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reallyautomaticvoid · 6 years

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Calling It: Good Intentions

Chapter 1: Calling It: The Beginning

Characters (in order of appearance): Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Conner Kent, Tam Fox, Bruce Wayne, Ra’s al Ghul

Summary:

Timothy Jackson Drake has been Red Robin for nearly three years now. Ever since he was summarily kicked out of the Batfam (no matter what anyone in the Batfamily said), he’s been taking care of himself. He has his own back and doesn’t need anybody else help, no matter what the Titans may say (and they have a lot to say on the matter). He doesn’t need a safety net when he flies.

Note:

This was inspired by @iphoenixrising beautiful piece, Fractured, which everyone should read because, frankly, it’s incredible. I would also like to thank them for all of the help they gave me when I was starting to write this piece. Seriously, they're a wonderful person who deserves all the lovely thing in their life.

Serene and Gotham do not go together. It was almost peaceful so long as you ignore the racket of car alarms and traffic. It was excellent for Gotham. Anytime there was peace (and Gotham was not on the verge of an alien invasion) was a blessing.

Something to celebrate.

A reason to be happy.

Drumming his thumbs on the concrete roof under him, Red Robin waits in the chill. There was always, always something to do in Gotham. Punching Two-Face in the face? Great. Foiling the latest Joker scheme? Fantastic. Catching Ivy before she releases the latest version of her plant toxin? All in a days work. Hell, usually there were muggers throughout Crime Alley that Red could punch.

Quiet nights, like tonight, grants a sense of false hope. Like Gotham could do this every day. That maybe Gotham could be like any other city.

It couldn’t be.

Red Robin knew that.

The worst part wasn't the boredom (which, don't get him wrong, was fucking awful. Shit, he'd almost welcome a Ra's attack, but that wasn't due until later this week), no it was the stealthy asshat sneaking his way over to Red because, clearly, Tim couldn't see him coming.

“Hood.” Red's thumbs accelerate their drumming.

“Damn, Red, and here I was tryin' ta be sneaky.” Red Hood sinks onto the roof next to Red Robin. Red could see Hood surveying him.

"Next time, leave the steel-toed boots at home then."

Jason snorts. "Ya need a hair cut."

Red ignores Jason. “You know it’s immensely stupid to sneak up on somebody in Gotham, right?”

“Whada ya going do? Shoot me? I'd love to see you try, Babybird.”

Red scoffs as his thumbs continue to play their beat, “oh yeah, I’m the one with a history of shooting people.”

“One time.”

“Three times.”

Red ignores Jason's flinch, too busy shoving his own unwelcome memories back into their black box. One of many. Hood slitting Red's (then Robin's) throat. The hot, dry Arabian desert. The cock of a pistol. Death. Gotham rooftops. Blood. Unknown basements. Pain.

Jason bumps Red, nudging Tim out of his thoughts, Hood forces a chuckle, “eh, the first time was barely a graze.”

For the first time, Tim's thumbs froze as his head swivels around to look at Hood. Tim gave Hood one of his best Red Robin glares which only appears to amuse Hood.

“How in the Hell do you figure?”

Red could tell that Hood was grinning at him under his hood, “yer still breathing.”

Tim shakes his head, suppressing a smile. It had been over a year since Red Hood had last tried to kill him. Well, really tried to kill him. Without the Pit pulling strings.

Enough time passed so Tim 'replacing' Jason wasn't a raw wound anymore. It didn't hurt that Red had also been replaced at this point too. Shoved out of the way to make room for the family. Like Jason. Like Damian. Like Dick. The real sons.

Mostly though, Tim thought Jason finds it more useful to keep Red breathing instead of trying to stab him with a Batarang.

Again.

It's moderately difficult for a person with a slit throat to track the drugs trade in Gotham.

Shaking his head, Red resumes drumming his thumbs. “You have a terrible sense of humor.”

“Are you kidding me? It’s to die for,” Hood snickers more to himself than Red.

Red closes his eyes briefly, resisting the urge to sigh (because, damn it Hood, that shouldn’t be funny, but it was, so fuck you) before asking, “how’s Roy?”

Tim internal wince when he hears Jason swoon.

He’s fucking swooning.

Like a goddamn Disney Princess.

Oh Gods, when did this become Red’s life.

“He’s fukin’ fantastic. No, really Replacement,” Hood continues loudly over Red’s groans, “he does dis thing, with his tongue, dat makes me c—”

“SO, WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU?” Red’s voice came out harsher than he intends in order to cover Jason’s gushing.

Red’s rules for dealing with the Bats:

1. Find out what the Bats want.

2. Give it to them.

3. Get the Hell out of Dodge.

The less time Red (Tim) had to spend with the Bats, the better. It wasn’t like he was a welcome part of the Batfamily anymore.

Hell, the only Bat member Red ever communicated with (outside of the job) was Jason. Even then only on the rare occasion Tim was in Gotham. Red put up with it because if Tim starts avoiding Jason, Hood would go out of his way to find and talk to Red. Or Tim. Either would work.

The Titans were not enthusiastic about having the formerly dead Robin on their doorstep, asking after Red and what kind of beer they had. ("PVR? Shit, Replacement, I thought you had class.")

Besides, it was better this way. Everyone was happier in their designated roles. It's easier than trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. Tim is done trying to shove that peg in anymore.

And Red's perfectly fine with it.

“B wants ya ta come ta the Manner for dinner,” Red controls a flinch that Hood graciously ignores. “Alfred making pizza.”

“Can’t. I have to run a trace on a weapons shipment,” Red lies.

It's a white lie, really. The trace on the weapons cargo (a trail Red had been working for fucking weeks now) had long since run cold. Since there were not any criminals out and about, Red should call it a night.

Oblivious as ever, Hood suggests, "do it on da Batcomputer.”

Red stifles a groan. Yes, it made a lot of sense to do it on the Batcomputer. Red hates (and he really, really hates to) to admit it, but the Batcomputer is faster than any setup that he has in Gotham. Plus, it is already hooked into Gotham PD meaning Red wouldn't waste hacking in.

For some reason, the GPD was forever upgrading their systems. It woulda been annoying except for the sense of pride Red got every time he wormed his way back into the database.

Logically, Red should do it on the Batcomputer.

But, returning to the Batcave? Ugh.

For the sake of argument, Red entered the idea of going to the Batcave.

The facts:

1. Batman would be there; that would be…unavoidable.

2. Robin would defiantly be there along with his newest pet. Through the grapevine, Red heard that somehow Robin had convinced both Batman and Agent A that he should be allowed to keep a cow in the Batcave. A cow. And to think, Bats and Agent A nearly had an aneurysm when Red had bring a guinea pig back to the Manner for a science project. It had been in a cage for Heaven sakes, but it had still been a fight to get it through the front door.

Red briefly considered if Robin was keeping the cow (dubbed Batcow for some unholy reason) was being kept in his old workspace before banishing the thought. It wasn’t any of Red’s concern what was happening in the Batcave anymore.

3. Oh fucking hell, Nightwing would be there too, come to think about it. N had moved back to Gotham after the Battle of the Cowl and the ensuing chaos that followed. As far as Red knew, N hadn't gone back to Blüdhaven nor would he after 'Haven had fallen. Nightwing would be inescapable, that is, if N even noticed Red was there. Red started drumming his thumbs again, Gods, he was beginning to sound like an angsty tween. He was twenty, not twelve for fuck sakes.

As much as his stomach yearns for Alfred's pizza, Red didn't want to go through the tedious process of expulsion from the Manor.

Not my place anymore Hood, remember?

"No, I already have all the info synced on my systems. Next time.” The tone that came out of Red's mouth was nothing like his usual tone. It was smooth. Unemotional. Insincere.

If Hood noticed the change in Red's tones, he didn't comment.

* * *

“Where were you?” Dick flips off of the high training bar, landing lightly onto the mat near Jason. Jason fought a grimace at Dick’s smirk. He had never been able to achieve Dick’s level of grace and dat fuckin' acrobatic knew it. And Jason would be damn (again) if that fuckin' asshole didn’t rub it in ta Jason’s face every fuckin' chance he got. Dick strolled pass the Demon who happened to be busy practicing with his katana (and who da fuck's bright idea was it ta give that back ta the kid? Jason, really, really didn't want ta have ta get stitches again) ta invade Jason's bubble.

“Talkin’ ta Tim,” Jason slams his helmet down onto his workbench before starting ta clean his guns.

Each of the members of the Batfamily had their own work area in the cave. Jason’s area near da garage which made it great fer a quick escape. Goldie's has his workbench next ta da mats. Demon Brat's was between Bruce's (next ta da Batcomputer) and Dick's.

The only bench dat had never been touched was fer da Replacement. It stood, damn near gleaming next ta the back of the Batcomputer where the person who was supposed ta be workin' there would have easy access ta da Batcomputer if they (Tim) needs ta repairs it.

Goldie hardly took any notice of what Jason was sayin' ‘cause he was distracted by da Brat. In fairness, it did look like the Demon Brat was tryin' ta hack the practice dummy ta death.

“Oh, that’s nice. Is he coming to dinner?”

“Busy,” Jason grunts.

“Huh, he’s been busy a lot recently,” Dick replies, still starin' at da Demon. “Damian, what on Earth are you doing with that katana? I only gave it back to you because you promised not to hurt anything with it.”

Jason misses da Brat’s response as Dick went over to correct (bicker with) Damian about the katana.

Sometimes, Jason thought, Dick was a fuckin’ idiot.

Replacement—Damn it, Tim, not Replacement (Jason was working on that)— hadn’t been near the Manner for over a year. He hadn’t been near the Batcave in almost half that time.

Yet, neither Bruce nor fuckin’ Goldie seems ta have a goddamn clue about the fucking kid. Sure, they knew what fuckin' CEO: Tim Wayne was doin’. But fuckin' really though, what tabloid didn’t?

Tim though? Ickly Baby Bird though? Dork wonder? They didn’t have a fuckin’ clue. What's worse, neither of them seem ta have a clue dat they didn't have a clue. World Greatest Detective? Shit, they couldn’t see what was goin’ on two inches from their fuckin’ face.

Jason glares down at his workbench. Shit, when had the Replacement—shit Tim— wellbeing been become fuckin’ Jason’s problem?

About a year ago, Re—Tim had gotten Jason’s nuts out of the fire. Not that Jason wouldn’t have figured a way out. He had been pinned down by drug dealers before. Sure, Jason mighta gone in a little hot (and without enough bullets and he mighta been ridin' da pit a bit, but who needed to know that?). He didn’t like drug dealers who would push their crap onto kids. It rubbed 'em the wrong way.

But Tim (fuck yeah, he got his name right)—icky Timmy-wimmy—swung in like it was noth’ and kicked some major ass. He managed to knock all the fuckin’ dealer and tied ‘em up before Jason could say shit.

Then Tim did something that Jason never expected.

He fuckin’ dragged Jason’s sorry ass back ta one of Jason’s safe houses (which Jason still doesn't know how Tim knew about dat one. It wasn't one on any of B's radar) and patched him up before leaving.

“Da fuck you do that for?” Jason slurred.

Blood loss was always a bitch.

Tim shrugged. It mighta been da blood loss, but Replacement- Tim's eyes seemed empty. “Couldn’t leave you there to die, could I?”

Tim left before Jason could respond.

It wasn’t long after dat Jason gave in to Bruce and Dick and started hanging ‘round the bats again.

Jason had expected to see Tim around the cave. After a month of not seeing Tim, he finally cracked and asked the Demon about it.

“Where’s Replacement?”

Dami looked around at him. “Tt. If you’re talking about Drake ,” he sneered the name which made Jason’s eyes roll, “he doesn’t live here anymore.”

"Isn't the kid only like, eighteen?"

Damian stared blankly at Jason. "And your point, Todd?"

Dat was da last time Jason had asked any Tim question ta any of da Bats. He did, from time to time, still yanked on Timmy’s chain, ta make sure the kid was still kickin’.

Alfred's voice pulls 'em from his thoughts as the butler calls them up fer dinner.

* * *

Tim took a deep breath in as he parked his Ducati before entering his Perch.

It had been a long week. If Tim saw one more proposal to sell WE tech to Lexcorp, he was going to scream. Some of the ideas people were having…. Tim had begun to worry about the intelligence level of those who worked for him.

Tim heavily sigh before sliding off his cowl and tunic. He glances down at the rainbow of bruises that were blooming over his torso. No need for (new) stitches tonight. Yay.

Maybe Tam would let him have an easy day tomorrow...? Tim snorts at that idea as he pokes a particular large bruise that's three different shades of purple. He was the CEO of a major company who, on average, spent less than a week a month in the office. So when Tam got him in the office…well, there was lots of paperwork. Tam likes to claim that if he was here more that there’d be less paperwork. Tim disagrees with this. If Tim were in the office more, he would have more paperwork.

Tim finally gets his costume off and pulls on his sweats. Sweats were, in Tim's opinion, one of the best things ever invented. They allow him to feel a bit more like Tim rather than Mr. Wayne or Red Robin.

Tim hums to himself as he left his perch to go up to his apartment.

Unlike his perch (where everything was in prestige condition) Tim's apartment is a disaster. While in Gotham, he was also almost always too busy to clean. After the fourth (or was the fifth?) time Tam had entered his apartment to find it in shambles, she suggested (ordered) Tim get a cleaning service. She even offered to do it herself. Tim had declined the offer because of, well, Bat.

That's how Tim found himself (at three o’clock in the fucking morning) washing his coffee mug before setting up his coffee maker for the morning.

As Tim washed the cup, he debated with himself about whether he needs to sleep tonight when he heard his phone buzz. He glances down to see Conner had sent him a text.

GO TO BED.

Tim grinning types back:

How do you know that I wasn’t snug as a bug in bed and asleep until my phone went off?

Tim sent the message off. Less than ten seconds later (which, crap, that means Con means business), his phone buzzed again.

Because I know you. Go the fuck to bed or you're grounded all weekend.

Tim snorts at that. It isn’t like the metas in the Titans would (could) ground him. He had escape plans for every one of grounding. Although, Raven had threatened she’d poof in his room and take all his Red Robin uniforms. He didn’t want to test that. So Tim texts back:

Fine. Going to bed.

Tim barely gets the coffee grounds out before his phone buzzed again.

NOW or I’m flying over there.

Tim rolls his eyes at his best friend before sending back:

My God, I need to get your cameras out of here. I’m making coffee for the A.M. then straight to bed. Night, worrywart.

As Tim put the finishing touches on the coffee, his phone went off again.

Night, reason why I have an ulcer. Oh, and don’t forget to take your vitamins!

* * *

The next morning at WE was not as bad as he was expecting.

It was so, so, so much worse.

As soon as he got in, Tam grabbed him to tell him that an investor was waiting in Tim’s office. The investor wanted to discuss why his product wasn’t in production yet.

Tim's ears were still ringing as, an hour later, he heads to a board meeting. Trying to get the board to make a decision was like trying to get Bart to slow down. Frustrating and ultimately useless.

By the end of the meeting, Tim wasn’t sure what the meeting had been about or if a decision had even been made. This all happened before lunch.

“You want the usual, Tim?” Tam asks, as Tim was about to reenter his office.

“That sounds fanatics, Tam, thanks.” He gives her a grateful half smile.

Tam hums back. “Oh and Tim, Mr. Wayne requested a meeting with you. Again.”

Tim suppresses a sigh. “What’d you say?”

“That you were going back out of town tonight and I wasn’t sure when you’d be back. Which isn't a lie because I don’t know when you’re going to be back."

Tim rubs his temples ignoring Tam’s glare. A migraine had been threatening to form for the last hour and a guilt trip from Tam was the last thing that Tim needs.

“I promise Tam, when I know, you’ll know.”

She huffs. “Fine then. I’ll get your lunch for you.”

Tim smiles at her. “Thanks, Tam.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t thank me yet. Once Mr. Wayne found out that you were going out of town again he—” but the rest of her sentence was cut off by Bruce.

Bruce coming out of Tim’s office.

Great.

Tim felt his best CEO mask slip into place. He hadn’t seen Bruce since…well, Tim wasn’t sure when the last time that he’d seen Bruce. Let alone been close enough to talk to him.

“There you are, Tim!” Brucie came out in full force this morning.

Great, this is exactly what Tim’s head needs this morning.

“He decided to stop by for a bit. See you in a few, Tim.” Tam shoots him an apologetic look before leaving.

Tam may not know all of what went down between Tim and the Bats, but she did know that it was best to keep them separate if possible or, if not, to get out of the way.

“Bruce. I wasn’t expecting to see you today. How’s Selina?” Tim keeps his voice detached as he processes these new turn of events.

What he wouldn't give for a cup of coffee...

Tim strolls into his office with Brucie following him, the door squeaking shut behind them.

“She’s great! So, son,” Tim suppresses a flinch (not your kid, remember? Just the placeholder between kids. We’re all clear on that, right? Right.). “I didn’t even know that you were in town. I thought you were still in San Francisco.”

“I’m headed there tonight,” Tim begrudgingly informs Bruce. Though neither his expression nor tone changes from the CEO mask. “So, what can I do for you?”

Bruce extracted some files from his jacket (Where did those folders come from? Red did not like not knowing that.) before thrusting them at Tim.

“Can you run the data for me on this case?”

“Not a problem.” Tim flips open the top file.

“Alfred wants you to come for dinner.”

It was a statement. Not a question.

“Can’t, sorry. I’m going to the Tower right after work. Maybe next time.” Tim replies automatically without looking up.

Brucie, however, didn’t seem to notice the tone. He was already on his cellphone, checking something.

“Right then. Next time.” Bruce left before Tim gets a chance to respond. Tim drops the files next to his desk before walking around it and sinking down into his chair. He lightly raps his head against the desk for a minute.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Tim thinks to himself. He tries to make it a point to not tell the any of Bats of his coming or goings. Really, though, it wasn’t like any of them cared.

A voice in the back of his head (that sounded suspiciously like Con) whispers that it must be the sleep deprivation, which didn’t make any sense. Tim had gotten almost two whole hours of sleep this morning. And that's like ten normal people hours of sleep.

It really isn’t Tim’s fault that the police reports that he had been waiting weeks for had finally been put on to the Gotham server last night. Of course, he had to read them last night just to make sure they were the right ones. He wasn’t going to send the Titans, his team, off on a wild goose chase. So, he had read the report and made his own before going to bed last—this morning.

Tim's pulled from these thoughts by a knock on the door. Tam was standing there, holding a carb salad with raises eyebrows.

“Here is the thing you claim is lunch.” Tam crosses the room and places the box onto Tim’s desk.

Tim sniffs, shuffling Bruce’s papers away. “There is nothing wrong with eating a salad for lunch.”

“It’s not the salad itself I object to. It's the fact that it's your only eating a salad for lunch that weird."

“Who doesn’t like salad?”

“Most sane people.”

Tim snorts. “You realize calling your boss insane isn’t a good idea?”

“Tim, if you fired me, then you’d have to do all the paperwork,” Tam smirks at Tim’s horrified expression. “Yeah, I think my job is safe. What did Mr. Wayne want?” She nonchalantly asks.

Tim stiffens at the question. “He just wanted some data.” Tim flips the lid off the salad to see a full family sized salad sitting in front of him. “I think you may have gotten too much.”

“No, I didn't. You'll need the energy. The Lexcorp officials are coming after lunch for an impromptu meeting. Don't worry,” Tam continues at Tim's groan, "I've already told Steve down at Security to run interference." Tam turns to leave. “And I expect all of that salad to be gone by the time I get back mister,” she adds in her best mock motherly voice.

“Yes, Ma’am.” And Tim took an exaggeratedly large bit at Tam’s glare.

* * *

The rest of the day at WE went by relatively smoothly. Tim's even able to get out at a reasonable hour.

Miraculous, Tim had been able to finish the whole salad. Or, maybe it wasn’t a miracle; just Tim failing at remembering to feed himself. Tam was always good at making sure Tim ate. She claims that he was just too skinny and would attempt to force-feed him every chance she got.

Tim hums to himself as he unlocks the front door to his apartment. He was supposed to be at the tower by midnight. For once, he didn’t have to rush to get there or run the risk of being late.

There were even times that Tim thought that his three-floor apartment a little…much.

When Tim had bought it, he'd never expected that all of the space would bother him. Spending most of his childhood alone at the Drake house and then at the Manner, large empty space had never been an issue.

And Tim had been fine with it until he had started to spend more time at the tower. Tim smiles at the thought of the other Titans while dumping his briefcase onto the couch and throwing his suit jacket down too (his mother, or Alfred for that matter, would have been horrified that Tim had just thrown a custom made Armani suit onto the ground, like trash? but, hey, they weren’t here so what they do?). Tim heads down the hallway towards his bedroom, taking off the pieces of Tim Wayne: CEO costume off so he could put on his Tim Drake: Red Robin uniform on instead.

The tie went on the guest bathroom’s doorknob, and the shoes get kicked down the hallway ahead (making a small crashing noise) of him into his room. By the time Tim reached his bedroom, he was just in his undershirt and pants.

Red stills.

Something wasn’t right.

Red looks around, trying to figure out what was misplaced. His eye roved over the neat mess also known as his closet. He really should get somebody in to clean it but who has the time to vet a new hire? His dresser was pulled open with clothing spilling out of it.

Tim did have a ridiculous amount of clothing.

Tim’s eyes froze on his bedside table. There was the usual clutter (empty soda cans, coffee mugs, Chinese food containers, etc.) but there, sitting neatly embedded on top of all of the disarray was a gleaming knife.

A blade used personally by the Demon’s Head.

Tim had only seen that dagger a handful of times before. None of those memories were pleasant.

A bubble of panic began to form in his chest. Shit, shit, shit. I do not have time for this today Ra’s. Tim casually reached towards his distress beacon.

He hadn’t even moved an inch before pain met him.

Tim was hurled forward before slamming down onto his bed by a force behind him.

“Now, now, Detective. We can’t have you spoiling all the fun now, can we?” Ra’s voice came from a spot a few feet in front of Tim where he'd magically appeared.

Fucking hell. I don’t have time for this.

“We wouldn’t want you to call those pesky Titans, now would we?”

“Go to Hell, Ra's.” Tim's voice was somewhat less intimidating, what with the three ninjas smashing into his back and a pillow smothering him.

“Tut, tut. Language, young Detective.” Tim feels the stab of a syringe going into his neck followed by a burning sensation. The world began to get fuzzy. “It wouldn’t do for the next Demon’s Head to insult his predecessor.”

There's a rushing noise in Tim's ears which is only drowned out by the steady beat of his heart. Lights begain to dim. Tim's arms were getting heavery as he struggled to move. Tim give a weak kick towards the person pinning him down wich barely rocks the bed. The world is quickly closing in on Tim.

Before he completely passes the fuck out, Tim manage to say, “What would you prefer Ra’s, Real Housewives of Gotham or Metropolis? Because one of those will be playing on a loop for days before I’m done.”

The last sound Tim hears before sleep overtakes him is of Ra's laughing.

Thanks for reading!

AO3 link here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18106355/chapters/42802829

#Tim Drake #Jason Todd #Dick Grayson #Damian Wayne #Conner Kent #Tam Fox #Bruce Wayne #Ra's al Ghul

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