Tim had forgotten, in his one man (and the admittedly liberal usage of hired guns) crusade at everything that had hurt his family, that he was technically a child. A time traveling 21 year old Tim Drake in his younger body, sure, but he’s still a nine year old child.
Tim was violently, unpleasantly reminded of this as he opened his front door to… Gotham Primary’s truancy officer.
Oh shit. He still had to go to school. Tim scrambled for an excuse.
“Hello, Timothy. Are your parents home?”
“Uh- no, sir. Only my nanny. I’ve been really,” think, Timothy, think! Are you Red Robin for nothing? “really sick. She went out for some medicine.”
Tim knew what the officer saw as he looked down at him, a pale, drawn little boy who looked like a sickly Victorian child. He has no idea that Tim had the beginnings of lean muscles and strong grip strength underneath his baggy clothes.
“I see. I’ll have to talk to your nanny, then. We need to be informed of when you’re ill, Timothy.”
“Oh. She-” shit, shit, shit! “Doesn’t speak English.” Was that racist? That felt racist. Gods, he probably sounds like a snobby classist elite. “I’ll let my mom know to email you, sir?”
The truancy officer sighed. By Tim’s lucky stars, he agreed. The man pulled out a singular paper from his plastic folder, clearly used to this kind of thing, especially from the elites of Gotham, and said, “Email the school. And have her sign this note, please.”
Tim nodded seriously. Like hell he would.
When the officer was gone, Tim closed the gate immediately. He had forgotten to close it after getting back home from stalking the Bats last night. Well, Bat, singular, because Jason was still benched.
Tim sighed, grabbing a pen to fluidly forge Janet Drake’s signature on his paper about truancy and proper procedures and what not. Then, he moved to the computer, easily stealing his mother’s credentials, emailing the school about his sick leave, and their decision to have him home schooled.
He’d miss Ives, but honestly, Tim needed the free time. Plus, maybe this way, he’ll graduate high school this time around. He drafted another email to the counselor, asking them what kind of curriculum and tests he needed to pass to obtain future degrees and what not.
He gets an email back, with all of the testing required and the steps “Young Timothy” should take in order to succeed in the rest of his academic career. Tim would like to point out he’s nine, and that this was pretentious. Helpful, sure, but pretentious all the same.
“That’s what people don’t mention about time traveling. It’s all fun and games until you get hit with the mundane and tedious things.” Tim muttered, setting up his appointments for testing. He’ll have to find someone to drive him to the tests…
His mind turned to his neighbors… hm. That’s a possibility.
Tim wiped all traces of his activities from his mother’s email, doing a quick and hidden bit of rerouting to get any educational emails regarding him sent to his own inbox.
Tim swigged a mouthful of coffee and continued on his merry way.
His new goal?
Find Cassandra Cain.
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Sterek Rival Lawyers AU
It's A (Court) Date
Imagine, high-class, Ivy League, hot-shot, attorney Derek comes back from New York to the family firm to take over as partners with his sister after his parents decide to step down. He may not be on the level of his mother yet, but he's cut his teeth against Wall Street wolves and ruthless white-collar sharks. Derek's more than proved himself, so he just can't fathom these small criminal court cases his family is making him take "before he's truly ready" to be a part of the family business.
Enter in his first case. Right out the gate, the state assigned defense is, not only late to court, but also arrives in a flurry of limbs and papers, tripping all over himself, and profusely apologizing to the room as a whole. "Sorry! Sorry! Car trouble!"
The guy is out of breath, tie crooked and hair a mess. It makes Derek wrinkle his nose at the unprofessionalism and the blatant disrespect to everyone's valuable time.
The presiding judge, the Honorable Ms. Lydia Martin, only sighs a heavy sigh, as if this sight is nothing new, and says "Mr. Stilinski, I suggest you don't let it happen again."
Derek is honestly getting annoyed by how easy this is going to be. He could've been doing literally anything else right about now rather than being here going against a common rent-a-lawyer with some Podunk community-college degree. The opening statement for the defense is laughably inept. Full of nervous stuttering, backtracking, running tangents, and babbling. He's still apologizing, trying to assure the jury that he's just having an off-day today.
It's embarrassing to watch.
Nonetheless, Derek goes through the motions, practiced and poised. Examines all the evidence, presenting times and dates, prior arrest records, the works.
During this time, Mr. Stilinski is frantically (and VERY LOUDLY) flitting through a cartoonishly large stack of papers and whispering to his client. Derek has to fight to grit his teeth through his presentation.
Finally, it's time for Mr. Stilinski to cross-examine Derek's client and, unbeknownst to him, the beginning of Derek's long, long spiral of madness for the rest of his career.
"Judge Martin, I would like to move to have this case thrown out."
"Oh?" asks Judge Martin. For some reason, there's an amused smirk, almost fond, tugging at her lips "On what grounds?"
A giddy, almost manic, grin takes over the defense attorney's face just then. "On the grounds that the prosecution's client is full of bullshit."
The judge rolls her eyes and an exasperated "Stiles," slips from her lips, seemingly against her will. (Derek's not really surprised by the familiarity between the two of them. With how often state-assigned lawyers are called to the courtroom on small cases, it wouldn't be too big of a leap to suggest they might be chummy.)
"Respectfully, of course." Mr. Stilinski--er Stiles?--winks back at her.
"Objection. Your honor, this is ridiculous."
"Overruled. Make your point, Stilinski."
"Mr. Davis says he saw my client at 12:30 P.M., on August 4th, attempting to take his back-right hubcap outside his apartment. Mr. Davis' apartment complex at that time, on that particular day, would have cast a huge shadow over the back lot as evidenced by the gaudy sundial-art-installation outside the courthouse. Meanwhile, my client's picture, when taken in for questioning, has a sunburn on the entire right side of his face. This would corroborate Mr. Lyle's story of walking home alone, down the upper, unshaded side of Elmore Street, during one of the hottest days of the year, for an hour straight. Also, the fact that Mr. Davis has no realistic idea how long it would actually take a person to steal a hubcap should be evidence enough."
"Uh-huh. And this wouldn't happen to be something you've ever had any expertise in, would it, counsel?"
"I plead the 5th."
And just like that, Derek's case is thrown out so quick, he's still reeling about it all the way home.
For the next two years, this becomes Derek's life. This man, this Stiles Stilinski, keeps showing up like a whirlwind and absolutely puts him in his paces.
Stiles, as he insists Derek call him, is a powerhouse. Relentless and unstoppable. That mouth can filibuster for literal hours (which, for those unfamiliar, is when someone legally cannot be forced to give up their time on the floor as long as they can keep talking), that brain quick as a whip, with a hunger for research, a mastery of the English language svelte enough to trip up even the most well-rehearsed lie, and an attention to detail like nothing Derek has ever witnessed before. It's like he knows every law inside and out. Lives it. Breathes it. It's like he had been raised on the law his whole life. Not only that, it's like Stiles enjoys it. Every case is a new game to get excited about.
All of it makes Derek's blood boil.
However, it's not always about losing to Stiles all the time, because, honestly, that might be less humiliating.
In truth, when faced against Stiles, Derek's bound to win about 60% of the time. Out of that 60%, only 5% of those wins actually feel earned. As for the other 55%?
He knows Stiles is letting him win.
Derek can't prove it, but he knows the asshole is holding back on purpose nearly half the time. Knowing that Stiles could have beaten him if he wanted to, but didn't, is somehow more frustrating than just losing.
He hates Stiles.
He hates that the guy is so chipper and playful all the damn time. He hates that Stiles could probably work at any firm he wanted, could make enough money to get a decent car that doesn't shit out all the time, could buy a proper-fitting suit, but instead CHOOSES to stay here "watching out for the little guy", as he so put it.
He hates that facing Stiles in court is the most challenged, the most motivated he's ever felt in his entire life. He hates that Stiles brings out in him the spark of passion and drive Derek had long thought had died. He hates that Stiles always tries to banter with him during recess or whenever they have to exchange evidence.
He hates finding out that Stiles only loses cases on purpose when his endless amounts of research points to the defendant actually being guilty of horrendous crimes, because Stiles is a good fucking person.
He hates Stiles' constant teasing and he hates that Stiles is somehow able to bring Derek down to his childish level to tease back. He hates how much he looks forward to court-dates with Stiles now. He hates being invited out by Stiles over and over to grab a bite together after a long day, as if Stiles hasn't been wiping the floor with him on this case for the last month. He hates it even more that he always accepts and that now they have their own designated booth at the diner across the street. Derek's so unbelievably frustrated, it makes him want to bite Stiles at the neck just to hear that smartass mouth squeal.
"Hey, I ever tell you I was thinking of quitting before you arrived?" Stiles asks one night as they're walking to their cars.
Derek's head immediately snaps to him at that. "What?"
Stiles smiles distantly at the thought. "Oh, yeah. Things had started feeling like being trapped in a cubicle, y'know? There wasn't any challenge in it anymore."
"What made you stay?"
"Well...you did. You were the first, serious competition I'd faced in a while. It wasn't a matter of winning just to win, anymore. Going against you always reminded me of the reason why it was important for me to win. It gave me stakes, because now there was an actual chance I could lose and an innocent person could go to jail. You, I don't know, kinda reignited my passion for fighting the good fight, I guess."
Derek can feel his heart thumping hard in his chest. He wants to say 'You did the same for me!' He wants to tell Stiles that he didn't think his life could ever be this fun or happy or messy or chaotic or exhilarating or challenging or fulfilling before coming to Beacon Hills.
But just as Derek goes to open his mouth to sing Stiles' praises, he instead finds himself roughly shoving him up against the Camaro and biting hungrily at that mouth and tongue that's been the bane of his existence. There's a surprised little squeak that Derek quickly swallows up, but it isn't long before they're both tearing at each others' clothes and fucking each other dirty in the backseat of Derek's car.
What's crazy is, after they get together, nothing in their careers really changes. The only difference is now they get to fuck each others' brains out after an intense battle in court (and the sound Stiles makes when Derek bites him is exactly what he always imagined it would sound like). They still face against each other on opposite sides in court. They still give it everything they got, no conceding even if they are dating now. Not to mention, Derek wouldn't dream of tempting Stiles over to his firm. Not when he knows Stiles is at his best staying where he's at.
The day Derek's family finally decides it's time for him to take over the firm with Laura is the best day of his and Stiles' lives.
Not only does Derek tell them he's declining, he hires Stiles as his attorney to negotiate terms against his entire family of well-seasoned lawyers.
The entire month-long negotiation results in Derek, not saying a single word, but absolutely beaming as he watches his boyfriend run circles around his mother, his father, his uncle, and both of his sisters on contracts. It's so unbelievably hot, they're banging on whatever flat surface they can get their hands on every time they leave the boardroom. There's even one very memorable blowjob in the empty hall outside the boardroom when Stiles somehow manages to get Peter to agree to a (most likely illegal) clause dictating the firm will pay Stiles a finder's fee for any pro-bono case Stiles takes on outside of Beacon Hills that strikes his fancy.
And, no one says it, but they all know Derek definitely, 100%, dragged his own firm through this negotiation just to show off how incredible Stiles is to his family and preen about it.
--
Fast-forward, Derek is going to be in the audience for the first time for one of Stiles' cases.
While waiting in the hall, Derek sees a familiar face from his New York days. The prosecution has hired the eighth best lawyer money can get, Jackson Whittemore. He's sporting a Rolex, sunglasses indoors, and the face of someone who thinks he's above literally every other person in town.
Well, at least until he sees Derek.
For some reason, Jackson seems to think Derek is all the way out in the middle of nowhere to 'watch a master at work' (which...well...is technically true...).
As Derek goes to sit in the audience, Jackson tells him in passing, "This'll be over so fast, probably won't even get a chance to learn the other guy's name."
Derek chuckles and says back, "Ooh, buddy, you have no idea."
Before Jackson can think more on that, a whirlwind of limbs and papers suddenly hurls through the doors.
Derek sits back, gets comfy, and waits eagerly for the show to begin.
My first moodboard. Hope you enjoy. AU based on a discussion with @casually-eat-my-soul (I suggest checking out their version). This was kind of like a divergence from that (the brain juices just started flowing).
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