not sure which one is more important.”

Tim scratches the back of his neck. He hadn’t mentally prepared to talk to Batman tonight. This wasn’t a great first impression. “What’s he look like?”

“Who? My butler or my CEO?” Bruce has to tilt his head down to make eye contact with him.

“Your butler, not your CEO. Though you probably shouldn’t avoid your CEO, that sounds like business mismanagement.” Tim says and then nearly claps a hand over his mouth. Questioning the host at their own party is probably terrible etiquette; his mother would be mortified.

The corner of Bruce’s mouth twitches again. “Not business mismanagement. Lucius just likes to criticize my life choices. You’re the Drakes’ son, aren’t you?”

“Timothy.” He instinctively holds out his hand for a shake. Bruce looks at him for a second before engulfing Tim’s hand with his own. The calluses on his palm are hard to miss, and Tim can’t help but wonder how Bruce explains them.

“Timothy Drake, huh?” Their hands drop, and both corners of Bruce’s mouth are pointed up now. Tim quickly backtracks.

“Yeah, but you can call me Tim. You know. If you want.” Bruce considers him again.

“Alright, Tim. What do you know about tea?”

*****

“Are you sure that’s the right amount?”

“That’s what the box says.”

“The box is wrong.”

“I’m starting to understand why your CEO criticizes your life choices.”

“You’re twelve; you’re not supposed to understand life choices yet.”

“I’m thirteen.”

“You sure?”

“ . . . Yes?”

Bruce squints down at him and looks back at the teapot on the stove. “To be honest, all children under the age of twenty-one look the same to me.”

Tim frowns from where he’s sitting on the kitchen island’s countertop. He ignores the pounding in his brain that keeps reminding him that he’s sitting in Batman’s kitchen because if he focuses on that, he might start hyperventilating. It’s a very nice kitchen, to be fair. It’s warm with yellow walls and a wooden floor. Not very Batman-like, though.

Tim starts to swing his legs back and forth. “I thought you’re an adult when you turn eighteen.”

Bruce doesn’t look away from the teapot. “Legally, yes. Ethically, no.”

“So . . .  when do you ethically become an adult?”

“Thirty-five.”

Tim stares hard at the back of Bruce’s neck. He can’t tell if the man is making fun of him at this point or not. “How old are you?” Tim already knows the answer, but he waits patiently.

Bruce thinks for several seconds too long. “Thirty-three.”

“And you consider yourself to be an adult? That’s kind of hypocritical.”

“I never said I considered myself to be an adult. Lucius and Alfred would find it hilarious if I called myself an adult.”

“Alfred?” Tim asks innocently.

“My butler I told you about earlier. The one who was supposed to be helping me with this.”

“Oh . . . Why aren’t you looking for him right now, then?” Why ask me to help instead? Tim doesn’t know the answer to this question. He tries not to scoot to the edge of his seat.

Bruce shrugs and looks over a shoulder at him. “I asked if you knew how to make tea, and you said yes. Also, you’re probably the best conversationalist I’ve talked to all night. Is there any way to make this heat up faster?”

Tim struggles to hide his beaming smile from the compliment. “It’s already turned up as high as it can go.”

“Don’t know why you didn’t let me microwave it.”

“That’s not the right way to make tea.”

“There are only so many ways to boil water. It would have been faster.”

“You had a spoon stuck in there with it. It could have caught on fire.”

“Well, then I could call the fire department and get rid of all the drunk people in my house.”

“It’s a good thing you have a butler. I don’t think you can take care of yourself all alone.”

Bruce looks offended. “I am an adult, Tim. ” Tim stops kicking his feet and grins. Bruce closes his eyes. “And now I’m a hypocrite.”

“Really good thing you have a butler.”

The water starts to boil, and the tea kettle squeals. Tim slips down from the counter and straightens up the teacups waiting on the prepared tray. Bruce carefully pours the water into the teapot before adding the tea. Tim tries not to compare the movement to Batman combining chemicals.

Bruce glances at him. “Your parents, they’re not looking for you, are they?”

Tim stills. “They’re not. They’re . . . busy.”

Last he’d seen, before ducking out of the ballroom with Bruce, was his mother engrossed in a business conversation and his father drinking from a nearly overflowing champagne glass. Bruce stills and studies him for a second. In turn, Tim picks up a teacup and meticulously stares at the delicate flower painting on its side.

Bruce looks away. “Well, then. I suppose you wouldn’t mind joining my family and me for tea, would you?”

Tim nearly drops the cup. “Me? ”

“You. Grab the sugar off the counter, please.”

Tim does as he’s told automatically and sets it on the tray. Bruce picks it up. “Um, you sure? I don’t want to intrude or anything.” Or embarrass himself, Tim kind of feels like passing out right now.

“They’ll like you, don’t worry. Besides, my eldest is visiting, and I need someone to fill in the awkward silence.”

Tim’s stomach swoops. Dick Grayson. He’s going to talk to Dick Grayson. Nightwing. And Robin. Jason will be there too, won’t he? He leans heavily against the counter when Bruce turns and starts to walk out of the room.  

Tim takes a slow breath and follows him.

He tries not to openly gawk as Bruce leads him through the halls, especially now that he’s already walked through them once. But it’s hard not to; Tim’s wanted to explore Wayne Manor since he figured out the Bat’s identity ages ago.

One of the paintings on the wall catches his eye. “Is that a Renoir?”

Bruce glances back at him, both brows raised. “It is. You’re a fan?”

“My parents have me read Art World Today. They like to keep me up to date for conversations and stuff,” Tim mutters as he stares up at the artwork. He pretends he doesn’t see the look that enters Bruce’s eyes.

“Your parents seem like they—”

“Brucie!” They both turn around to find an extremely drunk woman teetering down the hallway towards them. Bruce curses too low for Tim to hear.

“Can you take this?” He asks in a voice Tim hasn’t heard before, something cheerful and almost fake, before quickly handing the tray to Tim. Bruce barely manages to catch the woman when she stumbles heavily into his arms. “Delphine, you seem to be having much more fun than when I last saw you.”

She giggles into his shoulder, and Tim pointedly examines an Erte statue across the hall while Bruce tries to straighten her up. “I met the most charming man, Bruce. Jack Drake? We had a contest to see who could drink the most champagne.” She smiles wide and dazed. “I won. Évidemment. Oh! But then he told me all about his business and—”

Bruce must say something in return, but Tim can’t hear it over the rush of blood in his ears; the pounding in his brain as his grip on the platter turns white. Getting women drunk to turn them into investors.

It doesn’t even surprise him.

His eyes burn into the painting in front of them, because he can’t look at Bruce. Can’t see his face when the man realizes he has a Drake by his side. Tim’s head feels hot and dizzy; he trembles a little bit.

So maybe that’s why when Bruce touches his shoulder, Tim nearly jumps out of his skin. The teacups clatter, but nothing spills. The result of honing his reflexes on Gotham’s streets, Tim’s sure. He swallows and forces himself to meet Bruce’s gaze.

Whatever he’s expecting isn’t there. Bruce just looks troubled, with something sad at the corners of his eyes. Tim looks away first. The awkwardness is broken only by Delphine’s mutterings in French as she continues to cling to Bruce’s side.

Bruce clears his throat.

“I think . . .” Tim winces, and he stares down at his too-tight shoes, cheeks burning. Bruce pauses and almost seems to reconsider something. “I think you’ll have to meet the rest of my family alone. I’m so sorry, Tim, but—” the lady sways again, nearly falling face-first onto the carpet— “Delphine needs to lie down somewhere. You can find the boys in the library; just keep going down this hall until you get to my study, the last door on the right. It leads to where they are.”

He carefully leans forward, pulling from one pocket a small key. Placing it on the tray and giving Tim a cheerful grin that’s more Brucie than Bruce, but still kind in a way, he says, “Here, this should let you in. And if either one of them gets too annoying: feel free to pour tea on them.” He gives Tim a wink and tucks Delphine under his arm before whisking her down the hall and quickly out of sight.

Tim blinks down at the tray and then up at the painting across from him. He allows himself five full seconds to freak out.  

Feeling slightly ill, he finally forces his feet to move through the hallway, his small steps echoing in the empty space. He tries not to notice the clinking of the teacups as the tray in his hands shakes. Meeting the Waynes was not supposed to happen tonight.

Last door on the right, last door on the right, last door on the right . . .

He hesitates when he gets there, cautiously takes the key Bruce gave him, and places it into the lock. The hinges swing without a sound, showing a polished study and a Persian rug. He takes a breath and enters. The door clicks shut slowly behind him.

The library entrance is at the back of the room and it’s far more intimidating than it has any right to be. As he walks towards it, something catches the corner of his eye.

A grandfather clock. Old, tall, and quietly ticking away as Tim pauses in front of it. He stares, something deep inside him saying that he should take a closer look. He’s barely moved forward when raised voices suddenly come from behind the library door, startling him. Tim steps back.

Shooting the clock a final glance, Tim focuses back on the task at hand and reluctantly turns away. Cautiously, he nears the closed entrance that muffles unintelligible yelling. He inhales shakily and raises his fist, knocking softly on the wood.

He almost drops the tray when the door is slammed open.

“Bruce! Tell Dick his argument against Hamlet is completely wrong and—Oh.”

A boy stands in the doorway.

Fifteen years old, expensive tux, black hair, and eyes with too much green to be a true blue. Eyes that scan Tim up and down like he’s figuring out every single secret Tim’s hidden away in the back of his mind and examining them one by one. And all Tim can think about is how he once saw Robin take down five crooks before leaping out of a sixty-fourth-floor window, how Robin could end him in the blink of an eye.

Jason Todd raises a brow.

“You lost, kid?” Tim opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, so he shakes his head instead. Jason looks down at the tray in his hands. “ . . . Did Bruce kidnap you and have you make tea or something like that?”

“Something like that,” Tim says, managing to not trip over his words.

Jason blinks, glances him over once again. A horrified, blank expression crosses his face before he half turns and says, “We left B alone for five minutes, and he already got a new kid!”

There’s a strangled yell of, “What?” then the sound of stumbling footsteps as another boy appears in the door. Tim’s knees go weak.

Eighteen with a messy blue bowtie that’s the same shade as his wide eyes. The same shade as the Nightwing suit, too. Tim remembers the first and last time he went to the circus, remembers the photograph he still has.

Dick Grayson stares at him in shock.

“Oh my God. He did.”

Jason looks up at the ceiling in exasperation. “Do you think he just wanders around and collects the first lonely dark-haired child he sees? Is it just a thing he does?”

Dick shrugs, his gaze still locked on Tim. “Once is a mistake. Twice is a pattern.” He points a finger at the youngest boy. “Three times is a habit.” He glances at Jason with a frown. “Think we should stage an intervention?”

“Maybe,” Jason mutters, eyes narrowing. Dick hums and notices the tray in Tim’s hands with delight.

“Hey, he brought tea!” Dick bends forward, gently taking the platter out of Tim’s nearly quivering hands. He smiles down at him. “What’s your name?”

Tim swallows past his dry throat and channels years of socialite skills into not seeming like a complete idiot. “Tim Drake. Mr. Way—Bruce told me to come here? He got caught up with some lady, though. Delphine, I think?”

The two older boys share a look. Dick rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that’s not surprising.” He nudges Jason out of the doorway and beckons Tim inside. “Come on; you can help me remind Jason that Romeo and Juliet is way better than some play about a depressed prince.”

“Romeo and Juliet is nowhere near Hamlet, and you know it,” Jason mutters, but shoots Tim a friendly grin as Dick sets the tea tray down on a coffee table.

“If you read the whole thing as a satire about teenage stupidity and dumb love, then it’s hilarious,” Dick fires back and glances over at where Tim has barely entered through the doorway. “Right, Timmy?”

Tim shuffles his feet, not used to this kind of attention. “Um, I’ve only read Macbeth, and that was for school so . . . sure? I don’t know; Shakespeare always seemed kind of overrated to me.”

Both boys freeze.

Jason makes some sort of offended sound. “Oh my God, don’t ever let Alfred hear you say that.”

Flushing, Tim hurriedly continues, “I just prefer novels over plays, you know? Arthur Conan Doyle and Agatha Christie, that kind of stuff.”

“Mysteries? Jesus, no wonder Bruce kidnapped you. He used to read Sherlock Holmes to me before bed when I was a kid.” Dick mutters with a shake of his head.

“Huh, I got Jane Austen,” Jason off-handedly adds as he moves to grab a teacup, not putting anything in the drink. Dick takes two spoonfuls of sugar in his. He looks up and sees that Tim still hasn’t moved away from the door. He smiles gently.

“Hey, we don’t bite.” Dick sets another cup down on the table before sitting back on the plush couch. Tim hesitates, his mind screaming out useless facts his mother had told him about etiquette and manners that he’s quickly learning won’t apply to the Waynes at all, and gingerly moves into the room.

He picks up the teacup and carefully takes a place in the chair next to the sofa. Dick beams at him like he’d just found the solution to world peace, and Jason shoots him another half-smirk-half-grin while he moves over to the empty fireplace.

“So, Tim,” Dick starts while Jason tosses several pieces of wood into the grate, “the Drakes, huh? Don’t you live down the road?”

He nods, relaxing his fingers’ grip on the cup’s handle. “Yeah, about fifteen minutes away, I think.”

Jason glances back at him from where he’d successfully lit a fire, gaze curious. The light flickers warmly over the floor and Tim lets himself sink into the chair just a bit. “Really? Don’t hear from you guys that much; most of our neighbors are always asking about the next party and whatnot.”

“Oh, well, my parents aren’t usually in the country for most of the year,” Tim says, taking a sip of his tea before wrinkling his nose. Too bitter.

Dick pauses from where he’s lifting the cup to his lips, and Jason stops adding logs to the growing flames. They share a glance over Tim’s head. “Really?” Dick asks, continuing with his sip of tea. “I’m guessing they’re pretty busy, then. With running a company and all.”

Jason stands and moves back towards them, taking a seat in the chair opposite of Tim. “Yeah, isn’t your dad some kind of archaeologist, too? He sponsors a lot of stuff at the Natural History Museum downtown.” Dick pauses, both brows raised at his younger brother, and Jason shrugs defensively. “What? I paid attention during a school trip.”

Tim distractedly adds several spoonfuls of sugar to his tea. “Yeah, he’s usually flying from digsite to digsite most of the year. And my mom spends her summertime in London or Paris, and winter in the Caribbean, so he’s always visiting her. Plus, they have to travel for business all the time, and every month they go—” He freezes upon looking up from where he’d been stirring his drink. Jason and Dick are staring at him, looking as if they’d just been forced to swallow a very bitter pill. Tim hurriedly adds, “It’s okay! I’m—I’m busy with school anyway, so it’s fine.”

Dick sets his cup down with a gentle clink that makes Tim wince. “It doesn’t really seem . . . awesome, Tim.”

It takes everything within him to maintain eye contact and not stare down at the rug underneath his feet. “It’s fine.”

Jason leans forward, elbows on his knees, his eyebrows furrowed together to make a little crease between them. “You’re not . . . alone, right? You seem pretty responsible, but it’s not just you—”

“We have a housekeeper,” Tim tells him, voice clipped. He tries not to think about how he doesn't even remember the last time he saw her. “And I’m at school most of the day.”

“Boarding?” Dick asks.

“Usually, it would be. But it’s only a few minutes away by bike, so why pay to stay there when I could just come home?” Tim keeps his tone even. His grip on the teacup is tightening.

“It just . . . sounds a little lonely, that’s all. I got bored all the time when I was your age, and that was with Bruce and Alfred around to keep me company,” Dick quickly adds, soothing Tim’s raising defenses. The last thing he needs is the Bats getting nosy about his home life. Or rather, absence of one.

Tim shrugs. “I’m used to it.”

The brothers share another look, too fast for him to know what it means, and Jason tilts his head in a way that strangely reminds Tim of when his father would strike a business deal. “Hey, I know we just met, but, uh. . . You could come over here sometimes, if you want.”

Tim’s eyes widen, and his brain almost shuts down as he tries to make sense of what Jason just said. After several confused seconds, he manages to choke out, “What?”

“You know, if you ever need anything,” Dick swiftly continues, gaze steady and far too kind. “Like help with homework, stuff with school, or uh . . .” He glances at his brother. “Advice for girl problems?”

“You need advice for girl problems,” Jason mutters back. Dick kicks at him but looks over at Tim meaningfully.

“I’m living in New York right now, but I know you’d be welcomed here anytime.”

Jason nods in agreement. “Seriously, feel free to drop by. Bruce has already kinda adopted you, and I need Alfred to change your opinion on Shakespeare, so come over sometime, yeah?”

Tim stares at them, throat strangely tight. He hesitates. “I—”

The library door swings open, and Bruce walks in. Tim straightens up immediately, and from his peripheral vision, he can see Dick and Jason do the same. They all stare at each other for a moment. Bruce speaks first. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”

Jason shrugs. “Nothing we can’t continue later, B. How’s Delphine?”

“Sent her home with her friends just a few moments ago. She’ll be fine except for one hell of a hangover in the morning.”

Jason hmms and takes a sip of his tea. “You still have lipstick on your collar, by the way.”

Bruce glances down and curses, rubbing at the stain with his thumb. Dick snickers and Tim doesn’t even try to hide his shaky smile. With a sigh of defeat, Bruce glances over and meets Tim’s gaze with an amused expression. “Try not to embarrass me in front of our guest, if you can help it, Jay.”

“Sorry to break it to you, Dad, but you’re capable of doing that all by yourself,” Jason shoots back, amused.

Tim nearly misses the bitter look that crosses Dick’s face, and it’s gone before he can figure it out. His eyes flick to Bruce, who almost seems frozen in the firelight, a warm expression melting over his features as he stares at his youngest son. Jason takes another sip of his tea, his gaze resting on the fireplace and not focused on the two older men.

Tim glances between them and shifts in the strange atmosphere. The sound of the ticking clock is the only thing breaking the quiet.

He looks at his drink.

A different voice ends the silence. “Master Bruce, young Mr. Drake’s mother is asking for him. I believe he will be leaving for the night.” Tim glimpses at the open door. A tall, thin man stands there; his arms folded neatly behind his back. Tim doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone so British before in his life.

Alfred Pennyworth. Tim subconsciously straightens his suit, hoping the man won’t notice its wrinkles.

His eyes rest on Tim for a second, brows raising for half a second before his expression reverts into unreadable neutrality. Still, Alfred offers him a small smile that Tim quietly returns. Then another figure enters the doorway and Tim’s stomach freezes.

His mother stares down at him. Her lips curl upwards, all picture-perfect and white teeth. “Mr. Wayne, I’m terribly sorry for any distraction my son has caused tonight.” She holds out a polished hand. “Come along, Timothy, it’s late.” He makes himself look at her face.

Her blue eyes are ice cold. Furious.

His feet feel like lead when he stands, but his hands are still as Tim places his now-cool tea on the coffee table. He meets Jason’s gaze as he moves away from them. There’s something quiet and worried in his eyes, and Tim turns his back on both the older boy and the warmth of the firelight.

He isn’t expecting it when Dick moves with him, though, smoothly walking over and coming close enough to put a firm hand on his shoulder.

“He wasn’t a bother at all, Mrs. Drake,” Dick says, and apparently Tim isn’t the only one who’s learned how to play the smiling socialite. The man even shoots his mother a playful wink as he continues, “If anything, we should be apologizing for keeping him, just lost track of time.”

His mother narrows her eyes at Dick, glares down at Tim, and then settles back on Bruce. “It’s no matter; actually, I’ll have to thank you for making sure my son stayed out of trouble.” Tim slips out of Dick’s comforting grasp and moves silently to stand by her side. She reaches over and takes him by the arm, polished, red nails digging into his skin. Dick’s smile fades. “He tends to find it quite easily.”

Dick doesn’t even blink, only looks her up and down in a way that’s too cold to be mistaken for flattery. “Some might call that curiosity.”

“And polite company would call it meddlesome,” she clips back, words barbed. Dick stiffens, and his hands clenching, and Tim can see the tension in his jaw even from where he’s standing. He grinds his teeth and looks away from his mother.

He isn’t deaf and is well aware of what plenty of people really think of Wayne’s adopted sons. Two charity cases drudged up from the bottom of Gotham’s classes: street rats. He didn’t think his mother would sink to that level, though. Tim risks a glance at where Jason is still sitting.

The other boy is frozen in his chair, tea forgotten. His teal eyes glare daggers into Mrs. Drake, and Tim knows Jason must be biting his tongue to keep his insults to himself. Dick opens his mouth to reply, probably with something just as scathing, but Bruce steps in front of him with a tight smile.“Mrs. Drake, as you said, it’s getting late. Would you let me escort you to your car?”

Dick steps away, gaze bitterly burning into the back of his adopted father’s head, but he whips around to face Jason, and Tim can no longer see his expression. His mother exhales pointedly.

“No need, Mr. Wayne. You seem to have your hands plenty full here, and I’m perfectly capable of finding the way back myself, thank you.”

She tugs sharply on Tim’s arm, and he desperately looks at them, not sure what to say. Dick and Jason both stare back, brows furrowed, and he sees Bruce take a step forwards only to hesitate. He can feel Alfred watching him from the side. Tim swallows past his dry mouth, his mother pulls again at his sleeve, and he quickly gets out, “Thanks for the tea.”

“Oh, come along, Timothy,” she snaps.

And then Tim’s being marched down the hallway, trying to keep pace with Janet Drake’s long strides but not quite managing it. Moments later, he’s ushered into the car, and they’re driving away. But he can’t tear his eyes away from the Manor as it’s left behind, a spot of shining light in the surrounding darkness.

The taste of tea fills his mouth the entire ride home.

*****

“You could have let me say something,” Dick snaps as soon as the two Drakes are gone, and Alfred’s closed the door behind them. He sort of wishes the butler stayed.

Bruce exhales, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It would have only made things worse; you shouldn’t have gotten involved in the conversation, to begin with.”

“You saw his face when she came into the room, Bruce,” Dick mutters back, fuming. Next to him, Jason watches them silently, and Dick forces himself to take a breath. “What kid looks at their own mother like that?”

“ . . . I don’t know either Janet or Jack Drake personally, but they have a reputation for being ruthless,” Bruce says, still staring at the door. He turns around and looks between his sons measuredly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that behavior carries into their family life as well.”

Dick seethes, ears still burning from Mrs. Drake’s comments. ‘Polite company.’ It could have meant nothing but combined with her curled lip and icy gaze; it didn’t.

He rests a hand on Jason’s shoulder, either to comfort the kid or himself, Dick isn’t sure, and Jason doesn’t lean back from it. He wonders if what she said got to his brother, too. Probably not. Jason has always been better at letting shit like this roll off his back. Still, he doesn’t move his hand away just in case.

“I told Tim he was welcome here anytime,” Dick says pointedly, Bruce stiffens. “And he better be.”

“Dick, you can’t just—”

“It was my idea, actually,” Jason interrupts, and both of them turn to stare at him. Jason glares back, unflinchingly. “And don’t pretend that you couldn’t care less, B. You were the one who invited him in here, not Dick. Besides,” Jason takes a smooth sip of his tea, “I think he’s lonely. Could use someone to talk to. If he comes over, I’ll handle it.”

Bruce looks at him for a long moment, several unnameable emotions warring across his face. He seems to settle on blankness.

“Very well,” his gaze slides to Dick, still unknowable. “I’m going to have to turn in for the night. Alfred’s been wanting to redo several stitches and is threatening to drug me again if I don’t let him. Tea will have to wait for another day.”

“Oh,” is Dick’s only response. The disappointment isn’t anything new as it settles in his stomach, but it still hurts. He glances at the door, trying to figure out the least awkward way to leave, then Bruce clears his throat hesitantly.

“However, Jason and I are planning a bust on one of Penguin’s shipping operations later this week. Feel free to join us, if you’d like.”

Whatever frustration Dick has left in him drains away as he and his brother gawk at the other man. Bruce waits for several seconds but is only met with silence as his adopted son blinks at the hanging invitation. Dick starts. “I . . . Okay, I can do that. Uh. Does Saturday work?”

Bruce nods. “Come by the Manor around nine, that’ll let you have some time with Alfred. He’s been wanting to catch up.”

“Right,” Dick says numbly, and as Bruce turns to leave, he and Jason share a glance. The younger boy raises his brows, and Dick can only shake his head in response, mind whirling.

“And Jason,” Bruce adds, both of his sons snapping to attention. Bruce opens the door, smoothing his collar in such a way that the lipstick on it somehow becomes less noticeable. Dick tries not to be impressed with that. “If you’re going to have Tim over here, give him something to eat. Lord knows he needs it.”

They stare as he leaves, the library door not quite swinging all the way shut behind him.

Jason speaks first, “That was . . . unexpected.”

Dick looks at him. “What? That he invited me, because yeah—”

“No,” The other boy interrupts, voice purposefully monotone. “Of course he was going to invite you, he’s been trying to figure out how to do that for months, now.” Dick’s eyes widen, and he glances back at the door. Jason doesn’t seem to notice. “I just didn’t expect him to invite me.”

Looking back at him, Dick frowns. “Why wouldn’t he? You’re Robin. ”

It says something about time healing all wounds because it doesn’t hurt to say that out loud anymore. But Jason stills, his gaze moving to Dick before resting on the flames within the fireplace. “Yeah, and Robin’s benched.”

Shit.

Just add that to the list of things he can feel guilty not knowing about.

Dick is frozen, looking over Jason’s form and frantically trying to figure out what happened. “You got hurt? Where? How bad?”

“I didn’t get hurt.”

Jason still won’t look at him. Slowly, Dick shuts his eyes. “Little Wing, what did you do? ”

That wasn’t the right thing to say. Jason spins around to face him, expression twisted into something painful and hurt and Dick did that. “Are you serious, right now?”

“Jay—”

“Look, I know you’re a fucking Golden Boy up on Bruce’s goddamn pedestal, but at the very least you could try to—”

“Jason.” Jason stiffens with his brother’s raised voice because Dick doesn’t yell. Not at him. Dick rubs a hand over his face. “Jay, just tell me what happened, okay? I won’t judge you for it, I promise.”

The younger boy’s glare hardens for a second before molding into something unbearably tired. “I didn’t . . . Look, I need you to get that I didn’t push the guy, okay?”

Fuck, this wasn’t going to be good. Dick breathes out, “Okay.”

Jason searches his face for a second, eyes falling back to the fire. “We were working a case, there was . . . Our perp was this asshole, Felipe Garzonas, and his father was some kind of ambassador, and he had diplomatic immunity because of fucking course he did. And he . . .” Jason takes a breath. “He raped a girl, Gloria, and was responsible for her death.”

Dick swallows. “So, he got away with murder?”

Jason shakes his head, continuing, “No, she . . . she killed herself. But he was behind it, threatened to keep hurting her and she . . . He got recalled, too, you know that? We busted him on drugs, and he was leaving the fucking country and wouldn’t have been able to touch her ever again. But she didn’t know, and he called her before we did and . . .”

For a long moment, Dick only stares, the pieces coming together to make a grim picture. “You were the one to find her, weren’t you?”

Jason shivers, jaw clenching. “She was already gone by the time we got to her apartment. Hung herself. She was only . . .  a couple of years older than me. Younger than you.”

Dick winces and closes his eyes. “God, Jay that’s . . .”

“I’m just tired of seeing it, you know? Shit like this happened all the time back in Crime Alley, yeah, but now I finally have a chance to stop it, and I fucking couldn’t. I couldn’t save her.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Jason snorts bitterly, gaze not wavering from the fireplace. Dick sighs and sits back down on the sofa to rest his head in his hands. It’s a shitty lesson, learning that you can’t rescue everyone. They both wait in the library stillness for several minutes, watching the light from the flames flicker across the floor. Dick looks up.

“Okay, then what?”

Jason exhales. “I went back to his apartment and he was up on this fucking balcony drinking and I . . .” Dick waits quietly as the boy finds the right words. “I dropped down too quick, spooked him. And he stumbled, slipped over the railing, and it . . . Fuck, Dick, it happened so fast.”

Dick nods but frowns. “And Bruce benched you because . . .”

“He thinks I pushed him.”

Shit.

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Dick runs a hand through his hair, the strands falling back into his face. Advice. That’s what he’s supposed to do. Older brothers give advice. Fuck. “Okay, look, Bruce is a—” His phone rings, the emergency tone for the Titans echoing throughout the library, and Dick jumps—“Son of a bitch,” he finishes instead, grabbing his cell.

Jason raises his brows, a weak grin etching across his face. “Don’t think Martha would appreciate that.”

A distracted chuckle leaves Dick’s throat as he stares at the message on the screen in annoyance. Deathstroke. Of all the people who hate the Titans, it couldn’t have been someone the team could handle without him?

He glances at his brother but Jason is already waving him away. “Yeah, I get it. It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“Just go, asshole. We can deal with this another day.”

“I don’t ‘deal with you’, Little Wing. I like talking to you, come on, and we are gonna finish this conversation.” Probably. When he can figure out what to fucking say. Dick stands as the alarm on his phone goes off again. “Just not today because I need to go kick Deathstroke’s ass.”

Jason follows as his brother jogs into the study and both of them stop at the clock. Dick opens the case, moving the hands as Jason watches silently. Seconds later, the wall is sliding open and Dick is praying that Bruce has the Tower’s location already set up in the zeta-tube. The sound of feet hitting stone echoes as they run down, and Dick doesn’t even stop as they reach the cave, doesn’t look to see if anything’s changed.

The zeta doesn’t have the Tower’s coordinates pulled up and Dick spends too much time pressing buttons for his liking. As the damn thing finally starts, he gives Jason a half-hearted grin and ruffles his hair. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Jason smiles tiredly as Dick steps into the tube. “Punch Wilson in the face for me.”

And Dick doesn’t have enough time to respond because the world dissolves into blue and then he’s in the Tower, Roy yelling at him to ‘fucking move his ass.’

In the end, he does manage to punch Slade in the face, which is awesome. And they also save New York for the third time this month which is doubly awesome. But when they’re finally out of costume, and Garth’s calling up their favorite pizza place and Donna is laughing into Roy’s shoulder at some joke Vic made, Dick’s stomach is still in knots. He’s still staring at Jason’s name in his phone with no idea of what to do.

And looking around their rec-room, at the bright grins of his teammates, he can’t dampen the mood with his own ridiculous feelings. It’s stupid. He knows it’s stupid, because it’s just Jason. Still, he only pokes at his huge pizza slice that Raven’s dropped in front of him, the argument between Vic and Gar about meat and tofu fading into the background.

Hesitantly, he glances over at where Kory is sitting across the room. Too quickly she meets his gaze and they both look away. He’d thrown the tie she gave him somewhere on the floor of his bedroom while suiting up. Can’t be sentimental when assassins want to kill the mayor.

He’s not sure if he’s relieved or not when Wally drops down next to him, nudging Dick’s arm with his own and forcing a soda can into his hand. He doesn’t say anything either, only gives his friend a smart grin and lays back on the sofa, draping his legs over Dick’s thighs.

Dick rolls his eyes but pops the tab of his soda anyway.

The team trails off one by one, either to train or sleep. Kory doesn’t look at him when she leaves and Dick doesn’t call out either. Eventually, the only ones left are the founders, but then Garth has to take his nightly swim and Donna wants to finish editing her photos and Roy needs to fix a faulty sonic arrow and Wally . . . stays.

They’re quiet for a long time, which is weird for the speedster, but he knows when to let Dick think. Doesn’t stop him from eventually kicking the other’s leg and pointing at his untouched pizza, though. “You gonna eat that?”

Dick grumbles and hands it to him, and Wally laughs. And that’s . . . at least he knows he can do something right.

Wally takes a bite and the pizza is gone. “So. It was that bad?”

“How can you tell?”

“Because you’re doing that thing—” Wally does a scrunched serious face that makes him look slightly constipated—“that you do when you’re having an internal crisis.”

Dick’s scrunched serious face becomes scrunchier. “I’m not . . . crisis-ing. I’m fine.”

“Wow. Are you really trying to bullshit me, right now?”

Dick pinches his thigh and Wally yelps, kicking in retaliation. They grapple, and Dick pushes the other boy off the couch only for Wally to grab his arm at the last second. He lands on the floor with an oomph and a speedster crushing him. But one of them was trained by Batman and that one isn’t Wally, and Dick’s got him pinned in seconds.

“You suck,” Wally moans into the rug dramatically.

Dick grins. “Your hand-to-hand has gotten better.”

“Fuck you.”

Dick’s smile widens and he lets up, Wally kicking at him again for good measure. They sit across from each other, legs tangled together, Dick against the sofa and Wally with his head tipped back onto the coffee table. Dick chews his lip for a moment.

“It wasn’t bad. Just . . . a lot of stuff happened.”

Wally glances at him, but doesn’t move his head. The angle kinda makes him look stupid. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dick sorts through the night for a moment. “Bruce didn’t even invite me.”

“Wait, seriously?” Wally actually lifts his head up, brows raised towards the ceiling.

Dick nods. “Figures. It was Alfred, probably, or my name got thrown in or . . . I don’t know, doesn’t matter because it was still awkward as fuck. Almost left, but then he kind of apologized? And asked me to stay for tea? It was weird.”

“The guy who dresses up as a bat to fight clowns is weird? Who would’ve guessed,” the speedster deadpans.

A laugh bubbles out of his chest and Wally knocks their feet together. “Yeah, but then he disappeared for a bit and instead of coming back with tea he sent a kid? Like? One second I’m arguing with Jason about something dumb and then there’s this tiny child with a tea tray in the doorway? He looked confused.”

Wally grins. “Can’t blame him.”

Dick shakes his head. “His name’s Tim Drake. His parents own some big medical company and his mom is kind of a bitch.”

“What’d she do?” Wally asks, blinking in surprise. Dick never talks like that.

“Rude as shit when she came to pick him up and . . . God, the look on that kid’s face when he saw her . . . There’s something wrong going on in that house. I don’t like it. But Jay told him he could come to the Manor if he ever needs anything.”

“You think it’s that bad?”

“She grabbed him, too,” Dick mutters, turning away to glare at the floor. “Jason said he’d handle it and I trust him. And I think B’s worried, he caved on letting the kid come over pretty quick. Then he invited me on a bust on Saturday.”

Wally blinks. “Like . . . to bond?”

Dick shrugs hopelessly because he honestly has no idea how Bruce’s brain works anymore. “I guess? Apparently, he’s been wanting to ask for a few weeks, according to Jay and—” Dick pauses, eyes widening—“Dude, Jason got benched.”

“Benched as in hurt?” Wally asks and sits up straighter. Dick shakes his head, thoughts whirling.

“Benched as in Bruce thought he pushed a perp off a balcony.”

Wally’s mouth drops. “Holy shit. Did he actually—”

“Jason said the guy had been drinking, was startled when he dropped down, and slipped over.”

“You believe him?”

Dick hesitates too long at that. He remembers the look on Jason’s face, the crack in his voice as he talked. He also remembers the sound of bone breaking under Robin’s fist. He tugs at a loose string on the edge of his shirt.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Wally shrugs. “I don’t know him as well as you, but . . . I don’t think Jason would go that far. Kid’s too good for that.”

Dick smiles, but it quickly fades away. “He’s got issues, though. Not that I blame him, we all do—” Wally snorts—“but I don’t know how to help him. I don’t know what to say.”

“He’s just your brother. It’s not like you have to write a speech or something.”

“ . . . That’s actually not a bad ide—”

“That was a joke. Please don’t do that. You talk like Bruce when you lecture, and it’ll just freak him out.”

“Shit,” Dick mutters, slumping back into the sofa behind him. The fabric is kind of itchy, and he shifts, thinking. “What if I mess up?”

“Then you apologize and try again.”

“How do you know that’ll work?”

“It’s what Barry did whenever he messed up with me,” Wally says quietly and something inside of Dick wilts. The speedster looks away, fiddling with the ring on his hand. Barry’s ring. The ring with a costume that wasn’t supposed to be Wally’s. Not ever.

“ . . . He’d be proud of you.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Join the club.”

“No thanks, there’s a major dick in there.”

“You want me to pin you again?”

“No,” Wally answers, but he’s smiling, so Dick takes it.

“Seriously, he’d be proud.”

Wally closes his eyes, looking too old for someone who’s only eighteen. His freckles have been fading away, adulthood coming on faster than either of them would like to admit. Dick doesn’t know how he hadn’t noticed that before. “And I seriously don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Then we’ll not know what we’re doing together. And we’ll make a club. Roy can join.”

“Ew.” Dick laughs, really laughs, at that, and Wally’s expression lightens. He bumps their legs again. “You should talk to Jason soon, though. He’ll probably get anxious if you don’t.”

Dick nods. “Yeah.”

They fall silent again, and Dick lets himself drift for several seconds, listening to the distant city outside. Wally hums in thought, the tune vaguely familiar but Dick can’t quite place it. Maybe something from when they were kids. He stares for a moment.

“Hey.” Wally glances at him, green eyes quiet. “Thanks.”

He gets a grin in return, one that’s too teasing to be truly genuine. “And if we’re talking about emotions . . .”

“No.”

“Dude, you were staring at her all night.”

“Was not!”

“Were too!”

“Was—No, we’re not doing this.”

Wally sticks his tongue out at him. “You have feelings, she has feelings, you’re making it complicated.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Would Kory?”

Dick opens his mouth, then shuts it with a click. Wally points a finger at him in triumph and Dick glowers with resignation. He still tries. “She’s—I’m—we’re both just so—”

“Different isn’t always a bad thing, bro. Haven’t you heard of opposites attracting? You’re just scared of getting hurt, which is ridiculous because she’s head over heels for you.”

Dick sighs. “Can we go back to talking about my Bruce issues?”

“No. Just have a conversation with her.”

“What if I—”

“Mess up? Didn’t we just finish that discussion?” Wally asks, voice flat. “I’m not above locking you two in a closet, don’t push me. You’re both pining and it’s gross.” Dick opens his mouth again. Wally sighs. “What if I tell you it’s upsetting the team dynamic.” Dick’s mouth closes, and the other man groans, head falling into his hands. “Oh my god.”

“Is it? Because that’s really important—”

“It’s not; it’s just fucking awkward, Jesus Christ.”

Dick exhales, steels himself. “Fine. I’ll talk to Kory. And Bruce. And Jason. Happy?”

“Yeah, actually. Jerk.” Wally sticks his tongue out at him, and Dick returns the action.

“Now tell me about your love life so I can make fun of you.”

Wally perks up, starts talking about some hot girl in his Advanced Chemistry lecture, and Dick settles back against the couch. It isn’t too itchy if he doesn’t think about it. Besides, Wally’s leg is warm against his, and, for now, that’s enough.

*****

Tim is picking at his cereal when his parents enter the dining room. Jack still in slippers with the morning paper tucked under his arm, and Janet wearing a silk robe. Last night certainly hadn’t helped with the tension between them, with his mother’s angry mutters and his father’s chilled gaze filling the car ride home. Tim had rushed up to his room, not bothering with a ‘goodnight.’ He doubts they’d even noticed.

Still, it’s a new day. He tries to smile at them but he knows it comes out wrong. His parents pause in the doorway for a second, staring at him like they’re not sure what to say.

Jack breaks the quiet, “Morning, Tim.”

“Good morning,” he answers back hesitantly. The words are strange in his mouth. Unfamiliar.

His mother sits across from him as his father takes the head of the long table. Neither looks particularly comfortable, but Tim isn’t either, so he won’t judge.

Most of his breakfasts take place by the kitchen counter or on his way to school. Rarely in the dining room, with its empty chairs and arching windows. It’s always been too cold for Tim’s liking and he can count on one hand the number of times he’s had a meal in here.

So he shifts in his seat, Janet catching it out of the corner of her eye. “Posture.”

His father opens his newspaper, sips his dark coffee. Tim can’t decide whether or not he likes the overpowering smell of it. “Dear, it’s first thing in the morning. Let the boy relax for God’s sake.”

“He was plenty relaxed last night,” she snaps and Tim stills, his spoon halfway to his mouth. She isn’t looking at him as she adds strawberries to her plate, but her movements are sharp. “I don’t know what you were thinking, Tim. Bothering Bruce Wayne of all people and disappearing to Lord knows where halfway through the night to talk to those children of his. Left us having to brush off questions about your whereabouts, and you certainly lost us several investors—”

“He asked for my help.”

Both of his parents freeze. Tim, too, after he realizes his interruption, his eyes quickly moving down to stare at his bowl. Janet slowly places the spoon in her grip back into its dish. The harsh clink of metal against china echoes in the silence, Tim’s teeth gritting at the sound. Her hands fold neatly on top of the table.

“What was that, Timothy?” Her voice is frigid. Tim hesitates, eyes darting to his father to gauge his reaction. He’s met with blankness.

Tim takes a breath and continues, “Bru—Mr. Wayne was looking for his butler to make tea, but then I told him I could do it. And then he thought that I’d get along with his sons so I just . . .” He gestures helplessly and his mother sighs, rubbing at her temple.

“We’ll try again Friday. I have a presentation with the board, but your father is going to the annual GCPD charity luncheon at Wayne Enterprises. You’ll go with him and pay attention to the other businessmen this time, don’t be completely useless and run off somewhere.” She stands, her chair scraping against the floor.

Both Tim and his father open their mouths to protest, but are met with a harsh look, the kind that Janet Drake gives people during meetings when somebody dares to challenge her. Tim slumps into his seat, but Jack does not. “He’d be missing school, might not send the best message.”

“If he goes with you he’ll be learning more important things anyway. And besides,” she stares down at her son pointedly, “he’ll make sure to stay out of trouble. Won’t you, Tim?”

His head is heavy when he nods, but Tim manages it. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You see? It’s fine, Jack. Besides, don’t you have more important things to worry about anyway with that damn exhibition coming up?” she snaps at her husband. Jack’s lip curls, but he doesn’t respond as she swirls out of the room, silk robe flowing behind her. She leaves her untouched plate of strawberries behind.

Tim hesitates. His father turns back to the newspaper. Several more minutes pass by.

“What’s the exhibition for?”

Jack glances up at him for a second before returning to his article. “Just uncovered a few things for the museum downtown. Nothing exciting for your mother to host a celebration party for, so she’s bitter over it.”

“Oh,” Tim says, awkwardly poking at his bowl. There’s more to it than that but he knows when to hold his tongue.

He counts the seconds as they tick by, waiting for an appropriate amount of time to pass before escaping the room. His father flips to the next page of the paper. Tim leaves without a sound.

When he bikes to school, he goes as fast as he can, legs and lungs burning. He relishes the feeling. At least, out here, he can finally breathe.

*****

Friday comes both too soon and too slow.

His parents will be gone this afternoon and while the house is still quiet with them there (apart from the ever-louder arguments that Tim can hear echoing through the halls), it’s nevertheless nice knowing that he isn’t alone anymore.

But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss sneaking out at night. Based on what he’d last heard when he was out on the streets, Penguin is going to bring in a huge shipment tomorrow, and Tim’s dying to get a few decent shots of it. If he gets an especially good one, he might even mail it to Gordon. Anonymously, of course.

He knows they use his photos as evidence sometimes. Had heard the Commissioner mention it to Batman, once on a slower patrol. That the resolution of his camera picks up details that security footage can’t make out.

Tim hadn’t stopped grinning the rest of the night, and Gordon had gotten seven extra photos that weekend.

The elevator pings open, and Jack Drake’s shoes squeak on the polished marble floor. Tim’s never been in Wayne Tower before, and he stares as they walk by gleaming offices and busy people. It’s a beautiful place, with tasteful decor and huge windows lining the halls. Everyone around them moves like clockwork and Tim would be lying if he said that he wasn’t impressed. He’d always thought that running a business would be boring, his parents never seem to enjoy it. But . . . Tim wouldn’t mind working here.

He almost runs into his father when the man stops in front of a pair of glass doors. Looking through them, Tim can see a long room with balconies and official-looking men and women standing around.

A few are in uniforms, members of the GCPD. Tim pretends not to notice, pretends that he doesn’t know exactly who each of them is. His father looks down at him.

“Don’t embarrass yourself or me. And don’t bother the Waynes, understand?”

Tim nods, and his father exhales, pushing the doors open. Several businessmen come up to Mr. Drake at once, and Tim knows he’s not supposed to get left behind, but they’re all moving and chattering and suddenly he’s alone in a room full of people. He glances around frantically, but he only sees the same dull suits and stiff dresses no matter where he turns.

Hesitantly, he moves to the lunch table. Pretends that he has everything under control. And it’s almost funny that he’s more comfortable on the dark streets of Gotham instead of this crowded place. He pours himself a cup of water and carefully makes sure nobody is behind him when he turns around. Especially Bruce Wayne.

His drink spills anyway.

The man who just ran into him blinks down in surprise, like he wasn’t expecting someone so short to be there. “Excuse me, Mr. . . . ?”

“Uh, Tim,” Tim answers, trying to straighten his wet suit. The man curses under his breath and reaches up to his chest, handing Tim a handkerchief. He looks up at the man again. Brown eyes behind smart glasses and greying at the temples. Well-cut suit, looks far more comfortable here than Tim does, and Tim knows he’s seen this guy before somewhere and oh . . . Oh.

“I’m Lucius Fox. Are you lost, son?”

“I—uh, no? No, I’m fine, thank you. My dad’s just . . .” Tim looks around desperately, but the universe doesn’t seem to be on his side today.

Lucius studies him for a long moment and something clicks behind his gaze. “You’re Drake’s son, aren’t you?”

Tim blinks. “Yeah, yeah, how did you . . . ?”

“You look like your mother. And she is . . . “ Fox furrows his brow and hesitates, “Hard to forget.”

“That sounds about right,” Tim mutters, carefully folding the handkerchief back into a neat square. It’s silk and a crisp white and Lucius places it back in its pocket despite the fact that it’s still wet.

“Mr. Wayne mentioned you this morning when I told him your father was invited to the luncheon.”

Tim blinks again. “He did?”

“Said you and Jason got along. And that you make better tea than our new Keurig.”

Tim’s brain melts.

“When he mentioned you to me he said that all you do is judge his life choices,” he says without thinking, then freezes horrified. Fox stares at him. Tim starts, “Sorry! I didn’t mean—”

Lucius laughs, true and deep enough to make several people nearby glance at them. Tim doesn’t move, unsure whether to keep apologizing or join in. He goes for a nervous chuckle instead. After a few more moments, Fox settles and smiles at him. “I do judge his life choices, believe me, he deserves it.” He straightens up, looking around for Tim’s father. “Apologies, but I have to check up on a few things. Not sure where your father went, but Jason and Ms. Gordon are back there if you’d like to talk to them.”

Tim’s eyes follow the direction Lucius subtly points at. “Ms. Gordon?”

“The Commissioner’s daughter, Barbara.” Yeah, Tim knows who she is. “I think you two will get along, trust me.” He shakes Tim’s hand, grip strong but not unkind. As if they were equals. Tim likes him. “It was nice to meet you, Tim.”

“You too, thanks,” he manages, watching as Lucius blends into the crowd. Then he turns and tries not to walk too fast to where the man had steered him. At least now he has somewhere to go.

It isn’t hard to spot them in the tucked-away corner, Barbara’s hair is bright in the sunlight, and Tim remembers how it looked when she flew through the air. A shock of red against the dark sky. Batgirl. The Batgirl.

He almost forgets until he sees the wheelchair.

The papers had blown up with the news, every other story focusing on the Gordons or the Joker or Batman. Looking back on it, it’s amazing that no one made the connection between her and her vigilante identity. Amazing no one still has.

Neither of them seems to notice as he quietly approaches, engrossed in their conversation. Barbara’s hands are folded very tightly on her lap and Jason’s shoulders are tense. Tim stills, tries to blend in with the background like he does on the streets. Even from this short distance, he can barely make out what they’re saying.

“—looked at the hospital’s records. Her name wasn’t on file, and they listed Catherine and your father as your guardians, no one else. I’m sorry, Jason.”

Jason slumps. “That doesn’t make any sense, the certificate’s damaged, yeah, but my mom didn’t have an ‘S’ in her name anywhere.”

“B said you were narrowing down a list of women? Based on your date of birth and your father’s associates?”

“Yeah, I’ve got three names. Gonna try and locate them, and then reach out, I guess.”

Barbara reaches out and touches his arm. “Hey, take it from someone who knows; it’s okay not to have . . . I just don’t want you to think you’re worth anything less than you are. There’s nothing wrong with you, and you don’t have to prove yourself to anyone. Especially not to her.”

Jason stares at her, swallows. “I know that, I do, and I already have a mom. Catherine was my mom. This lady, whoever she is, I just . . . I just have some questions I’d like her to answer, you know?”

Barbara hesitates and then nods. From this angle, Tim can’t see the expression on her face. “Okay, but be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt by whatever you find.”

A grin spreads across his face. “Aw, Barbie, you do care.”

“Shut it, brat.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to—” Jason looks up, eyes landing on Tim and then widening. He hides it quickly, but Barbara sees and she spins around, already an expert with her chair. Jason walks over, and Tim stiffens, wonders if they know he’s heard everything; but the older boy only throws an arm around his shoulder. “Tim! Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Tim tries not to stumble as Jason leads him back over to Barbara, who watches them with arched brows. Tim scrambles to come up with anything. “Sorry, you guys looked like you were talking about something, and I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Both of them relax a touch. Tim does too.

Jason lets the weight of his arm drop. “It wasn’t anything important, don’t worry about it.” He gestures to Barbara, moving to her side. “Barbie, Tim Drake. Tim, Barbara Gordon. All you gotta know about her is that she’s smarter than everybody else in this room combined.”

Barbara scoffs. “Stop trying to be charming, it’s weird.”

“Not charming anyone, just telling the truth,” Jason responds primly. She swats at him, and he grins widely in return. Her clever gaze moves to Tim.

Tim decides that Barbara Gordon is very pretty and very, very scary. There’s a high chance that even while wearing her expensive silk dress and sitting in a wheelchair, she could beat him up and not let a hair get out of place. But she also reminds him of Lucius, with the way her eyes sparkle behind her glasses. They shake hands.

Strong grip, but not unkind. Equals. Tim decides he likes her, too.

“So,” she starts, a smirk at the corners of her mouth. “You skipping, or did school let out on a half-day like the nerd over here?”

“Hey!” Jason protests, scowling as Tim’s face breaks into a grin.

Barbara scoffs. “Please, like you would ever skip school. Remember when you tried to sneak out when you were sick so you wouldn’t miss a test?”

Jason’s ears turn pink and he rolls his eyes. This only seems to bemuse Barbara more. “That was only one time. Besides, now I know better than to try and get past Alfred.” She cackles, so he lightly pinches her shoulder.

Tim glances between them for a moment before finally answering, “Skipping.”

Barbara looks delighted. Jason sighs.

There’s the sound of speakers turning on followed by the muffled tapping of a microphone. Everyone turns to stare at the front of the room where Commissioner Gordon seems ready to begin a speech, though he doesn’t appear too excited about it. Bruce is standing next to him, smiling broadly like he’s having the time of his life. He must be bored out of his mind.

Tim hears Jason groan behind him. He also hears the stifled oomph when Barbara elbows him.

Both of them come up to his side, Jason grinning in a way that Tim is pretty sure means trouble. Jason nudges him. “Come on.”

Tim blinks once, glances between him and the Commissioner. “What?”

“Come on,” the older boy says again, pointedly tilting his head to one of the balconies, just out of sight. Tim smiles. Barbara shakes her head.

“I hate this habit,” she mutters at Jason. “Cutting your life expectancy in half, I swear.”

Jason shrugs. “It’s Gotham, plenty of things can cut my life expectancy in half. And relax, Barb, it’s not like I’m going anywhere anytime soon. Just cover us, yeah?”

She grumbles and waves them away with a calloused hand. “You owe me, kid.”

“I’ll buy you a chilidog,” Jason tells her, steering Tim to the balcony and away from Commissioner Gordon’s resigned droning. They slip through the doors and into the sunlight, the cool air refreshing compared to the room’s heat.

Tim breathes it in and side-eyes Jason curiously. “What habit?”

The older boy shrugs, leaning against the wall in a way so that no one could see him from inside. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and gives Tim a look that clearly says that he better keep his mouth shut about this.

Tim only raises his brow and rests against the balcony railing. Jason sparks a lighter, the flame standing brightly out against the dull blues and greys surrounding them. He takes a slow drag and relaxes further into the concrete beneath his shoulders. Closing his eyes, he exhales, and the wind blows the smoke away before it has a chance to curl through the air.

He cracks his eyelids just a touch to meet Tim’s gaze. “Sorry, but I’m not sharing, kid. These things will kill you, you know.”

Tim huffs a laugh and looks out over the view of the city.

Gotham’s almost pretty like this, windows shining in the sun with a clear sky above. It’s weird. He prefers it at night when only neon signs and streetlights keep the city from falling into darkness. The lighting is more interesting anyway; and his best pictures are taken when the sun goes down. To be fair, that also may be because his best pictures are of Batman. And Robin.

Jason breathes out another lungful of smoke. The wind blows it away again.

“You never answered.”

“Huh?” Tim asks eloquently, looking back at the boy.

Jason tilts his head. “When I asked if you wanted to come over to the Manor sometime, you never answered.”

“Oh, I . . .” Tim tries, but the words won’t come. He isn’t sure what to make of this; nobody’s ever wanted to hang out with him before. He pulls at the ends of his sleeves. Jason only watches him, still quiet.

The cigarette end burns. Inhale. Exhale. Smoke. Wind. Tim looks away, out over the gleaming city, and gathers the confused pieces of his mind into one word.

“Why?”

Jason cocks his head and frowns. “Why what?”

“Why . . .” Tim shifts uncomfortably under the other boy’s unmoving stare. “Why do you want to be around me?”

“Because I like you,” Jason says, as if it’s that uncomplicated. Tim grimaces because there’s always something more than that. People always want more.

“No, you don’t; you hardly even know me. What do you actually want?” He snaps back, eyes turning cold. Jason looks taken aback, and for a second, Tim almost regrets what he said, but then the boy straightens up, and Tim suddenly realizes that Jason probably knows a lot more about him than he originally thought. And that this conversation is not going to be a pleasant one.

Jason glances back at the closed doors in calm consideration. “When was the last time your parents were home before this week, Tim?”

Tim’s jaw clenches, his hands tightening into fists. “I told you before, I’m fine.”

Jason nods like this is all the confirmation he needed, and Tim wants to backtrack and answer that. But the truth is that his parents were last home three months ago and that fact would only make things worse right now. The back of his tongue is sour.

“Why do you care?” He mutters, and Jason actually hesitates at that. They watch each other for a few tense moments, then Jason sighs and leans back against the concrete. Tim has the sudden urge to tell him that he’s wrinkling his suit. He has a distinct feeling Jason wouldn’t appreciate it.

The other boy taps the end of his cigarette, Tim watching the ash fall through the air. Jason takes a drag and examines him with narrowed eyes. “I care, because I know what it’s like not to have anybody give a damn about you.”

And it’s as if everything’s been punched out of Tim’s lungs. He can only stare as Jason exhales more smoke.

He snaps.

“My parents love me. At least that’s more than what you could say for yours.”

They both freeze as soon as the words leave Tim’s mouth, the city’s sounds filling the silence between them. Stiffly, Jason drops his cigarette, crushing it beneath a polished shoe. Tim suddenly has to fight the urge to step backward. Not that it would help, he's already pressed against the railing with nowhere to run.

Jason meets his eyes levelly. He doesn’t need the mask to be terrifying. “I wasn’t lying when I said I liked you, Tim. But I’m not above punching you, either. Your choice.”

Tim glares down at the flattened cigarette, wishes he could rewind the past few minutes.

“ . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” He unflinchingly looks back at the other’s gaze. “But my family life is . . . okay. I don’t need your help.”

Jason lifts his head and rests back against the wall, evaluating him. In turn, Tim’s shoulders relax with the knowledge that his face isn’t about to be broken. In the distance, a police siren wails. The older boy jerks his chin at the balcony doors.

“Alright. You don’t need my help,” Jason says, voice significantly quieter than it was. He glances at Tim hesitantly. “But do you want it?”

The sincerity of the question is enough to make Tim's chest hurt. Enough to make him suddenly want to cry. He swallows, and the words ‘I’m fine’ are stuck in his throat, and he has to look back out at Gotham. Look at the glass skyscrapers reflecting the blue sky and imagine the darkness and neon he can hide away in at night. Where he doesn’t have to worry about things like his parents or Batman or his nosy, righteous, far-too-caring neighbors who keep reaching out and just want to help, and Tim doesn’t know what to do.

“Hey, kid,” Jason starts softly, and he must have moved at some point because he’s setting a hand on Tim’s shoulder. Tim hadn’t even heard him. “I’m not saying that I’m gonna report this shit or anything if you don’t want that. I know how that can fuck up somebody’s life. I’m just . . . If you want a place to stay or someone to talk to, you can drop by, okay?”

Tim turns away from the shining skyscrapers and looks up at Jason’s too-gentle expression. He’s made up his mind before he can even think it through. Maybe he didn’t need to think about it at all.

“Okay.”

Jason grins, and it’s too bright for the city around them. “Alright, that’s . . . alright. Though, just to let you know, B and I will be gone for the next few days. Visiting a friend in the Middle East, shouldn’t take too long.”

Tim’s memory flashes back to what he heard between Jason and Barbara a few minutes ago. He keeps his face carefully blank.

Jason continues, “But when we get back, I’ve got to show you all the books the library has, you wouldn’t believe—”

The balcony doors open, and they whip around to see Jack Drake glaring down at both of them. Tim’s mouth goes dry and he stiffens, smoothing out his suit even though there aren’t any wrinkles on it. Jason doesn’t bother with his own rumpled jacket and only gives Mr. Drake a cool look.

Tim glances between them, attempting to ignore the tension in the air. He gestures to his father, weakly. “Jason, this is my dad, Jack Drake. I don’t think you’ve met.”

“No,” Mr. Drake says, just a tad bit too sharp, “we haven’t.”

They watch each other for another beat, then Jason rolls his shoulders, smoothly reaching his hand forward with too much grace to be natural. “Jason Todd, nice to finally meet you.” Jack hesitantly shakes it, eyeing Jason as if the boy was something particularly nasty lying on the side of the road. Jason grins dangerously, and Tim wonders if Bruce taught his Robins how to act or if Dick and Jason learned it from this. From the ruthless people who wear sparkling jewels and fake smiles.

Mr. Drake takes a step back. He’s intimidated, Tim realizes. He’s never seen his dad intimidated by somebody before. He rests a hand on Tim’s shoulder, his grip close to painful, and Tim does his best not to let that show on his face. But Jason must see it because his eyes get impossibly colder.

“It’s time for us to go, Tim. Your mother finished her meeting early, and she wants to go over several things.”

He doesn’t know where the words come from, but Tim is moving away, not quite out of his father’s grip but it’s close, and asks, “Now?”

It probably means something when Jack’s fingers dig even tighter into Tim’s skin. He tries to ignore it, focusing on the way his father’s mouth becomes a very pale, thin line. Even from behind him Tim can still feel Jason’s stare.

“Now.”

His father lets go suddenly, and Tim nearly stumbles back from the sudden release, the man stalking back into the room and leaving both boys to stare after him. Tim automatically rubs his shoulder, wincing, but drops his hand when he realizes that Jason is watching him.

He swallows and glances at the open door. “Look, I have to . . .”

Jason waves a hand in understanding, but Tim can still see the disappointment in his eyes. Weirdly, it almost makes him feel good; knowing that someone can be upset that he’s leaving. That someone cares. He wonders if his parents ever feel like that and immediately his stomach lurches in disgust.

“It’s fine, I’ll, uh . . .” Jason considers him cautiously, hopefully. “I’ll see you soon, yeah? Show you the library?”

Despite everything, Tim grins slightly. “Yeah.”

Something bright enters the older boy’s eyes when he smiles in return, and Tim’s mind flashes back to Dick telling him how he got lonely growing up in the Manor with just Bruce and Alfred to talk to.

Maybe Jason needs someone just as much as Tim does.

A kinder sensation settles in his stomach: the knowledge that someone wants to hang out. Wants to be friends. Tim does his best to not notice the giddiness that sweeps through him. He looks back through the door and sees his father waiting for him, jaw set. He points his thumb over his shoulder, manages not to walk into the glass window behind him. “Um, bye?”

Jason snorts and rolls his eyes. It reminds Tim of Dick doing the exact same thing to Jason himself. “Later, kid.”

Tim turns and takes approximately two steps forward before looking back. Jason has already lit a new cigarette, the flame of his lighter going out before the thing is tucked into his wrinkled suit jacket. Tim hesitates.

“Jason?” The teenager glances at him, brows raised. “Thanks.”

Jason grins and exhales. Tim’s back is turned and he’s walking into the warmth of the room by the time the wind blows the smoke away.

*****

He shouldn’t have agreed to it.

That’s the first thing Dick thinks when he rolls back into the cave, parking his bike, and striding up to the computer. He glares at the files of the assholes who almost got the best of them tonight. At the incriminating photos given to them by Gordon that showed Penguin’s drop-off territory in the middle of a shipment, a big enough order that it would have been enough to put the crime lord behind bars for longer than usual. Useful photos, too, better quality than the usual security cameras. Gordon only said they were mailed in without a return address, a detail which Bruce had been agonizing over up to the second they went out.

Not that it matters now. He glares at the pictures and resists the urge to sweep them off the desk and onto the floor. The sound of the Batmobile ruins the quiet and Dick curses, reaching up to peel off his mask.

He lets it fall onto the keyboard. He’ll have to replace it: one of the lenses is cracked from when a crook got a lucky shot in.

Tonight hadn’t been a disaster, but it’d been too close.

Dick doesn’t look up when the slam of a car door echoes off the cave walls, Batman’s harsh footsteps followed by Robin’s lighter ones the only thing breaking the silence. He glares into the light of the Batcomputer. The inside of his mouth tastes like iron and he wonders if there’s still some blood between his teeth.

Bruce halts right behind him, and Dick’s shoulders manage to become even tenser. He can feel a cut high on his cheekbone drip blood down his face. Shit, that one will probably need stitches.

“What the hell were you thinking?” It’s the Bat’s voice that asks. Somehow that infuriates Dick even more and he turns to see that Bruce hasn’t even bothered to fucking take his cowl off. He has no idea what’s going on in Batman’s head, can only look at the angry line of Bruce’s mouth.

Some part of him knows that some part of Bruce wants Dick to blow up, to prove that the older man is in the right.

Fuck that.

Dick takes a breath. “You were busy so I went after the perp with the kid.”

“You left our backs completely open, we were surrounded in seconds.”

“A civilian was in danger, the guy had a knife, B!”

“You didn’t even call out, Nightwing.” And, yeah, Dick’s chest gets boiling-hot with the way Bruce says his name. Like Dick could have done better than that. Because Dick’s always supposed to do better. “You went against protocol.”

“I was sort of focused on not letting a kid get gutted. Sorry, for letting that be my priority at the time.” He can feel Bruce’s glare through the eyes of the cowl. Dick continues sarcastically, “He’s fine by the way, ran off the site as soon as the asshole lost his grip on him. Didn’t even lose his camera. And we took down the operation, why can’t you just take this as a win?”

Bruce stills. “Camera? Why did he have a camera?”

“Jesus, I don’t know, Bruce! Probably to take pictures of us or something; civilians tend to do that when we’re fighting in front of them,” Dick snaps.

“What did he look like?”

Dick throws his hands into the air. “Small, grey hoodie, didn’t see his face because he was already gone and then I was focused on getting back to cover you.”

“You should have at least attempted to—”

“So now you’re angry because I was trying to watch your back instead of leaving you open? Make up your fucking mind—”

“I’m angry,” Bruce hisses back, “that you didn’t wait for my orders.”

Dick practically snarls, “If I had waited for your orders there wouldn’t have been a kid left to save.” He steps closer, but Bruce doesn’t move back, so he jabs a finger into the center of the symbol on Batman’s chest. “And I don’t follow your orders anymore. I thought we made that pretty damn clear when you fired me, right, B?”

Bruce goes very still, and for a second, Dick thinks he might have actually rendered him speechless, but then—

“You left.”

And there’s so much to unpack with the way Bruce says that. Too much. And Dick ignores it in favor of curling his lip. “Yeah, after you benched me, permanently.” Bruce looks like he wants to say something else so Dick continues quickly, “Either way, I’m not your partner anymore, and I’m sure as hell not your sidekick. So stop treating me like one.”

“As soon as you start acting like an adult, I will.”

“Could you actually be any more condescending? Is it that hard for you to just respect the people you work with?” Dick says frigidly, moving past his adopted father with controlled ease. Bruce turns after him.

“I’m going to get my stitches redone. By the time I’m back, I want you gone.”

Dick’s heart stumbles and stops, and he whirls around, gaze wide. “What—”

“We don't work together—we're not partners, just as you said." Bruce pushes back the cowl and looks at him with steady, sharp eyes. "Come back when you’re capable of not acting like the child I took in. Then we’ll talk about respect,” Batman finishes. He breezes by Dick and up the stairs, as if he hadn’t just turned his son’s insides to ice and fire.

Dick stares at nothing, his thoughts buzzing around his head, drowning out the sounds of the chittering bats above.

He doesn’t know why the words hit harder than he expected. It’s nothing they haven’t said before, but it just hurts this time. Maybe it’s because he and Bruce never operate together anymore. Maybe it’s because no matter how much Dick pretends to not care about what Bruce thinks of him, he always will.

Still, nothing they haven’t said before. They’ll probably just avoid each other for the next few months, more than they already were. So much for progress.

I want you gone.

He feels a light tap on his arm. “Dick?” He blinks and looks at where Jason is standing next to him.

Fuck, he’d forgotten the kid was even there. Dick’s stomach withers with shame.

Jason blinks up at him, hesitation and concern in his teal eyes. “You okay?”

No.

“I’m always okay, Little Wing,” he manages. Jason winces and looks over at the stairs Bruce had walked up, shifting on his feet.

“Um, you don’t have to do that with me. That whole . . .” He gestures at Dick helplessly. “That ‘I’m always fine’ thing you do. You know that, right?”

Dick’s chest becomes way too tight. His voice catches when he says, “ . . . Yeah.”

Jason’s face relaxes and he grins. “Cool, uh . . . I actually wanted to talk to you about something. I found this stuff on my mom, my biological mom, and I wanted your opinion on what I should—”

“Jason,” Dick interrupts, eyes squeezing tightly shut. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this but he’s tired and bloody and he really needs to either curl up in bed or punch something. “Look, I . . . I care, I do, but I need to . . .” He motions at the zeta tube. The damn thing probably still doesn’t have the Tower’s coordinates up either because Bruce is an asshole.

The younger boy stills, catching Dick’s meaning and probably remembering Bruce’s words.

I want you gone.

Nothing they haven’t said before. It’s fine. It’ll be fine.

Jerkily, Jason nods and takes an awkward step back, looking at anything other than his adopted brother. Dick somehow manages to feel even worse. “Right, I—Yeah, sorry, I’ll just . . . Another time?”

Dick nods, moves to the zeta and starts to type in the numbers. He glances over his shoulder and remembers his motorcycle. The blood in his mouth makes up his mind about driving back to New York. “Hey, Jay?”

Jason looks up hopefully. “Yeah?”

“Watch my bike for me?” Dick points at it as the zeta-tube begins to glow, and Jason’s expression falls.

“Oh, yeah I can do that.” He suddenly perks up. “Can I ride—”

“Don’t even think about it.”

Jason huffs and flips him off, and Dick smiles as he returns the gesture. “I’ll call you, I just . . . gotta clear my head for a few days, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, see you later, Dick.” They both grin.

“Later, Little Wing.”

There’s blue light and he’s back in the Tower.

I want you gone.

The cut on his cheek stings. With Jason no longer around, now he really, really wants to punch something. He walks through the halls, noting how they’re actually quiet for once. Seems like everybody is out somewhere.

Not that he can blame them, that’s what teenagers are supposed to do on a Saturday night.

Even though he should head to the med bay, Dick goes to the kitchen instead. Maybe there’s some pizza left from the other night. But considering that Wally exists, probably not. He half expects the kitchen to be empty, too, but Roy’s in there fiddling with the toaster. The redhead looks up when Dick enters and his eyebrows rise to his hairline.

“Wow, you look like shit.”

Dick throws him a half-hearted glare as he moves towards the pantry. “Could say the same about you.” Roy stills.

Not like he didn’t say anything other than the truth. During the past couple of weeks, the bags under Roy’s eyes have seemed to be darkening and he’s taken to wearing long-sleeves instead of his usual tank-tops. It’s an issue everyone’s been politely ignoring, even Donna, and Dick knows he’s going to have to step in soon.

He doesn’t know what kind of shit Roy’s going through, but he isn’t going to let it drag his friend under and drown him. The problem, though, is getting Roy to even talk about it.

And with the way Roy levels his gaze, Dick knows that’s not going to happen tonight.

“Well, aren’t you peppy.” Roy lays his tools on the table, and Dick stares forlornly at the disemboweled toaster. He’d just bought that one. The other boy follows his gaze and rolls his eyes. “Relax, I’ll put it back together.”

Dick grabs a protein bar and settles across from his friend. “That’s what you said about the blender.”

“You’re only upset about that because you got burned by the lasers.”

“Why the fuck does a blender need lasers? Who even likes the lasers?”

Roy smirks. “Kory likes the lasers.” Dick kicks his shin and doesn’t even feel bad when Roy yelps. “Damn, you’re testy. What? Did Bruce—”

“Spar with me,” Dick interrupts, and Roy shuts up and stares at him for so long that Dick shifts in his seat.

But this is something that they both tend to do when they can’t find the right words, and Roy nods. Dick relaxes, stands, and he doesn’t have to look behind him to know that Roy is following him to the training room. He doesn’t bother taking off his suit and Roy keeps his shirt on.

They make their way to the mats, stopping near the center. Turning, Dick examines the other boy, Roy watching him right back.

It's easy to forget, sometimes, how much the archer sees. How much he notices. Roy lowers himself into a basic stance, tilting his head in question. “Basic hand-to-hand? First one pinned for three seconds loses?”

Dick nods.

“Okay.”

They circle each other, and even though Dick usually waits for his opponent to strike first, he finds himself lunging forward. Roy avoids him easily, but this isn’t about skill; it’s about moving until they can’t think anymore.

Out of all the Titans, Roy’s the one who fights the dirtiest. Sparring with him feels like brawling on the street, all bloody grins and bruised knuckles. Dick kinda likes that about him; no bullshitting or honor in the ways he moves; Dinah’s doing, no doubt. He’s direct and effective and never fucking misses, which Dick is sorely reminded of when Roy lands a punch.

He went into this expecting he was going to lose. He’s half-assing this fight, they both know it, and he thinks Roy finally pins him out of exasperation more than anything else.

Dick grunts into the mat, not even trying to wriggle away from where Roy’s got his elbow buried between Dick’s shoulder blades. Above him, he hears Roy huff, “What the fuck was that, Grayson?”

He kicks at where the ball of Roy’s foot is resting on the floor, taking satisfaction in how Roy rolls off of him with a curse. Dick flops onto his back. “What the fuck was what, Harper?”

Roy sits up, crossing his legs, and shoves Dick’s side. “Why’d you let me beat your scrawny ass?”

“Fuck you, my ass is not scrawny.”

“I can't believe I bother with you,” Roy says to the ceiling.

“You have a scrawny ass . . . “ Dick mutters back, and Roy’s gaze drops back down to him, mouth quirked at the corner. His eyes narrow in on Dick’s cheek. Distantly, Dick realizes that his cut must have split open during their fight, and that blood is running down the side of his face and into his hair.

It’s gross, but he doesn’t care enough to get up and clean it. Roy considers him.

“So. What did Batman—”

I want you gone.

“Fuck, Batman,” Dick snaps, the venom coming from everywhere and nowhere, surging through his body.

Roy blinks.

“Guess the mission didn’t go as planned.”

“He’s such an asshole. He won’t fucking listen to me because he always has to be in the right, can’t even be bothered to compromise. I think he wants me to stop trying and just let our whole fucked up family go our separate ways.”

“He say something like that?”

Dick glares at the lights far above. “Said he wanted me gone. To come back when I could act like an adult, when he really just wants me to stop questioning him and to follow his orders like I’m some mindless soldier. And just . . . Just fuck that! And fuck him, too, for saying it in front of Jason when the kid does not need our drama on top of what he’s—”

“Jay was there?” Roy asks, sitting up straighter, and Dick glowers at him for interrupting his dramatic tirade.

“Jason’s Robin, Roy. Of course, he was there, why wouldn’t he be?”

Roy’s brow furrows. “Yeah, but he’s benched.”

“It was his first operation since—” Dick pauses, frowns, and cranes his neck to look over at the other boy. “How’d you know that?”

“Know what?” The redhead asks, going still as Dick’s eyes pin him to place.

“I didn’t tell you Jay was benched, did Wally?”

Something like realization crosses Roy’s face, and he stares with an expression Dick can’t place.

“ . . . Jason told me.”

Dick sits up too fast, and the world spins for a few seconds. He ignores it. “What? When?”

Roy watches him for a beat, then sighs with the resignation of someone who wishes they’d kept their mouth shut. “Remember when we broke into Bruce’s liquor cabinet and shared our fucking feelings a few weeks ago? And you were late as shit showing up and left me alone until Alfred took pity on me? Well, Jason was there and we . . .” Roy hesitates, searching for the right words, “We had some kind of heart-to-heart session.”

“You,” Dick says, pointing at Roy in disbelief, “talked about your emotions willingly and without the aid of alcohol?”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m not always an unfeeling asshole, you know,” Roy replies. He’s grinning, though, and Dick gestures for him to go on. The smile fades from his face. “Did, uh, Jason tell you about Garzonas?”

Dick stiffens. “You knew about the Garzonas thing? This whole time?”

“Hey, don’t start with me, Jason wanted to tell you himself and I wasn’t gonna get in the middle of that,” Roy says, bristling.

“Yeah, but I just learned about it, and you’ve known—”

“Well, maybe if you hung out with the kid more you could’ve found out sooner,” Roy snaps, and Dick reals back as if he’d been slapped. He turns away to look over at a far wall, guilt churning around in his stomach. Roy takes a glance at his face and sighs. “I know it’s hard for you, and Bruce is an asshole, but . . . he needs someone to talk to, Dick. That someone could be you.”

“Seems like he’s already found that someone,” Dick mutters sullenly.

He knows it’s stupid and petty, and that he should just be grateful that Jason found anybody to talk to about this stuff, but he can’t help the jealousy swirling inside him. Or the shame.

“No, he doesn’t need me,” Roy says too quickly. Dick frowns and looks at him. Roy is staring at Donna’s weight set across the room, pointedly avoiding Dick’s gaze. The tips of his ears are pinker than they were a few seconds ago. Probably just embarrassed that Jason looks up to him or something.

“Why not? I thought you got along, and he clearly likes you or he wouldn’t have talked to you in the first place—”

“Well, it’s not like I can just walk up to the Manor while Bruce is there. Should I remind you that he thinks I’m a bad influence?” Roy mutters.

“Nah,” Dick tells him. “He’s just not over that time you messed with his microwave and gave it robot arms.”

Roy looks wistful. “Fuck, that was awesome. Absolutely worth the lecture.” He shakes his head and gets back on topic. “But now he can hardly stand me. Maybe you could get Donna into the Manor to kidnap the kid so he can help when we have missions or something? She could totally get by Bruce, he’s always liked her the most.”

“That’s because he thinks Donna is responsible.”

“God, I wish he knew how many times she’s helped me hijack Ollie’s cars. Responsible, my ass.”

Dick snorts and then gets quiet. Hesitantly, he asks, “Jay say anything else?”

Roy glances at him, not uncomfortable but uneasy. “Besides the standard Bruce and self-esteem issues that all you Robins have, not really. You showed up and he kinda . . . disappeared. Had to think, I guess.”

“Really?” Dick asks, pursing his lips.

Roy looks away. “Really.” His ears are even pinker, and Dick is pretty sure he’s leaving something out, but he won’t push.

“Well, thanks for talking to him, I . . .” Dick swallows and turns away from Roy. “I haven’t really been there for him as much as I should have.”

Roy glances at him, and something in Dick’s face makes his shoulders droop. “What happened?”

Dick looks down and notices that some of the blood from his cut had dried on the mat. He scratches at it. “He wanted to tell me something about his mom, but Bruce had just told me to leave and I kind of . . .”

“You blew him off, didn’t you?” Roy says bluntly. Dick’s back hunches and he nods miserably. The other boy blows out a long breath, cheeks puffing up from the action. “Not much you can do about it until we get back, I guess.”

“Get back?”

Roy blinks in realization. “Shit, you weren’t here for that, were you? Donna has some space mission she wants us to go on, something about gods or whatever. She didn’t go into the details, wanted to talk to you about it. We’ll be off-world for a week and a half? Maybe two? It’d be a chance to get your mind off of this Bruce bullshit and figure out what you’re gonna do about Jaybird.”

Dick raises a brow. “Jaybird?”

Roy freezes. “Uh.”

“Jesus, you nicknamed him, Roy?”

“I didn’t—”

“For a guy who says he doesn’t care, you’re pretty shit at acting that way,” Dick teases. The pink is back, and Roy rubs at his ears self-consciously. Dick watches him, clearly amused.

Roy scowls. “Whatever.”

“You’re a good person,” Dick chirps annoyingly. Roy shoves him and Dick falls back onto the mat, snickering.

“If you want me to clean your cuts and stitch you back together, you better shut it, Dickface.”

Dick jumps up, still grinning. “Didn’t peg you as a softy, Speedy.”

“Are you asking me to shoot you later?”

He laughs, nudging Roy’s shoulder as they walk to the med bay. Roy doesn’t laugh back, but his eyes are lighter than they’ve been in a while and the corners of his mouth are twitching despite his best efforts.

And even though his cheek still hurts and his mouth still tastes like blood and Bruce’s words are still echoing in his head, Dick smiles.

*****

Tim scrambles through his unlocked window, camera clutched close to his pounding chest. He falls to the floor and just lies there for a moment, panting. The fan in his room goes around and around lazily and he tries to focus on it. Tries to calm the jack-rabbit pulse in his throat.

Tonight had not gone as planned. At all.

As in, he almost got himself killed.

Staring up at his ceiling, still attempting to calm his racing heart, he attempts to organize his brain.

His parents had left early in the morning, he’d even woken up before they’d gone. His mother had kissed him on the cheek and his father had ruffled his hair. It was the most affection Tim had gotten from them in months. But his mother had apparently gotten an amazing deal across during her meeting, so that was probably the cause. Still, it was nice.

He’d lazed around the house, even considered going to the Waynes a few times, but couldn’t bring himself to. Besides, Jason might have already left for the Middle East by then so what was the point?

At nightfall, he’d caught the late bus, hiked until he made it to the docks where Penguin’s shipping operation was supposed to happen. He waited for hours and had thought about calling it quits more than once, but something convinced him to stay.

He honestly still can’t decide if it was worth it or not.

The Bats had come out of nowhere, all three of them, and Tim was so relieved that they apparently made up, that he’d started taking shots of the beginning fight without thinking twice. Didn’t even look around before he started, either.

Stupid.

Incredibly, ridiculously stupid.

The guy had been so quiet and Tim hadn’t even noticed he was there until the back of his hoodie was grabbed by a meaty hand. In his defense, how was he supposed to know that Penguin’s goons had somehow become semi-good at their jobs? And it’s not like Tim didn’t fight back. He’d scratched and kicked and struggled until there was a knife at his throat and the crook started hissing threats at him to give up his camera.

That’s when Nightwing showed up.

One second Tim was sure he was about to be ripped apart, then the man that’d been holding him was getting slammed into the ground by a blur of blue and gold.

And Tim had turned away and ran.

Because he doesn’t even want to know what might have happened if Dick had seen him.

Or . . . maybe Dick had seen him. Tim sits up as if he’d been electrocuted, all attempts of trying to calm himself forgotten.

But, no. No, there’s no way Dick would have let him go if he’d glimpsed at Tim’s face. He’d have chased Tim down instead of letting him make it all the way back home. He forces his muscles to relax. It’s fine.

Shakily, he looks down at the camera still held tight in his grip. The pictures had turned out great, and he still wants to send a few to Gordon, but now there’s a chance that the Bats could trace those photos back to the skinny kid Nightwing had saved.

It’s not worth the risk.

He still kinda wants to, though.

Tim flops back onto the ground, exhausted. With all the Waynes out of town, there won’t be much activity at night anymore. All he’ll have to fill his time is school.

Man, the next couple of weeks are going to suck.

At least he has Bruce and Jason coming back to look forward to. Biting his lip, Tim stares at nothing, debating silently.

He’ll go, he decides. He’ll let Jason show him the library. He’ll let them help.

He’ll show up after they return home, ride his bike down to the Manor. Alfred will remember him and let him inside. Maybe he could help make tea again? He wants to do something useful, not just stand around until Jason appears and starts talking about books.

He could bring his camera with him and show them the pictures he takes. Not of the Bats, obviously. But the ones from when he stays out late enough that dawn comes and the city begins to wake up, the streets filled with mist from the rivers and windows glinting with morning sunlight. He thinks Bruce would like those.

Yeah. Yeah, he’ll go.

And for the first time in a long time, Tim falls asleep without loneliness clawing at his chest.

*****

Everything hurts.

His ribs feel like they’re on fire, and there’s blood in his lungs that he keeps choking on with every breath. Several of his fingers are bent in the wrong direction and he stares at them in sick fascination. Well, he tries to stare. The left side of his face is really swollen.

Distantly, he can hear Sheila screaming and hitting the door. She’s crying and looking at him with huge, teary eyes.

Bruce said he has her eyes.

She yells for help again and he kinda wants her to shut up. She’s making the pounding in his head almost unbearable. Besides, the door is too close to the bomb. He tries to tell her they should move, but his tongue is thick and bloody in his mouth and it won’t work right.

He struggles to stand in front of her instead. He’s dying anyway. Might as well die for someone.

Sheila seems to understand what he’s doing and she shakes her head, takes his face in her cool hands. He wants to hate her. He really wants to hate her. He only shuts his eyes instead.

After a precious second, he realizes that she’s saying something and his eyelids flutter open because his hearing is kind of messed up after getting hit so many times to the head. He stares at her lips and tries to get the words to form.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Oh. He supposes she should be sorry. She left him. She pulled a gun on him. Only smoked a cigarette while the Joker took his time with the crowbar. Maybe he got the smoking thing from her? Her eyes and a preference for cigarettes.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs it into his hair, and he doesn’t know why she’d want to do that because he’s still soaked in blood. Shit, he probably messed up her white shirt, didn’t he?

“I’m sorry.”

He tries to tell her it’s okay, but his throat feels like he’s been swallowing glass and gravel and the words won’t come.

I’m sorry.

He can’t tell if she’s still saying it or if it’s him now.

The numbers on the countdown are getting smaller and smaller. It suddenly hits him that Bruce won’t make it, not this time.

I’m sorry.

He’d promised to buy Barbara a chilidog. Told Tim he was gonna show him the library. Swore to help Alfred with the garden next Sunday.

I’m sorry.

What was the last thing he’d said to Rena? He thinks they ended on good terms, but the memory is fuzzy. He’s fairly sure she smiled at him after class. Oh. He isn't going to be able to finish his part of their group project, is he? Hopefully she'll still get a good grade.

I’m sorry.

His last interaction with Roy hadn’t ended nearly as well. Wish he could redo that. Dick is going to call him soon and his phone will only ring and ring and ring.

“I’m so sorry, Jason.”

Sheila is still talking into his hair. At some point, she’d wrapped her arms around him, but his good eye can still see the countdown. After another second, he relaxes and lets his eyes close. He understands her in a way.

He’s sorry for a lot of things, too.

[do-not-careissa]

K + N?

I'm gonna go backwards and do N first because K got super long. Also, I'm gonna preface this by saying this particular fic idea involves torture and character death so if that ain't your thing, don't follow the read more.

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?

Honestly I'm usually like super possessive with my fics and ideas, it's probably a pretty weird thing but that's just the way I am. However, that fic idea I'm gonna explain with K, I would be so down for someone else to write it because quite frankly I don't think I could do that sorta thing justice or know how much is too much with certain things. I'm also just super anxious about going into certain subjects, and since I tend to put myself in the character's position when I write, well in a fic that would include death or torture you can see where I'm going with this.

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?

So in this idea I had Jason is investigating this unknown group. No one else knows he's doing this, he and the Bats are in one of their off seasons, and really it's none of their business what he does right? So he goes in for his investigating, starts to get dirt on this group, realizes this is far worse than he thought it was. Before he can call in for backup or even just let someone know where he is he's captured.

As can be expected, this is where the torture bits come in. I never really thought about why this group is doing this, make up whatever reason you want, but the gist is Jason knows he's not the only one there. He knows he needs to get out, get the info on these guys to Bruce or the League or someone that can do something, but he's outnumbered, and between that and the torture and the knowledge that he'd be leaving the others, his chances of escape are sliming exponentially.

Til we of course get the day he finally does break out. One of the guards got cocky, got too close or thought Jason was unconscious or too weak to do anything, so Jason's able to surprise him, take him out and take his gun. He's finally got his opportunity, if he's gonna take it he has to go now. More guards are gonna be on his ass soon if he doesn't go. But he can't just leave the others, not in the state they're in. He knows it'll cost him precious time that he could be using to escape, but really that was never the end goal. He knows he's not making it out of here, but he's knows what he can do and that's get the group's info to the League. He still has his codes from his Robin days, he can use those to send the info, that's his end goal now.

So he works his way through the other victims, gets their last words, lets them have the understanding they need, gives them the choice on how to go, before he finally pulls the trigger. With the others free from the pain that's been inflicted on them, he can finally go about sending the info to the League.

He manages to start a transfer from the main computers, even manages to take out one of the head "doctors" along the way, but the inevitable happens and he's captured once more.

The group he was investigating is pissed, as could be expected. Not only had he escaped, not only had he killed all these guards and the doctor, he's taken away their victims and alerted the outside to investigate. They're going to kill him of course, but they're going to make it worthwhile on their end. They think he's going to beg or apologize, try and convince them to let him go, but this is Jason we're talking about. Even as fucked up as he is, as broken and beaten as they've made him, they're the ones left unnerved. "I've come back once already, what makes you think I won't do it again? You think you've won, that this is over. It's not over. We will have our vengeance."

They kill him (I always envision the angel trap from saw 3 for it, imagery and symbolism and all that good stuff). Everyone tries to brush off their nerves. What's he really going to do? He's dead now, he has no power here.

Cue a few weeks later with the Justice League and the Bats. Still no sign of Jason, and by now it's been months since his fight with Bruce and the gang. He usually doesn't stay away for this long, and they're starting to worry even if they don't show or acknowledge it.

The League either gets notified or sees on the news that a few people have gone to the authorities, claiming to be a part of some organization that had tortured people. Others that these people claim to have worked with are turning up dead. The League has no idea what this is, what's going on, but something feels off. Their guts are telling them they need to investigate, find out exactly what happened.

Bruce goes to speak with one of the individuals who confessed. He asks if she was coerced into confessing this, why she's doing this. She says she saw someone, someone they'd killed. This person said their victims would have their vengeance before his death. The woman is rightfully terrified. She believed her best chances would be to go to the authorities, get away from the public, away from the dead man. Bruce asks for a description. She isn't able to give him much, her fear keeping them from remembering exact details, but she does remember a few things. This person's skin had gone pale as a ghost's, their eyes turned into a void, and they wore a green cloak.

Bruce connects the dots, realizes it's probably the Spectre coming back for that vengeance he spoke of before his death. Bruce goes back to the League, has the mystics start looking into locating and contacting the Spectre. While they're doing that he goes through the Watchtower's systems to keep himself occupied and his mind off his missing son, and realizes that there was an attempted data transfer all those weeks ago. He asks the others about it, to which it's explained that the code used for the transfer was so old that the system blocked the transfer. When they look into what the code was, they realize it was Jason's old Robin code, the one he'd use before he'd died to access the tower with Bruce. They rush to recover the data but are largely unable to. All the while Bruce is trying not to have a meltdown. Jason's been missing for months, this data transfer attempt was made weeks ago, the woman he'd questioned said she'd helped kill someone and that someone had come back as the Spectre looking for vengeance. Horror's dawning on Bruce as he realizes what this could mean. But he can't believe it, not yet, that's just not possible. Jason would never...

They manage to pull a location from the data, follow it to find a burned down building, whatever servers or other technology resided there thoroughly trashed or gone. They can't find any bodies, as they'd have burned with the building.

Until someone finds the hatch that leads to the underground systems. And that's where they find Jason's body, still strung up, now decomposing and rotting.

And that's about as far as that idea got for me. A little combination of torture, dramatic character death, the horror of no one having a single clue this is happening, and Jason coming back as the Spectre to wreck the people responsible

Ask meme

[meterokinesis]

Stars as Sharp as Knives

Read it on AO3

Prompt: stabbed

TW: Violence, PTSD, Disassociation

Summary: Tim remembered getting stabbed in vivid detail. The images were horrifying on their own, but together they formed a sick film that played on loop in Tim’s mind. Even after waking up the next morning, and the morning after that, he kept wondering: why am I alive?

Tim remembered getting stabbed in vivid detail.

In a job like this, where you either saved the day or ruined it all, he was used to cuts and scrapes and wounds. He anticipated them even, which the first aid kid he kept in his utility belt could attest to. But getting stabbed that night in the desert was something else.

The sound of steel through flesh. A cruel whisper. Blood, warm and sticky. Sand in his nose and eyes. Cool near-winter wind that ruffled through his hair. Dirt under fingernails. The weight of a body dragged behind him. Brick walls with metal stairs. A soft bed, with downy pillows stained rust.

The images were horrifying on their own, but together they formed a sick film that played on loop in Tim’s mind. Even after waking up the next morning, and the morning after that, he kept wondering: why am I alive?

This was a question he’d been asking himself for longer than he cared to admit. He was alive because no one had managed to kill him yet, and no more. If the universe had its way, he would be dead eight times over. Tim was just lucky, he supposed. But not lucky enough to escape the nightmares.

He remembered while attempting to sleep in the lavish jail cell Ra’s al Ghul concocted for him. He remembered while training with high level assassins, every time they went for a jab at his stomach. He remembered when Tam hugged him, and his reflex was to make sure she didn’t have a knife. He remembered on his first night back in Gotham, when he had to update his medical records to say “Patient has no spleen after a traumatic injury to the abdomen.”

The nightmares were the worst. They played out the scene in gory detail, each time with a new sort of reverence for Tim’s suffering. It wasn’t always the Widower who stabbed him; sometimes it was his father, or Jason, or Damian, or the mugger that killed Bruce’s parents. On bad nights, it was Bruce. On worse nights, it was Stephanie.

The nightmares persisted long after he defeated Ra’s al Ghul at Wayne Enterprises, long after Bruce finally returned and Tim was welcomed home with open arms. No, they lasted for months--every night a sick remembrance.

                                     ____________________

The first time he sparred with Dick after ending Ra’s plot, he used the new skills he picked up at the Cradle. At first they traded blows lazily, wearing down the floor by walking the same steps of a familiar dance. Then Tim dared to spin out--try one little move--and the game was afoot.

Tim didn’t pretend that he was better than Dick--he knew he wasn’t. But he had more range and was the better strategist, so at least their spars were interesting. They danced around the mat, neither submitting. Like all of their practices, it went until someone gave in or passed out. The Waynes never called out.

Dick went for Tim’s shoulder with his escrima sticks, which Tim blocked with his bo staff. By the time he registered the other stick moving toward his stomach, it was too late.

Forgoing all sense of etiquette, Tim roared and swung out with his staff, trying not to relish in the feeling of it connecting with Dick’s head.

“Jesus, Tim, what was that?” Dick’s voice floated from somewhere above. “I know we didn’t specify ‘no headshots’ but it seems like a giv- holyshitareyouokay?” It was then that Tim realized he was sitting on the ground, his head between his knees and his hands protecting his neck. In a way, he looked like the tornado drills they made him do at school, even though Gotham never had tornadoes. His body didn’t feel entirely real, like instead of inhabiting it like always, he was merely borrowing it for a second.

Dick’s voice, no doubt saying something reassuring, murmured in his ear. The words all blended together in a soup of pleasant sounds, one that Tim didn’t even attempt to decipher. Somewhere in the haze, he heard the telltale click of the comms, followed a few minutes later by heavy footfalls.

Bruce’s gruff voice took over for Dick’s soothing one, asking him questions that he didn’t know how to answer. Even if he could, he wasn’t entirely sure his mouth was still a mouth, let alone one that could form words. Instead, his brain gave him a front-row seat for the premiere of his least favorite movie in existence, where Dick stabbed Tim in the abdomen, his face contorted into something evil and totally unlike Dick. The Not-Dick didn’t stop after the first time, of course. Instead the scene rewinded over and over again, like a broken film from a museum about the tragedies of war.

Tim didn’t remember anything past that.

                                      ____________________

Tim woke up in his bed at the Manor, his heartbeat thunderous but slow. He opened bleary eyes to see Bruce sitting in the armchair near his window, reading a copy of the Wendy the Werewolf Stalker comic tie-ins Bart had given him last year for Hanukkah.

“Good morning. Or, should I say, evening. You almost slept for a full day,” Bruce said warmly, closing the book.

Tim didn’t return his tone. “Why are you here?” He demanded, clutching his blankets where they fell on his lap.

“Do you remember what happened last night?” Bruce avoided the question with trained ease, something Tim saw much too often in himself.

“I- Yeah. A little.” He remembered Dick stabbing him, but that couldn’t be Dick, right? They were in the desert, and it would take at least a day to get from the Syrian Desert to Gotham. His hand wandered over to his stomach. No open wounds or bandages, but there was a long scar.

“You disassociated. Do you know what that means?” Bruce asked, and Tim nodded mechanically. “We think that something during sparring practice triggered a trauma response.”

Tim heard the words, but he wasn’t sure his brain was following all the way.

“I’m fine, B. I just freaked out a little. No big deal.”

Bruce leveled his dad-stare at Tim. “Tim, with all due respect, that was not ‘freaking out a little.’ You were curled up in a ball on the mat, refusing to speak to us. When we managed to coax you into a sitting position, you attacked me. We had to put you in a safe hold until you calmed down.”

Tim opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“I think we need to talk about this. I understand if you don’t feel safe yet, you’ve been through a lot over the past year. I love you and I want to be here for you, but if a professional would help, we can do that too. Dick knows this guy in Metropolis-”

“No!” The word was out of Tim’s mouth before he could stop it, followed by a torrent of others. “I don’t need a shrink. I’m fine. Can I leave now? Or are you going to keep me prisoner like he did?”

“Of course not,” Bruce said, his voice heartbreakingly gentle. “This is your home, Tim. You can come and go as you please. However, I think we need to talk about-”

“Cool. Later.” Tim rolled out of bed and tugged on shoes and a jacket as Bruce tried to reason with him. They both knew that he could try to keep Tim here, either with logic or the threat of getting grounded, but neither would work. At his best, Tim was tenacious. At his worst, he was stubborn.

Tim traipsed down the grand staircase as Bruce followed behind him. Damian glowered at him from the sitting room, but at least he didn’t say anything. Dick was nowhere to be found. Tim pushed his way out of the manor, a small smile of satisfaction crossing his face when the door slammed and cut off Bruce’s pleas. It reminded him of every bad teen movie he’d ever watched, except the exhausted dad and pushy mom were replaced by Batman. Wasn’t that every kid’s dream?

                                       ____________________

He wandered through Bristol township, avoiding the spots he knew the paparazzi liked to frequent. Wouldn’t that be a million-dollar picture: Bruce Wayne’s high-school-dropout-turned-CEO son walking through the sea of McMansions in converse, a kid’s tracker bracelet, pyjama pants, and Cass’s purple NorthFace.

He was on some cul-de-sac where every house looked the same when he heard the telltale swish of someone following him. He didn’t turn around, just kept up his leisurely pace. Either they’d announce themselves, or they wouldn’t.

He got his answer when a hand snaked over his chest and a body pressed against his back, stopping him in his tracks.

“Hello, Detective,” Scarab whispered in his ear, and Tim’s veins turned to ice. Her hand cupped his face, and she slid around to his front. Tim didn’t believe in God, but he had no doubt that she was Satan incarnate.

“I have a gift for you,” she purred, her hands tracing his sides and back. He didn’t dare respond. “It’s from your friend.”

Tim swore his heart stopped. Ra’s al Ghul didn’t send gifts, he sent warnings. And threats. And death. Which is why he wasn’t entirely surprised when Scarab drove a knife into his chest with a sort of tender ruthlessness. She guided him to the ground, left a ghost of a kiss on his temple, and stepped out of view.

Tim lay gasping on the pavement, trying not to bleed out. His fingertips brushed the bracelet, weakly holding down to send out a tracking signal. If he was lucky, they’d see it. If not, then he’d die. It was that simple.

The stars here were dimmer than the ones in the desert. It was all the light pollution, he knew. Same stars, but an altogether different sky. There was a metaphor there somewhere, but he had lost too much blood to focus enough to find one.

His eyelids felt heavy, and it took everything in him to keep them open. Bruce would be here soon. He had to be. He was Batman, that’s what he did.

As Tim staggered through each breath, he couldn’t help but remark the irony of it all. He’d spent all this time worried about one old wound that he hadn’t seen the next one coming.

[daddysfangirls-marvel]

Goth Boss

Request 

warning: fluff, language, angst

summary: Tony stark x daughter goth reader. The avengers find out that Tony has a secret teenage daughter and make tony ask her to visit. But when they meet her the avengers find out why she was kept secret.( could bucky and Steve he terrified of how y/n looks since they are from a different time and seeing a goth girl for the first time scares them) (tony has a strained relationship with y/n as she grew up without him and he kept her secret) 

It was dinner time and everyone was sitting at the table eating peacefully and having conversations. Everyone expect Clint who was just staring at Tony intensely. Tony tried to ignore him but it was really hard to ignore the eyes burning two holes in his head.

“Alright, what is it? what do you want?” Tony said dropping his fork and glaring back at Clint.

“Remember, when you met my family and you were kind of upset and made a lot of jabs at me hiding my family. That was all very hypocritical seeing as you have a teenage daughter you’ve been hiding” 

Now that got an uproar out of the entire table. Tony tried to get up and leave but everyone pulled him back into his chair. They bombarded him with non-stop questions from every end of the table to the point he couldn’t even get in to answer.

“Can we meet her?” Peter asked everyone quiet down and waited for Tony to say yes he never denied Peter anything he was like his own son.

“Listen, kid, I don’t think-”

“Yes. I went through your phone and called her up it took some convincing but she’ll be here Friday afternoon.” Clint smiled slightly.

“So did what now,” Tony said standing up.

Clint knew what he was doing. He picked up on Tony and his daughter’s strain relationship as soon as he picked up on the phone, which by the way took a dozen calls before she actually picked up. He wanted to know why the relationship was so strained and too meet Tony’s mini-me so he convinced her to come over tomorrow after school. Of course, he told a small fib about Tony being hurt a bit to actually get her to agree to come along. He was curious about their relationship. She was his only daughter yet they wanted nothing to do with each other.

“She should be here on Friday after school.” Tony was up and out the door before Clint even finished talking. This was going to be very interesting.

-

Tony had just emerged from the elevator after being ghost all week and went straight to the bar. After dinner, he had barricaded himself in his lab and this was the first time anyone had seen him since. There was a ding signaling the elevator and Steve jumped up prepared to greet their guest.

“Hello, my name is -Woah,” Steve said taking several steps back and retracting his hand. In front of him was a teenage girl covered in all black. In black boots, a short black dress, black tights, a black leather jacket, black lace fingerless gloves, a black beanie on her head, dark makeup eye shadow, eyeliner, black lipstick, all top off with a single ring piercing hooked in the middle of her bottom lip. And Next to the goddess of darkness stood their happy sunshine, Peter. He waved.

“Hello Woah, (L/n), (y/n) (l/n)” she said with a blank expression

Bucky stepped up “This is actually Steve, Steve Rogers. And I am Bucky Barnes” He stepped forward offering his hand she looked at him for a moment before actually taking his hand extremely slow.

“I’m Natasha, this Clint -”

“The guy who called me”

“Right. And everyone else. Wanda, Vision, Sam, Bruce, Rhodey, and Thor. We’ve heard-”

“absolutely nothing about me”

“Yeah pretty much didn’t even know you existed until about three days ago. Why don’t you fill us in.”

“He’s not dead or dying” she pointed to Tony who was leaning on the bar with his back towards her drink his whiskey” so I’m leaving”.

And with that, she was out the door and no one stopped her.

“Well that was rude she didn’t even tell us her name.” Natasha scoffed.

“Yeah, I don’t know what that was,” Peter said looking at where she had disappeared to. “ Her name is (Y/n) (L/n) and she’s usually really nice. I mean she’s this sweetest person I’ve ever met. She helps me with my homework, class projects, assessments, We study together... She likes reading, poetry, and books Edgar Allen Poe, Bram Stroke, H. G. Wells, Mary Shelley, and Shirley Jackson. I didn’t even know who those people were until I meet her... She’s an artist too painting and taking pictures. You should see her work it’s truly beautiful, stunning the most breathtaking thing you’ve ever seen I promise.

(Y/n) (L/n) is the kindest, sweetest, caring ...the most beautiful person I’ve ever met” Peter seemed to go into some kind of daze as he spoke about the girl. He just stared off into space as he rambled on and on about the girl a goofy smile plastered across his face. In every other sentence, he mentioned her beauty and by then everyone figured out that Peter had a hardcore crush on the girl.

“Peter’s got a girlfriend ” Sam teased 

“What?! oh no she...” Peter sat on the steps clenching his backpack strap “ She’s gorgeous, she’s a queen, a goddess. and I’m PeTeR pArKer” his voice cracked as he said his own name that got a laugh out of a few people. Tony rolled his eyes.

“Not everyone is what they seem, Kid”

“You don’t even know her,” Peter said standing up the room fell silent Peter never ever raised his voice or spoke against Tony. This was indeed a surprise.

“I’m her father”

“What’s her favorite food, book, movie, tv-show?”

“I- pepperoni pizza, some dark poetry shit, I don’t fucking know”

“her favorite book is the entire Harry Potter series, she doesn’t have a favorite move because she hasn’t seen every movie, her favorite Tv show at the moment is The Boys, and she’s FUCKING PESCATARIAN SO SHE CAN’T EAT PEPPERONIS” and with that Peter took his leave and left the tower. Everyone was shocked.

-

“HEY” Peter screamed as he ran trying to catch up to (y/n) she slowed down to a stop allowing him to make it to her side.” I’m sorry I... I didn’t know Mr. Stark was your father.”

“No one did, Bug boy, that was the point.”

“B-bug boy, I don’t-”

“Yeah, I know your secret you’re shitty at hiding it.”

Peter shook. Truth be told they have never had a conversation outside of the classroom and all of those conversations were about class and the assessment or test they were handed. The only reason Peter knew so much about her is that he was a nasty habit of eavesdropping on her conversations with others. He didn’t even know if she knew the first name she only ever called him Parker.

And Honesty on (y/n)’s part she knew a lot about Peter. She only began to pay attention to him when she heard he was Tony’s intern. She wanted to make sure he was okay and taken care of. And while observing him she does one he was spider-man, I mean come on she saw his suit hanging out of his bag anyone with a pair of eyes could connect the dots pretty easily, and two Tony treated Peter than he had ever treated her. Knowing that alone severed any friendship or relationship between Peter and (y/n) before it could begin.

“I haven’t and won’t tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you”

“But seriously you have to work on your lying skills. I figured it out in less than 10 minutes and that was only because I was taking a test and had to divide my attention.” Peter laughed as he took a seat next to her on the train.

“Can-Can I ask a question? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to I mean it’s a personal question and I would get it if you didn’t want to hear it. I probably shouldn’t even ask it because it isn’t any of my business.-”

“Give me the god damn question Parker before I leave you on this train.”

“Why don’t you like you your dad?”

“I was conceived through a one night stand. My parents weren’t stranges they knew each other beforehand they were friends but after that night he didn’t want anything to do with her. It took him a while to find out about me as he wouldn’t pick up her calls... I’m not like him, I’m no science smart, I can’t build anything, I’m not social, I can’t charm a room, I can’t be a superhero.

I Like history, art, I’m anti-social, I avoid any and all social events, I trip over air, I’m not normal... I’m not you” And with that, she stood up Peter watched as she left the train he was to stun to get up and get off himself even if this was his stop.

She had been jealous of him.

-

After (y/n) meeting with the Avengers Peter became distant spending less time with the team and more time chasing (y/n) who was doing everything in her best abilities to ignore and avoid the boy. She even went far as to skip several classes or entire school days when he was just too much to handle. It’s not that she didn’t like the boy he just reminded her too much of Tony and it didn’t help that he constantly called the boy even in the middle of school, he was always worried about him. 

He never showed that kind of worry for her.

“Hey (Y/n) are you busy this -” Peter tried to ask for the 20th time 

“yes” and she replied with the same answer for the 20th time.

“Like what,” MJ asked she and Ned had Joined in on the whole corner and attack (y/n).

“If you must know I’m babysitting on Friday, Saturday volunteering at the orphanage, and then the senior center Sunday morning.”

“what? Why?” Ned asked as if (y/n) just said something crazy or grown two heads.

“I want to help people. I plan to grow up and get a career in nursing. I like children best but I’ll work with all people. I like making people feel better.”

“Peter You’re drooling” MJ pointed out to said boy as he looked at (y/n) in a daze with a goofy smile as she spoke. He didn’t even hear her point him out.

“Bye” (y/n) began to walk away, that Peter noticed.

“wait, Can I join you? Saturday and Sunday, please?”

“Okay”

“what?”

“Saturday and Sunday you can join me. I will message you the address and times. Don’t be late. I’ll wait.” and she walked off leaving Peter vibrating from pure excitement. And His friends watching the goof he was.

-

Peter was in the mirror as he straightens his shirt preparing for his date. was it really date? She had invited him to come along with her and help it wasn’t really a date. She didn’t say it was a date he was just assuming. He probably shouldn’t do that. It probably wasn't a date. He was probably just a tag-along friend.

Even if it wasn’t a date it was something. She was inviting him to spend time with her and that was something. It was an improvement.

“look at you, so handsome,” May said as she came in pinching her nephew's cheeks. He swapped her hands away best he could but with her aunt strength, it was impossible. 

“Stop, you’re crushing me. Go away” 

“You’ve got a date with a pretty girl”

“It’s not a date just going to the orphanage with her to volunteer. That’s all” May smirked as she just walked away. Her little man all grown up.

Peter pulled out his phone getting ready to text (y/n) and let her know that he was on his way but before that could happen his phone rang it was Tony. Tony never called.

“Sir? what’s wrong?” 

“Suit up and swing over we’ve got a mission, kid”

“um...um okay. Okay”  He could do this mission quickly and come back to his date hangout with (y/n). He’d just text her and let her know what was happening and why he would be late but before putting on his suit and swing to the tower.

“Alright, what’s up? Where’s the fire?” Peter asked as he landed on the platform. Everyone looked confused as to why the spider child was here but no one said anything just shrugged it off.

“Come on kid we got to get going.”

The mission was in Texa an enchanted person was there but they weren’t the only people looking for them, Hydra was too. A fight ensued but luckily they won taking down Hydra and saving the enchanted person which happened to be a little boy. The Boy was registered with the Avengers as an enchanted but due to his age,12, instead of joining them he was sent to Xavier's school for gifted youngsters. The only unfortunate thing about this mission as it took so long. It took upwards of four hours to finish the mission and return home. It was 4:50pm when Peter finally made it to the Orphanage.

Peter cursed as he saw (y/n) exit the orphanage. He was more than late.

“(Y/N)” recognizing voice she didn’t even bother turning around instead walking faster “(y/n)” she was heading towards the subway. Looking around to make sure the coast was clear Peter webbed her hand as she touched the railing.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to catch up with you. Why are you running away from me?”

“Because I don’t want to see you”

“I’ sorry I didn’t show up today I had a mission-”

“So you didn’t ditch me”

“of course not. I messaged you explaining I had to go and didn’t know when I would be back and... It didn’t go through.” Peter opened his phone to his last message to her and saw that message with a red exclamation point. “ But I tried to see” Peter showed her the message.

“I’m sorry”

“It’s okay I guess. Saving someone is a good and acceptable excuse” and it was she spent most of the afternoon waiting for Peter’s arrived and was a bit devasted when he didn’t show up. She has a lot of trust issues and although he didn’t promise to show up she still felt duped for believing in him. Now it didn’t hurt so much knowing he at least tried. “ Could you cut me out, please”

“oh, yeah, sorry”

The two of them ended up taking a slow walk home and on the way, they stopped for ice cream and to a long way through the park. The whole way they talked (Y/n) talked about her mother Peter talked about his dorktastic aunt and friends. Peter was very surprised to discover that her apartment was a block away from his place. He ended up walking her to her door.

“I have one last question. You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to. I was just curious. If you don’t like Mr. Stark why did you come to see him?”

(Y/n) didn’t even hesitate to give him  a straight answer “ I thought he was on his death bed I figured I would give him the courtesies than he gave me.”

“I don’t understand”

“I told you I’ve transferred from three schools. The first time it wasn’t my fault someone did something and I was blamed for it, The second time the schools' star quarterback aka the principles son touched and said something inappropriately to me no one believed me, and third time around I got jumped and was beat so bad  they had to put me in a coma.

I use to live in Miami that’s where the quarterback thing happened. My mom wanted to move us away from that and she asked my dad if he could take me until she could transfer in her job, he said no He didn’t want my drama. So I had to spend the rest of the school year there, it was ...rough. Um I moved to New York the next year and at that school, I was bullied by a bunch of rich girls, mommy and daddy gave the school a lot of money so she could do what she wanted. She had ner friends Jumped me and while I went to the hospital and almost died... um when I was in my coma my mother called him and I heard everything he said and it wasn’t nice

“Listen Tony (Y/n) is in trouble-”

“again”

“wait please listen-” She tried to get a word in as she wiped her tears and try to explain the situation.

“No, no, I won’t I can’t, I don’t want to. Every time you call it’s because she’s done something wrong or gotten herself into some trouble. And I’m not bailing her out again.” Her tears were gone and she was filled with rage.

“blaming her out.  YOU’VE NEVER BLAMED HER OUT OF ANYTHING. HELL YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW HER FUCKING NAME YOU CONSTANTLY CALL HER KID.” 

“Every time I see or hear from her there is some kind of problem. She has never brought good news. She is a problem child nothing less nothing more. I’m not taking the blame for her bull shit.”

“(Y/n) is a beautiful little girl with a heart of pure gold and innocence. The kindness little girl to ever walk this earth. She is not a problem child she the perfect child, my perfect child. There is nothing wrong with her. There never was and unfortunately, you’ll never know that.” He didn’t hear that last sentence as she whispered it and he wasn’t going to strain his ears to hear it.

“Tony, what happen you said you’d never be like him?”

“what- What are you talking about?”

“ You’re just like your father” hanging up she threw the phone across the room shattering it to pieces. She sat down and handled her dying daughter's hand.

“ I don’t mean to knock your hero off his pedestal. He’s not a good father at least not to me. I wonder how he’ll treat his future children will they be precious little angels or problems he wishes to hide them, like me... Did you like that answer?” Peter didn’t answer shrugging his shoulders and taking a step back.

“Maybe it’s because I look like this, dress like this or maybe it was because I’m not a boy. Who knows. I don’t. All I know is he doesn’t want anything to do with me never has and never will... Bye Peter Parker”

(y/n) slowly opened the door and slipped inside slowly closing it watching Peter the entire time until the door was closed.

“Where have you been, young lady? it is late the street lights have been on for hours.”

“walking” (Y/n) said in a bit of a daze as she sat down on the couch

“Walking?”

“with Peter Parker”

“Peter Parker? Oh, the boy you don’t like but talk about constantly”

“MOM”

-

After their late-night walk, Peter and (y/n) became close and good friends. They were constantly hanging out together before and after school. Aunt May met her and immediately liked the girl after hearing about her relationship with Tony Stark she decided she didn’t like the billionaire as much anymore no matter his treatment towards her nephew he was neglecting his own daughter. May had invited her over for dinner along with her mother and her mother had returned the generous act by inviting them over as well. The two little families were becoming close.

-

“You’re in a rush kid.”

“Yeah, I got somewhere to be” Peter answered vaguely. All the answers he gave Tony recently were vague.

“Where is this place you need to be? a date?” Natasha asked wiggling her eyebrows mischievously.

“no, no, Aunt May and I are going to dinner with (y/n) and her mom”

“You’re still talking to her”

“Yeah, she’s my friend did you think I was going to stop hanging out with her just because she’s your daughter.”

“Her mom still bad-mouthing me?” Tony asked. He expected it they were bad-mouthing him as Tony had been distant recently or more like when (y/n) showed up.

“No Mr. Stark they haven’t been bad-mouthing you. Honestly, they don’t even talk about you they avoid any topic that will somehow lead to you.”

“Then why have you been distant lately?”

“Usually when I talk to you it’s about my day and I’m now spending my day with (y/n). I didn’t think you want to hear about that... plus she has deliberately asked me not to tell you anything about her” Peter said that last thing really quickly and tried to make his way to the elevator as an escape.

“What do you mean by that?” Bucky asks successfully making Peter stopped in his tracks the young boys sighs heavily before spinning around and facing Tony who was sitting at the bar. Peter had a look of guilt and dread as he spoke.

“You don’t want her or at least you act like you don’t. She believes if you don’t want her you don’t need to know anything about her.”Peter wasn’t looking up anymore so he didn’t see the look of anger and pain take over Tony’s face “ And honestly, she’s constantly on my mind so I don’t know how to talk to you without mentioning her so I simply stopped talking to you. She’s important to me I’m not going to lose her because I blabbed to you about something I shouldn’t have... I should go before I’m late for dinner.”

Tony poured himself a few more glasses of whiskey his eyes were burning and a headache began to form. The others cleared the room Bruce and Clint were the only ones left with Tony.

“Tony, why didn’t you tell us about your daughter?” Bruce asked in a gentle voice. He could tell Tony was on the way to getting drunk now was the best time to ask him.

“... I wasn’t ready to be a father I was still in my playboy phase I guess... She’s not normal she’s not like me or her mother I didn’t know what to do with her, I still don’t.”

“But she’s your daughter. I don’t completely understand my children their not exact copies of us they’re going to be different.” Clint said placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze“ I don’t understand how you could leave your daughter because she was different and I don’t believe that’s why you left her. So what’s the real problem?”

Tony looked up at bruce “ I was scared to be like my father and I was scared she’d be just like me. Best way to avoid that is to avoid her altogether. She won’t end up like me or who I use to be”

“Tony the best way to assure she’ll end up just like you is to treat her like your father treated you. Which is what you’re doing”

“I didn’t mean to” Tony looked like a small vulnerable child who had just discovered that he had done or been doing something really bad. He was nearly in tears. Bruce pulled him into a hug “ I just don’t know”.

“It’s alright, we’ll figure out. Let’s go rest for a while”

Bruce moved Tony off his seat and maneuvered him towards the elevator trying to walk him to his bedroom for a few hours sleep. He knew Tony would wake up and skip off to his lab sooner or later. Clint watched as Bruce lugged Tony away he wasn’t wasted he was just processing a lot and that apparently took his legs away. 

Clint simply didn’t understand. He could never abandon his children they were his everything. He just couldn’t imagine his life without them he probably wouldn’t have a life if they weren’t in it. He was a very reckless man but the thought of his children always grounded him and brought him back.

This was just too much Clint was going to schedule some time away and with his family. It missed them. He’d be sure to hug his daughter when he saw her.

-

In the living room (y/n)’s mother and Peter’s Aunt were squealing over baby pictures while the two teens were in her bedroom trying to escape embarrassment. 

“I didn’t even know my aunt brought my baby pictures” Peter groaned as he flopped on her bed

“My mom probably messaged her beforehand. She does stuff like that, she likes to embarrass me.”

“Yeah. But you know she’s right”

“About what?” (y/n) asked as she laid down next to Peter.

“You made a very cute baby” and that got him a pillow to the face he laughed as she pouted “ And even as you aged that cuteness hasn’t gone away” (Y/n) smiled giggling slightly.

“Do you realize what you just said?”

“Yes, I’ve been working up the courage to say it for the past 20 minutes.”

She giggled some more bopping his nose “Keep giving me compliments like that and you might get somewhere, Pretty Boy.”

“Ya think so?” He turned to her. They really close a few inches between them he could feel her breath on his lips and she could see the brown glow in his eyes.

“Yeah”

“Can I ask you something?” she nodded “ We’ve been having a lot of these dinners and they’re sort of like dates”

“with our aunt and mother but yes”

“So I’ve taken you on a lot of dates”

“I guess so, where is this going Peter?”

“W-would you be my girlfriend?” (y/n) laughed as Peter stuttered. He was just so cute. He blushed and tried to look away but she placed a hand on his cheek.

“Where did that courage go?”

“I-I think I ran out, sorry”

“Yes, Peter I’ll be your girlfriend. But under one condition. You take me out for ice cream.”

“Of course” Peter leaned forward kissing her she hummed into the kiss before pushing him away.

“Like right now.” Peter laughed.

-

“Mommy, I’m home. You will not believe the day I’ve had. Peter brought me flowers there was a spider in them. It’s gone now. Aren’t they... beautiful?” (Y/n) walked into the apartment she saw her mother standing arms cross glaring hard at someone in the living room. Looking around the corner she found Tony Stark standing stiff in the living room. He smiled as he saw her she cringed.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to see you I’ve come to talk to you”

“I can kick him out if you want,” her mother said not even looking away from him.

“No, let's see what he wants first. Can you put these in a vase, please?”

“Of course love”

(Y/n) nods for him to follow her and she leads him to her room. Tony had to take a deep breath as he entered her bedroom because it was... dark. She had black curtains, black bedsheets, black bookshelves, and dark painting covered the walls. The bookshelves against the wall were filled and stuffed with books and there wasn’t any dust meaning she read them all regularly or dusted regularly, Tony was leaning towards the first one. In one corner of the room were canvas and paints and in another was a desk where her laptop was.

“I didn’t know you painted,” Tony said picking up one of her canvases it was truly beautiful.

“Yes, I sell them online. I’m sure you’re not here to talk about my painting, Are you Mr.Stark?” She called him by his surname he was a direct jab at him meant to hurt him and it did its job but he wasn’t going to let it show.

“Yes, actually. I want to know about your painting and your books, and school work. I’d like to know everything... I know I haven’t been good to you I’ve been an absolute dick and three is no excuse for it I was just being a dick. I just... I’d like to to start over.”

“I’m 16, I think it’s a little too late for that.”

“I guess I’m a bit late.”

“A bit late would have been when I was 5, Mr. Stark. Really late would have been when I was 10,... I’m 16... you never showed up.” Tony cleared his throat and put down her painting.

“I’d like to start over”

“From where? Half the book has been written already. I’m not going to start over for you when so many people have already been written in.” Tony sat on her bed as she sat on her window seal he sighed.

“I know I’m not the best I don’t deserve to be your father but I would like to be involved in your life in some way. Hell, I’ll be your bank if you want.”

“I don’t want your money... What made you change your mind?”

“I had a shitty father and I promised myself I would never be like him but look and behold I’m just like him. I just ... please give me another chance.”

“alright” (Y/N) said not even looking at him Tony jumped up 

“Really?”

“Don’t mess up”

Tony smiled he looked around the room he was really happy he didn’t know what he was supposed to do with himself. He was just standing there like a fool.   “ Should we-should we go do something together? Ice cream or dinner?”

“ No I have a study date with MJ in30 minutes and  I’m having dinner with Peter later on tonight. If you really want to do something how about you go talk to my mom you hurt her more than you hurt me. I’m going to head out.”

“you right. Can I have this?” Tony picked up one of her paintings she just glared at him. He took that as a yes putting a hundred dollars on her desk and backing out of the room with the painting.

“Hello,” Tony said Awkwardly as he stood in the middle of the kitchen clenching on to  (y/n) painting. (Y/n)’s mother was busy running around cooking her way of staying claim staying busy “ Um I’d like to talk to you”

“About?” She said angerly

“Everything”

-

“The goth Boss has arrived” (Y/n) said as Aunt May let her in she twirled showing off her new dress.

“oh, you look beautiful, sweetheart. Peter tell her she looks pretty” praised her and demanded her nephew do the same.

“She looks beautiful she always does” 

“Smooth Parker. Real Smooth” (Y/n) said as she wrapped her arms around his shoulder kissing his forehead.

“What are yo u doing here? I was about to go pick you up”

“Um... Mr. Stark is my house. He’s talking to my mom right now. He says he wants to change things he wants to be there now.”

“A bit late for that” May mumbled under her breath but the teens clearly heard it

“ I ... I think I’m going to give him a chance.”

“well, whatever happens, I’ll be there to support you through it”

“Thank you” And they kiss. And Aunt takes a picture of this kiss but they didn’t know that.

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@acupofhotlatte

[scaryscarecrows]

Gaslights Cast

EVERYONE’S HERE GOOD GOD.

Penguin

Oswald Cobblepot/the Penguin: local crime lord. If asked, he’s been lucky with his nightclub and dabbles in imports and exports. This is true. The I&E is, like, 95% illegal. Oswald also has a tight grip on several of the local street gangs, and he absolutely has his fingers in a lot of pies. Rats don’t cross the street without him knowing, but he’s an easygoing sort. Usually. Oswald is a second-gen immigrant from Russia; Mama Penguin speaks very little English and her son spends at minimum one weekend a month making sure her bills are settled and all that. (Usually more. Oswald has no qualms about stabbing a man ten times, but he adores his mother.)

Dove Marquis: on paper, Oswald’s personal secretary. In practice, manages half the business. This is intentional; it’s 1895, in the event that he gets arrested, literally nobody is going to suspect a woman of managing a whole-ass crime syndicate. She can keep things from going up in smoke until he bribes his way out of jail. Dove is also occasionally the Beard; she has a red wig so things don’t get awkward. She is a third-gen immigrant from France.

Olga Bykov: Oswald’s housekeeper on paper and his at-home bodyguard in reality. Do not fuck with her. She has a meat cleaver on her person 90% of the time and will just, like, body slam you otherwise. (He’s scared of her. He should be.) Olga is a first-gen immigrant from Russia-she came over when she was about five-and spent her teenage years robbing graves for the medical students.

Edward Nygma: Technically he works with rather than for; Eddie runs an antiques shop that Oswald’s, er, interestingly acquired goods frequently go through. He’s got buyers all over the place and his own random connections, including a very nice professor interested in chemistry. :p Edward is a Gotham native.

The Cranes

General: They work as a pair; you don’t see one without the other very often, and even then, they’re not far. Scarecrow likes to hear himself talk, while the Grey Lady is dead silent. Both of them work on horseback-easier to run down victims that way-and communicate over long distances via whistles. They don’t come out in the daytime hardly ever.

Jonathan Crane/the Scarecrow: Psychology professor at Gotham University, specializing in phobias. Dabbles in chemistry from time to time. While his modern-day counterpart doesn’t care who gets caught up in his experiments, Gaslights!Scarecrow has a taste for churchgoers on account of his...unfortunate...upbringing. His fear toxin was created by accident, but that started giving him ideas. He is technically local, but after his parents died when he was small, his great-grandmother took him in and as such, he was raised in Georgia. Unfortunate, that, given the war and all.

Scarecrow’s horse is a Friesian; a black mare named Carmilla. He usually paints her up with phosphorus, a la The Hound of the Baskervilles, to give her a more frightening appearance. Apart from his chemical weaponry, he carries a scythe.

Kitty Crane/the Grey Lady: Modern Kitty is not enamored with the alter ego thing. Gaslights!Kitty has dressed up like a Ring Wraith for women’s rights. I’m not even kidding. Jack the Ripper-or, more accurately, the polices’ failure to handle Jack-pissed her off. The public’s lack of care did not help. Kitty is British, though her parents moved to Georgia when she was small; she and Jonathan are childhood friends. 

Kitty’s horse is an early relative of the modern-day Thoroughbred; she values speed and agility over pants-browning terror. He is grey and named Verne. She carries a sword and she is good with it, both on and off the horse.

The Robins

General: As kids, they went from being under Penguin’s wing (hahahahaha) to working with Batman. Then Jason died and that was the end of that. :/ As adults, they work as a group, and their methods are closer to the modern-day Red Hood than Batman would like. Jason and Tim are local, Dick is, as he puts it, ‘a citizen of the world’; he was literally born on the circus train.

Dick Grayson/Bluebird: The oldest. Dick considers it his job to take care of the other two whether they want it or not, and Heaven help you if one of them gets hurt and it’s your fault. He’s been the older brother since he was nine, y’all, he’ll destroy you. That said, he’s the charmer of the lot-Olga adores him, which is saying something-and usually the spokesbird when it comes down to it. He retains his circus background, and calling their little trio the Cock Robins was his idea. His current name is actually from the Asian Fairy-bluebird. Look it up. It’s a little birdified Nightwing, I swear. Costume-wise, he’s his usual black and blue (WITH FINGERSTRIPES GODDAMMIT), with multiple nasty surprises included; he does carry batons, but he also carries a crap-ton of throwing knives, studded brass knuckles, and a garrote. He’s not as lethal as Jason can be-usually, anyway-but he is the most unsettling to watch, if only because he’s a fast, flexible bastard. Half the underworld’s convinced he’s not human. Adorable Baby Dickie was a big fan of ‘circus’, which consisted of him screaming, ‘GET READY!’ and hurling himself over the balcony to (hopefully) be caught by whomever was passing by. Dove lost ten years from that. Olga and Bruce usually just snatched him out of the air.

Jason Todd/Shrike: The middle child. Died. Got better. Jason runs a little more supernatural than sometimes; he has a white streak in his bangs, he’s sensitive to ghosts (he hates this) and he’s got two scars from his untimely demise; a roundish one on his ribs from being impaled, and an autopsy scar. Ra’s found him quite by accident post-resurrection, but keeping him proved to be. Futile. He’s furious with Bruce for leaving his brothers to do the right thing (kill the clown) and is, by far, the one you don’t want to meet in a dark alley. He doesn’t prefer guns, because they’re unreliable; instead, he favors the kris blade he stole from Ra’s on his way out. As per usual, he grew up in shoddy circumstances-Catherine died of lung cancer-but he’s got a knack for languages...barring French. He sucks at French. He turns everything into something very inappropriate no matter how hard he tries not to. Costume-wise, he’s dressed in a soldier’s uniform that he’s dyed black (’good soldier’, my ass, Bruce, HERE YOU GO) and while he did attempt to go with a red helmet at first, it was metal, it dented, and he ended up going with a rudimentary gas mask and red goggles instead.

Tim Drake/Finch: The baby. His brothers call him Baby Bird to piss him off. He wonders why he loves them. Tim comes from money; his parents died under mysterious circumstances and his uncle essentially went, ‘fuck this’ and, ah, disappeared him. It was an outright murder attempt, but even though it failed, the public thought otherwise. Good luck proving anything in the 1800s. (Penguin knows. Bruce has his suspicions.) Tim’s the more technical-minded of his siblings, which can lead to bad times for criminals. He has the Sherlock Scan down pat, which means he can and will find weak spots to exploit...and has the knowledge of how to make that excruciating, yet survivable. Costume-wise, Tim’s gone with a variant of the plague doctor look; the nose of his mask is shorter, for practicality, but he carries a staff and wears a long coat (all the better to conceal gadgets in!). He’s the least chatty of the lot, but he has a knack for spouting creative threats. (Usually these are directed at his brothers, because they’re awful.) Interestingly, he’s Penguin’s favorite, though not just because he’s quiet; Tim is honestly good Crime Lord material, and it’s not totally unlikely that he’d end up running the empire.

[heroesmusings]

FULL NAME: Thor Odinson

MEANING: Thunder

NICKNAME: Pointbreak

MEANING: It’s what Tony calls him

AGE APPEARANCE: Appears 36, actually over 1000

BIRTHDAY: Unknown

ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: Unknown

SPECIES: Asgardian God

GENDER: Cis male

ALLERGIES: None

SEXUAL PREFERENCE: Pansexual 

THEME SONG(S): Thunder by Imagine Dragons, Sunlight by Hozier, Lover of the Light by Mumford and Sons, Young Volcanoes by Fall Out Boy

APPEARANCE

HAIR COLOR:  Dark Blonde

HAIR STYLE AND LENGTH: At times it can be long to shoulder length but also can be buzzed on the side with a little more on top 

EYES COLOR: Blue

EYESIGHT: 20/20 he’s a gOD

HEIGHT: 6″6′

WEIGHT: 235 lbs

OUTFIT/CLOTHING STYLE: Usually he wears his Asgardian get up but when he dresses down he wears jeans and a hoodie

ABNORMALITIES: Missing an eye

DISTINGUISHING MARKS(SCARS,MOLES): Many battle scars cover his body

SELF CARE(MAKE UP): Sometimes sports a beard

FIRST IMPRESSION ON PEOPLE: He looks big and intimidating but he’s actually super friendly once spoken to  

SKIN COLOR: White to tan

BODY TYPE/BUILD: He’s built like a goddamn GOD, there is no way to explain it.. He’s big and made of pure muscle 

DEFAULT EXPRESSION: He tends to look serious just because he was raised a prince 

POSTURE: Thor has perfect posture he was PRINCE OKAY 

PIERCINGS: None 

DESCRIBE THEIR VOICE: Thor’s voice is deep, with a bit of a forgien accent and when angry his voice carries like thunder 

RELATIONS:

MOM: Frigga

HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: Thor was so close to his mother, he adored her with all his heart and misses her every day

DAD: Odin

HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: Thor has mixed feelings when it comes to his father. He used to think of him as a good man but as things came to light and realized some things Thor has slowly come to realize that Odin was never a good father 

SIBLINGS: Hela, Loki

HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: Thor loves his brother, sees the good in him but Loki doesn’t like him and neither did Hela…. So not well. 

CHILDREN: N/A

HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: N/A

OTHER FAMILY MEMBERS: N/A

PAST LOVER(S): Many one night stands, Jane Foster (ex-girlfriend)

CURRENT LOVER: Bruce Banner

REACTION TO MEETING SOMEONE NEW: He likes making friends he’s really a sweet guy

ABILITY TO WORK WITH OTHERS: Thor is very easy to work with and loves to work with people 

HOW SOCIABLE(LONER,ETC): Thor is vERY sociable he loves going out and being around people 

FRIENDS: Hemidall, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Carol Danvers, Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton and literally anyone else

PETS: None

LEAST FAVORITE TYPE OF PERSON: Anyone who thinks they can take advantage of meeker people 

PARENTAL TYPE(PROTECTIVE,ETC): Playful and Protective 

FAVORITE PEOPLE: Bruce, Steve, Bucky and Hemidall 

LEAST FAVORITE PEOPLE: The Dark Elves, Thaons, 

PERSONALITY:

..WHEN YOU FIRST MEET THEM: He looks regal from a distance but he’s very warm and friendly 

..AS YOU KNOW THEM BETTER(AND THEY LIKE YOU): Teasing, Excitable, Gentle

..AS YOU KNOW THEM BETTER(AND THEY DISLIKE YOU): Gruff, Cold, Confrontational 

FAVORITE COLOR: Silver 

FAVORITE FOOD: a stew his mother would make

FAVORITE ANIMAL: ALL ANIMALS, but he’s partial to snakes

FAVORITE INSTRUMENT: ALL OF THEM?

FAVORITE ELEMENT: Fire

LEAST FAVORITE COLOR: White

LEAST FAVORITE FOOD: Weird midgard foods

LEAST FAVORITE ANIMAL: NONE HE LOVES THEM ALL 

LEAST FAVORITE INSTRUMENT: None?

LEAST FAVORITE ELEMENT: Water

HOBBIES: training, video games, learning anything he can about earth

USUAL MOOD: Usually in a good mood

DRINK/SMOKE/DRUGS: Drinks socially

DARK VERSION OF SELF: Thor would be the perfect weapon, powerful and unforgiving, the realms would tremble at his feet

LIGHT VERSION OF SELF: close to what he is now, happy and unworried 

HOW SERIOUS ARE THEY: IF the situation is a tense one he’s very serious but other than that he’s rather joyful

BELIEVE IN GHOSTS: Yes and no?? He can connect to the allfather but that’s it

(IN)DEPENDANT: Thor thinks himself rather independent but he’s not. He’s very connected to everyone he loves

SOFT SPOT/VULNERABILITY: Talking about any of his family, when people try to threaten the avengers, people hating Hulk

OPINION ON SWEARING: He’s rather clean spoken just because he's a prince

DAREDEVIL VS CAUTIOUS: oooh daredevil

MUSIC TYPE: he leans towards what Steve tends to play, he also loves classical music and typical asgardian music 

MOVIE TYPE: Anything ANYTHING 

BOOK TYPE: Again Thor loves to learn so anything 

GAME TYPE: If it’s Asgardian games, it’s anything that has to do with brute strength or drinking -- human ones he doesn’t really care about

COMFORTABLE TEMPERATURE: Thor likes it a little on the cooler side

SLEEPING PATTERN: When Thor is out HE’S FUCKING OUT, he’s a rock its impossible to move him. 

CLEANLINESS/NEATNESS: Thor is used to being cleaned up after but he is polite so he keeps it as clean as he can

DESIRED PET: ALL PETS EVER

HOW DO THEY PASS TIME: Helping rebuild Asgard

BIGGEST SECRET: I don’t know if Thor really has any secrets? He’s an open book anyone can ask him anything

HERO/WHO THEY LOOK UP TO: His mother, Frigga

WHAT ANIMAL WOULD THEY BE: the biggest puppy dog on eaRTH

FEARS: Bruce getting hurt, anything happening to the avengers, and losing Asgard again

COMFORTS: Being around the avengers, spending alone time with Bruce and training

HOW DO THEY ACT WHEN THEY ARE:

SAD: Thor is a prince, he has always been told to hide negative emotions, so Thor bottles it up, he puts on a brave face because he is a warrior and royal. So for a long time no one knows he’s sad until he starts pulling away and secluding himself 

HAPPY: Thor is like a ray of sunshine, he talks fast, and tends to just want to touch and laugh

ANGRY: ……………………...AN ANGRY GOD IS NOT SOMETHING YOU WANT. It’s pure rage, the sky turns black -- a storm swirls above him and he’s lit up with lightning. He’s brutal and will not show mercy 

AFRAID: Thor doesn’t really fear? He’s never been allowed to fear. He’s a god and he knows his powers but when he is he tries to face it head on, take it by the horns and conquer it. 

LOVE SOMEONE: Gentle, and understanding -- he cares deeply about them and checks up on them often. He’s always around and is expressing his admiration for them 

HATE SOMEONE: He’s cold, which is a VERY rare thing for thor. He doesn’t hate many but its an angry hate, so if he hates you, then you’ve done something so wrong

WANT SOMETHING: He asks permission.. That is what he was taught to do, so he’s polite as he requests whatever it is.

CONFUSED: He wants it explained to him he loves learning okay 

HOW DO THEY REACT TO:

DANGER: THOR LOVES DANGER, but he’s protective if it involves people he loves

SOMEONE THEY HATE WHO HAS A CRUSH ON THEM: I’m sorry if but Thor hate you you are dead no way around it so YOU CANT HAVE A CRUSH 

PROPOSAL TO MARRY: Thor would be ????? so confused. He would have not expected such a thing but he’d of course say yes and would want a human and an asgardian wedding 

DEATH OF LOVED ONE: He interlizes it, he hasn’t ever had a proper way to express his mourning.. He’s still recovering from the death of his family. 

DIFFICULT GAME/MATH/ETC: He’d try the best he can, and usually he figures it out

INJURY: ...he’s a god so he’d just take it as a badge of honor

SOMETHING IRRESISTABLY CUTE: He would want to squish thank you

LOSS OF HOURS OF WORK: Thor doesn’t LOSE hours of work okay he’s always wanted on missions 

KNOWLEDGE:

LANGUAGES: Thor has allspeak so literally everything

SCHOOLING LEVEL: Graduated from formal Asgardian education and warrior school 

FAVORITE SUBJECT (S): Ya know… fighting 

INTERESTED CAREERS: Valkyrie until he realized it was for women only 

EXPERTISE: asgardian physiology, weather manipulation, flight, electric manipulation, combat

PUZZLES: Thor would rather hand them off to someone else so he can do other things

CHEMISTRY: for human, not so great at that because he’s not from earth but asgardian chemistry he excelled in it

MATH: Again, human math? Not so great but Asgard? Expert 

ENGLISH: HE didn’t HAVE ENGLISH 

GEOGRAPHY: he knows how to get to realm to realm 

POLITICS/LAW: Given he’s a prince he had to be very involved in all of it

ECONOMY/ACCOUNTING: Again a prince so its his job

COOKING: Nope not at all, he’s always had things cooked for him

SEWING: Medical sewing he’s okay at

MECHANICS: This is just way over Thor’s head all of it

BOTANY (FLOWERS): Not really interested in all of that 

MYTHOLOGY: HE IS THE MYTH

DRAMATICS(ACTING,SINGING): Not for him, for Loki maybe

READING LEVEL: Proficient in all languages 

HOW GOOD ARE THEY AT PLANNING AHEAD: somewhat? He did have to do battle strategies 

ROMANCE:

DO THEY TAKE INITIATIVE: Yes ALL THE TIME, he’s so touch

HOW DO THEY ACT(SHY,ETC): He’s fairly forward honestly 

GENTLEMAN/LADYLIKE VS KLUTZY: A GENTLEMAN HE’S PRINCE

GO SLOW VS JUMP INTO: With people before Bruce? He usually just jumped right in but he likes taking it slow with Bruce 

PROTECTIVE: uh hell yeah

ACT LIKE FRIENDS OR LOVERS: Both 

WHAT KIND OF PRESENTS DO THEY BUY: Thor likes bringing Bruce all sorts of things from Asgard honestly, anything that he thinks Bruce will like he brings

TYPE OF KISSER: Surprisingly, Thor is a very soft and gentle lover. So his kisses are the same, gentle but VERY through

DO THEY WANT KIDS: i don’t…. Know. i actually don’t think it’s crossed his mind?

DO THEY WANT TO MARRY: YES YES 

MAKE GOOD OR BAD DECISIONS: Uh both, but he likes to think he’s got good intentions 

ARE THEY ROMANTIC: yes OF COURSE

HOW ARE THEY IN BED: Thor’s a god.. And he’s very well versed so sleeping with Thor is truly otherworldly

GET JEALOUS EASY: Actually no, not really

WIFE/HUBBY BEATER: NEVER

MARRY FOR MONEY: LMAO NO NOT AT ALL

FAVORITE POSITION: oh my god.. he for sure likes to top.. Really any position he just likes intimacy 

WHAT WOULD HAPPEN ON THEIR DREAM DATE: DATE ON ASGARD, he wants to treat Bruce to a perfect evening on asgard filled with food and magic and science and watch the sunset over the water

OPINION ON SEX: Sex is almost a ritual to him? It’s a very important and meaningful thing..  He never takes having sex lightly. Its meant to be a celebration of intimacy.

[violetsmoak]

Appetence [3/?]

AO3 Link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/20251420/chapters/47997634

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: Red Robin is investigating the disappearance of a friend and stumbles into a spot of supernatural trouble. He doesn’t expect to be saved by Jason Todd, miraculously alive five years after his death and now with the inexplicable ability to commune with the dead. Meanwhile, when Jason returned to Gotham he meant to maintain a low profile and not get involved with Bat business. That was before he found out how hot his Replacement is.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #incubus (sort of) #paranormal investigator 

Canon-Compliance: Alternate Universe; Jason still died but was not found by Talia when he was resurrected. All other events mostly follow the same chronology as New Earth continuity, with mentions made to events in New 52

First Chapter

Author's Note(s): Bit of a shorter chapter today because I have stuff to do later so I'm updating early.

Beta Reader: I’ll get back to you on that.

________________________________________________________________

It’s another two hours before Jason returns to the East End. It had taken all of his concentration to keep Cole’s ghost focussed on him and his stories, instead of whatever unnamed force might tempt him back to gravesite. After the boy vanishes in the gradual, whispering way spirits do when their unfinished business if met, Jason doubled over at the sudden migraine.

He much prefers when unfinished business can be completed in one place instead of having to carry a phantom passenger with him.

Being tired—and now that he thinks about it, hungry—does not help his bad mood.

Another kid. Another victim of the fucking Joker.

Just how many more kids was the nutcase going to take out? How many more Robins? Because Jason’s seen pictures of the new kid—blurry and imprecise as anything to be found in a Gotham tabloid, but enough for someone with an eye for it to judge some facts—and he’s fucking tiny. It doesn’t matter that the girls in the Bowery where Jason lives say he’s meaner and more dangerous than any of the others. He’s smaller than Jason’s replacement—smaller than that girl even. What the hell is Bruce thinking?

Again, the temptation rises within him to hightail it over to the manor without warning and rip Bruce a series of new ones while he’s too busy gaping in shock to defend himself.

He doesn’t, though.

Knowing Bruce, he’d think it was a trick and beat the snot out of Jason, then stick him in a cell somewhere until he could confirm his identity. Jason’s been behind the door of enough cells to last him a lifetime, and that alone holds him back.

And who’s to say he doesn’t blame me for getting myself killed in the first place?

He knows that’s not likely, somewhere deeply buried inside, but it’s hard to shake the idea. Old insecurities return in full, memories of pity and concern and frustration, and his final moment waiting for his dad to save him and being disappointed.

And then being disappointed again when his wits returned to him and he discovered the Joker was still breathing. That Bruce didn’t deal with it—didn’t kill the fucker that killed Jason and shot Barbara.

He remembers that horrible week, wondering if she was going to live or die, and then being told she’d never walk again. Vibrant, ass-kicking and beautiful Batgirl with her wings forever clipped. In a way, he thinks he’s angrier about Barbara than himself. As Robin, he was always going to be a direct target of the Joker; Barbara wasn’t shot and tortured because she was Batgirl—she was shot and tortured because she was Commissioner Gordon’s daughter.

And after all that, Bruce just put the bastard back in Arkham, where he could have a taxpayer-paid vacation then break himself out again whenever he felt like it.

Something needs to be done about him, and B’s sure as fuck not going to do it.

With every step, Jason finds himself getting a little angrier. It’s a cool rage, different from the volatile mess of hormones and emotions he was as a kid, but it’s still there. Say what you want for the brain damage, but he was so out of it that it’s probably why John’s meditation techniques took when Bruce’s didn’t, tempering him.

He’s still prone to rash action, of course, but for something like this—something as serious as the Joker—he’s going to have to think it through. Somehow, he doubts it’s just going to be as easy as walking into the asylum and shivving the guy. And Jason’s not exactly keen on getting arrested, not after he worked his ass off to set himself up with an identity and a job and everything here in Gotham.

It bears thinking about, and he can’t do anything immediate about it now, so he’ll sleep on it. Something will come to him.

Jason turns the corner, intending to do just that as he heads for his apartment.

Well, it’s not really an apartment. It’s more office space over a bar on the border of Crime Alley and the Bowery. It’s just cheaper to rent an office than an apartment these days; with housing costs soaring, even property in the worst parts of Gotham are wildly out of his price range.

(He’s not a billionaire’s son anymore.)

Might stay out of my price range for a while. PIs don’t make much, to begin with, and my niche is kind of…specific.

Mediumship isn’t exactly a lucrative business, nor is paranormal investigation. Both jobs attract the crazies, but he knows from experience the ones who are legit will pay good money for his services.

Still, the whole set-up isn’t so bad.

He’s been getting his food from the local bodegas and the bar downstairs, and he’s sure after a bit of saving he’ll even be able to go out to the occasional sit-down restaurant when he gets a craving for something gourmet-ish (He doesn’t think about how Alfred could whip up a do that would put the cordon bleu to shame).

Jason sprung for a decent quality sleeper sofa, so it’s not like he’s kipping on the floor and the office even has a bathroom with a shower, which was a big plus when his landlady, Trista, showed it to him. The ambulance chaser who occupied the space before him said he used to work a lot and needed to be able to shower between jobs. He’d also said if he hadn’t been so keyed into his job, he’d have noticed his life falling apart around him and not shot himself three months ago.

Yeah, that was a fun one…

Since helping the previous owner move on and then taking up residence in the cramped office space, Jason’s made a point of warding the entire office against any other wandering spirits.

I happen to have very strict office hours, ta very much.

He pauses on the street leading to his place, his stomach growling again, and decides he’ll head into the bar for a pick-me-up beforehand. Trista, who also owns that place, doesn’t offer a lot in the way of food, but what she does is pretty good. Hers is the only place he’s been so far that can make decent fish and chips.

As he heads in that direction, he notices a familiar face standing on the corner across the street. He decides to make a quick detour.

“Rhonda,” he says with a grin, “you’re lookin’ especially gorgeous tonight.”

“Boy, I don’t need you to tell me shit I already know,” the woman tells him with a sniff. “And if you’re cruisin’ for a lay, I’ll tell you what I always tell you—you too young.”

“You’ve been tellin’ me that since I was twelve,” he grins.

Rhonda is the only person here in Gotham that knows he’s back, and that’s only because recognized him one night while he was heading back from a job. When he first landed himself on the streets as a kid, Rhonda was one of the girls who looked out for him and whatever other orphan was wandering around here at the time. After he was adopted by Bruce, he made a point of checking up on her as Robin, chasing off johns that tried to get over her time (even though she was already pretty good at managing that herself) and buying her food whenever he could. He never expected her to still be here when he got back, but she’d taken one look at him and cursed.

“I knew that story about you bein’ dead was bullshit,” she informed him as she took a drag of a cigarette. “What you do, run off on the rich man or some shit? He been tellin’ everyone you’re dead for years now.”

“To him, I am dead,” he’d replied, not wanting to go into it. “And everyone else better keep thinkin’ that too.”

“Ain’t gonna hear it from me,” she’d shrugged. “But why the fuck did you come back to this shithole?”

“Home’s home,” he had shrugged, and she’d nodded because she knew exactly what he was talking about.

Now, she sizes him up and considers his face. “Rough night, it looks like. You gettin’ in trouble again?”

“Nah, just exorcisin’ some…personal demons. Quiet night for you?”

“Mostly. There was a cape around couple minutes ago, though, so keep an eye out.”

She knows he tends to avoid them.

Jason raises an eyebrow. “Which one?”

Christ, I hope it wasn’t Batman or Robin. Don’t think I could take seeing either of them tonight.

“It was Red. Came through to ask some questions.”

It takes him a moment to connect the name to the roster of vigilante’s he made himself memorize before coming back here. Red Robin is the one he suspects used to be his replacement, probably got graduated or replaced himself when the newest brat was put in the boots.

“He came here?” Jason asks. “Why?”

“Usual mask thing, comin’ down here to talk to the little people who might’ve seen somethin’.”

Jason makes a thoughtful noise, a bit impressed. He was always the only one who bothered coming down here; even Bruce avoided the minor crooks of the Alley after he started getting more invested in Gotham’s rogues.

“Red’s good people,” Rhonda says then, looking like she’s considering something. “He’s the only one that tries with us. Pays good money, buys food—sorta like Robin used to. And you know he’s doin’ it on purpose, ‘cause when he’s around the city, he usually sticks to Chinatown or Tricorner. That’s what the news say, anyway.”

Jason is again surprised. “Definitely goin’ out of his way then.”  

“Hm.”

He thinks about it a further minute and then shrugs. “Anything else interesting happening tonight? You need anything?”

“Yeah, for you to get off my corner so I can get to work,” Rhonda retorts. “Unlike you, I don’t like livin’ off bar food. Gotta be careful what you put in the temple, you know?”

“I dunno, give me a chili dog any day…”

Jason chuckles as she shoes him away, and then continues on his way to the bar. Maybe he’ll pick up something to go—

Just as he’s about to step into Trista’s bar, the hair on the back of his neck stands on end, and he feels a minor flicker of vertigo.

Something’s off.

Turning back to the street, he casts his eyes about, looking for anything out of ordinary to explain the sudden unease. Something nags at him, something that feels…hungry almost.

Since his senses are only attuned to the spirit of the dead, a hungry presence is never a good sign. Ghosts can sometimes become so enraged over their deaths, so tied to the mortal realm, that they become psychic vampires, attaching themselves to the living and feeding off of them like a parasite until they drop from exhaustion.

Fuck. Can’t leave one of those wandering around, if that’s what this is.

He gives an irritated groan and walks away from the bar, turning his focus on tracking the sensation. It’s not exactly calling out to him personally, but it’s still present enough for him to notice.

Jason digs into his pocket, winding his prayer beads around his wrist and checking if he’s still got any iron on him. Nothing big enough to make much difference, but for distraction if it comes to it.

As he reaches the end of the block, Jason catches sight of the cape first.

Damn, I don’t miss the days of having to wear gear like that.

Because that cowl thing the vigilante is sporting is almost as much a tragedy as the green leotard Jason used to sport (they weren’t panties, fuck you very much, they just looked that way—as if Alfred would allow someone to go outside the house in just their underwear). And the cape is so thick it gives him no idea as to the stature or body behind it.

At least this Red Robin guy is smart enough to have a full body-armor suit instead of pixie-boots and a t-shirt.

Might be the only thing he’s smart about, judging by his company.

The too-perfect-looking young man that beckons the vigilante to follow him into the alleyway is all cold blue eyes, sharp smile, and sleek movement. And even if Jason couldn’t read the malevolent aura emanating from the direction of the two men (and that’s a doozy, especially if it’s coming from only one individual), he’s seen that look before in eyes just as cold.

He knows the tactics of an incubus seeking its next meal, and this one seems to have decided it has a taste for vigilante tonight.  

This isn’t really Jason’s thing—incubi are low-level demons, more John’s area of expertise than his. Getting involved would mean willingly crossing paths with one of Gotham’s masks, which he’s been taking pains not to do since returning.

But he’s also not allowing any kind of unrestrained feeding and killing to happen on his turf. And these darkest, dingiest parts of Gotham have always been his. Even when he was trailing after the big Bat.

Plus, this guy is Red Robin.

Jason hasn’t had any particular interest in the growing number of masks cropping up in Gotham over the years, but this guy’s obviously a bird. Which means Jason has a kind of personal connection to him. Call it brothers-in-arms or something poetic like that, even if they’ve never met.

Also, the way incubi feed…no one deserves to have that happen to them, especially in a filthy alley like this one. Jason’s always had concern over consent issues, and with incubi, the way they get that consent literally straddles the line far too closely for his taste. This Red Robin might be Bat-trained, but unless he’s taken a master class in the occult (doubtful, considering Bruce’s distrust of anything resembling magic), he’s being led away like a lamb to the slaughter.

Probably he’s already been ensnared by the thing’s powers and doesn’t even realize it. Like a baby bird in front of a snake.

Jason sighs in defeat and rolls his shoulders in preparation for what he knows is going to be an unpleasant interlude.

“Time to be a hero,” he mutters to himself and stalks toward the shadowy alley where the two figures have disappeared.

⁂

Next Chapter

[thejemersoninferno]

The Wanted.

Pairing: Bucky x reader (Friendship).

Word count: 3576

Warnings: Violence, angst, language...

Death, the nickname HYDRA gave her when she was taken at five years old. Her parents sold her and her adopted sister to the closest HYDRA facility when they heard about experiments and how well rewarded it was. Just one year later, the same innocent six years old killed her parents for HYDRA. Her sister, Life, was kept under the facility to heal their soldiers, their army and their biggest weapon, the Winter Soldier.

Life died at 10 years old, the Winter Soldier lost control and pulled the trigger. Death experimented her sister's death in her own body. HYDRA connected the girls and both felt what the other one was feeling. Life died and Death lived. After long experiments, Death was the best creation they had after the Winter Soldier. You couldn't kill Death.

“You know this is for our own good.”

“I don't want to do it, Papa.” A little girl cried.

“Last time, I promise this is the last time you'll have to do it.” Captain Aniol tried to convince the little girl to commit a crime, again.

“Is sister coming?” She whispered.

“If you don't do your job, yes, she'll come.” He threatened clenching his jaw.

“But I don't like her. She hurts me, Papa, please.” She begged him.

“Finish your mission, Death. Finish. NOW.” He shouted at her.

Death cried and trembled walking closely to the man lying on the floor. He whispered please and she cried louder. He reached her hand and pressed gently, “Please”, Death cried and told him inside his head that she was sorry. She held his face with both hands and sucked the life away from him.

At fifteen years old, Death killed another army of super soldiers by mistake and she was put into sleep until the Winter Soldier escaped. On 2016, after the events of Washington, Death escaped from HYDRA and has been missing ever since.

“Why don't we go have fun?”

“No. Leave me alone. Go. Please!” Death begged.

“I can't. You tried to leave me behind once. Remember how it ended?” Sharp voice sending chills across Death's spine.

“I'm not Death! I'm someone else! I don't know my name but I know it's not Death.”

“Well, you're going to stay anyway.”

“We could be free. Free from HYDRA, free from the Winter Soldier, free from pain, free from Murder!!!” Death yells unable to stand, “I don't want to go back to that life. I am not a monster.”

“We both are.”

A few hours later, Tony Stark received an email from ex-Director Nicholas Fury. The king of Wakanda, T’Challa arrived at the secret meeting place, followed by Okoye, Shuri, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.

“So, I'm the only one who can help uh?” Tony spat at Nicholas Fury with anger.

“Stark.” Fury tried to calm him.

“I'm done working here.” Tony exited the room.

“Told you.” Rogers sighed.

“It's been a while,” Fury interrupted.

“Some people need more time,” T'Challa told them both.

Bucky gently pressed Steve's shoulder. New information has been filtered. An army of super soldiers has been freed from HYDRA and they haven't seen them over a year. Ex HYDRA agents and captains have been found dead.

“So, looks like someone is killing HYDRA biggest targets?” Rogers asked.

“Whoever is doing this, it's coming for all of us, my people have found an encrypted document with our names marked.” Fury replied.

“So, we are someone's targets?” T'Challa marked Fury's words.

“We need to talk with Tony. They're in danger.” Steve ran out of the room.

“Morning princess,” loud laugh echoed the room.

“I want to go,” Death cried, “Let me go.”

“How about not yet? We're going to have fun tonight.” Silence filled the room.

One week later, Tony Stark and James Rhodes disappeared leaving no sign behind. FRIDAY unavailable to be used and seemed like Tony Stark or James Rhodes never existed.

Peter Parker tried hard to find his mentor and friend, Tony. Peter told Ned and both tried to search them.

“We need to call the Avengers,” Ned mumbled defeat.

“THE AVENGERS ARE OVER!” Peter shouted, “None of them cares for Tony.” He sobbed quietly.

“But you do, you care for him and we will find him.” Ned tried to comfort him.

“Sir, there's someone in the building.” KAREN's voice echoed the room.

Both of them caught down guard, Peter pushed behind his back Ned and Ned softly mumbled a no. A loud bang echoed in another room and then a bright light made them close their eyes.

“You're safe.” King T'Challa explained.

“Where am I? Where's Ned?” Peter asked inpatient.

“My sister Shuri is taking care of him,” T'Challa said.

“Actually, they're playing an American video game,” Okoye added rolling her eyes.

“Why are we here?” Peter asked incontinently.

“Let me call someone,” T'Challa explained, Okoye walked through the door and later steps were heard. Peter's anxiousness grew until the familiar face appeared.

“Kid, you can't hack my system. Not again.” A smiley Tony Stark saluted Peter.

“Mister Stark!!! You're alright!!!” Peter jumped to Tony and hugged him, “I mean I'm glad you're fine,” He moved back, “Sir.” His faces turned red.

“Thank you, Peter.” Tony smiled and greeted him with a hug.

“We couldn’t find you, Mister Stark,” Peter explained worriedly.

“It’s alright, kid,” Tony calmed him down, “We’ve seen all you’ve tried to find us.”

“Is mister Rhodes here too?”

“Yes, we are fine.”

“What happened?” Peter focused his moves on Tony.

“We all need to disappear for a while,” Tony explained, “May is here too.” declared.

“Aunt May is here, too?!!” Peter turned around trying to see her.

“Our families are safe here.” T’Challa interrupted.

“Are we in Wakanda?” Peter asked.

“Earth it’s not a safe place, for now, Peter,” Tony told him.

After explaining the events to Peter, the current team worked on a way to find their new enemy.

HYDRA bases have fallen in the U.S. and later someone attempted hacking Tony’s system. Stark, Rhodes and Fury evacuated to Wakanda where a ship to an unknown place was waiting to go undercover.

Explosions, gunshots, flying cars and scared people ran around  NYC, the police evacuated buildings, the FBI fought against professional assassins appeared from nowhere.

Wakanda suffered an attack and the Dora Milaje fought against a small army lead by a ghost or that’s said.

“We need to do something,” Tony declared, “Whoever is doing this won't stop until we show up and fight.”

“We can't fight in a war against someone we don't even know what it looks like!” Steve fought back.

“I don't need an asset, I just need to protect the people who believe in us.” Tony glared at him.

“Mrs Stark is right.” Peter murmured.

“Peter you don't know.” Natasha harsh voice echoed the room.

“You have a problem with me. Not him.” Tony faced the blonde spy.

“Tony, this isn't about you,” Steve spoke.

“Oh, really? Because it looks like I've been watched from all of you since I got in that fucking ship!” Tony spat.

“Then why are you here? Nobody obliged you to join us!” Natasha spat with anger.

“Natasha..” Clint tried to calm her down.

“I called Fury! I wanted nothing to do with you. A long time ago, I discovered I'm not essential in whatever this is,” Tony gestured to the group, “I didn't do it for you. I did it for Peter.” He spat and left the room.

“Mister Stark!” Peter called him out.

“Congrats Natasha.” James Rhodes followed Tony.

Peter looked at everyone and then left.

T'Challa and Fury exchanged a look.

“You know, I kinda like him.” Shuri murmured and left.

Everyone else in the room sighed and left one by one the room.

Fighting an enemy you don't know was pretty mental, even for the Avengers. It was like following a ghost. But that was until Scott and Hope called them. They had someone who knew something.

“So, you know who's behind this?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, right.”

“Tell them, man,” Scott called out.

“Well, so I was at the cinema with my cousin Ignacio, right?” Luis explained, “And we heard these group talking about how Tony Stark is missing and we both go like “woooow Iron Man”, Luis gestured excited, “Then my cousin goes like “So, I know a guy who works for someone who knows Iron Man and is true. He is missing,” and I was noooo the invincible Iron Man and Ignacio goes like “So, these bad people got him because they want to get to the Avengers but Iron Man ain't saying a word” and I knew right? And then Ignacio told me these people is now looking for Stark's son but we knew he didn't have a son so, Ignacio told me to tell Hank to tell Hope to be careful. He's the one with a daughter and then BOOM, I remember my mans Scott has a daughter and I asked Ignacio if he knew where these people were at and he told me to not go because that ain't shit for me and well, he told me to tell Scott to tell the Avengers that they're in Brooklyn's old army facility.” Luis smiled nodding.

“That was quite a story.” Bruce chuckled.

“Yeah right and the movie wasn't that good. It was Green Lantern? Have you seen it?” Luis asked excitedly.

“Luis..” Scott and Hope tried to shut him down.

“These people out there making everything so dark.” Luis laughed.

“Did you told your cousin about us?!” Hope frightened.

“Oh shit.. man, sorry.” Luis looked at Scott.

“You knew?” Hope asked pissed off.

“I needed Ignacio's help, somehow he figured out your dad, you and I work together.” Scott tried to make things easier.

“We will talk later.” Hope said harshly, “So, we need a plan.”

“How are we sure this Ignacio isn't working for them?” Steve asked.

“Dude, you can be Captain America but do not touch my family or I'm kicking your ass.” Luis spat at him.

“Luis…” Scott tried to hold him back, ”You can trust them.” Hope and Scott spoke at the same time.

“Then we need a plan. And soon.” Clint said.

The whole team plus Luis, since the other two decided to stay behind, started working on a plan. Mostly, was identify the enemy, then see if they had hostages and finally, attack.

The plan went to hell when arriving an army of what it seemed winter soldiers attacked them. Even though they had the metal arm, they were easy to kill or stop. Stark couldn't scan the place to see what's inside. Thor tore apart half of the buildings and Luis injured himself after fighting hand to hand with a Winter Soldier 2.0.

Bruce took him back to the compound as a hero and he passed out happily knowing he helped the Avengers.

“New plan,” Hope prepared herself, “Attack.”

Soon, all of them were inside the building. No sign of winter soldiers or anyone. They arrived at the biggest room and all the lights went off.

They got ready to stop whatever was coming.

But nothing came. Stark's system wasn’t working nor Shuris’ back at the compound.

Suddenly, a bright red light came on from behind them.

“So, it's the truth. HYDRA send their army to stop me.” An echoed voice came from everywhere.

“First off, not even in HYDRA’s wildest dream I'll be working for them,” Tony spat offended, ”Secondly, why don't you show your face, coward?”

“Aah. Coward? Oh no, you may have confused me with my sister.” The voice spoke playfully.

“Who are you?” Steve asked.

“Good question. Who I am?” The voice got closer, “See Captain, you may ask your best friend. Nice to see you again, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Who are you?” Bucky spat bravely.

“Of course you don't know who we are,” The voice laughed, “I told my sister you did forget about us. About your silly promise.”

“What are you talking about?” Buck spat.

“You, Mr Barnes, promised my little sister you would help us out from HYDRA. You promised we would never have to go through their experiments. You promised too many things and we did trust you. Well, that was long ago, I've changed but my sister... Oh, my dear sister still thinks you'll help her from HYDRA.”

“Then that's it? Revenge against Barnes?” Tony asked annoyed.

“Oh no. It's not just about Barnes. It is all about you. All of you going to see what you did to us.” The voiced spat harshly, “And of course, die in the end.”

The light went off. The atmosphere went from chilly to cold. Explosions sounded outside. Stark's system advised them about the compound being attacked. Shuri's system advised about Wakanda being attacked. And so, felt Thor about the world. Vision reached Wanda's hand to unify their power.

“Every country in the world is being attacked.” Vision spoke.

The lights went on a flashes came from everywhere then, a gunshot.

“One less.” The voice said.

More flashes. Bright lights in a different colour. The Avengers finally were aware they couldn't move from their spot. None of them. More flashes. Another gunshot.

“Two.” The voice sang.

“Stop this! Whoever you are, show your face. Fight if you dare!” Thor spat angrily.

More flashes, explosions and gunshots. The voice kept singing numbers.

“Hello, brother.” Loki’s voice echoed.

“Lo...Loki?!” Thor asked confused. The Avengers turned their heads to Thor.

“I thought he was dead!” Barton exclaimed surprised.

“Miss me, brother.” Loki appeared and smiled devilish.

“Stop this, brother! You’ve changed!” Thor begged to his brother.

More explosions and gunshots echoed the whole room, Loki’s figure stood there smiling playfully, the Avengers tried to move to look angrily at Loki’s figure and then, a big sharp knife appeared on Loki’s hand and his form started losing colour and light, a big purple hand around his neck cut his throat and Loki’s form disappeared slowly showing his true form, Jotunheim. Thor shouted at the top of his lungs and Loki turned into a little half blue boy.

“It’s okay, Brother, I won’t tell Mother.” Little Loki tried to smile before disappearing.

“Loki, Loki, Loki!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Thor shouted desperate crying at the spot where his brother was trying to move.

The Avengers looked at him and felt Thor’s pain. Something burning inside of them, like if they were connected to Thor’s heart. The lights went off and then on, the Guardians of the Galaxy were there too. Nebula crying uncontrollably. Not knowing why, all of them crying, burning steam around them, the gunshots stopped.

“Peter, no.” Yondu’s voice echoed the room.

“I need to save him.” Tony’s voice echoed behind.

Looking at each other, trying to discover where it came from.

“And that makes 20.” The voice giggled.

Flashes making them feel dizzy, voices coming from everywhere, their voices at some point. Even the ones never told to anyone else but themselves.

“I didn’t save him, Peggy.” Steve’s broken voice echoed.

“Know your place, Brother.” Thor.

“You were build to improve the world, Sergeant Barnes.” Zola’s voice.

“My list is on red.” Natasha's.

“You abandoned him!” T'Challa's.

“No, not without you!” Bucks.

“I couldn't save him, Laura.” Clint's.

“I'm going to kill him, Pietro, Stark is mine.” Wanda's.

“I don't know, I was born yesterday.” Visions.

“We don't need you!” Hope's.

Devil laugh echoed the whole room while the Avengers emotions were tearing apart. Feeling like their bodies, minds, hearts and soul were being ripped off them. Like a broken glass.

Nebula couldn't resist all the emotions and passed out. Groot tried to reach but his own pain stopped him.

And when the feeling started to stop FRIDAY's voice echoed the place. And Shuri's.

“Sir, Sir, everyone's heart is stopping.” FRIDAY.

“T'CHALLA, T'CHALLA!” Shuri cried for her brother.

The Avengers felt everything and nothing at the same time. The life going away their bodies.

“You can't kill Death.” A voice spoke.

Bucky's body moved slowly trying to sit. His brain burning inside his head but he could remember that voice. He had heard that voice before. He knew it from somewhere.

“Live,” Bucky whispered.

The room lighted up, all the Avengers and Guardians lying on the cold floor.

“Please, don't hurt my sister. Please, please.” A little girl cried, “Run Death, run!”

“Live, it's you. Live.” Bucky spoke.

“Stop it, Winter. Please, Winter, it hurts. Stop.” A different voice cried this time.

Bucky stood balancing himself and tried to walk.

“I'm going to save you both.” Bucky's voice echoed from far away.

“The Winter Soldier killed your sister and escaped. They're both dead,” Captain Aniol voice echoed. Bucky felt a knife inside his stomach and it was. A hand appeared and all of them saw a figure appearing slowly. Black steam around the form, Bucky's expression frightened when he saw the woman looking hatefully at him.

One woman dressed in old dirty dress stood there with her hand on Buck's stomach. Most of the dress was covered in blood. Hands shapes all over it. The Avengers and Guardians stood slowly. Bucky's expression felt to a guilty one.

“I told you one day I'm going to be the one who takes your life away. I saved it. I'm taking it.” The woman’s voice snarled.

“I'm sorry, Live. I couldn't save you. I couldn't save your sister.” Bucky whispered.

“Lies. It's all lies. You took everything I had, I'm taking everything you and the ones you care have.” Live smirked.

Suddenly a bright light came on and a dark steam form grabbed Live by her arm and pulled her away from Bucky. Live turned to fight the steam and screamed angrily at it, the steam and Live collapsed in front all of them. Live screamed loud, every time louder and louder. Knives fell on the floor, blood. Live’s body smashed the wall and she tried to stand. From her hands bright white steam flew straight to the steam, it flashed and disappeared. The black steam moved quickly grabbing Live by her neck and pulled all the way up to the ceiling. Live’s body transformed into white steam and it fighter back. A loud bang echoed the whole room. A different voice screamed in agony and finally both white and black steam disappeared.

The Avengers and Guardians started feeling better. Their minds were calm. They were themselves again. They could move. Both Shuri and FRIDAY contacted with them telling them everything stopped and started slowly to disappeared and people were coming back from death. Seemed like the woman, Live never existed and nothing happened.

“You take lives, you can't bring them back. You're a monster. You're an abomination. You're a disgrace. As long as you're alive there will never be peace or Live on Earth.” Bucky recognized Captain's Aniol voice speaking to a little scared girl crying desperately when he asked her to kill his first big enemy.

“You're right. I can't bring them back but I can't take those souls who ain't their time yet.” A different voice, different to Lives echoed the room. Bucky recognized as Death's before she died. He killed her, “And Papa, it's your time.” Death's whisper made them feel weak and a chill run over their spines.

Outside the weather changed to a shining sun, even a rainbow appeared. The wind runs all over the place.

All sudden, a figure appeared balancing in front of them all, a woman wearing a white jumper, black trousers and boots. Her hands were shaking as her whole body. She had blood all over her hands, face, jumper, neck. Blood everywhere. Her face had black eyeballs and a big scar on her left cheek. Fingers. The scar of some burning fingers on her cheek.

Bucky felt something inside. He knew who she was. The woman was Death but how could she? He killed her. Aniol told him. Told everyone and Live tried to kill him after that. He hated himself for killing the 10 years old after telling her they'll get out that place. Even when Shuri deleted those words and the awful memories from his Winter Soldier years, he still could remember those eyes. The little smile that appeared on her face when late at night he would escape from his room when he was awake and went to see them both. Inside his mind, he cared for the twins. Even when he was the Winter Soldier he could remember Death, never Live. She had something. Something different. Like live wasn't really inside her. Like she was dead from the beginning.

“I told you I'll be the one to save you, James Barnes.” Death spoke spitting blood.

“Death.” Bucky ran quickly to her and tried to hold her but it was late. Her eyes closed.

And he remembered when he saw her transform the first time. How her eyeballs changed to whole black and then red when she touched blood. How her hands would take your life and soul away from you. How she assured him inside his mind, he'll be out soon and free. How she calmed every victim before taking their lives. Death was never a killing machine while Live always killed everyone. That's how he discovered them. How Live killed him and Death saved him and how they tricked Captain Aniol. The three of them suffered, Death sadly more than the two of them. She was never evil, she just wanted a Life.

“It’s not your fault, Buck..” Steve tried to cheer him up.

“She’s not going to be the same when she’s awake,” Buck whispered watching Shuri, Tony and Bruce work on helping cure Death. From outside the room Sam, Steve and Bucky watched every process going and how her power, her dark steam let go the white from her twin sister, Live died in the battle and Death fell onto coma. And now, they were trying to help her in the same way the helped Buck to forget HYDRA.

-

From: me.

To: whom may concern(LMAO WHOEVER READ THIS SHITTY WORK).

The image is not mine, I edited it to add it to my work. 

Hope you like it.