#tim drake comfort

[ephemerensis]

Enough // Tim Drake x GN! Reader

Y/N is a vigilante moment even though i hate writing Y/N as a vigilante but I needed to write smth about an inferiority complex 2 cope asf and this is the only thing that made sense lmaoo i have finals this whole week pls send thots and prayers love u guys <3 HURT AND COMFORT + not proofread per usual

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“Currently northbound, everything checks out. How’s it looking on your end?”

Tim’s voice sounded muffled behind the wind. He was using comms mid swing again, despite your countless protests against it for his safety.

“Everything is fine here too. I just checked the last two blocks.”

Or maybe he was just on a rooftop. It was windy after all, especially higher up where you were perched now, overlooking a small corner of the city.

“Sounds good, I’ll see you back at the cave.”

It bit into the side of your face, the parts your mask didn’t cover, chilled fingers running their course across your cheeks. A shiver ran down your spine. Your cape billowed violently beside you, sitting on the precipice as you were it felt as if it could pick you up at any moment. But tonight you didn’t particularly mind.

“Copy that.”

You had no intention of going back. At least not yet. There weren’t any cases to solve or villains to plot against and while it was nice to live in a place full of kind faces and warm gestures, it was difficult to hear your own thoughts when they were being drowned out by the ever flowing conversation of twelve other voices. Nights like these were your own.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you inhaled. If you focused on it enough, letting go of your mind to let it wander, it almost felt as if you were flying. Almost.

How did you get here?

The wind billowed noisily in your ears but in the silence of tempestuous isolation the question rung so clearly in your mind, it clung like the lingerings of a bell chime.

Of course you knew how you got on the roof. And you knew how to get home. And you knew you had a home.

You were happy— undoubtedly you were happy. Your friends were wonderful, your boyfriend loved you; if you didn’t blink twice the world would think you had it all.

Somehow you didn’t though. That’s how you got here. Because you don’t belong.

You felt the cold bite of your tears along your cheeks before you registered them falling.

It was easier some days to forget it; the days when everyone lounged around at home, fighting tooth and nail to avoid taking out the trash. When you wrestled with Jason over TV programs because he wanted to rewatch Riverdale “for the irony of it.” Arguing with Tim on some obscure rooftop about which Spiderman was the best one. Dinners with the family, feasing over Alfred’s food.

But you didn’t belong and you knew it.

Two weeks ago you lost a lead on the disappearances happening around downtown that Tim had to rectify for you. Before that, you scuffed a mission by getting caught; the others had to save you. What good were you?

Even if you did succeed. Your feats were nothing another couldn’t accomplish. It took you three weeks to right a low profile burglary, when Cass could’ve done it in three days. And you tried. As much as anyone could you tried, but trying isn’t enough because effort means nothing when it amounts to mediocrity.

The truth was, even with a full hand— you didn’t deserve your cards. The rest of them and the trauma they faced before getting here; what did you ever suffer for but a few minor inconveniences?

You don ’t belong.

And it was infuriating.

You don’t have the skill. You don’t have the talent. You don’t even have a sob story to your name. You are nothing and nothing you could ever do would be good enough. You would never be good enough.

“Hey.” A voice behind you drew you out of your thoughts, making you whip your head around. You’d thrown the knife you had in hand at the intruder before you could process it, habitually. It hit the door leading to the rooftop with a thud as a figure moved to avoid it. The black boots of Red Robin’s suit emerged from the shadows as he approached you with his hands up.

“Woah! Hey, it’s just me.”

The tension in your body settled as soon as you registered the symbol sprawled across his chest, turning yourself back around to resume your previous position.

“You could’ve radioed me.”

The boy shrugged as he perched himself beside you, legs dangling over the edge, mimicking you.

“You didn’t answer when I did.”

“Oh. I guess I just didn’t hear it.”

His eyes were on you as you stared at the skyline. Your hands were fidgeting, kneading the air between each other in something akin to discomfort. A beat of silence passed until he broke it.

“Wanna know a secret?”

Relief flooded your bones. If he asked you what was wrong you wouldn’t know what to say. It’s not like you could lie, not to him, and you couldn’t bring yourself to tell the truth.

“What happened?”

“Well, I was texting and grappling— like you said was stupid, and I hit a brick wall. And then I went home and told you I got into a huge fight that was super valiant and dangerous! Do you remember?“

You snorted. Two months ago he came back limping through the cave. His nose was broken, wrist was sprained, among other things. You gave him an earful then about how reckless he was that night after patching him up.

“You’re joking! I was worried sick when you just stopped texting me and then when you came back I felt terrible for not being there.” He shrugged again with a small smile.

“It was embarrassing! What else was I supposed to say? To be fair, the wall was looking pretty suspicious, I had to neutralize the target… But yeah! I’m not perfect— go figure!” You leaned over, resting your head on his shoulder with a chuckle.

“Honestly I think we should revoke your phone privileges.”

“How would I talk to you then?”

“I guess we’ll just have to ask Bruce about telepathy tech.” You felt his shoulders shake beneath your head as he laughed. His hand hand grabbed yours before you realized it earlier, drawing shapes over your palm with his gloved fingers.

“Wanna know something else?”

“What else, Timberly?” His nose crinkled at the nickname.

“I had the worst insomnia like three years ago! Which, it’s not like I don’t pull all-nighters anymore but I’m improved I swear! Wanna know what fixed it?”

“Oh please don’t say something corny, I might throw up.” Your teeth sank into your bottom lip to prevent the impending smile from forming.

“You thought I was gonna say you? Funny. Silly! Wrong!”

You gasped comically, pulling away, before slapping his arm with the hand he wasn’t holding.

“Timothy Jackson Drake!” He let go of your hand altogether to fish his phone out of his pocket with a coy smile planted firmly under his mask.

“Not so loud! My identity’s at stake.” After tapping at his screen for a few moments, he handed you the phone, “This is my one stop shop tried and true remedy for sleep support.”

Taking it, you took a look. You hadn’t taken the picture. Which makes sense because you were sleeping in it, on one of the couches in the manor on a sunny afternoon. Your nose was crinkled slightly because the sun was in your face, but it made it look like your skin was glowing.

Handing it back, internally satiated but outwardly bashful, you rolled your eyes, “So it was me anyways.”

“You should feel honored I’m blessing you with it! Any thoughts I have that keep me from sleeping? Gone! You’re pretty cool Y/N. I’ve never needed someone like I need you.”

Ah. So he knew. Wordlessly he knew.

“You need me?”

Somehow he always did. And all this was to make you feel better. And it did.

“Yeah. We all do.”

[jasmines-library]

Hey, I love your Batfam work! Is there any chance you could do a whump/angst one of batsis being kidnapped by a villian(you can choose whoever you want) and she’s tortured for days with it being broadcasted to the Batfam while they try to track the footage. I feel kinda bad but can you do maybe some head trauma md severe burns? Maybe she has to be put in a medically included coma or smth because of the damage? Also is there any way you could include Barb and Duke along w/ the four robins? If not that’s totally cool! Sorry for the long request but I hope you have a great day!!

Anonymous Requested: batfam x batsib reader whos the youngest and newest robin and is just really goofy and doesn’t take anything seriously (ex: them blaring “who’s the (bat)man” on the comms during patrol [that songs stuck in my head i had to mention it]) and something happens, maybe their first close encounter to death or a run in with the joker and they just become a shell of who they were and stuff

Jokes On Me

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Note: My god im so sorry this literally took me forever to write, thank you so much for being patient. I've been trying to write this all week but just couldn't sit down for long enough to finish it.

Warnings: Torture, blood, burns.

Word Count: 2.5k

⛧ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛧

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“Y/N, turn that shit off.”

Jason grumbled at you over the coms. You had been blasting some wretched song that you’d found on the internet over and over again and it was beginning to drive him mad. 

“Nope.” You said, popping the ‘p’ loudly. 

“Seriously.” Dick deadpanned. He had found it amusing at first, but it was now beginning to test his patience. 

Agitated, you sighed and turned off the music. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” Jason expressed gratefully, turning his eyes back to the road he was patrolling. The night was cool and quiet besides the odd dog walker or couple returning from an evening out. It was one of those nights where patrol would end early and he could return home to take a warm bath and read a book before turning in for the night. Or so he thought. 

You were rounding the corner, humming that tune that was still stuck in your head when his laughter ricocheted across the walls. You stiffened, eyes widening and hands fumbling for your weapon as your breath hitched. No amount of turning and craning your head allowed you to catch a glimpse of the dreaded figure, and you thought for a moment that perhaps it had just been a trick of your mind, or one of your brothers playing a cruel joke on you as payback for winding them up earlier. But then you heard it again, only this time to your left. You clutched your weapon tighter, eyes scanning the area with a new found sense of urgency. 

“Wing…” You whispered into the coms so quietly that you were surprised he heard it.

“What now?” He somewhat snapped. 

“We have a problem.”

Dick’s heart sank through the floor, his ears pricking up and his demeanour changing completely. “Where are you? What’s the matter? He was trying to let his panic show, but you hadn’t been patrolling as a vigilante for very long, and while you were well trained, you lacked the experience to deal with something big on your own. And from your tone of voice, he could tell that you were in some deep shit. 

Jason worked his legs harder to push himself to reach the direction he had seen you head off in. Albeit it seemed even his hardest wasn’t enough.

When he stepped out of the darkness, the first thing you noticed were his eyes. Wide and bright, easily mistakable for a cat’s as they flashed in the darkness; wild. Rabid. As he emerged fully with that infamous twisted grin splayed out on his face, you felt like a cornered animal; a deer in headlights. You froze, unable to move despite how your heart screamed at you to run as it pounded, trying to break free from your ribcage. 

“He’s here…” A mere whisper sliding over your tongue, so fragile that you weren’t even sure if you had actually said it aloud. Jason had heard it. 

“Who?” 

The Joker was circling you now, dragging out his strides in lazy circles. You should have fought but in that moment all of your training had drained out of you, along with the colour in your face. He smirked, leering down upon you as you tried to keep your trembling hand still. He pouted in mockery and at your silence, Jason repeated his question to you, but you never got the chance to respond. 

“Oh…Just an old friend, Jay-bird.”

“Joker.” Urging his body to move faster, Jason grit his teeth. 

Dick paled. “You leave them alone.” Dick spat. It tried to be a command, but the effect was lost somewhere in transmission.

The joker pursed his lips, tilting his head as he analysed. One of his hands had found his way to your jawline and he trailed it with a cold, gloved hand. You wanted to lean away, to run and find your brother but you knew that now he had you in his grasp there was no point in even trying. “And why would I do that? They’re right in front of me. I could just…snatch them up.”

“Don’t you dare!” Dick was frightened now. “Y/N, you stay there as long as you can, okay? You fight. We’re coming, you hear?”

The Joker frowned at you. “D’you hear that? Big brother birdy coming to the rescue. How sweet.”

His grip on you tightened. “Too bad you’ll be long gone by the time they get here.”

With one swift motion, he had thrown you harshly to the side, your head colliding with the wall with a sickening crack. 

The two boys skidded to a halt just a second too late. You were already gone. 

~

Your head hurt when you woke up. Your eyes squinted against the sterile light. They did no favours to your pounding headache. With a groan, you tried to twist, to roll over and soothe the crook in your neck but instead all that happened was the jinging of a metal chain. You craned your head and spotted the thick chain that had been wrapped around your wrist, confining you to the chair. Struggling, you tugged on them, trying to free yourself only for them to rattle and scrape against your skin. 

“Yeah, that’s not going anywhere, birdy.” The joker chided.

You glared at him through narrowed eyes, trying to mask the thumping of your heart. The joker grinned wildly at your frightened complexion. 

“It was such a shame that Grayson and Todd didn’t get to you in time, but it was far too easy to catch you, little bird: you completely froze.” He snapped his fingers to emphasise his point. “Didn’t batsy teach you better?”

“Don’t talk about them.” You snapped. 

The joker raised his hands, palms facing toward you in surrender: taunting you as if you were the one with the power in the situation. “Touchy subject I see. Too bad.” 

He gestured above you to an incessantly blinking light. “Smile for the camera, you’re live.”

~

Babs had been monitoring the street cameras when the computer beside her flickered to life. She had been searching for any sign of you ever since Dick and Jason came flying through the grandfather clock. Everyone was on edge. 

The moment the screen flashed on, her eyes perked up to watch it, alarmed. She hadn’t turned it on. And there were very few people who could bypass the caves system. So when she saw a small frame curled up in a chair she knew immediately what was up. 

“Duke…” she called to the dark haired boy who was trying to help decipher your whereabouts. “Go and get B.” 

It did not take long at all for everyone to gather around in the cave. Duke was fast, and everyone dropped what they were doing to race down: even Alfred had taken his leave from his duties to see. 

It was almost like some sick irony because as soon as they were all there, you began to scream. A guttering, perfect scream that cut that through them like a knife: unclean and pinging into them messily again and again. 

The joker had taken a knife to your left thigh, his smile dripping with malice as he watched the camera, somehow knowing that at least one of them would be watching. 

Your face was contorted in pain, twisting in agony as tears rolled flatly down your cheeks from fearful eyes. Damian felt sick, his stomach churning. Jason wanted to leave. But all of them were stuck watching. Barbra was tapping away, trying to locate the signal from the video to no avail. 

“I hope you’re watching this Batsy…” He moved round to trail your face with the edge of the knife. You whimpered. “I’ve got your little bird here and I must say, you need to work on their training. They were far too easy to catch.”

Bruce felt his jaw tightening and Tim had to place a hand on his arm to remind him of his place. 

“Anyway I thought we would play a little game… how long can little y/n survive for. I wonder if it’ll be any longer than our very own Jason Todd.”

Jason twitched. 

“I’m testing you here, Bat. Tick Tock.”

The transmission cut to black. 

~

It seemed hopeless. Even though they had been searching for days, they were no closer to finding you. And to make matters worse, they could see you. Not long after the first transition ended did it start up again. It had been lifestreaming since then, and although they had tried to block it from their minds, it was hard to ignore. Especially when your agonised screams ricocheted throughout the halls. 

You looked like hell. Dark bags occluded under your eyes and there wasn’t an inch of your skin that wasn’t marred or stained with drying blood. The burns were worse. Damian could still hear the scream you let out when the joker first brought the hot poker to your skin. It had bubbled and blistered as the skin peeled away; you had thrashed against your restraints violently. Tim was certain that they were going to get infected if they didn’t reach you soon. 

It felt as if they had searched everywhere. Dick and Jason had even asked around to see if anyone had heard anything, going as far to talk to the Jokers closest associates in Arkham, but even if they did know, nobody said anything. Duke had even gone as far to go back to the area to use his powers to see if he could trace anything, but nothing seemed out of place; they had hit a brick wall. That was…until a small light appeared on the monitor. Babs had managed to trace the signal to a small building on the outskirts of the city. 

They were suited up in minutes, making a beeline for the building. They stormed it, recklessly taking down the Joker's goons before Batman chased wildly after the Joker, his face stony and his fists burning with anger. The other four boys chased down the winding corridors, flinging open the doors until they found one that was locked. Tim wasted no time, picking the lock with ease he peeled it open. His breath hitched when he saw you. 

Your face was gaunt, hanging low by your chest. Your suit was torn and there was less of it on your body than there was ripped away. You looked so fragile as your chest heaved sporadically. 

Jason nearly had to take a step back. This place reminded himself too much of his own encounter with the Joker not too long ago. But he pressed forward, fighting his instincts. He had to be strong. Instead of turning back, he kneeled in front of you, whispering your name. His hand came up to cup your face. You flinched away. 

“It’s okay kid. It’s us.” He tried to reassure you, but you shrank back into yourself. 

“We’re so, so sorry kiddo.” Dick tried placing a gentle hand on your arm before moving to work on the cuffs around your wrists. “We’re going to get you out.”

You said nothing, just continued to stare at the black space before you, and Dami wasn’t sure if you even knew they were in front of you. But when Jason moved away from you to help remove your restraints, your fingers latched onto him and you squeaked in protest. 

He sighed shakily. “Don’t worry kid. I’m not going anywhere.”

Damian twisted from where he was guarding the door. “We need to leave.”

Dick nodded bluntly, finishing with the last of the locks. “I’m going to have to pick you up, okay sweetheart?”

You barely registered what he had said. Everything had grown numb, you nodded anyhow. Moving his arms underneath your legs and slipping one arm behind your back, Jason began to lift you. He nearly recoiled when you cried and whimpered with the way your wounds jostled as he sprinted out of the building to get you back to safety. 

~

You were yet to say anything since you came home. You had been back a few days and your wounds were healing up nicely thanks to Alfred’s handywork, but the air was eerily silent around you. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t been communicating with them; you spoke to them with gestures or writing but no one was used to not hearing your voice. The stark contrast between your loud and bustling personality and you now was unsettling. No one wanted to push you too far but the manor was beginning to grow lonely. 

It was one particularly rainy night when you finally spoke.  You were curled up in a large armchair by the window in the library, sinking back into the plush leather as you watched the raindrops race down the glass. Jason had been watching you from afar, contemplating whether to talk to you or not when he walked over. 

“What are you up to?” He asked you, making sure you knew that he was there before he spoke. 

You gestured toward the window,then to the half opened book at your feet and shrugged. 

“I see.” He nodded, taking a seat on the armchair opposite you. A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. Jason wasn’t much of a talker. He knew more than anyone what you were going through, which was why it was nice just to know that he was willing to sit with you, just so you knew that he was there if you needed him. It made you feel safe. But you also couldn’t help but feel guilty, and frustrated with yourself for being in a place that made him feel as though he had to do that. 

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. 

Jason had to do a second take. His heart swelled. “What for?”

You sighed. “This. When I saw him…i-i froze. If I had run then this would never have happened.”

“Shh. This isn’t your fault.”

“But-”

“I promise, Kid. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

You nodded, looking away from him. But then you furrowed your brows and turned back to him. “How did you do it? How did you deal with this, Jay? Every time I close my eyes he’s there.”

“I guess I don’t, really. Or sometimes it feels like I don’t. I still get scared sometimes. I still see him in my dreams. But over time it gets easier. I had people around me to help me. And so do you, kid. We’re here. We’ll always be here.”

Jason shifted to brush away a rogue tear and you leaned into his touch and then wrapped your arms tightly around his middle. 

“I’m here. Always. We’ll get through this together.”

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BATFAM TAGS

@aestheticdaisies @hearts4robs @xxrougefangxx @mamapucket @hell-o-kittys @harleycao @batfamsstuff @alicedawitchbish

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[faeriekit]

The Foster Mother

Now on ao3 and VHS release

There was, supposedly, someone waiting for him in the green sitting room.

“…Why?” Tim asked. Most of the usual suspects had already come by to give their “condolences”—former Drakes Industries investors, curious about the newly orphaned heir; fellow socialites, once again flocking in to give and receive sympathies for their “close friends, the Drakes”; gawkers come to see what they could scavenge off of a dead family’s home, never mind that their child was alive.

“She claims to know you, Master Tim,” Alfred offered, kettle in his hand. He spent a moment deciding between different two canisters of tea; a sign of possibly difficult future conversation. “Her interest in your father's estate seemed quite…minimal.”

…Alright.

Tim was still in his formalwear. Dissolving Drake Industries would take at least another year, and plenty of future hours cementing the future home of certain resources in their dissolution, but the outfit probably was more appropriate for whatever oncoming conversation that was about to ensue than his planned change into Dick’s old hoodie and board shorts.

Okay. Tim steeled himself. The self-determination…mostly worked. Whatever. He trudged up into the green sitting room from the kitchen with his usual introduction ready on his tongue.

And then Tim walked into the room.

And then Jazzy was there.

*

Tim had been three, and Miss Jasmine had been his had been his third nanny. He’d outgrown the wetnurse early on, and his second nanny had been dismissed, so although Miss Jasmine was the third nanny, she was first nanny Tim could consciously remember.

She’d had red hair. She’d been very gentle with him.

She got him up in the morning and put him to bed at night; for the first time, there had been someone who sat with him until he was asleep, reading all sorts of books his parents had left to engage him with as an early genius. Then, when those were over and done as promised to his parents, they got unauthorized books from the library: silly books with made-up words, dinosaur books, books about teddy bears and adventures around the world.

Tim hadn’t been allowed to travel the world. Tim hadn’t been allowed a teddy bear. His parents had thought it would encourage undue attachment.

(It had been the same reason he’d never been given a pacifier.)

Miss Jazz had given him a knitted bunny. She’d said her dad had made it especially for him.

The toy’s name was Bunny and Tim remembered him being very soft.

She didn’t smile all the time, but smiles were rewards that were easy to earn. He finished his meal and she smiled. He finished an educational puzzle and she smiled. He was quiet all through her phone call and she smiled, and answered all his questions once she was done.

Jazzy had been the first person in his life who was there all the time. She’d kissed his forehead after the bath and kissed his scraped knees; she’d carried him in his arms when he was tired and sometimes even when he wasn’t. His parents had wanted him to be independent, proactive, and not clingy, but Jazzy had been someone who he could run to from his bed when he’d had nightmares and someone he could cuddle on her lap with when he’d cried.

She was gone when he was seven. He didn’t remember why. His parents had probably never told him, but still; he'd assumed he'd have found out why eventually.

Jazzy looked the same right now as she looked in Tim’s memories, although she was likely no longer a college student at a nannying gig. Her red hair was pulled into a high bun, her dress modest and conservative from her neck to her ankles. There was a backpack beside her foot. She was sitting, one leg crossed over the other, on the high-backed loveseat in the green sitting room.

She looked up when he came in.

Tim. Stopped in his tracks.

It didn’t matter. Jazzy—Miss Jasmine stood up as soon as she saw him, eyes alight with worry. Foggy memories were swimming to the forefront of Tim’s brain. He couldn’t move.

“Tim?” Ja—Miss Jasmine asked, teal eyes raking over his frame. Tim froze where he was. He didn’t move, wide-eyed and terrified for no reason at all when Miss Jasmine got closer to him, at a distance that was more appropriate for a conversation.

She stood there. Watching him. It felt like his mother had just come home from her trips with Dad, and a ghost of old terror wafted through him as he waited for her to decide he’d done something wrong. Her voice got softer. Her eyes got softer. Why was Tim feeling so wrong-footed?? It was only a former staff person!

“Tim?” her voice was so gentle. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m—“

“M’s Jazz,” Tim croaked. Which. Wasn’t the level of formality he’d been going for, but better than Jazzy. He wasn’t a toddler anymore.

Miss Jasmine was so tall—honestly, was she taller than Bruce? She’d seemed insurmountable as a child; he hadn’t expected her height to truly be so statuesque as an adult.

(Or. Well. Almost an adult.)

She didn’t quite kneel down, but she did stoop lower, as if Tim was small and he needed to be on equal footing in order to have a serious conversation.

He could see all her freckles. Tim swallowed. It was too familiar. Everything about her was too familiar.

“You’re so big now,” Jazzy whispered, looking at his hair, his suit, his polished shoes. He didn’t feel it. “Oh, you’ve grown up so well.”

Thanks, Tim almost said. Something stopped him—something thick in his throat, to impassable to break through.

“I—“ he tried. He coughed. “Why…you… You’re here?”

Jazzy threw him an incredulous look, and then an incredibly wry one. “Well,” she drawled a little too primly, in the way that Alfred occasionally made obvious statements, “I’d think it obvious that when one’s parents have passed away, that those who care about you might come to check and see if you’re alright.”

Which. That didn’t make sense. Jazzy hadn’t come back for any other reason; she hadn’t come back for his mother’s funeral, nor when his father was injured publicly by a villain. Why start now?

“And,” Jazz added, seeing his visual confusion and distrust, “Your parents can’t exactly threaten me with a kidnapping charge for visiting you when they’re dead.” Pause. “Which I am sorry about. My condolences.”

Which. Whiplash. What a statement.

“Uh,” said Tim, who was rapidly losing control over the situation.

Jazzy stood again, and went back to her seat; she didn’t set herself down, though, as she only stooped to grab her backpack. “I am sorry for being unable to visit, although I really wanted to; you were at a very vulnerable age and had already moved into a class a year above you, and your parents should have been less hasty about replacing your main caretaker. The assassination attempts were unwarranted, but they did drive the point home that attempting contact was perhaps discouraged.”

“What,” said Tim. “Assassin what.”

“They were ninjas,” Jazzy offered, as if that was an answer. “Except the last one, which was a former marine. The point is that I do care about you, and wanted to ask if you had any idea where you’re going now that your parents are no longer…available guardians.”

Tim’s mouth opened. It closed.

Jazzy waited patiently.

“…How have you been?” Tim tried, resorting to a part of the script they hadn’t gone through yet.

Jazzy’s laugh was tired, but no less real. It was nothing like listening to his parents titter politely; he didn’t think Jazzy would even know how to fake a laugh. “Well, my brother told me that my former bosses had died, which was somewhat stressful. Otherwise, I’m pretty happy: I live with my brother and worked with him for the last few years. I was going to pursue medicine, but…well. The assassination attempts made it hard to interview for scholarships. I suppose that I could return to that now,” Jazzy mused, attention now elsewhere. She pulled the backpack off the floor and up into her grip. She opened it, and flipped through its contents. “How are you doing? I know that Wayne Manor fosters, but your parents were always rather…hands off. I thought the difference in levels of attention might be overwhelming.”

It was. Tim should be surprised how clearly she sees through him—

—But Jazzy used to watch him stim for almost a full hour after school, twisting Bunny’s arms back and forth until he could calm down. Seeing other people all day had been too much for him. Coming home from his parents’ parties had been similarly stressful.

She’d never been mad at him for it. She held him while he talked and stimmed and talked and talked and talked, and brushed his hair sometimes, or if it was very late and he was very young, helped him brush his teeth through all the medieval execution facts he could name.

“It is a lot to get used to,” Tim agreed quietly. He didn’t want to be ungrateful. He didn’t want to let on anyone about his plan to leave.

He had an out. The papers had already been filed; there was an actor waiting to play his uncle for a custody battle, ready for the fight.

Tim was ready to up and go. It was no hardship to leave all the good things here; anything beat making Bruce stick his fingers into Tim any deeper than they already were, compromising the dynamic they’d already established.

It was for the best.

“I can imagine,” Jazzy sympathized easily. “And I wanted to offer—well. I know there’s probably a lot of choices available to you, but my brother and I recently moved back to Gotham proper for the time being. He’s teaching astronomy courses at the university and I’m filing paperwork for Arkham patients. It’s not so privileged a home, but it’s quieter, and more central in town.”

…Tim’s heart skipped.

He. He couldn’t stop staring. Jazzy stared back at him, quiet and sure. Sure of what, Tim had no idea, but…

Why? Why would she want Tim? There was no way she would be able to get to his trust fund without his help, and he for sure knew better than to enable her ability to leech from him. The last time she’d known him, Tim had been a snot-nosed kid who cried all the time and couldn’t be normal for twenty consecutive minutes. His parents couldn’t even stand to be on the same hemisphere as him as a child. What appeal did this have for her?? What could having a teenager with severe baggage living in her house do for her?

And it’s not like there was any chance she knew he was Robin!

“Oh,” Jazzy suddenly interrupted. “I brought these for you, by the way. Your parents had tossed them out at various points; I’ve washed them since, of course.”

She handed him the backpack by the handle.

…Tim peeked inside.

On top was Bunny, still a washed-out faded sort of pink. He looked as fresh as he had the day when Tim’s parents had ”cleaned out” Tim’s nursery—in other words, a faded, a little gray, and slightly discolored from an old spaghetti stain. His button eyes were big and blue.

And beneath him were books that hadn’t passed his father’s muster as appropriately masculine reading material: The Velveteen Rabbit, with the cover a little scarred from a fierce attack of wet wipes. There’s A Monster at the End of This Book, with a goofy-looking Muppet on the cover, gold spine beat up beyond belief. Art Tim’s teacher at the time must have laminated and sent home; Tim’s dorky, crayon cat proved he would never make it as an artist, but attached to it was a photograph of a grinning boy with a bowl cut and a missing tooth.

Tim stared. There’d been purple marker on his hands and face. His grin looked…really bad, actually, like as if he was baring his teeth because he didn’t know how to smile. There was no formal grace there. Nothing to show the neighbors, nothing worth framing to put into the line of sight of the investors in the office.

Jazzy had kept it and brought it home with her. Jazzy had fished it out of the trash, and brought it with her to give back to him in Gotham.

It was crinkled like it’d been folded, over and over again. Further down in the bag was a crumpled certificate dedicated to “Timmy Drake, for: knowing a lot about octopi”, and a baby blanket Tim didn’t even remember. It had rocket ships on it. It looked as if someone had cut into it with scissors, although it had been obviously and brightly mended with red embroidery floss later on.

Jazzy had only been his nanny until Tim was seven. She had simply been gone one night, and Mom and Dad had been home for ten nights after without help before giving in and hiring Mrs. McIlvane and Mrs. Edith. Ms. Edith had never been so…permissive…with Tim as Jazzy had been.

Tim swallowed. He carefully put everything back into the backpack, unsure if he even wanted to keep it or not. It wasn’t like he could leave it here; he’d be gone, ideally, before the week was out. There was no point in taking it with him if he only planned to live with a stranger until he was eighteen.

“J…” Tim tried. He cut himself off before he could get too informal without prompting. “Miss Jasmine—“

“Just Jazz,” Jazzy corrected politely.

“—Why are you here?” Tim asked, ignoring how she’d technically already answered. He didn’t believe her. “What made my parents fire you?”

Jazzy’s expression turned…soft. Tim couldn’t look at her. Something horrible was welling with it, and he didn’t know how to cope.

“I’m here because I care about you,” Jazz repeated, and knelt beside him. She looked up into his face, and took his hand. Tim didn’t know why. He was practically an adult—he didn’t need this!

“And I was fired because your Mother overheard you calling me ‘Mommy’ on accident when you were tired. I suppose she was insulted, although I’d never know why; it’s not like she was ever home to bond with you in the first place.”

Tim’s throat closed. He missed his mom. He missed waiting up for his parents’ flight home, seeing their headlights outside the window, and knowing they’d bring home gifts from overseas. He missed using Mom’s perfume, and knowing he’d used more of the bottle sitting on her dressed than she ever had, but that it still smelled like her. He missed hearing his Dad telling all sorts of adventure stories and promises through the phone to be home for the holidays, even if Tim knew there was every chance he’d find some other way to spend the time back in Gotham.

And there was some small child in him who missed Jazzy, who hugged him and walked him to the library and made him soup from a can instead of fancy dinners and, who’d never needed to be waited for in the first place.

Tim looked at Jazzy’s round, freckled face.

He swallowed.

Tim moved out before the end of the week, as expected.

[astorianyxkings]

One of my favourite things to think about is Jason being a mean big brother to the batlings but a shy little brother to Dick.

Tim asks him if he wants to go with him to blow something up and he's super excited but in that annoying little brother way so Jason just grunts "No. Get lost baby bird." And goes about his day as normal.

Damian tries to get him to practice training with katanas like back in the LoA days and he ruffles his hair and says "No demon brat, go bother Dick." Damian swears he'll catch him off guard, Jason flips him off.

Cass wants Jason to sit down with her and watch a movie. Normally he could never say no to his sister but the other day she claimed to be older than him so he's got an ego to protect. He pats her on the head, assures her he adores her and then tells her he'd rather die (again) than binge My Cousin Vinny.

Steph chases him around because Cass is pouting and Tim's recruited her to blow up the warehouse but she has this really nice shade of purple that would look perfect on Cass but now she needs a new test subject. "Just one hand!" Steph yells throwing a well aimed pillow at the back of Jason's head. "No way in hell blondie." Jason huffs, dodging it.

Maybe he should just leave the manor? Solid plan right? Wrong. Duke, having well adjusted to his new life as a Wayne, let's himself into the safehouse Jason's in and asks for help on this case because "Look I know Black Mask is just using the diner as a front. Help me out here." Jason's having none of it, Duke is old enough to be lovingly scorned like the rest, "With all due disrespect, piss off." He tells him, patting him on the back and leading him out of the door.

What he doesn't count on is all of them telling on him. Not to Bruce or Alfred, no. To Dick.

Jason finds this out when he shows up to Dick's apartment asking for a second pair of eyes on a case and Dick sharply cuts him off with a simple "No."

He's flabbergasted because Dick loves him? Dick's his big brother? Why is his big brother rejecting him? He's gonna need a whole therapy session on that alone.

Jason pouts and sulks and goes back to his apartment and Dick rolls his eyes. He loves his brother, really he does. But he needs to be humbled every now and then.

[gothamundernightlight]

Incorrect Batfam Quotes

Jason: How y’a doin’ short stack?

Tim: …*sigh

Tim: As you have continued to observe, you are taller. Since we have now established this, I’m now going to hit you with a chair. Because I’m not the bigger person.

Jason: Wait, what?

Jason: OW!

[froggibus]

Hi!

I saw your requests were open so I was wondering if I could request the Batboys with an s/o who passes out from a fever.

I hope you’re doing well!!

Passing Out From A Fever - Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Wally West

Pairing: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake and Wally West x gn! reader (separately)

Genre: hurt/comfort

Summary: your s/o reacting to you passing out from a fever

Word Count: 1.2k (Dick's), 1k (Jason's), 1.1k (Tim's), 1.1k (Wally's)

CW: sickness/the flu, minor injuries, reader is stubborn and refuses to rest, fainting, established relationship? gn reader but Wally refers to you as a 'damsel in distress', violence + drugs/drug dealers (Jason's) lmk if i missed anything

okok so sorry anon this request is almost 4 months old lmfao. i got a little sidetracked doing other stuff for a while but it is finally here. hope you enjoy it despite how delayed it is

--

Dick 

Dick looks at the numbers on the digital thermometer with a sigh. “Your temperature’s only going up.”

“Is that a bad thing?” You try to joke but your whole body aches, your skin is feverish and clammy, and your head spins every time you open your eyes.

He looks at you seriously, giving you the signature Dick Grayson disappointed older brother, team leader look.

“I take it no patrol tonight?”

He rests his hand on your thigh. “Not a chance in hell.”

“I figured as much,” you grumble.

“I’ll stay in with you tonight,” he insists, giving your leg a squeeze. “We can watch a movie or something. I’ll even let you choose.”

You let out a deep breath, leaning back and resting your head against your cold bed frame. His offer is tempting—it's not often he stays home during the evening. “Okay,” you nod your head slowly. “We’ll stay in tonight.”

He beams at your decision, planting a chaste kiss to your forehead before jumping up and leaving you in your bed. “I’ll be back in an hour, alright?”

You offer a weak thumbs up before relaxing back into your nest of blankets and pillows. It won’t hurt to sleep a little while he’s out, and you are pretty tired. 

— 

You wake up hours later, Dick nowhere to be seen. Your whole body feels like it’s been set on fire and beat with a baseball bat, but you still struggle out of bed to go find your boyfriend. Of course, he’s nowhere to be seen. 

You narrow your eyes, a sinking feeling in your chest because you know exactly where he is. Your hunch is proved right when you open the closet door with shaky hands and see the empty hanger where the Nightwing costume should be. 

What happened to staying in tonight? No patrol?

The thought of him leaving you while you feel this sick lights a fuse in your chest, and before you know it, you’re lazily tugging your own suit over your limbs. The suit only makes you feel hotter, your muscles aching in protest, but you need to see him. 

By some miracle, you manage to stumble your way across Gotham in the dead of night while dealing with an extremely high fever and body aches. 

Still, your boyfriend is nowhere in sight. You followed the trail of beaten thugs and failed robberies straight to the centre of the city, but Nightwing wasn’t there. You feel slightly woozy, your knees shaking below you. 

Your phone buzzes in your back pocket and you take it out, the writing blurry on the small glowing screen. You squint but the letters spin on the screen, and you can’t seem to make them out. 

In fact, when you look up from the screen, the whole world is spinning. Your head feels impossibly heavy, and suddenly your body is pitching forwards. 

————

Dick knows he’s fucked when he gets home and you’re nowhere to be seen. He sees the open closet door and the empty hanger where your costume should’ve been, and groans. 

If only he had just stayed home like he said. Guilt overwhelms him, but he swallows it back and forces himself to push through. 

You shouldn’t even be out of bed, let alone roaming the city dressed as a vigilante. Dick cards his fingers through his hair and starts to make his way through the city again. 

He assumes you were trying to find him, so he circles back through his usual patrol spots. The longer it takes to find you, the more anxious and guilty he feels. 

It’s all his fault that you’re even in this mess, stumbling through the city sick and disoriented.  

He finds you unconscious on a rooftop, tucked away in a corner, a small cut on your face from what he assumes was the impact. Seeing you like this makes his heart drop and for what feels like a thousand years, he watches you and waits for your chest to rise. He stares, holding his own breath until he finally sees your lungs inflate with air. 

He’s scooping you up in his arms and carrying you back to the apartment in an instant, careful not to jostle you too much. He can feel your feverish skin through your costume, sweat pooling on your forehead and neck. He could set a record for how fast he had you home.  

He changes you out of your suit and into comfortable pjs, patching up the mark on your face and tucking you into bed. He’s always taken care of his younger brothers so he knows just how to take care of you. 

He puts an ice pack on your forehead to keep you from burning up too much and gets water and ginger ale for your nightstand. He knows you’ll need fluids and medicine when you wake up and he wants to be prepared. 

Even after he’s prepared everything and double checked his, his nerves don’t settle. You’ve been out cold for at least an hour, with no sign of waking up. Another hour of this and he’ll have to take you to the hospital. 

He paces the room, eyes never leaving your sleeping figure. Wake up, wake up, wake up. He tries to will you awake, hoping your eyes will open any second and you’ll berate him for leaving you. 

“Dick..?”

His pacing comes to a stop, eyes snapping to yours. “Oh, thank god,” he kneels next to your side of the bed and takes your hand in his. “How’re you feeling?”

As if on cue, you groan in pain. The ice pack he placed on your forehead does little to help with the heat that’s ignited your whole body. Your eyes feel painfully heavy, and all of your muscles feel inflamed. 

He holds a glass of water up to your lips, helping you tip your head back so you can drink some. He pops a couple pills into your mouth and pours some more water in to wash them down. 

“They’ll probably take fifteen minutes to work,” he keeps his voice quiet. “You’ll feel a lot better soon though, I promise. I’ll make sure you’re all better.” 

You nod weakly. “You—you left me…”

Dick’s heart breaks at the sound of your sad, weak voice. He was hoping you wouldn’t dwell on that too much, the reminder that his fuck up for you into this mess weighing heavily on him. 

“I know, baby. And I’m so, so sorry. There was an emergency and I thought I could sneak out quick but,” he sighs and tugs on his hair. “I’m not gonna leave your side until you’re all better, okay? Never again.”

You’re too tired and sick to care for grovelling, you’re just glad he’s here and you don’t have to suffer alone. You reach a hand out to grab his hand and weakly tug him towards the bed. 

Dick obliges, crawling in next to you and letting you rest on his chest. “I’m gonna make you all better, hm? You’ll be all better soon, hun.”

His soothing voice coupled with the circles he traces on your back are enough to keep you content until the medicine kicks in. Then, you’re drifting back to sleep in Dick’s arms, already feeling better from the turmoil of the day

-

Jason 

You think Jason may be the most dense man on the planet. Unlike his father, his detective skills seriously need some work. 

When you woke up this morning with a fever and aches, you were sure you could push through it. It’s just a little cold, or so you thought. As the day turned into night and you got ready for patrol, your symptoms only worsened. 

Your body aches grew worse, your fever grew hotter and your movements got sluggish. Still, you brushed it off. You never miss patrol with Jason, and tonight wasn’t going to be a first. 

“You’re off to a slow start,” he teases. 

You would roll your eyes if you weren’t so tired. “Shut up. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

It’s a total lie, of course. And if he could see the swelling of your glassy eyes or touch your boiling skin, he would know otherwise. Lucky for you, the adrenaline rush Jason gets on patrol creates a kind of tunnel vision that allows him to completely overlook your symptoms. 

You stumble a bit, having to brace yourself against one of the shipping containers. You’re glad Jason shot out all of the street lamps at the old dock, leaving you in perpetual darkness. A perfect cover to hide the pain you’re feeling. 

You take a deep breath and groan, pushing off of the container and running to catch up with him. The friction only makes you hotter, the air being forced from your lungs. Your head spins and black spots crowd your vision, but you take a weak breath and force them away. Now is not the time to be weak. 

Jason tilts his head at you, and you can feel his judging eyes from under the mask. “Seriously, are you okay? Did you get hurt or something?”

“Did you? You’re off your game too, Red.” You try to nudge him teasingly but it just sends a shockwave through your body, your head suddenly pounding. 

He looks like he’s going to say something you don’t want to hear but you’re saved by the bell when an unlucky drug dealer stumbles into view.  Jason is pouncing on him in a minute, leaving you to your thoughts. 

His form gets blurrier the more you watch him fight, and you swear your arms and legs are growing heavier by the second. Your head lulls back and you worry for a minute that you’re going to pass out. 

You manage to catch yourself, pinching your arms to keep yourself aware. It works, but only for a second. You have enough time to make eye contact with Jason before your eyes are rolling back and you’re dropping like a sack of potatoes. 

—

Jason is freaking the fuck out. For a minute, he’s worried you’re injured—or worse. All he saw was your panicked expression before you dropped to the pavement. If he wasn’t so worried, he would have laughed at your lack of grace. 

He makes quick work of the remaining drug dealers, tearing through them with all the anxiety he’s feeling. By the time he’s made it to you, your body is practically on fire. He flinched away at first, not expecting your skin to be as hot as it is. 

“You idiot,” he lifts you into his arms, letting your head hang over his shoulder. “You should’ve just told me you were sick.”

He forces himself to keep his calm demeanour the whole way to the apartment. He doesn’t let himself worry until you’re both changed out of your patrol clothes and into normal, ordinary pyjamas. 

He has you laid down in the passenger seat of his car, his foot pressing heavily on the gas the entire way to the hospital. He knows it’s just a fever, but you fainted. Something could be seriously wrong, and he can’t chance anything. Not with you. 

—

You come to in the hospital, an IV in your arm. It takes a few blinks for you to take in your surroundings, but even then, it’s hard to keep your eyes open. Your throbbing headache does not mesh well with the fluorescent lights. 

“Jason,” your voice is barely a whisper. “Did you take me to the hospital?”

“No shit,” he scoffs. “

You would laugh at his brazenness if you weren’t in so much pain. The scratchy cotton thread of the hospital blankets aren’t enough to keep you warm, and despite being covered in sweat, you’re shivering. 

Jason sighs. “You’re an idiot, you know that? You could’ve just told me you were sick.”

“I-I—,” you can barely speak with how bad you’re shivering. 

Jason’s heart hurts at the sight of you, and despite how frustrated he is with your antics, he climbs into the bed with you and lets you lay against his chest. 

You relax into him, trying to sap his body heat. You know this can’t exactly be comfortable for him, especially considering you’re a million degrees, and it makes you appreciate it even more. 

“You know, I thought about just tossing you in the harbour and calling it a day.”

You let out a weak laugh at that. “I’m sure you did.”

“Okay, maybe not,” he admits, “but if you ever do that to me again, you will be taking an impromptu swim.”

“As you wish, Jay.”

He kisses the top of your head, “get some rest, hm?”

You nod weakly, letting your body sag against his. Just as sleep begins to take you, you mumble, “I love you.”

Jason’s heart flutters at your words. “I love you too.”

-

Tim 

Tim is such a hypocrite.

When he pushes himself to his absolute limit, staying up until he quite literally drops, it’s fine. But god forbid you try to push yourself even the slightest, or there’s hell to pay from your boyfriend.

“Tim, I’m fine,” you insist, narrowing glassy eyes on him.

He raises his eyebrows in annoyance. “You’re not fine, y/n. You’re burning up. You’re so congested you sound like a little kid. You need rest.”

“Rest, schmest. I’m coming with you.”

“Y/n, honey, love of my life…if you try to come with me, I will slip you Nyquil and you will take a nap.”

You maintain your glare. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Maybe I already have,” he shrugs, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. “How was the tea I brought you earlier?”

Your eyes shoot wide and you scramble to inspect the now empty Wayne Enterprises mug. There’s no indication that it looks or smells different from any other tea. You look up again, ready to mock laugh at your boyfriend, but he’s no longer there. 

“Fucking Timothy,” you shake your head. 

He’s been trying to force you to get bed rest all day, refusing to even let you come with him to the grocery store. Sure, you have a fever and you’re congested and your head really hurts,  but that doesn’t mean you have to stay in bed. 

You toss the blankets onto the other side of his bed and struggle your way out of it. The air outside of his bed is cold, forcing goosebumps onto your arms, but you don’t care. You tug on one of Tim’s sweatshirts and stumble your way downstairs. 

He’s gone when you get down there, the only semblance of human life being Alfred sitting at the kitchen table. He’s reading a newspaper, seemingly deep in thought, yet the minute you step towards the front door, he speaks. 

“If you are trying to follow Master Timothy, I would advise against that.”

“I-I wasn’t…how did you know?”

He smiles at you, “Master Timothy expected you would try to follow him, and asked that I make sure you rest.”

“Damn you, Tim.”

“I’ve prepared some water in the kettle and there are blankets on the couch if you’d like to watch a tv show with me?”

“That sounds great, thank you,” you sigh, giving up and trudging your way to the couch. 

You settle in under a blanket, leaning your head against the couch cushion. Alfred comes in a few minutes later with two glasses of tea and a bottle of medicine. 

You thank the man and take a few pills and the mug of tea, swallow down the pills and set the tea on the nightstand. 

Alfred turns on the TV and starts to play one of his English soap operas. The sounds all blur together and you fade in and out of consciousness, every once and a while snapping back to reality when you hear the door unlock. 

Of course, a million people seem to come and go from Wayne Mansion and your boyfriend is nowhere to be seen. Alfred has seemed to doze off as well, his eyes closed and head resting on the couch cushion behind him. 

You stand up from the couch on shaky legs, discarding the blankets next to you. You feel dizzy and lightheaded as soon as you stand up but you persevere. 

You’re not really sure where you’re going, all you know is that you want to see Tim and the first step is getting to the front door. You make it to the front entrance, and you’re only five feet from the door, but your whole body hurts so bad and you’re so tired and everything is so hot and cold. 

You brace yourself on the wall, leaning your whole body weight on it. You blink a few times, trying to keep the black spots from spreading to your vision. Everything overheats, and your muscles start to weaken. Before you can take another step, your body is failing, and your vision is going black.

—

Tim comes home just in time to see you hit the floor. He drops his groceries onto the floor, not even closing the door behind him as he runs to your side. 

“Y/n?” He presses a cold hand to your forehead, “y/n, wake up!”

He gently shakes your shoulders, willing you to wake up and be okay. His family all arrive at once, staring at the two of you on the floor. 

“Why couldn’t you just stay in bed? Dummy.”

He slips his hands under your knees and arms, lifting you off the ground. Your skin is hot to the touch but you’re shivering, sweat rolling down your temples. He carries you back to his room, laying you down in the bed and covering you in blankets. 

He knows rationally that you’ll be okay, that your body was just responding to the exertion you put it through today. But emotionally? He’s freaking out. He can’t help but wish he’d stayed home with you, taken care of you himself, laid in bed with you all day. 

Tim tries to distract himself by bringing up water and medicine and a cold cloth for you, but it does little to calm his nerves. Every minute that it takes you to wake up, he only gets more and more anxious. 

Finally, after almost two hours, your eyes flutter open. Your head is pounding and it’s hard to keep from falling back asleep, but you force yourself to stay awake. 

“Tim?” You call out, your voice even raspier than before. 

“Hey, hey, I’m here,” he murmurs, getting up from his desk and kneeling at your side. “How are you feeling?”

“Bad,” you admit, tears threatening to spill. “Really bad.”

He hands you two pills and a glass of water. “Here, take these, okay?”

You struggle to swallow the pills and water but somehow manage. The pain in your body is enough to bring you to tears and you can only hope that the medicine will kick in soon. 

Tim rubs your forehead with the back of his hand. “You’re burning up…”

“I—will you lay with me? I miss you…”

Tim can only oblige. You just look so cute and so vulnerable with your glassy eyes and clammy skin. He wouldn’t dare say no to you right now. 

He kicks off his jeans and t-shirt, trading them for a pair of sweatpants before settling in next to you. He can feel your body heat even though he’s not touching you, and even though he wants to hold you, he’s not sure if he should. 

“Are you hot or cold?” He asks. 

“Cold.”

That’s all the answer he needs before he tugs you into his chest, holding your body gently to his. He places a small kiss on your forehead and makes a silent vow not to leave your side until you feel better. 

-

Wally

“Are you sure you should be going on this mission?” Wally looks at you seriously. 

“Yes. Why are you even asking?”

He presses a hand to your skin, recoiling when he feels how hot you are. “Jesus, you’re hot.”

“Well, hello to you too.” You roll your eyes. 

“Y/n, you don’t look too good. I don’t think you should be coming along,” he looks at you with genuine concern. “You’re running real hot and that’s coming from me.”

“Wally, if I don’t come along, the whole mission is screwed.”

“I know, I know. You’re so stubborn,” he sighs. “Come along but the minute you start to feel worse, you tell me, alright?”

“Alright.”

He flashes you his signature grin, planting a kiss to your nose. He squeezes your shoulders once, before giving you a half assed salute and taking off at the speed of light. 

You smile after him, but your smile fades once he’s out of sight. Your head is spinning and your whole body feels like it’s on fire. With the way your muscles are aching, you’re not sure if you’ll even be able to finish the mission. 

Still, you have to try. 

————

Going on this mission was a mistake. 

It feels like every floor of the sinister science institute is filled with more and more baddies, tougher ones too. You were beat after the first floor, but now that you’re on the fifth, with three more to go, you’re not even sure if you’ll make it. 

You can hear Wally up ahead, zooming back and forth and taking out any baddies in his way. You know he’s partly doing this for you—trying to clear the floor and make things easier on you. He’d asked you one more time before you entered the facility if you were feeling up to it, and after you insisted you were, he didn’t bother to argue. 

You almost wish he did, though. Your head is spinning, everything hurts and everything is so hot and sweaty. You try to force yourself to stay awake, but even you know your movements are slow and sluggish and you’re a danger to all of your teammates. 

Nightwing is somewhere behind you, insisting there’s an air duct he can sneak through to get to the main lab before they evacuate. A part of you wishes you’d gone with him. At least then you wouldn’t be stuck leaning against a wall, desperately trying to get your bearings. 

You force yourself onto your feet, stumbling down the hall after Wally. You only make it a few steps before your muscles turn to jello and the black spots crowd your version.

You go limp, your mind retreating far, far away. 

Wally turns around just in time to see you go limp, and he’s speeding down the hallway and catching you within a fraction of a second. He doesn’t give you the chance to hit the ground, his arms already under your knees and shoulders, ready to carry you to safety. 

Your skin is hot to the touch, hotter than it was earlier. He shakes his head at you. He knew this was gonna happen. He knew you would push yourself too hard and end up getting yourself hurt. 

He gets you out of the building and into the jet you and some of the other Titans had taken to get there. He hates the thought of leaving you there, but he knows you would never forgive him if he abandoned the team now. 

Still, he only gets more and more anxious the longer the mission takes. The second Dick secures the samples he was looking for, Wally is taking off. He’s got you in his arms, speeding back towards your shared apartment. 

He’s got you home in a matter of seconds, changing you into a pair of his boxers and one of his old t-shirts. He tucks your boiling body into bed, covering you with blankets up to your waist. 

He doesn’t really know how to take care of someone when they're sick. Whenever he was sick as a kid, he would always just eat ice cream and play video games. That, or he would sneak out and go hang out with Dick or Connor. 

But he knows you need more than ice cream and video games right now. 

He decides on grabbing you water and digging through your cabinets to find any medicine that could possibly help. He tries to remember what his mom did for him when he was young, and all he can think of is a cold cloth on his forehead. Still, that’s better than leaving you there to boil to death. 

He lays the cloth gently on your forehead, leaving your water and medicine on the nightstand for when you wake up. 

He changes out of his suit, opting for a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Of course, you’re wearing his favorite t-shirt, but this one will have to do. He settles into the bed next to you, turning on the tv. He tries to keep the volume and the brightness low. 

After what seems like forever, you start to stir. Everything is too bright and hot when you open your eyes, and it has you squirming and crying. Wally is grabbing your hand as soon as you wake up, using his other hand to press the cold cloth into your forehead. 

“Shhh, babe, it’s okay.”

You clench your eyes shut and shake your head. “E-everything hurts so bad!”

He reaches across you for the water and the medicine, holding the glass up to your lips so you can take a sip before popping the pills into your mouth. You gladly swallow them, relaxing slightly at the taste of water. Wally sets the glass on the nightstand, resting his hands on your thighs. 

“I’m sorry for pushing myself so hard…I’m sorry that you had to clean up after me.”

“Aw baby,” he grins at you, but it’s not as wide and carefree as it usually is. “You know how much I love rescuing damsels in distress.”

Classic Wally, trying to make you laugh even when you feel like you’re on your deathbed. He rubs your thighs gently up and down, trying to soothe you. 

“Did the mission at least go okay?”

He kisses you gently, “don’t you worry your pretty little head about the mission, okay?”

He goes to pull away but you weakly wrap your arms around him, trying to pull him to you. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, holding you tightly. 

“It’s okay baby,” he whispers. “Everything is gonna be okay. I love you so much.”

[mammutblog]

tim in a vest

[deadsetobsessions]

Trigger Warning: blades, mild torture, injuries, and what amounts to suicidal thoughts and actions (he lives at the end but he does need a hell of a lot of therapy)

Tim shudders, as best he can while bleeding and bruised and broken.

The Red Hood is above him, mechanical voice melding into the raspy deeper tones of an Older Jason Todd. His voice is hollow and cruel as he digs his blade into Tim’s flesh. It hurts. But, Tim thinks dazedly, having Robin, Tim’s Robin, hating Tim hurts worse.

“Wow, Replacement, no last words for the person you stole everything away from?”

Jason’s mocking him.

“Okay.”

“What’s that, Replacement?”

Tim is so incredibly tired. And the blade held to his neck is starting to look like comfort. Tim thinks-

“My last words. You- You want to hear it?”

His hero’s face tilts, green eyes sparking something deep within Tim’s memory. But he’s so tired.

“Sure, let’s see what kind of recruitment pitch you’ve got for me, Replacement.”

Cruel. So cruel. Mocking him with false warmth. But false warmth is better than the coldness of Drake manor, the coldness of Bruce’s grieving form or Dick’s smile, sometimes when he thinks Tim’s not looking.

Ah, Tim knew it. His Robin will always be better than any other heroes, even if the false warmth makes his heart hurt worse than the broken ribs he’s now sporting. That Hood is pressing a knee down on to keep him immobile. Not that Tim could move anywhere considering both of his legs are broken. Tim wonders what it is about him that makes it impossible for people to muster up warmth towards.

“Do you know why… why heroes are so… so loved?” He wheezes out. He doesn’t wait for a response from Hood. “It’s because… they choose good- they choose to better the world- to save people, even if… even if they weren’t saved themselves. No matter how much- the obstacles, there’s always, an obstacle. But they try anyways.” Tim has to wrap this up. He’s losing coherency. “It’s why… it’s why this is okay. You… you’re choosing to save… to save Gotham from the Joker. Ev’n if you weren’t saved yourself. You’re not… good. You kill.”

Red Hood- Jason, snarls. Tim, blinking slowly, admires the man’s green eyes. “That’s fucking right-”

“But, you can be. Y’re helping.” And because this is important, because Tim has an alter set up to mourn Jason, “You were my hero,” Tim says, and Jason stops short, expression blanking. “So. I’ll help- help remove an obstacle so… so you can keep helping. Helping people like… like me. Or, not like me. Something.”

With that, Tim summons the rest of his strength and presses his neck towards the blade, starting the process to slit his own throat.

Jason flings the knife away, expression crumbling in horror as he stares down at the child he just tortured.

And as Tim’s voice fades, as blood spills out of his neck, as Tim gives him time to retrieve the knife, Jason breaks.

Oh, Tim thinks. His eyes weren’t green. They’re supposed to be blue.

——

Jason sits beside the medical cot, the steady beeping of the heart monitor grounding him as he held two fingers on the kid’s- oh god, he’s a fucking kid, Todd, you monster- pulse.

Jason will grovel when Tim wakes up. Because he turned into the kid’s Joker and Willis and if there’s anything Jason won’t ever allow himself to turn into, it’d be those two. He crossed a line. If Tim wants him to rip his liver out and present it to him, Jason thinks he’d do it on the spot.

Fuck. He fucked up.

[goingtoast]

Fanart for @disillusioneddanny ‘s fic bones exposed 💚 it’s so cute… incredible food for my Tim/danny enjoyers

[audhd-nightwing]

thinking about. how both tim and dick lost their best friends. ones they never thought they would have to lose because of their powers. ones they never thought they’d outlive. ones they got back.

(this is about donna & wally/kon & bart)

[hyperanaemia]

"Hey, don't worry about it. Bat-mobile's just around the corner."

[shyjusticewarrior]

[jasmines-library]

I know i’ve already sent in a lot of requests, i practically live in your inbox(not sorry), but i just wanted to know if you could whip up some really angsty stuff?

Maybe something with reader being on patrol and she just randomly passes out and just won’t wake up again?

idk, i’m just craving your content😞🙏

Veins

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Note: Anything for you my love. Dont feel bad for sending them in, i smile everytime your name is in my inbox. sorry for the wait. :))

Warnings: Poison/drugging, passing out, needles, ivs but non graphic

Word Count: 1.3k

⛧ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛧

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There it was again. That funny feeling. You couldn’t quite place it, but it tickled the back of your mind. Physically, you felt fine. There was just something off about the whole night. Tim was running alongside you, the soles of his boots making little to no noise as he weaved nimbly down the street. Dick was slightly ahead; you were watching his six.The three of you were currently pursuing Poison Ivy, who royally pissed off, was threatening to release a batch of poisons into the water supply; naturally, it was your job to try and stop her before she could actually get there. Batman was also in pursuit, but he was coming from the other side of the city which meant that the chances of you and your brothers stopping Ivy before she got there were pretty high. 

You had almost caught up with Ivy when it happened. You could see her ahead, her torn clothes flapping against the winds that whipped between the skyscrapers and whistled down the alleyways. You pushed yourself to run faster, feeling the burn in your calves as you raced towards her auburn figure. You would have caught her if you didn’t catch a glimpse of one of her goons perched on a window ledge. It was dark, but you could practically see his crooked grin as he leered down at the three unsuspecting vigilantes. By the time you had realised what was actually happening, it was too late. 

The needle dug deep into your neck, with such a blunt force that you would have yelped if you didn’t have the sense to plaster your hand over your lips. It stung and would most certainly leave a bruise later. But what worried you was not, the soon to be bruise, but the groggy sensation that began to settle over you. 

Blindly reaching for the syringe, you pulled it from your neck with a grunt. It clattered to the floor. Everything seemed to swim before you in a mix of colours. It made you feel sick. And suddenly your body felt numb, stubborn limbs refusing to move how they normally would. You lurched forward stumbling and trying to grip onto the wall to keep yourself upright. It was hardly any use though; whatever they had stuck you with made it nearly impossible to tell which way was up as your world span. You had fallen behind, moving without a coherent thought as you tried to keep up with the speck that you thought was Tim. Everything was too loud, but you could make out no sounds, just a piercing ringing. 

“R’vn…” Someone was talking to you. You weren’t even aware you had stopped and hands swam in front of your face. Touching. Someone was touching you; their hands were against your shoulders trying to keep you upright. But who…

There was no face in front of you. Only a mangled mess of colours and an echo of your code name frantically falling from their lips. They were trying to get you to respond, to say anything but your eyes and glassed over and your limbs had fallen limp in against the stone wall you had been stumbling against. 

And then your body gave up completely.

Tim had to scramble to catch your body as you keeled over, ragdolling into his arms with limbs splayed out in each direction. He cursed, panicked and settled you down on the ground to stand over you. Wide eyed, he pressed the emergency signal on his coms, praying that Dick would get to you quickly and that Batman was close enough to catch Ivy. 

He tried your name again, shaking you by the shoulders. There was no response; your head just lolled to the side. It was then that he realised your body was hot. Far too hot. He struggled to get off his glove before pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. You didn’t even stir. 

“Son of a bitch.” Dick skidded to a stop beside his brother, palling at the sight of you on the ground. “What happened?”

“I-i don’t know. She was fine one minute and the next she practically collapsed against the wall-” Tim stuttered, unable to keep his composure. Usually, he was the one with the steady hand they could all rely on, but now he was completely short circuiting. 

With a curt nod, Dick tried to shake you awake, calling your name.

“I tried that.” Tim stated. 

Dick nearly snapped at his brother for making an irritating statement when he saw the lines spider-webbing up your neck. They were thin and black, spindling out like branches of a tree devoid of its leaves. Twisting your head gently to the side, Dick revealed it to Tim who swallowed thickly. 

“Drugged?” He asked meekly.

Dick shook his head. “Poisoned.”

Tim shifted his vision anxiously between Dick and you. His head perked up when something clattered off to their right. Dick was up in an instant, standing over you with his escrima sticks flickering with their angry blue charge. Tim reddied his bo staff.

“Go find them.” Nightwing ordered, standing over you protectively.  “I’ll watch her.”

Tim darted off for a moment as the older boy watched you with shifty eyes, hardly relaxing when he returned a few moments later. By that time you had begun sweating and your skin had grown clammy and gaunt .When he looked at him with optimistic eyes, the younger boy shook his head. 

“Nothing. But I did find this.” He produced a small syringe filled with a dark green liquid. The one you had pulled frantically from your neck.

“Good! That's good.” Dick exclaimed, taking a shaky breath. “We need to get her back to the cave. Page Alfred. Get him to prepare the infirmary.”

“On it.”

Sliding his hands under your body, he scooped up your limbs with ease. “Hang in there, kiddo.”

~

“Get her on the bed, quick.”

Alfred was on the two boys as soon as he heard the cave entrance fling open. Dick was sling clinging to you as he bustled through the door, hot on Tim’s heels who forced everyone out of the way. They all watched you with worried creases etched onto their complexions. 

Dick lay you down on the bed. As soon as he was out of the way Alfred was replacing the empty space beside you, inspecting the spread of the poison. It had now begun to crawl down your arms and up the side of your face. Your features seemed sunken and your heart rate was dangerously slow. 

He reached for a needle of his own, sliding it into your skin before hooking you up to an IV. 

“What’s that?” Tim asked. His voice wavered. 

“Hopefully an antidote and some fluids to flush it out of her system. Babs managed to analyse the sample you sent over. The poison is lethal, but because she managed to pull it out before the whole thing entered her system, we think this should help.”

“And if it doesn't?” Jason’s voice asked from where he had been lingering in the doorway.

“Let's hope it does.”

~

It took much longer than they had hoped for you to wake up, but nevertheless you did. Slowly but surely you cracked open your eyes and blinked at them groggily. It seemed that Alfred and Babs had been spot on; the antidote worked, but it made everyone nervous to think that if you hadn’t pulled out the toxin when you had, the situation could have been very different. Damian cringed at the thought. 

They had all been there when you woke up. They had been taking it in turns to watch you because they couldn;t bear the thought of you waking up alone, but when Jason called out that you were stirring they all rushed to your side to sit with you. 

It was nice to wake up with the all beside you, despite the fact that you felt like death. Probably because you had been so close to it. 

Ivy was arrested and sent to Arkham without much of a second thought.Batman had caught her before she managed to release the rest of her poisons. She had made an attempt on your life. It was safe to say that she deserved jail time for that, though there was no saying how long she was actually going to stay there for. 

The air was much lighter in the manor now that you were awake. You were still on bed rest for a short while, much to your protests and grumbling. But, luckily for you you were surrounded by a whole handful of people that wanted to do things for you that you didn’t even need help with. Not that you minded too much… Either way, they were there for you completely throughout your recovery, glad that you were going to be just fine.

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BATFAM TAGS

@aestheticdaisies @hearts4robs @xxrougefangxx @mamapucket @hell-o-kittys @harleycao @batfamsstuff

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[wait-whos-batman]

does anyone have any batfam fanfics to recommend? I lost all of my ao3 tabs and need something to numb the pain of existence.

[clambuoyance]

idk if u take requests so if you don’t , so sorry!!!!! i love you work so so much, especially the yj intro!!!! could i maybe perhaps request tim being protective over an injured kon or vice versa ???? <33 hearts!

Ty! I don’t really do as much requests anymore as I have been sticking to sketch commissions but I do have a bunch of old sketches from forever ago I may or may not have posted here

[himejoshiangels]

they make me sick!!