#alfred been knew he approves so long as jason remembers his manners

[spectral-honey]

AU Jason comes back to Gotham but he's not pissed w the batfam and just goes back normally and has a whole emotional reunion but totally is still doing the crime lord shit just like in the background. Jason's like "bye guys I'm out to go vigilante-ing" and Bruce is like "cool let me come with you son" and Jason's like "UGH dad NO you're so embarrassing I'm an adult now I can go on my own!!" And Bruce is like ":( okay son. Oracle will you stalk Jason for me" and then Jason goes and does his magic and babs is like "well no one else was gonna touch crime alley" and minds her business

[alycosworld]

Torturous

John Constantine x Batfam!Reader

A/N: somebody tell me why the only cartoon john constantine gifs i could find were this one AND THE KING SHARK ONE 😭😭 bloody hilarious man. anyways, this is for the anon who asked for john x batfam reader recs and i found tumblr LACKING. here u go ladies and germs. Gender-neutral reader, no physical attributes included, they/them pronouns.

also, john is like ?? old asf ?? so let's just say he's a solid 32 and reader is 27. for context, dick is 28 and Jason is 24, tim case duke and steph are like 17-19, damian is 14. and Bruce is somewhere around 50. btw not proofread.

soz for the long a/n, thank u for reading and enjoy!!

KEEP READING (im on mobile and it's not working so ill add it in later)

How did it come to this?

It had been torturous enough working with your family and John Constantine, but now you were sure he was trying to tease you.

Batman didn't like calling him for cases involving magic, he'd much prefer Zatanna, but she was away for whatever reason and there was no time to waste waiting for her to get back from god-knows-where.

But you guarantee you were more annoyed by John's presence. Merely seeing him pissed you off, and his laidback, flirty nature made it all the worse.

And no, it wasn't because you hated him. In fact, it was the complete opposite.

Sneaking around behind your family's back to see your Romeo was a chore, and not something you had the liberty of doing often with your myriad of vigilante duties and commitments to adult life. Visiting John and spending time with him was rare and something you treasured. Whether it be in some nostalgia-ridden English pub, staying at his house that still didn't quite make sense to you, or going on regular dates that you planned like restaurants and carnivals, you and John had the time of your lives. And after all the adventures you had been on, he finally admitted that he loved you, just as you had admitted it before.

But loving John Constantine was no simple feat. It came with challenges like murderous monsters, various being from Hell, and most recently, your family.

You knew Bruce would be less than approving. He knew how much of a troublemaker John was, and his self-proclaimed bastard status did not help. Bruce knew he was trouble, and frankly, so did you, but he was too sweet and loving in the end for you to care. He was more than some troubled magician with alcoholism issues, severe gambling debt and the ability to fuck a shark. He was also probably the sweetest guy you had met and he cherished you, showering you in unconditional love, as uncharacteristic as it seemed.

Which is why this particular case was so difficult. While John took every opportunity to flirt with you, you had to refuse every advance and bury the urge to grab him by the collar his stupidly overused coat and kiss him silly. But no, one of your siblings or Bruce was around at every given moment. Alfred had already known you and John were a thing and promised to keep things quiet.

"Are you listening, love?" John asked, specifically looking at you. You felt singled out between Damian and Stephanie, as they, Bruce, and a few of your other siblings stared at you in confusion. You had been listening, briefly, but couldn't for the life of you remember what John had said. It's not like it mattered, this was just John wrapping things up. The case was virtually over.

"Don't call me that," you hardened your gaze instead of smiling and swooning as you normally would when he looked at you with the same intensity as he was now. The subtle changes in your mannerisms towards each other had miraculously not been noticed by the others.

"That's not an answer, love," oh he just loved pissing you off, didn't he? When all this was over you were sure you would make sure he paid for his actions.

"Yeah, I was listening," you folded your arms as he narrowed his eyes at you.

"Y'know what? I don't think you were. You've been giving me attitude this entire case, and frankly, I'm done with it," John shot back with a smirk.

"Excuse me?" I asked, wondering where the hell he was going with this.

"Excuse us, is more like it. You can finish things up here, Bats, I'm sure. I'd like to have a word with them, if you don't mind," John began to walk towards you.

"I don't see how this is important to--"

"Great! We'll only be a moment, just carry on with the debrief," John placed a hand on your lower back, escorting you out of the batcave and upstairs to your room. You saw Dick and Cass along the way, starting at you two oddly but John just smiled and ushered you into the room.

"John, what the hell do you think you're do--!" he cut you off by pinning you to the wall and pressing his lip to yours, pulling away with a boyish grin.

"Oh, I have missed you, love," he smiled, about to dive back in but you pushed him back.

"John, you can't just pull me out of a debrief to make out--"

"We're gonna be doing a lot more than make out, sweetheart," he said, grabbing your hips with both hands. You rolled your eyes slightly before placing one hand on his waist and the other on the side of his neck, quickly flipping him around so he's against the wall. You grin a little at his flustered state.

"We're gonna get caught, hon, please don't do this. I love you but it hasn't even been that long--"

"Seconds without you are too long, sweetheart," he replied, and you chuckled.

"That's very sweet, J, but if you keep this up I'm not gonna be able to control myself. Bruce will kill me, and then wait until the others find out--"

"Too late," Damian stood in the doorway of your bedroom and you nearly jumped out of you skin.

"What sorcery is this, Constantine? What have you done to them?" Damian produced a dagger out of seemingly nowhere and you sighed.

"Dames--"

"What? I'm sorry, (Y/N), but I can't trust your words--"

"Damian, he didn't do anything. No magic, no tricks, nothing. We've been seeing each other for a while," Damian continues to stare at you, not believing you. You sighed, walking up to him and ruffling his hair, "I promise, Dames. John hasn't enchanted me or anything, I just-- I'm in love with him," you finished, staring back at John. Damian looked between you and him before sighing.

"You're really in love with him? Him, of all people? You know how badly Raven speaks of him," Damian folded his arms.

"Raven? She talks about me behind my back? Bloody hell, I'll be having words with her--"

"John,"

"Right! Yes, uhm, Damian, I swear I haven't cursed them to fall in love with me. Really, it's a miracle they love me at all--"

"Don't say that," you smiled.

"What? Its true! And if you're worried about me hurting them or something, you shouldn't be. I'd rather kiss Nergal than even try hurting them," John rolled his eyes.

"And you know I'd kick his ass if he tried anything, Dames," you smirked.

"Well, I just might enjoy that, love--"

"Fucking hell, John, he's fourteen!" you covered Damian's ears as John laughed loudly. Damian eventually swatted your hands away and glared at John again.

"I really do love him, Dames. And nothing you say is gonna change that. We've been dating for almost a year and I still love him, so clearly that counts for something," you assured him.

John bent down slightly to be eye-to-eye with Damian, "I would never do anything to harm them, squire. And I can't get rid of 'em, even if I wanted to," John chuckled.

"You know you love me," you grinned.

"Yeah, I do," John replied, sincerely, making you tense up.

"Fine, I approve," Damian said decisively.

"No one needed your approval, Dames, but thank you," you chuckled, pressing a kiss to John's cheek, "now, just please don't tell Bruce about this--"

"I already know," Bruce, now in casual clothes instead of his suit, rounded the corner and stood next to Damian as you blinked in disbelief.

"Are you kidding me? No, don't tell me--" you peeked out of your room with John to see pretty much the rest of the family was listening. You sighed dragging a hand down your face as John chuckled nervously.

"Bollocks,"

[fanfictiongreenirises]

Hi! I've found your batman bingo fics on ao3 and i binge read them all! Your characterisation is excellent and the stories are full of heart. I love the fics with Bruce & Dick, but my favorite is the Jason&Dick one. Could I trouble you with a fic request? "Ghost" with Bruce and Dick's parents? They meet and get to know each other, maybe the graysons tell B what they think about Dick's life, maybe a message to send home for Dick?Thank you.

Ahhh thank you so much!!! Fic requests are no trouble =D It’s been almost three weeks so I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve completely forgotten ever sending in this haha, but here’s Bruce and the Graysons + ghost:

Ao3 link

The room Bruce woke in was full of contradictions. It was white, a clear, pure white that some part of him logically knew was supposed to hurt his eyes but didn’t. There was nothing in the room to suggest it was a room, but there could be no other word for it. Bruce’s brain was stirring, but he was completely calm for what felt like the first time since his parents had died.

And the final problem: it appeared that Mary and John Grayson were standing in front of him.

Bruce was somehow standing when he’d previously been lying down. There was no bed behind him, but then the Graysons sat down in chairs that felt like they’d always been there.

“Hello, Mr Wayne,” John Grayson said. His voice was friendly, cheerful, even. Bruce had imagined his speech, to give a voice to Dick's stories, but somehow they all fell away with how real this man was.

“Bruce, please,” Bruce said automatically, settling down in his own chair. It moulded to his body like it’d always been him; glancing down, it was the chair in his study.

“Bruce,” John said, nodding his head obligingly.

“We’ve waited a long time to meet you, Bruce,” Mary said. “I’m Mary, and this is my husband—”

“John,” Bruce interrupted. Alfred would be horrified. “You’re Dick’s parents.”

Mary’s mouth curved into a small smile. She and John were both very much at home here – in comparison, this felt like one of the most stressful meetings Bruce had ever had.

“I’m not alive anymore, then,” he said.

“Not exactly,” John told him. Bruce found himself examining his face – both their faces, and their mannerisms and tones and quirks – for signs of his son. “You’re just extremely close to it.”

The moment the words were out of his mouth, Bruce remembered the mission they’d been on, how it’d ended with him climbing into the Batmobile and setting it to autopilot as he sunk into oblivion. Maybe he was still there, in that car.

Nightwing was in Gotham tonight, patrolling with Robin. He hoped they were safe.

“You currently have three broken ribs, a punctured lung, a fractured wrist, and two stab wounds,” Mary told him.

“Would you like some tea?” John asked.

Bruce glanced down at the teacup and saucer he was holding out. A tray with tea and snacks was now on a coffee table between the three of them.

“Thank you,” he said, accepting it. It was the perfect blend.

“This is,” Mary glanced sideways at her husband, “a bit of an intervention. Given you make it out of this alive, that is.”

“An intervention?” Bruce frowned.

“Bruce, we appreciate you taking in Dick,” John began.

Oh. This was an intervention about Dick. Bruce fought to keep his face neutral, to hide the sinking in his chest. Because there had always been a niggling, in the back of his mind, about Mary and John and whether they would approve of him.

“But we need you to step up and be a better,” Mary’s voice faltered a little at the word, “father to him.”

Bruce’s throat bobbed. He couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t come off as an excuse. “If this is about making him Robin—”

Mary waved a hand. “No, we came to terms with that a long time ago. We’re grateful, if we’re honest, that you made sure he didn’t get himself killed – or worse – trying to catch Zucco. We aren’t here to nag you about putting him in danger or anything. And, frankly, we’re proud.”

Bruce relaxed slightly. Something deep inside him eased at the words, at being given reassurance to something he’d never thought he’d have answers to.

“We just think you could stand to be a better parental figure,” John told him. “Not just to Dick – to Tim as well.”

Bruce blinked. “Tim?” he said. “Tim has a fath—”

“You know as well as we do that that man is his father through blood and nothing else,” John countered. Bruce couldn’t help seeing the similarities between him and Dick in the way he would clench his jaw, jut out his chin ever so slightly. “He needs someone in his life, someone he can look to. You need to step up.”

“We can’t be there for our son,” Mary said. “So we’re trusting you to.”

“What would you have me do, hug him three times a day?” Bruce asked shortly, irrationally angry at the thought of these people lecturing him about how—

But that was where the anger faded, because they were completely within their rights to lecture him. He was raising – had raised – their son, and apparently a lot of it had fallen short. Bruce wished this ‘intervention’ had come a little earlier, back when Dick had been younger. It was difficult parenting a grown man.

“Yes,” Mary said with a laugh. “He’s older now, so maybe he’s changed, but Dick was always fond of hugs. Made it a mission to hug everyone in the circus at least once a day.”

Bruce knew Dick’s appreciation of hugs, knew that touch was an anchor he used. It’d been a lot easier before, to reach out and ruffle the boy’s hair, to squeeze his shoulder, to grab him round the middle as Dick used Bruce’s body like a climbing frame.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll hug him more.”

“Bruce,” John said. “You’re not getting it.”

But at that moment, something in Bruce’s ears popped and there was a rush of pain as the world before him faded in and out for a moment, glimpses of something dark and familiar washing through in its place. Bruce heard muffled voices, but he couldn’t place any of them.

He jolted forward with a gasp, hands coming to grab at the handles of the chair he was sitting in.

Mary’s mouth was twisted, her lips the exact same as Dick’s. “It’s nearly time to make your decision,” she said.

“Decision?” Bruce asked, forcing his fingers to release.

“Whether to stay here, with us and the rest of the people you’ve lost over the years,” John’s eyes were sympathetic, “or to go back.”

Bruce’s heart ached at the thought of seeing Jason. Of seeing his own parents. All those countless faces who had died. He wondered if he’d see the people he had failed.

But Batman couldn’t give up. Not like this. Not when there was a choice at hand. People needed him.

John seemed to see something in his face, because he nodded. “Now, where was I…” he muttered, leaning back and running a hand through his hair.

Bruce was finding pieces of his son everywhere in these two. He wondered how much of it was his own mind projecting, seeing things he wanted to see. He wondered if other people ever saw his mannerisms in his children, or if they simply didn’t look because of the lack of blood relation.

“Emotions,” Mary reminded him. Turning to Bruce, she said, with an amused glint in her eyes, “He’s been planning exactly how to deliver this ever since you arrived.”

John huffed. “Bruce,” he began, and immediately the weight of the room shifted. “In the bluntest way possible, you need to get out of your own head and into other people’s. And not just criminals. You’ve been teaching Dick how to survive ever since he came into your care, but you haven’t taught him how to live well. Children look to their parents for emotional support and guidance, but something has always held you back from providing it properly.”

“I apologise if you think I fell short in rai—”

“You know it too,” John interrupted.

And Bruce couldn’t argue, because he knew, deep within him, that John was right. There had always been a barrier between Bruce and the world, and despite often coming close to moving beyond it, he was never fully there. He could never truly join the present.

He didn’t say anything.

Mary exhaled, fiddling with a bracelet around her wrist. “We aren’t asking you to be perfect, Bruce,” she said. “We just want you to be in a position where you're able to provide what Dick – and now Tim – need. At this rate, it’s probably not going to be surprising if you end up with a couple more kids—” Bruce grunted at the thought of more children, making her lips curve into a familiar smile, “but it’ll help you as well. If you died, would you want your children to spend their whole life unable to move on from it?”

It wasn’t exactly a choice, and Bruce opened his mouth to tell her that, when John spoke.

“We’re talking about something like therapy,” he said. “If you don’t do it for yourself, then do it to be a better parent. And, hell, if you think you don’t need to be a better parent, if you think that Dick’s already grown, and that Tim has a father of his own and a stepmother now, that Stephanie’s mother is alive and well, and Barbara has taken Cassandra under her own wing, then do it because it’s our last request of you, as a…co-parent to our son.”

“I…” Bruce didn’t know what to say. I’ll try seemed too vague, too unbinding. But a promise? He—

It came back, the flashes. Bruce saw parts of the medbay in the Cave overlapping with the white room.

Mary’s mouth turned into a sad grimace, and she stood, moving towards Bruce. “Give this to Dick,” she whispered, pressing something into his hand. 

That was the last thing Bruce knew before he was opening his eyes, breath coming in short pants as he lurched upright.

Hands on his shoulders, pushing him down. Bruce fought against them, blindly thrashing until he heard a familiar voice.

“Whoa, Bruce, it’s okay! You’re in the Cave!”

Dick.

Bruce stilled, taking in the scene around him. He was lying in one of the cots in the medbay, and Dick was hunched over him with hands holding down Bruce. When Bruce turned his head, he could see Tim standing there by the Batcomputer, watching them with tense hands.

“You with me?” Dick asked, peering into Bruce’s eyes.

Bruce nodded, feeling the pain of his wounds hitting him. He gritted his teeth. “What happened?” he asked.

As Dick recounted his list of injuries, something a lot like déjà vu hit Bruce. And that was when he felt it.

There was a folded piece of paper in his hand.

Bruce lifted his hand up even as Dick continued, rambling slightly with his words and chewing his lip far more than usual. Bruce opened his hand and when he saw the writing on the envelope something in him settled, like it had been waiting for this moment for him to realise.

“What’s…” Dick frowned. “That wasn’t there before. I know your hands were empty.”

“Dick,” Bruce said, but was at a loss for how to continue. He reached out until he found the controls for moving the bed, grimacing at the shift in his torso. A glare stopped Dick from intervening. “This is going to sound crazy, but I need you to believe me.”

Dick snorted, folding his arms. Without his mask on, and hair floppy and dishevelled from constant assault from his fingers, he looked younger than his years. “So business as usual, then.”

“This is for you,” Bruce said, handing him the envelope.

Dick eyed him, confused, as he reached out to take the letter, but the moment his gaze landed on the writing he froze, body going taut as a wire.

“Where did you get this?” he asked. His voice was completely blank, and Bruce winched inwardly, knowing that he’d been the one to teach Dick how to do that. Emotional issues indeed.

“That’s the insane part,” Bruce said ruefully. “While I was out, I think I met your parents.”

Dick’s head shot up, alarmed. “You died?”

“No, but apparently I was close enough to it that they could… visit me. And decided to hold an intervention.” He needed to process it before he could go through it again, but he would answer any questions Dick had.

Dick was looking at him with incredulous eyes, but every so often he would flick back to the letter he held in his hands.

“Go,” Bruce said softly.

Dick’s body made a jerking motion, as though it had automatically turned to go but part of him was still rooted to the stop.

“Trust me, it’s not going to be anything bad,” Bruce said, taking a guess at what was keeping Dick from opening it.

Dick chuckled wetly. “I’m not even sure if I believe your story,” he said, but a finger stroked along the letters forming his name, barely touching the paper.

And then he walked to the other end of the Cave, towards where the chasms were.

Tim, who had been watching this exchange, stepped closer. “Hey, B,” he said tentatively.

“Tim,” Bruce greeted. “How was patrol?”

Tim settled on the edge of his bed, legs swinging as he gave a detailed verbal report of the night. Bruce found himself swimming in and out of conscious, despite how strongly he tried to hold on to it.

He remembered what the Graysons had said, about emotional distance, about Tim needing an adult parental figure to look up to.

Bruce reached out and grabbed Tim’s hand, feeling him jump under Bruce’s grip. “Good job,” he said, watching the confusion turn to happiness.

Two words, a single action. That was all it took to make Tim smile. Bruce had always been disappointed - and angry - at Tim’s father, but this was the first time he found that directed at himself as well.

~~~ 

Bruce had been permitted to rest in his room when he woke, and now he slipped between dozing and waking as he lay propped up on extra pillows. He was about to close his eyes again, sleep for another few hours, when the door creaked.

Bruce’s eyes were open instantly, but his body relaxed at the sight of Dick walking towards the bed. Bruce didn’t say anything as Dick walked around to the other side, settling himself beneath the covers beside him.

Normally, Bruce would wait him out, on the assumption that Dick would spill whatever it was he’d come in to say. But maybe he should be the one to start the conversation.

Bruce glanced at Dick’s face, judging his expression. It was pensive, eyes rimmed red, but altogether something he could handle.

“Dick?” he prompted, and was instantly at a loss about what to continue with.

“I read it,” Dick said before Bruce’s blood pressure could increase too much. He fiddled with the fabric of the sheets, thumbing at them absentmindedly.

Bruce gave what he hoped was an encouraging grunt, and Dick huffed a small laugh.

“I mean, unless you’ve – or someone – went through and dug up maybe surveillance footage or shots of the three of us in someone else’s videos, there’s no way anyone else could’ve written it. There's too much inside knowledge.” He’d begun with the rational logic, as Bruce would have. Dick slumped further down the headboard, hugging a knee to his chest. “They, uh, they said they gave you a ‘stern talking to’?”

Bruce’s lips turned up at the corners. “They did,” he admitted. “Maybe I needed someone to say them to me.” Not that there hadn’t already been plenty of people who’d implied or outright told Bruce over the years that he needed to see a shrink.

Dick huffed. “You know you have issues when people from the afterlife come to personally talk to you.”

Bruce was glad Dick was on his left; he lifted his good arm out from under the covers and placed it around Dick’s shoulders, tugging him closer. Dick made a surprised noise but followed through with the motion, taking care to place himself around Bruce’s wounds.

“They told me I should get therapy,” Bruce said frankly.

Dick laughed, the sound loud and surprised in the quiet of the room. Then, when he realised that Bruce hadn’t joined him, his eyes widened. “You’re serious?” he said. “My parents visited you while you were half dead, just to tell you to get some help? We’ve been telling you that for years!”

Bruce grimaced. “Like you said, you know you have issues when people from the afterlife come to speak with you.”

Dick was gaping, body now fully turned around. “You’re thinking of it?” There was something incredulous in his voice. “You’re actually thinking of going to therapy?”

Bruce nodded, mouth a thin line. “I made a promise, even if they didn’t hear it.”

“Wow,” Dick murmured, settling back beside him.

Everything quietened for a moment, and Bruce was almost dozing again. It was easier to give in to sleep when he was warm, with the weight of Dick a comforting presence beside him. It was strange to think that a year ago, he couldn’t have imagined having him back in the Manor, let alone on friendly terms and having a civil conversation with Bruce that went beyond the current case.

Dick broke the silence, in such a low tone that Bruce had to strain to hear him. “Did you,” Dick cleared his throat, “y’know… like them?”

Of all the questions he’d thought Dick would ask, this hadn’t even been in the ballpark. “Of course I liked them,” he said. Now was the time to say something cheesy like they gave me you, but that wasn’t right. The only reason they’d ‘given’ Bruce Dick was because they’d been murdered. “I was worried they wouldn’t like me.”

Dick had moved on from playing with the fabric to fiddling with Bruce’s hand, using the light from the window to make shadow puppets. “They said they’re happy, that I got to—that I—that—” His throat bobbed, hands stilling. “They’re happy I moved on, from their deaths. Proud. And they’re happy I have you and Alfred. And everyone else.” 

Bruce suddenly remembered another agreement he’d entered into with Dick’s mother. He tugged his hand out from Dick’s grip, Dick releasing it instantly and shifting his own closer to his body, as though he hadn’t even realised what he’d been doing, and moved his body to better position itself for a hug.

Dick was tense, hands coming around Bruce’s waist gingerly. “Not that I don’t appreciate it,” he said, “but you’ve been surprisingly open since you woke up. Maybe we should get J’onn to scan you for possession or something.”

His voice was only half joking.

This was becoming an increasingly uncomfortable hug, and Bruce wondered what it’d been about embraces before that had made them pleasant. Perhaps it was the broken ribs and stab wounds.

“I also promised your mother I’d give you hugs daily,” he admitted, and Dick fell back into the pillows laughing.

[fandom-meanderer]

Not Your Classic Vigilante [Pt. 7]

Pairing: Batfamily x Reader

Part: (7/?) [First] [Previous] [Next]

Genre: General Fiction

Fandom: DC Universe

P.o.V.: 3rd

Word Count: 1,476 Words

Warnings: None

Further Notes: Hey guys! Sorry for the super long wait for this, but here is the next part! I hope you all enjoy :) (Tag List anyone?)

—

The clock stroke midnight, and the Manor was empty save for two souls.

Alfred Pennyworth sat in the library, patiently waiting for the Master of the home, with a simple book in hand and a cup of tea in another. The library was lit in a way that made the area seem warm and welcoming. Anyone who walked into its warmth would be encased in a feeling of comfort and safety that all else would fade away and allow one restful night. The old butler thought back to the simpler times when the Waynes were a rather joyous group, well, as joyous as a family could be given their hobby. Now would be an important time to note that the book in Alfred’s hands was not one you would find in a store, no not quite, it was a birthday present gifted to Bruce Wayne by the one and only (Name) Wayne. The brightest of the Waynes, but at the same time the most tragic. All she wanted was her father’s approval, but it never came. And despite all the love and affection her siblings gave her, it was never enough to fill the void left by her own father. His eyes drifted over to the darkness of the hallway. The (Name) that entered the manor that day, he knew it was her, yet at the same time he knew it wasn’t. But what is this strange feeling?

Now, in stark difference to the library, was a rather cold and secluded bedroom where our heroine lay. Her eyes staring up at the ceiling, unable to even consider the horrors of allowing the tired captain to close her eyes for just a moment. Years of being in a new world conditioned her to be unable to relax in atmospheres like this, cold and alone. An environment that used to feel like the afore mentioned room, was now the opposite. She recalled when the then younger Tim Drake would run in, shaking in his pajamas, and timidly ask to sleep with her after thinking it a good idea to watch a horror movie with Jason, or how every now and then she’d find Damien resting at the foot of her bed. (Name) Wayne remembered these fondly, but was still unable to find herself in a state of comfort. Was it the loathing she felt for this manor in general? Or was it the constant nagging of her best friend in her head. Whatever it was, it was enough to drag (Name) out of the prison of her bed and onto her feet.

‘What, Alex?’ She grumbles, her hand clutching her heart.

‘I’m sure you’d love to come back, and I can see that the path to your father’s computer is empty.’

‘Okay, yeah, I’m going. Alfred’s pretty vigilant though.’

‘Ah, so you need a diversion.’

‘Yup, what do you have up your sleeves?’

‘Not much, unfortunately. Oh wait, just kidding.’

‘Wait, what? What’s up?’ Their mental conversation is disrupted by a small but sudden explosion outside. She rushes over to the window as Carter gives her a sloppy salute. She looks down and notices Alfred walking out to investigate. ‘Alexander Wright, you are a genius.’

‘Thank you, darling. But you really should be thanking Carter, I’m sure he’d love praise from his dear Captain.’

‘Don’t say it like that it’s creepy.’

‘Is it? Why don’t you pay more attention to his mannerisms? I’m sure the two of you would make a lovely couple.’

‘What do you mean?’ (Name)’s face reddens slightly. ‘Alex?’

After repeatedly trying to call out to him, and repeatedly not hearing a response, (Name) opted to run down the stairs, making sure that Alfred is kept busy as she accessed the bat cave. She fumbled to pull the flash drive out but quickly regain composure as she watched all of the information from the bat computer duplicate and save onto the small device that would serve to be her lifeline.

‘Don’t forget the device.’

‘I know, I know, fuck off.’ (Name) mentally argues with Alexander. She pulls out a second listening device and plants it far beneath the desk just as the flash drive completed its purpose. Just as quickly as she went in, she pulled out the flash drive and retreated back upstairs; however, this time she couldn’t ignore the library. Seeing as it was still empty, she walked in.

(Name) looked out the window and watched Alfred finish cleaning up the aftermath of Carter’s work and more questions popped into her mind.

First of all, how did they cope after she left? Her father, she can guess easily, probably didn’t find out until months after the fact. Her brothers, Dick in particular, must have been heartbroken. She could hate her father as much as she wanted, but she could never hate her siblings. All of the carnival dates with Dick, the late night motorcycle rides with Jason, how she and Tim would do late night homework together, and how could she forget about all the arcade days with Damien? And furthermore, the cute movie nights with Steph, or the girls’ nights with Cass, all of these were memories that (Name) held dear.

Second of all, how different would things be if she had stayed? Would she have gained her father’s approval? Would she have graduated? Who knows? Maybe she would have finally met someone who could have filled that lack of fatherly care. Maybe she would have met someone to share her life with under different circumstances. Two names appeared in her head, but she dismissed them quickly.

(Name)’s eyes land on the book near the fire. And of course not just any book, her book. She picked it up and turned through the pages. It was a sloppy, albeit adorable, picture book littered with polaroids of herself and her many family members, each picture had a short description next to it. (Name) remembered clearly, she made this to give to her father. She had felt terrible that he was on business trips all of the time, and felt like he would miss their family. At the time, the only people pictured were herself, Dick, Jason, and Alfred. Simpler times. She flipped through the pages and noticed that they had been filled in with more neat handwriting and more professional pictures, and she easily recognized this to be Alfred’s doing. Finally, (Name) came to a stop at the last page. In childish writing, it read: “For my superhero dad! So he would always have his family with him!”

“I know it may not seem like it, Miss (Name),” Alfred cuts in. (Name) doesn’t move from her spot and continues to stare down at the page. “But your father did truly love you.”

“Right,” (Name)’s facade breaks. “I’m sure he did.”

“Are you really the same (Name) Wayne who left this manor two years ago?” Alfred moves cautiously towards her. (Name) takes in a deep breath and closes the picture book.

“Keen as ever, Alfred,” (Name) smiles weakly.

“Your smile certainly isn’t,” Alfred points out. He takes a seat by the fire once more and gestures for (Name) to do the same. “It’s different, almost like you have seen a world of pain.”

“Is it? I guess that would make sense,” (Name) tries to build up her character again. “I did die.”

“That is true,” Alfred says sadly. He drinks his tea silently. “Do you really not remember anything from that day?”

“I do not,” (Name) lies. The two remain quiet for awhile. (Name) coughs lightly and places her hand on her heart.

‘He’s catching on,’ she worries.

‘I don’t quite think so,’ Alex responds. ‘Although, I would remain vigilant.’

“Are you alright, Miss (Name),” Alfred speaks again.

“I have been having these strange chest pains,” (Name) explains.

‘Is that all I am to you? Strange chest pains?’ Alex teases. (Name) lets her hand drop to her lap, ending her side of the conversation with her best friend. “Maybe it’s an after effect of dying.”

“Please don’t speak of your death so calmly,” Alfred shakes his head. “Master Dick did not sleep for days, Master Jason kept coming home with new wounds, Master Tim kept surrounding himself with work, and do not get me started on Master Damien… It truly was a tragedy for us.”

“Was it for dad?” (Name) looks up at him again, but this time with genuine curiosity. Alfred is silent for awhile. “Did he even know?” (Name) felt her voice waiver. She couldn’t understand why she felt this way, she should loathe him. That’s what the Royal Guard emphasized. Remember the pain, remember who caused it, and remember to use it to become stronger.

“He… He did not,” Alfred admits. (Name) put on another pained smile and nodded slowly.

“Of course he didn’t. Why would he care?”

“He didn’t find out until Mr. Kent came over to pay his condolences,” Alfred admits. “Just a few days before your funeral.”

“Right, sounds like him,” (Name) shakes her head. Before Alfred could try to defend her father’s actions, she speaks up quickly, “I’m going to bed.”

“Of course, Miss (Name),” Alfred bows his head slightly. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Strangely enough, (Name) found herself drifting to sleep after their talk.

Tag List: @loxbbg @holymotherofchickennoodlesoup @ijustwannabecanadian @oneshots-galore @xapham @peqchynero @sono-sakana @theroyalbrownbarbie @audioshoes @allycat4458 @izzy28901

[reallyautomaticvoid]

Calling It: Good Intentions Chapter 3: There’s Tim!

Characters (in order of appearance in this chapter): Conner Kent, Bart Allen, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson

Chapter Summary:

Conner and Bart find Tim.  Or, rather, Tim finds Conner and Bart.

After checking the dozen safe houses that they knew about plus a couple of old ones that Tim had abandoned (shocking an old lady when they burst in through her front door, though they did get pie…) Conner and Bart are out of ideas.

“I’m telling you,” Conner runs to keep up with Bart, “I don’t think he’ll be there.”

“It’s as good as any to regroup,” Bart counters as he punches in the security code.  “Besides, I don’t want to miss Tim’s apartment being this clean.  It might not ever happen again.”

Conner snorts because yeah, Bart has a point.  

Conner follows Bart into the living room.  Conner walks towards the perch’s entrance and stares at it again.  

How bad could the security be?

Conner hesitates for half a second before using his X-ray vision to see through the door into the stare case.  Or trying to use his X-ray vision.  

He couldn’t see anything.  

“Shit, Tim lead lined the goddamn door.”

“Because, of course, he did,” Bart snorts, staring at the door, “that’s our paranoid bird.”

“It’s not paranoia if someone is really after you,” a new, weary voice came from right behind them.  

Jumping, Conner and Bart before turning to see, “Tim!”

It’s something to be said that two of the fastest people in the world couldn’t catch Tim before he collapses onto the couch.  Tattered suit pants and collared, long sleeves hung off of Tim’s frame making him like he’d lost ten pounds.  

Clammy skin?  Check.  At least a half a dozen new scratches, some infected, covering his arms and face?  Check.  Giant fresh gash covering Tim’s forearm?  Check.  

Conner knows there was more but didn't trust himself to use his x-ray vision.  With how shitty Tim looks, literally the last thing Tim needs is for Conner to fuck up and fry him instead of scanning him.  

Instead, Conner gently puts his hand on Tim’s forehead.  

“You look like shit, Tim,” Conner mildly says.  He mouths fever at Bart who nods before running off to get supplies.  “You know, when someone is missing their spleen, normal they do little things like gee, I don’t know, eat.  Sleep.  Take a shower.”

A faint smile twitches on Tim’s face.  “I’ll be sure to let Ra’s know that you’re not interested in his vacation package.  He was so hoping that you'd be going next.”

“You were with Ra?”  Bart reenters the room but freezes at Con’s words.  

The exchange a look; both knew the Demon’s Head has an unhealthy interest (obsession) in Tim.  Tim’s never been keen on sharing the hows and whys of that interest which pisses Conner off to no end.  

“Yup.  Not the best vacation I’ve ever been on but still not the worst.  That still the time that Bruce tried to make us all go on that family retreat when the Demon tried to leave me in the woods to starve.”  Tim’s voice gets higher as he mimics Damian in a dead-on impression.  “But Father, why do we even need Drake here.  I’m here now; you don’t need a cheap replacement.  Grayson, I don’t care if you like him; he’s weak and should be removed.  Fuck, that was a long week.”

Conner and Bart exchange an awshiiiiiit look.  

They know some of the Batfamily drama.  

No, that’s a lie; they knew very, very little about the Batfamily drama.  Tim rarely (if ever) talks about the ins and outs of what actually happened once Damian arrived at the Manner.  All Conner knows for sure was once Damian moved in, Tim had slowly, but surely started spending more time in San Francisco and less and less time in Gotham.  

Fuuuuuuuuck, Tim must really be fuck he’s talking about it so freely.  

Bart grabs the thermometer and gives it to Tim.

Tim makes a face.

Bart arches an eyebrow.  “It’s your mouth, or I’ll find someplace to put it.”  

Tim takes the thermometer, putting it under his tongue.  After thirty seconds, it beeps with a temperature of 101°.  Bart and Conner exchange a knowing look.

“Oh, don’t look at each other like that,” Tim moans.  “I’m fine.  I just need a little sleep.”

Conner snorts.  “No doubt, but let’s get you something to drink first, okay?  When was the last time you ate?”

“Had a salad with Tam,” Tim grunt.  

“Salad doesn’t count.  When was the last time you had real food?”

“Salad does so count.  It had chicken on it and everything.”  Tim whines as he rolls over and shoves his face into the back of the couch. “Sleep.”  

Conner looks at Bart who mouths fuck.

Little known Titan lore: if Tim Drake whines about wanting to sleep, it means some shit has gone down.

“Man, you really gotta learn how to take care of yourself.”  

“I’ll be sure to let Ra’s know you don’t approve of his solitary confinement package.”

Conner files that away for future discussion (which Conner’s sure won’t get him anywhere) before hoisting Tim up bridal style.  “Come on, man.  Let’s get you some food.  Can’t take your antibiotics on an empty stomach.”

Tim hisses.  “I hate those things.  They always make me nausea.”  

Bart shakes his head, muttering, “sure it's not the whole not eating anything for a week things?”

Tim’s head lulls back to glare at Bart.  “Nope.  Defiantly the antibiotic.”

Conner doesn’t say anything, as he’s too busy trying not to laugh.  Or cry.  He isn’t sure which.  

“Here you go,” Conner deposits Tim at the table where Tim slumps, face first, into the table.  “What do you want—uh, what do you have to eat?”

“Coffee.”

Bart snorts.  “One, that’s a drink, not a food.  Two, you know the rules: no caffeine on an empty stomach.”  Bart zips around the kitchen opening cabinets, looking for food.  He finally ends at the empty fridge.  “Power bars, energy drinks, and coffee?  Really Tim?  That’s all you have in your kitchen?  Even I can’t make something out of that.  More importantly, how are you alive if that’s all you eat in Gotham?  How have you not had a heart attack?”

Bart’s— the best chef among the Titans—could do wonders in the kitchen. Conner once saw Bart make a mouthwatering casserole out of an orange, licorice, tofu, and a few other ingredients that Conner missed.  As Bart put it, “if you had to eat twenty thousand calories a day, you’d get good at cooking too.”  

“Coffee,” Tim stubbornly repeats.

Rolling his eyes, Bart says,  “I’ll be back,” before zooming out of the room without another word.  

Conner goes over to the cabinet that holds some of Tim’s emergency shits hit the fan supplies including bags of saline solution and an IV.  Tim eyes Conner as he moves around but doesn’t object when Conner gently put the IV needle into Tim’s arm.  Although, Conner isn’t sure that Tim has the energy to object to anything that the Meta might do to him.  Conner sits down, watching the IV drip.  Tim closes his eyes; head resting on the table.  

“You want to talk about it?”  Conner murmurs.

“No.”  It’s the strongest thing Conner’s heard Tim say since Tim had stumbled back into his apartment, so Conner doesn’t argue.

After about ten minutes, Bart comes charging back in.  “You know, fast food places really aren’t that fast.  It took them FOREVER to get the food done.”

Conner snorts, “I’m surprised you didn’t go behind the counter and make it yourself.”

Bart tosses Conner a burger before handing Tim some plain toast.  “Thought about it.  Decided that it would probably just draw too much attention to myself.” 

“You guys know I’m off of carbs.”  Tim groans.

“Shut up and eat your toast or I’m calling Cassie.”  

Tim flinches but starts nibbling at his toast.  “I still want some coffee.”

After a long talk with Roy, who didn’t believe that Jason was okay which he was, Jason’s suiting up for the night when he feels his phone vibrate.  Fishing it out of his pocket, the new text alert flashes from an unknown number.  Jason opens it and read:

Got Tim.  Heading back to the Tower.

Jason blinks, a knot that he hadn’t known was in his lower gut loosens, before he fumbles with his phone for a minute, trying to figure out what to write (things ranging from where the hell was he to get his ass to the cave now all floated through his head) before finally settled on:

Is he okay? 

Jason had finished zipping up his jacket (contemplating the best way to go and find those ‘heroes’) when his phone went off again.  

He says we’re inhuman because we won’t give him coffee.  See you around. 

Jason punches the front of his locker.  

Luckily, it didn’t dent; otherwise, he’d have to deal with disappointed Alfred sighs for the next month.  He didn’t like being brushed off especially by a couple of pip-squeaks.  

Jason’s Robin Sense went off before he saw anything.  “The fuck you want?”

Dick appears right next to him because fuck him Dick had been goddamn Batman.  

“What happened to your phone?”

Because shit he’s still clutching his cracked screen phone in his hand.  

Jason glares at Dick.  “Nothing.”

 Dick hums. “Okay.  You seemed distracted.  Everything okay?”

Jason slams his locker shut.  “I’m fine.”  

Dick gives Jason a smile that only an older sibling can. 

Fucking hell, why is Jason here again?

Alfred’s food.  

Right. 

Fucking hell, say it already.

“I was just thinkin’ about Babybird.”  

That got Dick’s attention.  

Jason grins to himself.  

“Why were you thinking about him?” Dick nonchalantly asks which he mighta bought if Jason couldn’t see Dick’s back stiffening and his muscles were twitching.

“Just trying to remember the last time I saw ‘em in the cave is all.”  

Jason isn’t one for sublet.  

It takes for fuck ever for someone (cough, cough, Dick…Bruce) ta realize the fucking point you’re trying to make.  

It’s much more satisfying when you could smack someone in the face with their stupidity.  

Preferable with a fist.

The Bats, however, like to believe that they were fucking perfect (especially Dick, especially in the brother department).  They didn’t take it so well when they get caught being stupid.

Dick, for his part, gives Jason a look like Dick clearly question if Jason’s lost his mind.  “What are you talking about, Jay?  He was just here last week.  He ran a virus sweep on the Batcomputer.”  

Jason had to fight the urge to smack Dick.

Repeatedly.

With his fist. 

Instead, he cocks an eyebrow at his brother.  “That was six months ago.”

The reaction is instant.  Dick recoils like Jason had punched him.  He stares at Jason for a full minute before slowly shaking his head.  Though it looked like there're ‘bout a billion thoughts flashing behind Dick’s eyes.

“What?  No, it wasn’t.  It was last week,” Dick insists, his voice rising.  “Do you honestly think that I haven’t seen my brother in more than six months?  I would have noticed not seeing him for that long.”

Jason pauses, giving Dick one of his patented, you’re full of shit but whatever you need to do to let you sleep at night looks before raising his hands.  

“Sure, Big Bird.  Whatever helps you sleep at night.”  

Opening his locker, Jason looks for his rubber bullets.  

Where the fuck are my motherfucking rubber bullets?  

Days like today make him reconsider rejoining the Bats.  Before all Jay had to do was shoot the asshole and move on.  

Now, he has play nice with the Bats.  

Some days, Jason wonders if it was worth it.  

Then Alfred makes Jason’s favorite dessert, or Bruce would give him one of those goddamn almost smiles (which was like a goddamn hug from the old grump), and Jason found himself coming back home.  

Home.  Jason mused to himself.  

It’s weird after all of these years to have a place that he’d consider a home.

“Jason?” Dick's voice sounds off.  

“Yo,” Jason grunts without looking at Dick.  

There was a pause.  

Dick shifted uncomfortably as Jason finally found his bullets.  

Damnit, Damian must have gotten into his locker again and moved shit around just ta fuck with Jason. 

Again.

Maybe it was time for Jason to teach Titus how delicious Damian’s slippers were.

“Has he really not—did I miss—er—never mind.”  

Jason looks up in time to catch a glimpse of Dick disappearance (showoff) before Jason he could say anything.

The next morning in Red Robin’s room at the Tower, Tim’s fever’s back down to normal.  He was still coughing but he fine.  

Really, he doesn’t understand why Bart and Conner are hovering.  He’s in bed just like they want him to be.  

Snug as a goddamn bug.  

It’s Hell.

Tim does, however, have a company to run and needs to catch up.

“Don’t you have school,” Tim coughs.  

“Flex day,” Conner answers while Bart nods along.

Damn.  Tim thinks.  “Why don’t you guys go catch a movie or something?”  

Conner’s lip twitch and Bart gets a glint in his eye.

Shit.

“A movie does sound like fun.”  Bart turns to Conner, “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Marathon?”

“Marathon.”

“Good, bad, or terrible movies?”

“Mix, of course.”

“Perfect.”

“Food?”

Bart drums his thumbs Tim’s desk.  “Give me half an hour.”  And Bart dashes off.

Tim looks up at Con.  “Do I get a vote in this?”

“Nope,” Con pop the p.

“Fantastic.  I do have work to get done.”

“You were kidnapped and torched.  You can take the day off.”

“Red Robin, maybe, but Tim Wayne?  Didn’t you hear?  He just got back from a lovely whirlwind vacation.”

Conner rolls his eyes.  “Really now?  Were there any hot models there?”

“Not a one sadly.  There was some lovely time to meditate though.”

“Don’t they call that solitary confinement?”

Tim shrugs, “eh, if life gives you lemons.”

“You say ‘what the hell?  I ordered oranges.’”  Con smirks.

Tim rolls his eyes.  “Well, I did order oranges.”  Tim laughs which was a mistake because it set off another round of coughing.  Before he could ask, Conner was handing him a glass of water.  Tim grimaces.  “Coffee would be better.”

“You know the rules:  No coffee for twenty-four hours after a fever spike.”

Tim hisses.  “It was only 101.  That’s barely a fever.”

Conner looks utterly unmoved by this argument.

Bastard.

“Close enough.”

“I’m a mature twenty.  I can take care of myself.”

“Uhuh.  And what show did you leave as a parting gift to Ra’s?”

“Teletubbies,” Tim grins.  Not his new business-friendly smile but a real grin that let the former Robin shin through.  “I thought he’d enjoy it.  Plus he could use a refresher on how sharing is caring.”

Con laughs at that before sobering.  “You know, I was thinking,” Tim internal winces, but keeps his face smooth.  He knew this was coming but it did make the experience any more enjoyable, “maybe it’s time you move out of Gotham?  You could move to the tower full time or something.”

Tim keeps his expression smooth.  “Aren’t you the one who’s always nagging me to get out of the tower?”

Con glowers at him.  “To see a movie, take a walk in the park, go on a date.  Not to go back to one of the most crime-ridden cities in the world.  Hell, in the universe.”  Con took a deep calming breath.

Tim thinks about it.  He really thinks about it.   He considers moving out of Gotham permanently.  What would the ramification of leaving the city that's rejected him several times over?  And while the idea is tempting, to be free of the Bats (fuck yeah that’s an excellent thought now, isn’t?), of all of the baggage that came with Gotham, but—

“It’s home, Con.  I’m—I’m not ready to leave it yet.”  Tim’s voice sounds young, even to his ears.

Con sighs.  “Yeah, that’s what you always say.  Had to ask though.  I think you should still move though.  Ra’s knowing—” Tim cuts him off with a snort.

“Ra’s make it a point to know what laundry soap I use.  Hell, he makes it a point to know what kind of cough drops I take.  He’ll know if I move.  Might as well stay where I’m at for now.”  

The rest of the argument is cut short by Bart reentering the room carrying way, way too much food.  Bart then speeds back out of the room only to reappear in a blink of an eye with a rather large stack of movies.  

Tim stares at the pile.  

No way they’re getting through that stack in one day.

Bloody hell.

Thanks for reading!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18106355/chapters/43592294

[coffee-n-some-cream]

The Space I Filled - Chapter 4: Mr. Lonely

Did Tim feel guilty? Yes. Telling her his identity as a sign of trust didn't really have the same meaning when your identity is a fake one anyway. He introduced himself as Gabriel, bartender and parttime vigilante. His parents had died at an early age due to gang violence and he wanted to rid the city of crime because of it. Nope, he had never met any other superheroes, Batman was just as mysterious to him as he was to her. Superman? Of course not. He was but a smalltime vigilante, he had never even been to America.

She ate up what he told her, and he had to remind himself that there was a good reason he didn't just go around telling everyone he got to know who he really was. She trained well, learned quickly and eagerly, and he genuinely enjoyed teaching her, enjoyed seeing her grow into a strong fighter.

He had been training her for a few months when he asked her who she wanted to be.

"Who?"

"Yeah. Who do you want to be when you get out there and actually start fighting crime? I chose Red X. Have you thought about it?"

"Oh... Yeah, I kind of have. I thought maybe something similar to yours could work. Like Black X, or just X, or... I don't know, something with X in it."

He nodded and offered her a smile. "How about X-girl?"

She made a face at him and he laughed, ruffling her hair to let her know he was only teasing. "Or Lower Case X, that works too." That made her swipe at him, and he let her hit his arm good naturedly.

"What about... something with Red in it instead of X? Like just Red, maybe."

Tim nodded, approving. "Red sounds good. Red X and Red, has a nice ring to it."

She grinned at him and he grinned back before sending her off to do her bo staff practice.

*

Their first patrol was so imperfect it was perfect. He watched her make so many of the same rookie mistakes he had made, and there was that one time she took forever to shoot her grapple and he nearly had a heart attack because he thought it had jammed or something, but she was just enjoying the free fall. He had her back, took out the people that she wasn't keeping an eye on like she should have been, snagged the back of her suit when she got a bit too close to the edge of a building and yanked her back. He ruffled her shock of black hair and let her take the spotlight when they dropped in on some bad guys. He thought that this must be what a parent felt like when they watched their baby walk for the first time, or dropped them off at the first day of kindergarten. At the end of it all, he told her he was proud of her, and she fluffed up with pride like a cockatiel.

After that, the criminal world of Fortaleza knew to watch out for both of them.

"My crew got taken down by the Reds last night."

"Don't go after Red, X is always close behind her."

"Do you think she's his kid?"

"Figures. This always happens with them vigilante types. One pops up and then they start multiplying. We're gonna be the next Gotham, wait and see."

It wasn't long before Red started earning a reputation of her own, outside the shadows of Red X's. She was the cheery one, the one who went soft on you. The one who laughed as she swung above you, the one who hugged the scared kids until they quieted down, the one who could get a chuckle out of Red X. The one who always asked, "Why are you doing this?" before attacking. But if you answered wrong, she could kick your ass, that was for damn sure.

And Red X, the original, well he just loved her to death, didn't he? Sometimes he would just sit at the edge of a building and watch her take out a group, calling out encouragements, compliments, and critiques on her form, the distortion caused by his mask making his voice mechanical and high pitched. He would lurk behind her as she interrogated people, giving her tips on how to be scarier. They had a fantastic good cop, bad cop routine.

Suffice it to say, they were successful. The criminal world feared them, they did good work, and still remained fairly discreet among the everyday people. Nobody had even gotten a grainy picture of them.

He stood on a tall building in the early night and watched Adriana out of the corner of his eye. She stood proud, her short, red cape blowing behind her, one booted foot resting on the rise on the edge of the roof. She turned to look at him, smiling, eyes probably crinkling under the black domino that took up nearly half her face. He ruffled her hair, then took off into the night, knowing she would follow. This was probably the happiest he had been in years. Having someone with him, to watch out for, to share his less mild-mannered alter ego with. It felt good.

*

"I'll see you later, Gabe," she called over her shoulder as she made her way out of his basement and up the stairs, slumping withe exhaustion from another night of crimefighting.

"Yup. Remember, don't come over tomorrow, you're getting the night off," he answered.

That made her pause. She turned, halfway up the stairs, and stared at him. "What? Why?"

He turned to give her a look. "You have school the next day. You need sleep."

She blinked at him with wide eyes, and he knew she thought he had forgotten. He thought back to nights like this with Bruce, how Tim hated being kept away from his vigilante duties but was forced to get a good nights sleep anyway.

"But- but I can't just ditch my Red gig for something like," she scrunched her nose up, "school."

"Yes you can, and you will. School is important, trust me. Just go. I've worked on my own before, I'm sure I'll manage without you."

"But-" she started again, but he just shot her a look that always seemed to get her to quiet down, and she sighed and looked away. "Fine."

He nodded and said, "Goodnight, Adriana."

"'Night," came her disappointed reply.

After her footsteps retreated and he heard the door to his house slam shut, he sat down at this workdesk and began cleaning his weapons. A shuriken, black and gleaming, that had a few flecks of blood on it. He wiped it down, polishing it until he could see himself in it. Setting it aside, he started on one of Adriana's shuriken, which had red highlights when you held it up to the light. The cloth rubbed over the sharp edges, and Tim stared down at it, thinking about how she had accidentally hit it against an alley wall, blunting the point.

He had done that a few times, he remembered, back when he was Robin. A slight twist of his wrist in the wrong direction and the shuriken had flown off course, barely grazing Two Face's ear and hitting the wall behind him. He had dove at him, seeing the opening he had left. Dick had made up for it, getting Two Face with a perfectly aimed batarang, and Tim had felt horribly embarassed at his mistake. But Dick had just laughed and ruffled his hair, telling him that he had done the same exact thing a million times.

Tim remembered the weight of his hand on his head, the comfort it had brought. The feeling that even if he messed up, someone had his back. He remembered how Dick had told Bruce that Tim had done well that night, not mentioning the little mishap, and Bruce had nodded approvingly at Tim.

Tim remembered how Kon asked him one time how he never missed with the shuriken, and Tim had smiled and said, "I missed so many times when I started out that luck is just paying me back now." And Kon had snorted, amused.

He remembered having a throwing competition with Steph and soundly beating her, and she had been pissed about it for days even though he hadn't even gloated. He remembered giving Cass a really nice set of them for Christmas one year. He remembered Jason starting to throw a few at him, before realizing who he was and saying, "Jesus, Replacement, warn a guy."

He remembered how he fell asleep polishing them one night, and had woken up to a blanket draped around his shoulders, surely Alfred's doing. He remembered the warmth at the thought, the feeling of having someone looking out for him. He remembered feeling safe.

Tim snapped back to reality with a start, realizing that he was gripping the shuriken with his fingers and blood was dripping from them and onto the table.

"Shit," he muttered, and grabbed a cloth to stem the bleeding, dropping the weapon on the table.

He sighed and looked at it, thinking that he would have to clean it all over again. He looked back to his hands, trying to stop them from trembling, and took a shaky breath.

He couldn't... he couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't stand being alone like this. He had Adriana, but it wasn't the same as having his family. His brothers, his sister, Bruce, Steph, Babs, Alfred. God, he missed Alfred's hot chocolate, how the butler always seemed to know when Tim needed a mug of it and someone to talk to. He missed Oracle's voice over his comm, how he never felt alone with her in his ear. He missed Steph's laughter as they soared through the air. He missed Kon's smile when Tim said something funny. He missed the spats with Jason and Damian, he missed Cass's silent communication, he even missed Bruce's silent lack of communication. He missed Dick's hand on his shoulder.

Tim put his head on the worktable, not caring that he was getting his own blood in his hair, not caring that his tears were falling down to mingle with the blood.

"I miss you," he whispered, choking on his own breath, and gripped the cloth painfully against his hand. "I miss you, I miss you, I miss you, I miss you..."