#kon thinks it's all very entertaining when she just plops down next to him and helps herself to the popcorn

[mamawasatesttube]

tired: timkon have to sneak around to date in gotham bc the batfam hate kon and try to intimidate/bully him for dating tim

wired: timkon have to sneak around to date in gotham bc the batfam like kon too much and tim is so fucking tired of his siblings crashing date night to hang out with his boyfriend

[wisdom-walks-alone]

we’ve got mistletoe and firelight

a christmas fic for my friend @queerbutstillhere! this was originally for the @damijonsecretsanta but i didn’t finish it in time fhnusihf sorry it’s a bit late korey but you know me DHFUSHYFSL

read it on ao3 The first Christmas was spent in Hamilton County, at Jon and his family’s house. It was snowing. Jon was just about to lose hope for a white Christmas, but mother nature seemed to pull through.

There was excitement in the air, as there always was during this time of year, and Jon was watching as the snow fell lazily outside the window.

"Down, boy," his mom chided, chuckling and putting a hand on his back as he realized he was hovering.

"Sorry, Mom." Jon lowered himself back onto the couch, a sheepish smile on his face.

Mom shook her head, smiling herself. "It's fine, Jon. You know powers are fine in the house, I just don't want you getting in the habit of using them without realizing."

"I know, Mom, I'll be careful," Jon assured her. She ruffled his hair, was met with his protests, then disappeared back into the kitchen to check on dinner.

Just then, Dad walked out of the kitchen, a steaming mug in each hand. He handed the one piled high with whipped cream to Jon, who thanked him avidly. "I would say it's hot and to be careful, but I'm not sure that really matters anymore," Dad commented, and Jon took a tentative sip of his hot chocolate to test it.

It felt fine to him, so he shrugged. "Don't think so. Tastes good, though."

Dad smiled. "You got a little something on your lip there." He pointed and Jon went cross-eyed for a second, then licked the whipped cream off his lips. "You're a bit too young to be shaving, still."

Jon rolled his eyes. "Daaad, you're not nearly as funny as you think you are sometimes."

"It's Christmas, Jon, humor me."

Jon stuck his tongue out and took another sip of hot chocolate.

When the doorbell rang, Jon was the first one up, at the door in a split second, mug left forgotten on the coffee table. “Damian!”

Damian stood in the door, wearing a long coat and a nice shirt and tie, contrasting Jon and his family’s matching sweaters. His dad stood behind him, dressed similarly.

It was a little surreal to have Batman over for Christmas Eve dinner, but then Jon was starting to get used to surreal.

“Bruce, Damian, thank you for joining us!” Jon’s dad came up behind him, placing a hand on Jon’s shoulder. 

“Thank you for having us, Clark,” Mr. Wayne replied, stepping inside and reaching to shake his hand.

“Hello, Corncob.” Damian brushed snow off of his shoulder before shrugging his coat off, handing it to his father when he held out a hand for it.

“You can hang those right here.” Dad gestured to the coat rack. “Dinner’s almost ready. And Lois made pie!”

“Can’t wait. It’s been too long since I’ve had Lois’s pie,” Mr. Wayne said.

“Me, too,” Dad agreed.

“Mom made pie last week,” Jon commented, looking at his dad quizzically.

“Exactly,” Dad replied solemnly.

Damian shakes his head. “Tt.”

Dinner went by without much fanfare. And Mom's pie was delicious, as always. Dad had three slices and Damian's dad had two. Luckily, Mom had thought ahead and made two pies. Always one for preparedness.

Once they were all full and done, Damian wiped his mouth and stood. "Now that dinner is finished, I believe it is time for the main event…" He paused, looking around at all of them. Drama queen. "Presents."

"Yes!" Jon leapt out of his seat and made a beeline for the tree.

"Just one, Jon!" Mom called after him. "It's only Christmas Eve!"

Damian met him by the tree, picking up a box that Jon knew wasn't there before. "Here, open mine."

Jon took the box slowly, looking at Damian. "Really? For me?"

Damian scoffed and turned away. "Yes, Jonathan, for you. Who else would it be for?"

Jon smiled widely. "So we are friends,” he said, smile turning devilish.

“Tt. Don't push your luck.”

“You loooove me,” Jon taunted, floating over Damian’s head. “Can’t get enough of me!”

“Just open your present, Hayseed.”

Jon laughed, landing cross-legged on the floor. He started tearing open the wrapping paper, eyes widening when he saw what was inside.

"Monk-E-Monsters! I've wanted this game for months! How did you know?"

Damian shrugged, a knowing smirk on his face. "I'm Robin," he said simply.

"But I thought it was all sold out until after the Christmas season," Jon remembered, looking at him quizzically.

Damian shrugged again. "I'm also Damian Wayne. I pulled a few strings."

Jon grinned and threw himself at his friend (they were friends, whether Damian liked it or not). "Thanks, Damian."

Damian froze for a second, then relaxed. "Of course," he replied, patting Jon on the back. "Merry Christmas, Jon."

-

Wayne Manor was always cold this time of year. It was an unbelievably old house, and unbelievably big. But gathered in one of the smaller living rooms by a roaring fireplace, it wasn't so bad.

Decorations covered so many of the rooms that Jon would have thought it impossible if he didn’t know who lived here. Even then, the bats must have really had to pull together for something like this—probably all under Alfred’s watchful eye, of course.

A good amount of the caped community was here for one big Christmas party. Jon and Damian's dads were talking with some other members of the League. Dick and his friends were testing how many ornaments he could juggle before dropping one. From his vantage point, Jon guessed they were up to eight or so. He could see some more of Batman's allies in the hallway, Kate and Duke sitting on the stairs chatting, Harper, Cass, and Steph giggling over something on their phones. Conner was hanging out with Tim and the rest of their Titans team, while Jon and Damian sat on the couch with their own Titans playing Super Smash Bros.

"Again?" Gar whined, throwing his hands up.

"Man, you gotta let someone else win every once in a while," Wally added, already resigned. He and Gar sat on the floor, Damian on the couch with Emiko on one side and Jon on the other. Raven sat on Jon's other side, her controller floating in front of her, most of her attention taken up by her drink and her book.

Damian shrugged. "Emiko wins sometimes. So does Raven, when she's paying attention."

"We mean you should let one of us win for once!" Gar wailed.

"You'd win if you were good at the game."

"You little sh—"

"Hey, hey, hey." Jon put a hand on Gar's shoulder to keep him from lunging at Damian. "We are not having a brawl on Christmas."

"But it would be so entertaining," Emiko said disappointedly.

"He is kinda right, though," Raven piped up, not taking her eyes off of her book. "Just get better at the game and maybe you'll win."

"Et tu, RaeRae?" Gar looked up at her, looking like a sad puppy. Literally. He had turned into a little green puppy and was staring up at her pathetically.

Raven wasn't even phased, just turned a page in her book. Jon snorted.

Gar turned back, but the pout remained.

Just then, somebody wolf whistled, and everyone in the room turned to the culprit: Tim. And once everybody saw who it was, they followed his line of sight, right over to Jon and Damian. Jon suddenly felt very vulnerable, which was ironic in of itself, shrinking in on himself a bit while he tried to figure out why everybody was staring at him.

"Hey, Rob." Gar grinned toothily, staring at the space above their heads. Damian's face turned beet red, and Jon looked up to see Kon floating over them, dangling what was unmistakably mistletoe over their heads.

Damian crossed his arms haughtily, pulling a leg closer to his body, clearly trying to downplay his embarrassment. "Tt. As if anyone would partake in your childish holiday games."

Jon couldn't help but laugh. He leaned over, pressing a quick peck to Damian's cheek. "Merry Christmas, Damian." Somehow, Damian's face had managed to turn a deeper shade of red, and he looked away as he pulled his other leg onto the couch.

"Tt. Whatever." Then, when the room had once again filled with chatter and they were about to start another round of Smash, Jon heard Damian mutter a quiet, "Merry Christmas, Jon."

-

Their first Christmas in their new apartment wasn't looking too shabby, if you asked Jon. He was quite satisfied with the way everything was decorated, by the lights laid out on the TV stand, the tree in the corner letting off a soft glow. Of course, Damian was a perfectionist, so obviously everything would look perfect.

Damian walked out of the kitchen with a mug of hot chocolate, sweater sleeves pulled over his hands, and plopped on the couch next to Jon. He pulled the blanket over his bare legs and tucked himself under Jon’s arm, turning his attention to the Hallmark movie Jon had put on. Jon still didn’t understand the point of wearing shorts with a sweater, and when asked, Damian would just shrug.

He leaned his head on Damian’s, nursing his own mug of hot chocolate. “This is nice,” he said, squeezing Damian a bit tighter.

“Arguable. This movie is maybe mediocre at best,” Daman replied, a smirk audible in his voice.

Jon rolled his eyes. “I don’t mean the movie and you know it.” Damian snorted. “I mean this. You. Me. Us. It’s nice.”

“You’re such a sap,” Damian said, turning his face further into Jon’s chest. “But I agree with the sentiment. I must admit, this is nice.” He played idly with the hem of Jon’s shirt, and Jon pressed a kiss to his head as the movie continued to play.

As the credits rolled, Jon stood up, earning him a whine, with grabby hands following after him as Damian flopped the rest of the way onto the couch. Jon chuckled, walking over to the tree and picking up a small box. He brought it back over to the couch, and Damian’s eyebrows scrunched. “It’s only Christmas Eve,” he pointed out.

“Yeah,” Jon agreed, “but I think you deserve to open one tonight. I hope you like it.” He smiled, holding the box out to his boyfriend.

Damian took the box gingerly, undoing the ribbon carefully and lifting the lid. He pulled out a silver charm bracelet, laying it out on his palm so that he could look at the charms. They were small, nothing fancy, just disks with their initials and a pair of green and blue jewels. “Like I said before, you’re a sap,” Damian told him, but he was smiling. “I love it, thank you.”

He pulled Jon in for a kiss, hand on the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. When they pulled away, Jon gestured to the bracelet, and Damian held out his hand as Jon did the clasp.

Damian smiled. “It’s beautiful. Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome,” Jon said, taking his hands. “Merry Christmas, Damian.”

“Merry Christmas, Jon.”

-

Damian's never been one for mornings. So when sunlight spills in through the window, all he does is roll over and push his face into the pillow. It smells like lemon scented shampoo.

The bed dips behind him, and strong arms wrap around his waist, pulling him close to a warm body. Damian relaxes into it.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Jon mumbles into his skin, nuzzling into his neck.

Damian pulls Jon’s arms tighter around him, and he feels Jon press a kiss into his shoulder. “Morning, love,” he replies drowsily, his voice still thick with sleep. He twists and rolls over in Jon’s arms to face him, reaching up to brush a lock of hair from Jon’s face. Jon hums, pulling him in for a kiss.

“Daddy! Baba!” a little voice screeches from down the hallway. “Santa was here, Santa was here! Wake up, wake up, Santa was here!”

Damian groans, turning his face back into the pillows. Jon just chuckles. “Your son is calling.”

“Before 8 AM, he’s your son.”

“Was that a Lion King reference? Color me impressed.”

“Ari! Ari, Santa came!”

Damian sits up at that, Jon’s arms falling to his lap. “Sebastian Phillip Wayne-Kent, do not wake your sister up this early in the morning!”

Jon sits up next to him and drags a hand down his face. “It’s too late, she’s awake.”

An excited shriek sounds from Aria’s bedroom, and Damian sighs into his hands. “You heard her, Hayseed. I’m going back to sleep.”

“You can’t go back to sleep, you have to see what Santa brought you,” Jon teases. Damian flops back onto the bed.

“Nope, it’s too early for this, goodnight.”

Too quick for him to process, Damian is standing in Aria’s room, the excited and very awake toddler standing up in her crib, jumping and bouncing. “That’s cheating!” he calls out the door. Jon just cackles from down the hall.

“Ba!” Aria smacks him on the chest.

“Alright, alright, let’s go, you little terror. Santa came last night.” Damian lifts her out of the crib and settles her on his hip, making his way downstairs, the smell of pancakes, eggs, toast, and coffee flooding his nose. Of course Jon already made breakfast. He continues to the living room, where Jon is just barely managing to restrain Bash from opening anything too soon.

When he sees Damian he finally lets go, and Bash zooms over to the tree, floating around as he looks for which gifts are for him. Seeing Bash’s excitement and wanting to follow suit, Aria wriggles free from Damian’s arms and Jon has to use his superspeed to catch her before she hits the floor.

Damian sighs and drops onto the couch beside Jon, watching Aria toddle after Bash, trying to keep up.

“Look, Ari, this one’s for you!” Bash holds out a large box that’s almost as big as Aria. Damian knows there’s a doll in that one.

“Yay!” Aria sits down on the floor with it and starts ripping it open, and Bash finds one to tear open for himself.

“Hey.” Jon gets his attention and holds out a small box, a dopey smile on his face. Damian takes the box gingerly, taking off the lid. It’s a new ID tag clip for his scrubs, with a rubber cartoon cat. He laughs.

“Thank you, habibi, it’s perfect.” Jon clears his throat and glances up for a second, and Damian follows his gaze to where Jon is dangling a piece of mistletoe above their heads. Jon looks at him expectantly, and Damian laughs as he leans in.

“Eeewww,” Bash cuts in, making a disgusted face at them.

“Eeww!” Aria echoes happily, scrunching her nose in an attempt to copy her brother.

Jon rests their foreheads together as they laugh. He looks up at Damian through his lashes and says, “Merry Christmas, Damian.”

Damian smiles. “Merry Christmas, Jon.”

[iphoenixrising]

No Home for Dead Birds: What’s in a Name?

Shout-out to Arkaedia and @poison-basil for helping with the naming conventions. Seriously. The struggle was REAL. I don’t want to kill the surprise, but @yangmallow was the one that gave me the last name ;)

**

**Rachel**

She very easily puts the mug down and lifts a hand to the back of Tim’s neck, her skin cool and smooth, her smile the ghost of fond.

“Muninn?” He asks, muffled where his head is buried on his arms because damn the island is just the perfect height for him to plop down on a stool and maybe take a nap. But, he wants the answer. He wants the answer from them all.

Why that name?

(Maybe so he can finally pick another?)

And turns his head enough for a fresh breath of air and to sleepily regard her as she slides on the stool next to him with her own caffeine and the smallest of smiles he can’t remember ever seeing on her face before.

“Because I am accustomed to being Raven,” she sighs a little sadly without losing that smile, and Tim makes a mental note to do some digging, find out where she was during his time out. “And Odin kept ravens Huguinn and Muninn as his Memory. I like this idea perhaps. To be the keeper of memory.”

She sips at her tea, watching him with calm, cool, and collected.

“I like it for you,” he leans up enough to grip the mug in front of him with both hands. “I like the idea, so we’re def going to go with it.”

She hums a little, “I am glad. This...choice is freeing in a way, Tim. More so than I anticipated when he informed the Justice League of our parting.”

She has his full attention and uses it strategically, “it had been coming for some time, I think. Everyone, all of us, had been growing out of their control for quite some time. Gar and I, well, we have been operating on our own outside the team for years. You are aware of this.”

He nods gently back at her, one foot idly swinging off the rung of the stool, and yes, he knew. All of them had their own baddies, their own pet projects, their own ghosts and demons.

Just like him.

What kept them together? They all knew when it was time to come back.

(And that’s what he’s doing now, isn’t he?)

Raven… Muninn gives him a sharper edge to that smile like she knows exactly what he’s thinking— and couldn’t agree more.

“It’s good,” she sips at her mug, eyes soft while he’s still bleary and unfocused, “that you have decided to join back with us.”

With a yawn, he scrubs the grit out of his eyes, “I know...I wasn’t okay for a while, but I was still moving, you know? I was getting to the part where it was all fine.”

She hums lightly, reading into his bullshit without a hitch, “like all Robins, Tim, you could have continued alone. However, unlike the others, I believe you have a potential for more,” and her graceful hand gestures around the comfortable commons room, her dark gaze coming back to rest on him pointedly.

And if he laughs a little at her blatant humanity showing through, shoving a hand through his hair with eyes only slightly wet, well, that’s just going to be a little secret between them.

**Conner**

“Belenus?”

The clone smiles at him, hands dangling between the knees of his torn jeans. It’s just them in this new reality, and those blue, blue eyes have picked up a new trick, trying to look past the surface to find something…

(The truth)

Once upon a time, his bullshit tech could throw the clone off when needed. Anymore, it doesn’t look like that’s going to be the case.

At the top of their HQ, Conner isn’t floating above the lip of the roof, stays firmly rooted beside Tim, so close their thighs could almost be touching.

“It’s—”

“Yeah. Sun God reference, but—” he shrugs, but the leftovers still Superboy are there in the tightness of his forearms (“Robin, why does Superman seem to...hate me? Have I done something against regulations?” “That’s...that’s not it, Superboy, really.” But at the time, he’d already seen how disappointing and degrading it was to the clone, to know he wasn’t wanted by his biological donor. Some things? He gets.)

“You know Clark is an asshole, Con. Don’t feel like you need to do anything.” Like give Superman the fucking satisfaction.

“When we left the Tower for good, after we found out with the Justice League did, what they’ve been doing for a while, I spent some time out in the world, like I never have before. I…” and Conner sighs, his expression changes, smooths out like the days when he’d first come alive. The blank, expressionless face was a default when he didn't’ understand something or when he felt he needed to hide.

And before his best friend says a word, tries to spit out some acceptable explanation he might have already crafted for the rest of the team rather than the truth, Tim’s hand on his wrist stops it.

(Because he’s known Conner from Day 1, and there’s no need for him to get defensive about his choice. There’s no need for him to explain one of the turning points in his life was the time he’d been badly injured and Superman had snagged his clone up in the blink of an eye and flown them both directly to the sun in hopes it would have the same healing effect. It was the first time Clark showed concern and care, it was the first time Conner had felt like he wasn’t just some abomination. The name Kon-El, the addition in the Book of the House of El came not long after it, but still. By the time they’d met him in Ma’s house on his way out, it was so far too little, too late that all he could do was this, this name.)

And Tim gets it. Really, he does. The second Bruce handed him the tunic with the R, it was the same intense rush. The first time Batman called him Robin. “Believe it or not, I understand, man. I’m completely on board. Belenus it is.”

And those eyes come back to him, absolutely familiar in every way that he has to consciously catch himself from putting a hand to the back of Con’s neck to give a familiar squeeze, from a familiar pull for the clone to let himself list into Tim’s body..

“Heh. Thanks, T. You don’t know how much that means.”

And well, considering Con is holding on to the flash drive with all the files on Project 13 from CADMUS, of which he brought out after Clark snubbed him time and time again, thumb rubbing across the thing like a security blanket, Tim can absolutely guess.

He doesn’t put that hand on the back of Conner’s neck, but he does grip the wrist tighter to just hold on.

**Garfield**

Usually it’s him hanging upside down playing electrician. Nice to see Gar pulling it out like a boss.

“Saturn?”

“Titan of time, man,” the older superhero replies from half-inside the ceiling tiles. “Do you even know how long I’ve been at this game, T?”

He laughs a little and goes back to the motherboard in his lap, getting it ready for Gar to install. “I might have heard once or twice." He doesn’t need to say the only other of them in the game since he was eight was... (Dick) that guy; both of them are already aware of the metaphorical elephant in the room. Still, Tim appreciates the consideration since, well, Gar used to worship the ground Dick walked on. It’s nice to know the shape-shifter still welcomed him back regardless.

"Rach told me it was, um, you that lead the charge against the Justice League.”

There’s a shift, a random surge of energy, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end (because, you know, meta powers), and the low pop is just a random chimpanzee hanging upside down from the ceiling tiles by the tail. He grins because seeing a monkey smirk is never not going to be entertaining.

But Gar can work better and have this little convo, Timbo, because, man, why not just talk about it.

“So, look, T,” and Gar’s deeper baritone coming out of the monkey gets his attention, “I’m in my late twenties no matter how bangin’ I look. Rach is in her, I don’t know, hundreds or something, Cassie is nineteen, Bart is who knows how old, and Con is like six or something. Anyway, the point is— we don’t need someone to task us. Especially with whatevs is their deal. B-man’s little assignments? The League’s second-hitters? Nah, thanks for not lookin’ out. Then, for the JL to tell us who we can fight with? Who we can trust? The days when they could do that are long over. I was pretty sure we had that understanding when Dick had to lay it out that we?” the monkey pauses to wave his hands in emphasis, “are autonomous. Sure, we wanna take on that fight, why not? But that was supposed to be our call, dude. We got to make the team decisions, so the crap they pulled with you? Nah, bro, not happening anymore.”

Tim goes back to the motherboard in his hands, staring down at it, taking in the justifications.

“But the fact they did it to you?” Gar goes on with a sneer as he splices two wires together, using his feet to tape and hands to connect, “that’s total bullshit. Like, straw that broke the camel’s back, ‘kay?”

Tim blinks at the monkey owlishly because, well, he really didn’t think he was Gar’s fave Robin.

“Okay,” he replies softly, looking up at the green-eyed monkey.

“Don’t get it twisted, dude. All the mentors screw up. Ollie and Roy, Clark and Con, Diana and Donna, hell, Bats and Dick. We’re human,” and Gar wags a brow as his hairy arms give a helpless motion, “or some form of it. People fuck up. But ousting you without even talking to us first? Just letting us think it was your call all along? Nope, not schway. Not schway At. All.”

With his throat oddly clogged, he zaps the motherboard one last time with his own brand of tech magic and stands to hand it up.

“I...I could understand why Dick wanted Dami to step up with the Titans,” and even saying that makes his chest go cold. “Robin has always had a place on the team. I mean...it fucking sucked, but I still got it, Gar. The way of things, you know? Robin is part of the team.”

A green brow arches, “oh? You mean all those years of Discowing leading the call was any different than you as Red Robin?”

And that moment in front of the Justice League when he’d made the same damn argument passes by, making him avert his gaze as the monkey slides the motherboard home. The connects are super easy, man. Not even any trouble.

In a swift, smooth move, the monkey jumps and twists, turning into the human as he lands it, and faces the former Robin with brows drawn and a frown marring his features.

“T-man. Dude. You know how close I am with Dick. None of that is a newsflash. He’s always going to be one of my closest bros. Years of being on a team and just being in this life together takes bonding to a whole new level. But, I’m not blind to the fact the guy can be super impulsive and seriously dramatic. All you Bats are, inherit it from the Big Guy,” Gar makes both pointer fingers cowl ears behind his head in reference. “But that time? He was wrong, Tim. I don’t know the down an’ dirty, and you don’t need to lay it out for me, but I know he seriously messed up with you all the way around.”

But it hits Tim in a belated wave, makes him stare at Gar and blink. Of all the people he thought would side with Dick (because he was strong enough to win the cowl, so of course it was his opinion on who should wear the tunic that really fucking mattered, right? Not the goddamned kid that was already in it), he was sure Gar would be right on that side of the equation.

(And he is very, very carefully not going to think about the straight-out end of their relationship—no word and no warning. Because that? Had no place in the here and now.)

The shape shifter is easy when he wraps an arm around Tim’s shoulders, subtly steering them to the main doors. He ignored the furious wiping of the face and only vaguely acknowledges the husky, watery, “thanks, man. Seriously,” without being offended.

Instead, Gar just gives a little, “de nada. We’re going to do what we do best, and that, my friend, is kick ass and take names.”

“Yeah,” Tim agrees with a small grin, “we do have a knack for kicking ass, right?”

“Totes,” and Gar leads him back to the Communal Floor where at least someone would be lounging around after a rigorous morning testing the lower floors. Something tells Gar a board game night will most def be on the roster.

**Cassie**

She’s cozied up in the window seat, watching the rain. The sweatshirt is an old one of Con's, big enough that her hands barely peep through the end of the sleeves, but the healing scabs on her bruised and battered knuckles make him duck his head with a smile. It's an easy thing to put the kettle on by muscle memory and hunt around in cabinets until he finds the right one.

(It's a simple, fat glass jar she'd found in one of the markets in the French Quarter. Terribly perfect for the purpose.)

It smells like spices when he opens it, the teas all neatly arranged.

The jasmine is light at it steeps, and for once he foregoes coffee to have a mug himself.

He's still in the new CEO skin, and the proposal today went far better than he could have imagined. His new line of products were going to start in R&D, then out for testing. The possibilities of growth in the next five years alone could put them higher in the Fortune 500 ratings.

Too bad for Bruce. He might have made a half-way decent CEO for Wayne Enterprises.

Crazy thing that.

But Cassie starts gently from her thoughts when he holds the mug down and fits himself across from her in the window seat, room for them both to look out at the rain and the throngs of people dancing in it.

"Ceres. I like it."

The comment is mild and unassuming, but she lays her forehead against the glass and rolls her eyes at what's becoming his usual, careful intrusions. It’s still just so…strange, seeing him like this, so subdued and grown-up from the Robin she knew, from the Tim she briefly dated when their lives were crumbling under their feet…and there was really nowhere else to go but down.

"I do too," she admits candidly, holding the mug in both palms, "I needed...something different. Wonder Girl was like a noose around my neck sometimes, you know? I'm not like Diana or even Donna."

With a quirk of his mouth, he sips at his own mug because they’ve had this conversation before. Third Robin. You know, the one not chosen, so yeah, Cassie, he gets it.

“Their powers were innate things, Tim. A part of them. When I asked Zeus for his blessing and he gave me these abilities, I thought I would feel different, be different, and… I’m not. I can’t keep doing the same thing over and over without thinking about something better. It’s not enough for me to keep fighting the same engineered plots, to put the bad guys in jail, and wake-up to do the same thing over and over and over again. There...there has to be a better way. There has to be something more than just…this.”

He smiles, reaches out and wraps one hand around his dainty ankle, his thumb moving absently over the bone while he listens.

She sighs, staring out into the mid-day, sinking deeper in the seat, “I always thought I’d be Wonder Girl until I needed to take a break from the life. But, I don’t want to stop. There’s so much more to do. Just not…in their way.”

Ceres is such a fitting name he thinks absently while he sips and rubs.

“You weren’t using all your potential,” he leads gently, laying his head back. “You had to adhere to Amazonian standards. It’s not who you are.”

“Exactly! I mean, I was wearing the uniform for long enough, Tim. I’d taken my ass-chewings, fought the good fight, I put in my time, and where did it get me? No where. And you’re right. I’m not Amazonian, so they were never really going to trust me anyway.”

His fingers sink into her ankle, grounding her from old regrets.

But Cassie sighs and sips on her tea, “it’s hilarious how we’re all like that a little, isn’t it?”

He hums and uses a thumb to rub into the arch of her foot like how he used to when it was weekends and sometimes other bad guy gatherings, making her sigh when the muscles and tendons are worked out under firm circles.

“I was the Robin that wasn’t chosen,” he starts out slowly, setting his tea aside to work with both hands. “Con was the clone in a family of last survivors of Krypton, Bart is the speedster out of line with the rest of the current Flash family, Rach is literally the only good guy in a family full of bad guys, Gar can’t go anwhere because his meta powers were the result of an accident, and you,” he glances up at her, rubbing a tender spot, “are not an Amazon. You don’t want to fight because of war. You want to fight for people.”

She huffs against the window in relief and her other foot wiggles into his lap for similar attention, “that sums it up, I think. But, it’s one of the things that keeps us together.”

“Agreed,” both thumbs work out her instep, strained from a day of wearing heels, “as much as working alone is kind of my thing at times, even considering current circumstances, I...missed you guys. It’s great to come back in a way.”

Cassie turns from the window finally and a grin slides across her face, lighting up her eyes with mirth. “Ah! Did we finally get you, Mister Detective?”

“I said I was going to stay weeks ago!”

“When you stop planning contingencies, then I’ll believe that,” and sticks her tongue out at him.

When he laughs back at her, it’s something genuine. “I’m only planning contingencies to get the team out of the building if it gets compromised, thank-you very much.”

And a few intentional strokes against the bottom of her foot has Cassie howling with laughter and beginning to helplessly flail, but Tim is completely unrepentant.

“Tim, you suck!”

The black eye he’s going to be sporting for the next few days is unequivocally worth it.

**Bart Allen**

“Vakaris. That? Sounds totally bad ass.”

Bart Allen shifts, braces his feet to pull himself out from under the husk of their old Super-Cycle and grin up at the suited CEO with motor oil still on his face.

“God of the Wind, dude. How mode is that shit?”

And even if it’s strange to be standing here, looking down a little at his former lover and still bestie, the old affections are still there, right under his skin in the muscles and sinew.

“I’d say you’ve got it about right,” Tim replies, letting his suit jacket fall down his arms. He’s already unbuttoning his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves to take a look at the remains of their old bike. The alien AI long gone, they’re left with the usual human tech to work with.

He takes the side across from B and starts pulling out bolts and burnt-out parts, letting the movement be soothing and automatic, something he doesn’t even really have to think about.

“I know what you want to ask, T,” Bart starts softly from around the bike, “you can. Ask, I mean.”

But the question is if he really wants those answers.

“You’ve made sure the future is on a better course, what you set out to do when you came here in the beginning,” and the words get husky, Tim clearing his throat so he can be as neutral as possible. “Are you planning to... go back?”

Where he can’t see around the bike, Bart slowly lowers the wrench, braces it on his prosthetic knee. There was so much there, everything about Max and Jay and Barry and Wally. The twins and the potential disaster if he did go back to the future to stay.

(And one day, when he could talk about it without breaking down, without wanting to gnaw himself into pieces. Eventually...he’d give them the deets. All the whys behind his reasons for staying in the past. Not the Flashpoint, but all the fucking backlash Barry forgot to mention.)

“I’m not going anywhere, dude. Not back to the future anyway. It’s...better if I stay here.”

And, well, it’s Tim. He can venture a guess on the possibilities behind that statements. Really, meeting their former future selves was an eye-opening experience on what kind of bad shit could go down in the next ten years. Maybe choosing a different path was the only way to divert it, but who really knew how much of that changed? And how much had Bart seen on his journey back to the past again?

(Never using a gun again. Never.)

“Call me an asshole here, but I’m glad.” Is what comes out of his mouth instead, something stupidly soft in his old come here and let me hold you kind of way.

The pause across the bike from him, the lack of noise or movement makes his heart beat just a little faster, just a hitch—

And Bart is leaning around the tire on his hands and knees, coming far enough around to put their faces a foot apart, his eyes are dark amber, warm and inviting.

Uh-oh. (That looks makes him a little breathless, makes his heart skip just once)

“Ditto, former Boy Wonder,” and for a moment Tim just blinks and stares because if he didn’t know better (he does), by the way those eyes flicker down to his mouth, he would think Bart might—

But a slow, knowing grin just slides over the mouth he can’t help but stare at before Bart pulls back slowly and disappears back around the other side.

“Hand me the 3/18th while you’re there.”

“...yeah, here.”

“Ah! Don’t throw it! What’s wrong with you?”

“You have super speed. Are you really telling me you couldn’t have caught that?”

“…you’re an asshole, T.”

“I also answer to wise ass, in case you were wondering.”

“Filing it away as we speak, Fearless Leader.”

The light-hearted bickering eases down the pressure in his belly from that almost-could-have-been, and Tim gives the status update on the office he’s established in the Business District and temp back office hideout for just in case. Luckily, they’re in a city with enough random bolt holes for safe houses that he’s pretty much got the city and perspective surrounding area mapped out. And if they head up to the Communal Floor later, covered in grease smears and standing closer while the elevator moves, it’s just another indication how close to normal things are becoming.

How close to ready they are to finally move again.

**

The Team

“So this is an all-or-nothing kind of session?”

Tim leans back against the console in their newly completed Control Room, crosses his ankles, and regards his waiting team. “I’m saying it would probably be smart to test the system at seventy percent. Make sure it can take what we dish out.”

Bart perks up because statements like that mean playtime and everyone usually gets right on board that train. He and Cassie exchange a grin while she cracks her knuckles with enthusiasm.

"I've put it through the standard paces already," and nope, he can't help the smile cutting across his face, "but a real world battering will help in making adjustments."

Con’s arms are crossed over his chest, blue eyes bright with anticipation, “We’re down. Let’s try to break some stuff.”

“It’s sooo about time,” Gar fills in with a righteous fist pump.

“Well, why not split into two teams. Belenus and Saturn,” and each perk at the (new) names rolling off his tongue like it had been a part of them since the beginning, “team one. Vakaris and Muninn, team two. Ceres plays air support.”

Then he gets a few raised eyebrows, “join us and it can be three and three,” Con points out.

“I need to monitor the system. Besides, I can see what kind of kick-ass new moves everyone is bringing to the table.”

And it’s a good enough argument because the rest of them can’t find a flaw in his logic. “But,” he placates with a hand in the air, “I’m going out every night this week to patrol the city. All of you get to go so we can do some research on the hidey-holes and bust some criminal heads.”

Bart’s mouth doesn’t drop open, but it’s an almost thing. “You are going to let us patrol with you?” Because they’d never gotten that from Robin—any of them. The big fights, the team gatherings, never a step into the realm of the Bat. For Tim, especially; patrolling the streets is his own cathartic need to do the down-and-dirty work (where he’d been for the last year since the original Batman had come back).

Tim nods, his expression amused, “if we’re serious about doing it...differently this time, then it’s a good idea to get different techniques laid out. You know, like stealth. Not every fight is going to be super-powered bad guys, so sometimes we’re going to need to be on the down-low rather than destroying buildings. Sometimes it’s going to be in places where you can’t expose yourself, and nothing is going to teach you stealth like staying in the shadows of one of the busiest cities in the US.”

Now Con is wondering if he should go with a mask this time instead of bare face. Just another thing to figure out before their night on the town.

“All the more reason to set the machine to record the session and join us,” Rachel points out while subtly adjusting her winged cape, a little something old and something new. “So we may begin working with you, and you may observe our...kick-ass new moves up close.”

The grins and guffaws from all around make him laugh out loud and give in, “all right, all right, I’m in.” A few keystrokes and the system is set.

Even if they’re all mostly in workout clothes, pieces of suits that might someday be, it still feels like a triangle of power when he’s standing with them, staring down a hell of a lot of guns and holograms of baddies, bo right behind his left ankle, ready for the right moment to move. It’s like he never really left.

“All right, dude.” Bart is working out his hammies, holding one leg behind him, “before we get this shit started, give up the name.”

Gar’s eyes light up, “so true, V. Fearless Leader has the roster. So what’s it gonna be?”

He grins a little, pulls the bo up to stretch his shoulders out just a bit for this little sitch. The anticipation is right on his bare heels, the power breathing down his neck from the metas at his back.

“For the time being,” he watches the laser cannons minutely adjust, the room powering on, “I’m going by Erebus,” the God of Darkness. “Maybe I’ll try something else for the other side.”

“That? Is pretty kick ass.” Con muses, eyeing the line of guns and probable owfuck around them.

“Glad you’re with it,” is his reply as the bo slides down his shoulders, goes right back behind his ankle, and he straight-arms it, eyes narrowing when the machinery begins to rotate.

That familiar stance echoes, reverberates, and the metas behind him take point, facing out for whatever might come their way.

It’s the new one that replaces the old name still on the back of his tongue; it’s a new call out to gather and defend, the new name that makes them tense with time to fight. When the red of the laser sites blips over the lot of them, he sinks just a little to balance on the balls of his feet, “Varangians. Strike!”

They’re off and moving before the first shot erupts.

And it's better than the first time because back then they hadn't worked with each other, known one another, trusted. So many integral things weren't there yet. So, this?

Is everything rolled up and hand-fucking-delivered.

Because they do break the system.

And it's the best power-down he's ever been in.

**

The Child

“Ah, there, there, precious one,” the deep voice coos.

The child in the bassinette calms, her eyes a stunning blue-violet just like her other father, picks out the silhouette in the shadows. Her whimpers ease into happy, gurgling sounds.

“My sweet is ready to play,” and he reaches down to lift her with unerring care, to pull her against the green robes she will one day inherit.

His beautiful, perfect heir.

Her noises follow them down the fire-lit corridors, past training rooms, through a busily working command center coordinating efforts around the globe.

“And one day,” he continues to her as they enter the throne room where her caretakers wait and his seconds have updates on their progression, “all of this will be at your disposal. And no one will be able to stop you, yes, my little Robin? One day, you shall rule the world.”