#anyway I really love Gregory and his taser

[mellomadness]

local zombie adopts feral child and teaches him the ways of the security guard, feat. Mr Glowybear

[starspatter]

Heroes and Thieves, Ch. 15

Title: Heroes and Thieves Fandom/Universe: BTAS, pre/post-RotJ flashback

Summary: A story about second chances, healing, and having hope.

Rating: PG-13, for references to character death, child psychological torture and trauma.

Genre: Romance/Family/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 4,800 Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

Also on ff.net and AO3. ...I lied.  This is totally a harem story. *flees*

She held onto my coat that night, like a kid lost in her sleeves Oh we warmed the ground, we hushed our sound We slept on walking feet Oh Darlin’, pardon me Can you help me remember When we were all flying free

-Gregory Alan Isakov, “Living Proof”

————————–

After.

Barbara breathed out as she stood before the large, warehouse-like building, gazing anxiously up at its second floor (and watchful security cameras she knew were installed overhead). The reinforced structure still seemed relatively sound despite the recent disaster. The… original occupant certainly knew how to choose a hideout location and prepare for all potential outcomes. …Must've been a habit he picked up from his previous landlord.

With a wary hand, she buzzed the doorbell.

Sooner than she expected, the entry flew open to reveal an unfamiliar face: a young man with a short crop of mane spiked in the front like flames, similar in color to her own.

"Well hellooo there," he greeted with a wide grin, eyeing his guest up and down. "What can I do you for, miss?"

Barbara stared at him in surprise.

"Er, is Tim home? He… does still live here, right?"

The stranger licked his lips, resting toned muscle casually against the doorframe.

"Who cares about him? What say you and me get to know each other a bit first, as fellow redheads, hm?"

He loomed towards her, admiring her luscious saffron locks. Barbara grimaced, getting ready to give the kid a good taste of a police twist hold (if not taser) – when a voice she recognized interjected from behind.

"She's a cop, Roy. And she used to be Batgirl. I wouldn't try anything if I were you."

Tim emerged beside the other teen, regarding the two dully. Unfortunately the statement only seemed to fuel his friend's lust further.

"Hot damn. You here to arrest me, officer?" He waggled his brows. "Slap some cuffs on me and take me down to the station? I wouldn't mind that on the first date."

"Roy."

"Kidding, kidding. Jeeze, you really have no sense of humor now, do you?" He lowered his limb dejectedly. "Anyway, you didn't tell me you were acquainted with such a gorgeous babe. Ain't you gonna introduce us?"

Tim sighed.

"Roy, meet Officer Barbara Gordon, the Commissioner's daughter and former Batgirl. Babs, this is Roy Harper, a.k.a. Speedy, Green Arrow's ex-sidekick."

"Ex-partner," the other boy corrected. "And it's 'Arsenal' now."

"Whatever. Now could you please give us some privacy?"

"A'ight, I can take a hint to take a hike," Roy smirked with a suggestive wink. "I've got a 'date' myself anyway. I'll leave you two alone. Don't wait up~"

He whistled and growled as he passed by Barbara on the way out, who shot him a dirty look before resuming attention to Tim.

"I see you've been keeping company. Honestly, he's worse than the Flash." (What was it with all the male copperheads she met giving her ginger brand a bad name?)

"We know each other from the Titans," he replied in a dry tone. "He needed a place to stay after Queen kicked him out – again. Dick said it was okay."

Barbara paused.

"You talk to him recently?"

Tim shrugged as he moved aside to allow her in.

"We keep in touch. He calls every so often to check up on… things."

She studied his backside as they started heading upstairs to the loft.

"And? How are 'things'?

"Fine."

She glanced around the interior of the room as they approached the top; it looked pretty much the same as she remembered. There was the ornate wall of Asian-styled checkered windows overlooking the city, and the ninja sword rack hanging next to a decorative dragon panel (behind which she knew there was a concealed compartment that used to contain Nightwing's costume). Dick did always have a flair for the Orient.

Running her hand wistfully along the armrest to the sofa, she recalled how she and Dick used to sit and cuddle together on it, enjoying late-night Chinese takeout and talks, among… other things.

A frown settled on her face as she noticed something… "off" about the couch cushions.

"'Fine', you say. …Is that why you have 'this'?"

Tim's eyes immediately narrowed as she stretched behind the seat and unzipped the foam, removing a bag of greenish-purple powder from deep within.

"It's not mine."

He answered, a little too hasty.

"Whose is it then?"

"Roy's," he stated flatly, seeming nonchalant about selling out his flatmate.

"And you're telling me you've never used any?"

He hesitated, eyes slanting aside in silence. She scrutinized the stash, recognizing to her horror that it was likely the popular new drug that was being distributed in the streets amongst decadent youth; an isolated chemical strain similar to Joker toxin, but more mild. Not strong enough to cause permanent psychological damage (at least when taken in minor doses), but enough to mimic the euphoric high for hours on end.

"Have you been doing deals with Jokerz?"

"Like hell I would," he snapped.

She reached out to sternly grab his wrist, trying insistently to meet his eye.

"Tim. Be honest with me. Please."

He yanked his arm away, glaring fiercely in anger.

"What is this, some kind of bust? Fine, go ahead, book me. I don't care. Why don't you just charge me with murder while you're at it?"

"Tim…"

"You don't get it, Barb." He clutched at his sleeves, digging digits deep into his skin. "You don't know what it's like, living with fucking laughter inside your head all the time. At least when I'm laughing louder I can't hear him."

She swallowed, biting her lip. Gently, she set the plastic down on the table.

"I do understand," she whispered softly.

He blinked at her.

"Tim, the reason I came here, is because… Lately, I've been having these… visions." She sank down on the lounger, steepling fingers in front of her. "You remember the time Scarecrow gassed me and left me in a hallucinogenic nightmare state?"

He nodded.

"It's like that, only now, I get them when I'm awake as well, at complete random. Ever since the quake, I'll experience these abrupt panic attacks, and see all kinds of terrifying shit. Then, the flashbacks start, and there's one that's always recurring…" She closed her eyes, reflecting reluctantly. "All of a sudden I'll see myself back at Arkham, fighting against Harley. We go over the edge of the cliff, and I'm hanging on like before, and she starts to slip… Only this time, I fall with her. I – I die, just like that time in my dream."

She hunched in on herself further as she continued.

"It doesn't end there though. It keeps going, and I can still see everything else play out, like when I visualized my dad going after Bruce afterwards. I – I see him and Joker, and you – JJ – there with the gun – and – and… The shot hits Batman instead."

Her speech tapered off as she finished the sentence. Her audience was deathly quiet as she carried on in a tremulous hush.

"Then you and the Joker – he – he makes you do all these horrible things – so many deaths – including Dick's – and finally my dad's the only one left – and he has to take you both down by himself – and it ends with either him shooting you – or you shooting him – and either way everyone I love is… gone."

She looked at him, tears starring her eyes.

"I'm sorry. You probably don't want to hear any of this. I – I just had to come see you…"

"To make sure I haven't gone on an insane murder spree?"

Barbara lowered her head in apology.

"I didn't mean it like that…"

Tim exhaled, unlinking his limbs as he leaned back against the table.

"For what it's worth, I don't think I've done anything recently that would land me a spot in Arkham. …Anyway, shouldn't you go see a doctor about this or something? Or someone else who can help, like…"

The weight of unspoken word hung heavy in the air. She shook her head.

"I'm scared. What if they can't treat it, say my condition's permanent? I'm no good to the force like this, I can't function out in the field. I'll have to give up my badge, after I worked so hard to finally get here..."

Tim rolled his eyes slightly.

"Gee, I wonder what that could possibly be like?"

Contriteness crossed her countenance again.

"…Sorry. That was dumb, I shouldn't have said that. I was being selfish, only thinking of myself. I shouldn't have bothered you with this. You've got enough to deal with, you don't deserve to have my issues dumped on you as well."

Tim held up his hand.

"Look, it's okay, Babs. …Is there anything I can do?"

She lifted timidly, chewing her lip.

"I – I was just hoping maybe we could… I don't know – talk for a bit?"

Tim remained mute, mulling for a moment, before turning and walking over to the mini-fridge. Opening it, he retrieved two chilled beer cans before revolving back.

"You want a drink?"

She boosted an eyebrow, but nevertheless gratefully accepted the offering of booze.

"I'm not even going to ask how you got these."

She muttered as she popped the tab and started to chug it down.

…

A nearly emptied six-pack later, they were both more than a bit tipsy, but Barbara especially so. Turns out she wasn't very good at holding her alcohol.

"I mean, who do those jerks think they are?" she slurred as she slammed her container down. "I'm not some little girl or someone's possession. I can date whoever I damn well please."

Tim perceived her lurch lopsidedly as she groped for another, growing concerned.

"Don't you think you've had one too many?"

"I'll be the judge of that," she hicced as she swatted his hand away. Tim persisted however, prying the prize firmly from her fingertips.

"That's it. I think you've had enough."

As he stood up to put the beverage back, he simultaneously fished out his phone and began dialing with his free hand.

"I'm calling your dad to come pick you up."

He felt a pressure on his lower waist, and he looked down to see Barbara clinging to the back of his shirt, burying her flushed forehead against his spine.

"Please," she mumbled into the fabric. "Just let me stay here a little longer."

He gulped, but submissively sat back down. She warmly nestled her head against his shoulder, causing his chest to beat rapidly in confusion.

"…What the hell happened to us, Tim? How did we end up like this? The four of us, hardly even speaking to each other? Dick would never return my phone calls, and Bruce – God, Bruce – I don't even know where to begin with him."

"To be fair, he was never much of a conversationalist to begin with," Tim griped bitterly. "Besides, don't you, uh, have a new boyfriend now?"

He cleared his throat, and Barbara sighed as she sat up, hugging her knees close to her for comfort instead.

"Sam's great. He understands, but… He doesn't really 'get' it, you know? What we've been through."

She traced a rim of condensation on the counter.

"Hey, you remember that time Bruce almost married a plant-woman? That was wild."

"Yeah? What about when Farmer Brown unleashed a bunch of giant mutant insects on Gotham? That's got to be the craziest adventure we ever had."

"Please. You weren't there when Baby Doll and Killer Croc teamed up and nearly nuked the city. I mean, can you imagine those two together? You can't compete with a weirder pair than that."

It was startlingly simple, to slip so smoothly back into nostalgia. Swapping stories, trying to one-up each other's exploits. Barbara would even fondly describe some of the times she worked with the original Dynamic Duo, back during the "good ol' days" – of colorful costumed villains, wacky crimes, and ridiculous motivations. Telling increasingly tall tales and amusing anecdotes that almost made Tim laugh. …Almost.

"So let me get this straight," she repeated, "You flew the Batplane all the way to outer space… to the Justice League Watchtower… by yourself?"

"Yup," Tim responded as he sedately cracked open the last metal vessel still in his lap and took a sip.

Barbara shook her head in disbelief.

"You always were a risk-taker. I still can't believe Bruce went missing and got brainwashed… again. How come I never knew about any of this? Why didn't you contact me?"

"You were off at grad school. I figured I could handle it."

Barbara propped her elbow on the plush, leaning her cheek thoughtfully against it as she tucked her legs underneath her.

"...It's good that you went to them for help."

Tim peered down, picking absently at the paper label, peeling off aluminum.

"Mr. Kent told me afterwards, that Bruce did call him in secret. The operating room's walls were lined with lead though, since they used to take X-Rays and brain scans there. Even the curtain and that stupid apron Joker wore had lead shielding. He had hench-spies stationed everywhere, in Metropolis as well, so he could render me unconscious as soon as Superman showed up and I wouldn't be able to scream. …He really was prepared for everything."

Barbara couldn't believe it. Just how long had that disgusting sicko been planning this?

"What about the Martian? He's a telepath, isn't he?"

Tim shook his head.

"Apparently the last time he attempted a city-wide psychic sweep to look for Luthor, he wasn't able to shut it off. The flood of thoughts nearly drove him mad afterwards. Bruce didn't want to risk it."

"That still doesn't excuse-"

"What's done is done," Tim curtly cut her off, crushing the canister in his grip to transfer his own resentful rage, before tossing it in the trash. "I've accepted the damage. There's no use in going back and flinging hindsight accusations at this point."

Barbara surveyed his sullen expression in overwhelming sympathy.

"…There's one thing Joker didn't count on."

"What?"

"You fighting him off in the end. You were stronger than him. You won."

Knuckles balled on Tim's kneecap.

"That wasn't a win. We lost the moment I confessed everything to him."

"That's not true, Tim."

He shook his head.

"I killed him, Barb. I did what none of us were ever supposed to do. And the worst part is, I – I was glad about it."

She extended her palm to wrap reassuringly around his wrist.

"So? You have every right to be, after what he did to you."

Tim's fist only tautened further as he avoided her eyes, ashamed of his own ugly sin.

"You know, it's ironic – Batman got gassed by Scarecrow once too. Only instead it took away all his fear. He was seriously out of control, to the point where he wasn't even afraid to kill criminals. I had to take him down myself. I… managed to keep him from making a big mistake."

He laughed then, though it sounded hollow. His eyes had such a pained look, moreso than anything physical could've caused him. The hurt was in his heart and soul. Barbara's own heart broke to see him like this. Her brain swam, swarming with remorse. Wishing there was something she could do to help heal him, convince him that he had a good heart, one that was still worthy and capable of loving others, and of being loved in return…

…

Slowly, she inclined forward – and kissed him.

…

For a second, all Tim could register was the flavor of liquor mixed with black licorice – lush and luscious on her lips – before panicking and pushing away.

"What are you doing?"

"I… don't know."

"…I think you're making a big mistake."

Barbara bristled.

"Who says?"

From their positions, she was practically on top of him. He grasped her shoulders, keeping determinedly at bay.

"You're drunk. And probably hallucinating."

"I'm not hallucinating."

He sighed, scraping a hand through his hair.

"I'm not Dick or Bruce, you know. …I'm nobody."

"You're not nobody."

Conflict clouded his eyes.

"Look, this is all kinds of wrong. What about Sam? Besides, your dad would probably kill me…"

The whites around her blue irises widened.

"Kill you…?"

…Shit.

"Babs, no, I didn't mean-"

She slid off, seizing arms around herself, impressing into her flesh.

"He'll kill you. You'll kill him. …Everyone's going to be killed. And it's all my fault."

Shit. Shit shit shit. He should've known better.

"No one's dying. We're all still alive." (…If what they had could be called "living".) "You're just imagining it."

Her claws only clamped tighter.

"Sam… What if he comes after Sam? I'm putting him in danger. Oh God." Her pupils contracted, zoning into the distance. "Sam, don't open the door – he's got a gun!"

This was not good. He was losing her. He tried to twist her around, get her to see him instead of… of… whatever it was she was trapped by.

"Babs? Hey, hey, look at me. Look at me. Whatever you're seeing right now, it's not real. You hear me? It's not real."

She stayed stiff as a board though, staring far off into vacant space.

"Dad. Oh my God, what's he doing to Dad? He's trying to turn him crazy too. No, no, make it stop!"

Worriedly, Tim shook her shoulders.

"Babs, hey, c'mon! Snap out of it!"

Her eyes were glazed, no longer glued to one spot but rolling everywhere else. Darting frantically to and fro. Features contorted, seemingly in some kind of phantom agony.

"My legs. I can't feel my legs. He took my legs."

Nails curled around her abdomen area, clenching cloth in anguish. Scrabbling, scratching, as if searching for something.

"Babs!"

"The baby," she sobbed. "I lost the baby. I couldn't protect him. Couldn't protect… im…"

The last part was muffled by a wounded choke, but… From the way she said it, it kinda sounded like…

His name.

Helpless, Tim looked on with an aching empathy as the normally tough, take-charge woman he always knew coiled into a fetal form, crying miserably. He mused if this was how he must've often looked to the others back then. He didn't know what to do, how to help her. He felt so utterly useless.

Running over options, his mind halted at one possibility. Something that used to help him deal with nightmares as a kid, before… everything. It was probably dumb and desperate, but it was worth a shot.

"Wait here. I'll be right back."

He dashed to the bedroom, opening up the nightstand drawer and fumbling around inside. Withdrawing the object from the far back, he considered it grimly for a beat, before gritting his teeth and resolutely taking it back to where Barbara was now rocking herself.

"Babs? Hey, look: Remember this?"

She ceased instantly when she saw the Batarang suspended in front of her.

"You always felt safe whenever Batman and Robin were around, right? Nothing… bad can happen to you as long as they're there."

Sentiment welled in her ducts as she reached out tentatively for the reminder, cradling it close to her breast.

"Just in case you run into trouble up there."

"Dick… Bruce…"

Tim drew her in towards him in a compassionate embrace, soothingly stroking her quivering back as if she were the child.

"It's okay, Babs. It's okay." He reiterated the phrase in her ear. "You're okay. I'm… okay. We're okay."

They stayed like that for a while, and eventually the shudders and sniffles subsided as she seemed to fall into a fitful sleep. While she still whimpered occasionally, holding the Batarang nearer did appear to help somewhat.

Just then, he heard the opening and closing of the front door as Roy returned from his "date", bounding up the steps and stopping short upon witnessing the scene before him.

"Whoahey, am I interrupting something?"

He grinned, and Tim scowled at the guy's terrible timing.

"This isn't what it looks like. Just hurry up and help me get her to the bed."

Roy was about to open his mouth to make another snide remark, but promptly shut it upon seeing the searing look Tim speared at him, and the sweat and tears on the moaning visitor's visage. Switching into serious mode, he lent a steady hand with supporting her to the mattress. He was still a hero himself, after all, always available to aid any damsels in distress.

As he agreed to take over looking after the patient for the time being, Tim thanked him and left the bedside temporarily, pulling out his cell again as he traveled downstairs. Inhaling deeply, he began to punch in another number he knew all too well, forever engraved in the back of his skull.

After a couple rings, the other end picked up with a gruff greeting.

"…Yes?"

The cold, almost impatient lack of pleasantry was all Tim needed to confirm he had indeed reached the right person.

"Bruce, it's me. …Barbara needs help."

…

When Barbara finally awoke, the first thing she spotted was Tim sitting on a reversed chair next to her, chin reposed idly on his forearms.

"Hey."

"…Hey."

"How are you feeling?"

"Better, I guess. …How long was I out?"

"The whole night. You were tossing and turning a lot."

She elevated gradually, sensing a moist towel fall from her crown onto the sheets in the process. Had he been nursing her this whole time?

As she tracked its descent, she saw she was still adhering to the Batarang as well. She blushed a bit at how babyish she must have seemed, to have to rely on something like this to calm her down.

"Um, thanks. …You can have this back now."

He relieved her of the improvised crutch, and in exchange he handed her a small vial of medication.

"Here, take this. It's similar to what Dr. Thompkins used to give me, but more concentrated. It's not a permanent cure, but it should help with the terrors. It'll likely knock you totally out for a few more days, but you won't have to suffer nightmares during it. If it doesn't work or you're still experiencing symptoms afterwards, call her and she'll adjust the dosage."

"You got this from Leslie?"

"Bruce did."

She gaped in astonishment.

"You actually spoke to him?"

"He just told me what I needed to know, then hung up and sent Alfred over with the stuff. …Typical, huh?"

His jaw drooped a little further into folds, as did his tired-looking lids.

"You're not the first Scarecrow victim to undergo relapses like this. It's rare, but everyone responds to the fear serum differently. Yours is a more severe case."

Barbara thought about how many others had to live their lives in a compromised state (or lost them entirely) all because of some psychopath who kept breaking out of Arkham – no matter how many times they put him back in – if not released through the revolving door due to (hell, courtesy of) all the corruption in the system. How many lives were really spared, while others still suffered because of their incompetence? Inconsequence.

"You know, sometimes I wonder: If what we were doing was ever really the right thing? After what happened with the earthquake… God, I don't know. Maybe this city is beyond hope. …In the end, did we even make any difference? Was it worth it – any of it? We've saved a bunch of people, sure, but at what cost? I mean, just look at us… We're a mess."

Tim simply shrugged.

"At least Dick's still doing okay over in Blüdhaven. And Bruce seems to be handling things fine on his own. Besides, it's not like he ever really needed us anyway. Because he's Batman."

Barbara observed as Tim toyed with the Batarang in his hands, balancing the tip on the chair back. She dropped her view towards the blankets.

"…You're not him, you know," she pronounced harshly. "You'll never be him."

Her own fingers fumbled with the damp napkin, and bottle of medicine, before looking up again with a smile.

"But, that's not a bad thing."

As she said this, she extended out to pat his cheek, noting the dark bags under his eyes. Had he even slept at all, she wondered? …Then again, she was probably taking up his bed, she realized with sudden embarrassment.

Tim seemed even more embarrassed by the affectionate contact, turning away with a cough. The memory of what she had done surged back to her cheeks, and she hastily detached, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, which bloomed a matching humiliated hue.

"Listen, about what happened last night…"

Tim merely waved off whatever she was about to say in advance.

"We were both drunk. It doesn't count."

"…You're awfully quick to dismiss." Detecting his fidgeting, she gleamed in comprehension. "Ah, don't tell me – you've never kissed anyone before?"

A pure pink tinge faintly colored his complexion, corroborating her suspicion.

"Ehehe, did I steal your first kiss, Boy Virgin?"

"Sh- shut up."

His flush deepened further.

"It's not like I've exactly had much opportunity to try it," he murmured in his defense. "…Besides, if we're counting that kind of thing, technically my first time would've been with Dick."

"Oh."

He sniped a sulk at her reaction.

"I gave him CPR once. What were you thinking?"

"Nothing," she declared innocently, hand hovering over her mouth to obstruct a snicker. "I bet this time was a lot better though. I'm sure you must've thoroughly enjoyed it, if not to some extent."

Tim averted his eyes again as she winked at him.

"Wh- who knows."

"Oh please. Don't deny you were the least bit curious. You think I never noticed you sneaking peeks while we were getting changed?"

Tim burned burgundy as he shifted sight down to his toes.

"I was 13. What'd you expect?"

She nodded sagely.

"You are a boy, after all. It's only natural for these things to occur."

She giggled in entertainment at his expense. When the chuckles died down, she checked the time on the alarm clock by the pillow.

"…I guess I should get going now. I'll need to call in to the station to tell them I'm taking the next days off."

He helped see her out. Standing awkwardly in the entrance, he rubbed his neck before addressing encouragingly.

"You're a great cop, Barb. You're gonna do a lot of good things for this city. I know you'll make it a better place."

She beamed.

"Thank you, Tim. …I'll start by confiscating 'this'."

She held up the contraband, which Roy had taken the liberty of hiding again, but there was no way he could outsmart a Bat, even if she wore a different symbol now.

"And I better not catch you with anything like this again, or I will take you in. Got it?"

Tim winced at the strict lecture and slap on the wrist, but nodded. Barbara softened as she reached around to envelop in a broad hug.

"…Don't be a stranger, Tim. You're the only one I can still talk to about all this."

He wavered, but kindly reciprocated the gesture. As she withdrew, she raised an arm to lightly pet his hair, discerning he had finally hit that growth spurt; he was almost at her height now.

"Listen. Someday, you're gonna meet someone special, who loves you just the way you are. And she's gonna be so lucky to have you in her life."

Tim scoffed.

"Yeah, right. Like that's ever gonna happen."

She took his hands in hers. Hands that still twitched and trembled every once in a while, as if afraid to even be touched. Hands that had, in his opinion, committed the greatest act of transgression, taking another's soul and doomed toll on his own – but had also toiled all night to keep changing her cool kerchief, tending and tenderly wiping her temple in enduring devotion to charitable ideals. That had prostrated and prayed, begging for a favor from "God" for her sake, subjugating self in spite of whatever spiteful feelings he bore towards said sore subject. …That had rescued so many lives at the risk of his own, without asking for any reward other than to have a place to call "home", and a "family" who cared for him as much as he did for them. (And even that had been mostly taken from him too, something for which she regretfully shared the blame.)

"Don't give up hope. Things will change. It's gonna get better. I promise."

She stooped forward to peck his cheek, before letting go.

"Thank you, again, for everything. I'll see you around, Tim."

"Yeah. See ya."

She left with a wave, and he halfheartedly did the same as he watched her go.

…

About a week later, after she'd fully recovered and gone back to work as good as new, she received an urgent call from Roy at the hospital.

…

Tim had tried to kill himself.

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That sky glowed all calico, like phosphor in the sea To the ground we fall, she owns us all Kings and boys and beast Kings and boys and beast