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legends-live-in-memories · 3 years

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Business (Mis)Management

AYO you know the drill. MGI Trope Tussle!

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Timari Oneshot 2.3K words

Summary:

"Right before her, where her professor usually stood every Tuesday and Thursday, stood a surprise guest lecturer. One problem, though. Marinette hates the guy. She hates him and his stupid well-fitting suit that she dedicated actual blood sweat and tears into making. "

One shot using two prompts for this server event: Day 3:College AU Day 5: "Why'd you do that?" "I- I don't know..."

without further ado:

It was Tuesday, bright and early at 9:30 am, and Marinette was ready to commit murder. She was sitting in her Intro to Business Management course with her cup of coffee and notepad ready and pencil about to snap in her grip. Right before her, where her professor usually stood every Tuesday and Thursday, stood a surprise guest lecturer. One problem, though. Marinette hates the guy. She hates him and his stupid well-fitting suit that she dedicated actual blood sweat and tears into making.

Right there, on this awful Tuesday morning, stood one Timothy Jackson Drake Wayne looking all the world like he would rather be anywhere else; stupid rich people were all the same, thinking the world was doing them a favour by letting them grace everyone else with their presence. Marinette also wishes he was anywhere else but life doesn’t work that way. Her actual professor stood off to the side, waxing sonnets about how accomplished the young CEO was and Marinette listened to none of it. Rather, she was silently stewing in her thoughts, lost in how this man became the particularly large thorn in her side.

It was six months ago when she got an email asking for a commission. A commission for the exact three piece suit he was wearing today. He had gotten her contact from another client and his emailed request was perfect and professional. He had asked for the suit, listed all the required measurements and requested any personalizations he wanted. They couldn’t meet for any in-person fittings so it was currently both aggravating and satisfying to see it fit his lean figure so perfectly. The drama didn’t start, however, until two weeks after, when Marinette had sent the finished product to the designated address. While Marinette isn’t one for showboating and bragging about her capabilities, it grinds her teeth when others try to talk down on her skills.

When Marinette had sent off the suit, and emailed the man that the package was to be expected within three business days, she got a rather crude email in response, labeling her work as ‘tacky’ and a ‘pathetic attempt at wiggling her way into his family’s pockets.’ That had her doubletaking at the sender, making sure it wasn’t some spam mail that she was reading. Nope, that’s his email right there. Marinette remembered a particular twitch she had in her eye the first time she read that email. It was one thing to be ungrateful of a finished product, Marinette was no stranger to harsh critiques and pieces that worked better on paper than as actualized designs, but the accusation of being a gold-digger set off warning bells that threw her back into the tenth grade where she had battles with a rich blonde with daddy issues. At least he had paid her in advance for the suit. Marinette would have been perfectly fine with silently cutting all ties with Mr. Wayne right then and there, and putting the whole ordeal behind her, until he decided that a crassly worded email wasn’t enough. No. He felt compelled to go on national television and insult her suit for everyone to hear. Marinette remembers his words perfectly, as if they were ingrained in her memory forever.

“You’ve seen the suits I’ve worn, I look like I escaped my own funeral. I’ve tried local, and outsourcing designers and tailors and nothing matches my taste. I’m only twenty-three and I dress like I’ve gone through my third divorce—”Marinette had turned off the television to shamelessly cry into her pillow. She couldn’t bear to hear him insult her design over the poorly timed laughs of the ‘live-studio audience’ that particular interview was filmed in front of.

After that, Marinette had reaffirmed her conclusion that all rich people were assholes best left to their own privileged bubble.

A solid clap snapped her attention back to the front of the lecture hall, eyes narrowing at the man by the podium. The presentation pulled up on the smart board indicated that he was going to be speaking to them about professionalism and how to engage in buyer-seller conversations. Oh that was bloody perfect. What did this guy know about any of those things?

The time was 9:45 exactly when the guy decided to start his presentation.

“Hello, everyone,” his voice was smooth and firm, not wavering while speaking before a hall filled with two hundred students. “My name is Timothy Drake-Wayne but you all can just call me Tim. It’s lovely to meet all of you and I’m honoured to be here speaking for you today.”

Cue a very predictable, very standard, very boring introduction. Marinette was beginning to tune out at this point.

“To start off this presentation, I would like to talk about misunderstandings in professional conversations.” He started walking across the front of the room. Slow and methodical; he knew he had all eyes on him and he was taking full advantage of it. Marinette wanted to gag. “Additionally, I want to discuss how to avoid them, and what to do if miscommunication occurs.”

Blah, blah blahblah. Marinette didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.

“To start off, I’m going to talk about a situation I found myself in not too long ago.” That caught her attention. “It’s funny now and makes for great dinner conversation but not so much when it had happened. How many of you siblings?”

He paused and surveyed the room. His eyes passed over Marinette and for a brief second she thought he focused on her for a blink longer than necessary. She banished the thought from her mind; she didn’t have siblings so he had no reason to notice her.

“Now,” he continued, “how many of you have siblings who aren’t afraid to sabotage your work when they’re mad at you?”

Another pause as some of the students lowered their hands. Some were unsure and Marinette had a weird feeling in her gut. Her instincts were screaming at her but she couldn’t figure out why.

“Don’t feel shy,” the guy raised his hand to join the students, “my younger brother is a menace who can and has attempted to sabotage my business. Just recently in fact.”

Marinette looked around the room to see quite a few surprised faces. She was vaguely familiar with the Wayne family and remembered a few details about the youngest child. He was a menace, that’s for sure. As egotistical as any thirteen year old can be. That feeling in her gut returned with vigor. She was suddenly very alert and eager, almost desperate, to figure out how the ankle biter had sabotaged this man.

“About six months ago my brothers and I were butting heads as usual. My sister was enjoying everything while shit hit the fan from a safe distance. I’m not going to go into much details.” He’s arms were waving animatedly as he spoke. It was quite endearing. NO. Bad thoughts, Marinette. “The point of all this is that I pissed my younger brother off somehow. I don’t know, maybe I breathed too hard on his cat or something.” That got a laugh out of the students except Marinette. Six months. He said his brother had sabotaged him around six months ago. That gut feeling had turned her stomach into a pit, eating away at her nerves.

“My brother had hacked into my email and sent absolutely horrible replies to everyone that was marked as important in my contacts in a poor attempt at pretending to be me. Of course, most of those contacts work at Wayne Enterprises. It took a courtesy email explaining the mishap and a personal visit with an apology gift to clear the air. Now for the contacts who don’t work at Wayne E, that’s where it gets tricky.”

Marinette was holding her breath, wishing for this day to already be over and for the ground to open and swallow her whole. She both hoped she was and wasn’t wrong. On the one hand, it meant that he was truly that harsh in replying to her and she wasn’t among the contacts his brother emailed, justifying her slowly dwindling fury. On the other more plausible hand, it meant that he wasn’t responsible for the crude email. It still didn’t explain the interview he did but…but she never did watch the entire thing. She had started watching the interview already expecting him to tear her down. He never referenced her suit by any specifics before she had changed the channel. That probably meant that she had poorly misjudged him. But she would have been contacted in some way if she was among those people and she hadn’t. So he was still an ass to her. Right?

“For those who I couldn’t visit in person,” Oh god, he was still speaking. “I sent them more personal emails compared to what I sent the employees. That was really the most I could do and I hoped for the best. I got a reply from most; they were rather understanding, actually, some even claiming that their own siblings would do something like that. It went over pretty well.” He suddenly had this forlorn look as he rubbed his hands absentmindedly against the suit.

“While I was lucky that most of my contacts were understanding, one important thing to be prepared for is people who won’t be that forgiving. Do you see this suit I’m wearing? I love this suit. I will absolutely get buried in this suit. I had commissioned and received it just before the email fiasco and I, regrettably, never got a response when I tried to both thank and apologize to them. My brother had used my email to accuse them of being a gold-digger of all things. I would have loved to commission them again but it looks like my brother burned that bridge permanently.”

What? No. That’s not true and Marinette felt hot rage flare up in her. Was he really lying to try and save face right now? She felt the strong urge to interrupt him. To march down those steps and let him know exactly how she felt about him lying about emailing her to apologize. But, a treacherous hopeful part of herself whispered to her, she had to be sure. She had to have irrefutable proof that she wasn’t one of the victims to his rabid brother and he was just an ass.

She couldn’t get to her phone fast enough. She searched for all the emails the two had exchanged, finding the most recent to be his harsh email. She had another niggling feeling, however, and decided to check her spam mail.

Marinette has most definitely stopped breathing.

Right there, in bold letters sat a Wayne Enterprises email waiting to be opened and read. She couldn’t bring herself to click it open, ice flooding her veins, freezing her in her seat. She actually misread the situation. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to bash her head on the table and grovel for forgiveness from this very handsome man. She didn’t do any of this, however, managing some degree of composure and sat through the remainder of his presentation. She would bet her left leg it was the best presentation she would have ever heard but she couldn’t recall a single word of it from that point on; too busy digging her own grave and writing her own eulogy. She could never show her face around Gotham again. Her life was ruined.

The sounds of people packing up had her crawling herself out of her own head. She mechanically packed her things up, gazing pathetically at her blank notebook. She made her way down the steps, eyeing the gaggle of students surrounding Marinette’s biggest missed opportunity to date. She was just about to walk straight out the door, resigning herself to her fate when she made a hasty decision. She turned to the dwindling crowd and marched like a woman on a mission. She wormed her away to stand directly in Tim’s line of sight and she braced herself for possibly her dumbest idea yet. She listened to the conversation going on and as soon as it appeared she was not going to interrupt anyone, she shot her hand out and grabbed him by his suit. The act caught everyone’s attention but before she could chicken out, she turned to leave and pulled the businessman along with her, leaving stunned silence behind.

They didn’t get far out the door when he yanked her arm off him, stopping them in their tracks. He looked angry, confused but also very put out at her. Fair.

“Why’d you do that?”

“I— I don’t know.” His glare was intense. Marinette felt her face flush and her knees weaken. She wanted to make things right but it seemed she was only making things worse. She took a breath. Focus, she reminded herself. She just needed to address one problem at a time. “I mean, I do know why but I wasn’t supposed to do it like that. I just needed your attention.”

“Well now you have it. So what do you want?”

“I wanted to apologize. Not about dragging you out here. Yet. But for accidentally ignoring your apology email.” One of his eyebrows rose incredulously as she kept talking, but she ignored it and powered on. “It was, for some reason, in my spam mail and I didn’t see it. But if it’s any consolation, I would love it if you commissioned me for another suit. Or anything else really.”

“Pardon?” He didn’t believe her, or was at least confused by her, that much she could tell.

“You suit. I made it. Here, look.” She turned her phone screen, showing him their conversations in her emails. At his slightly more relaxed posture she continued speaking. “I’m glad you like the suit.”

“Huh.”

“Also I’m sorry for dragging you out here.” She had curled her shoulders into her ears, still holding her phone out like an idiot. His chuckle in response eased her nerves only slightly. He had a cute laugh. And he was cute too. Bad thoughts! Stop getting distracted!

“Okay, I’ll accept your apology if you accept mine.” The carefree smile he threw at her was disarming. “And I would love to talk more about working with you, Ms. Cheng.”

“Marinette, please, Mr. Wayne.” She could breathe easier now, no longer on the verge of catastrophizing. “If you want to get started as early as possible, I’m free for an early lunch right now.”

“Only if you call me Tim. And lunch sounds great actually. I know a great bistro off campus if you will let me escort you.” He really needed to stop smiling at her like that. Her heart couldn’t take it.

“Sounds wonderful. Lead the way.” He turned and offered her his arm. She was slow to move, still faintly caught in the emotional whiplash of the morning. Her gentle grip on his bicep was enough for her to feel the muscle definition under the suit. It pleasantly surprised her but not nearly as much as his next words.

“Perfect. It’s a date.”

What?

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opheliawillowbrook · 3 years

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How the Cookie Crumbles

To say his brothers fought would be an understatement: They warred. That. That was the better word. However, it was Dick who was the peacemaker among them. The mediator extraordinaire, translating all his brothers’ woes and misunderstandings into less doom-pending transgressions. But to say this unofficial, yet very necessary part he played was tasking was yet another understatement of unspeakable proportions. It was a FUCKING LOT.

“I swear to God, Drake. You and Brown are a special kind of stupid.”

“Shut up, Damian! It’s a good idea!” Tim grumbled in reply.

“Yeah! You’re just mad you didn’t think of it first!”

Dick’s face fell upon hearing the argument and considered turning the other way, but he’d learned the hard way that his lack of interference could result in bloodshed. Damian did have a history of stabbing Tim, and Robin had an impressive body count, according to Jason. I’d better make sure he doesn’t add two more.

“Well, fuck me and my entire life,” Dick droned in frustration. “What are you three bitching about now?”

“Damian keeps saying our idea is stupid,” Stephanie tattled.

“Yeah!” Tim added with crossed arms. “He says we lack the fortitude for good ideas!”

“You do!” the current robin exclaimed.

“Damian?”

The youngest batboy rolled his eyes and reasoned, “Listen, I know these two brain donors barely have two brain cells to rub between them—”

“That’s not the only thing they rub!” Jason called from the other room.

Damian again rolled his eyes in contempt and continued, “And I’ve accepted, as a member of this family, that everyone gets to act a little stupid from time to time. However, as much as I would like to respect their commitment to their shared stupidity, I feel as if they are abusing the privilege and it needs to stop before one of them gets hurt.”

“Wow, he actually cares,” Jason added from still in another room.

“Have you been sitting there listening the whole time?” Dick asked, near facepalm.

“Affirmative,” Jason confirmed, entering from the hall.

“And you did nothing to stop them fighting?”

“It’s funnier this way.”

“Do I always have to be the responsible one?”

“Affirmative,” all four said with little thought.

“Okay then,” Dick sighed with reluctance. “Damian, I know you find it hard to accept the choices of others, but you need to understand that free choice and expression is about accepting that others may not make the same choices as you, and that’s okay. It’s the same as you choosing not to take my dating advice and ask Raven out because you’re afraid of rejection—”

“Shut up, Grayson! This isn’t about me!!!” Damian spat.

“Damian has the hots for Raven?” Jason teased. “You have good taste, Mighty Mouse. She got a great—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence, Todd!” Dick and Damian ordered in unison.

“I was gonna say personality,” Jason droned. “Get your minds out of the gutter. I mean for fuck’ sake.”

“Sure you were,” Tim replied with a glower.

“Yeah Tim, cause you never stare at her tits while you talk to her,” Jason added, throwing him doubly under the bus.

“Dude, are you trying to get me killed?” Tim said, shooting an elbow into his brother’s ribs as Damian and Stephanie both glared. Spurring Dick into a further mood for murder.

“My point being is, just because you don’t like other peoples’ ideas, doesn’t mean they’re stupid.”

“Tell them the idea, guys!” Jason urged, stirring the pot.

Stephanie and Tim looked at each other and nodded, as though they’d discovered the holy grail itself. “We’re gonna write a series of YA novels and sell them on the web!” Steph sang optimistically.

“Yeah, it’s a huge and diverse market,” Tim added.

“And with established characters, we’ll make a killing.”

Dick’s brow furrowed. “That sounds like fanfiction?”

“It sounds like utter bullshit,” Damian sneered, not single fuck given.

“It’s not bullshit,” Tim snapped. “YA novels make up a huge portion of the market. People love those things.”

“Then name one YA novel that has sold more than a manga in the last 10 years?”

Tim shrugged. “I can’t think of one at the top of my head, but there they definitely exist and sell.”

“Yeah, so does my fanfiction based on this family,” Jason added under his breath.

“What?” Everyone asked.

“Nothing. Continue.”

“So anyway, I told Damian it’s a foolproof plan.”

Dick rolled his eyes with a bit of doubt, but who was he to judge or discourage their creativity. I mean, he dropped out of college after all? “I’m not saying I believe it’s bulletproof, because frankly, nothing is. But I’m curious why you would consider telling Damian? I mean, he hates most things.”

“And Drake. I hate Drake.”

“We’re all very aware, Dami,” Dick drawled in annoyance. “But yeah, why would you tell him anything important to you? Especially that?”

“Well, we kinda needed a loan. I knew Bruce would undoubtedly say no and, well, Damian has money.”

“Because I make good business decisions.”

“I don’t know why I thought of asking you?”

“You didn’t, Jason told you to,” Stephanie confessed, recalling an earlier conversation.

“Jason, really?” Dick tsked.

“Hey, Damian does make good business decisions. Who do you think cleans and invests money? It’s certainly not Alfred.”

“Because Alfred would have nothing to do with your blood money, Jason. And Damian, I’m very disappointed in you!”

“Grayson, I don’t know what high horse you are riding on today, but you better come off it. Father told me if I wanted money, that I needed to earn it and that I should get a job. So I got one.”

“Laundering money for Red Hood’s criminal Enterprise is not a job!”

“Actually it is. Mighty Mouse made us an LLC and everything. I own several Wash & Folds, all legitimate! Thanks to Hell Spawn here! I’m actually considering making him a partner.”

“So will your LLC fund our YA Novels?”

“Oh fuck no!”

“Come on, Jay! We have a solid business plan,” Stephanie pleased.

“You’re business plan is a bunch of meaningless numbers written on the back of a napkin and poorly illustrated versions of us,” Damian said, holding up the napkin in question.

“Okay, so it’s not the final draft, but we’re working on it!” Tim said pointedly.

“Yeah, as tempting as this all sounds, I didn’t make my money making half baked business decisions,” Jason reasoned

“No, you made it by taking over Gotham’s drug trade,” Dick clarified with disapproval.

“Which was a solid business decision.”

“Why do I even talk to you?”

“I don’t know why I talk to any of you,” Damian scowled, arms crossed, grateful there was no shared genetics between him and his adoptive kin. “I don’t understand what father saw in any of you.

“I can’t answer that,” Jason replied. “However, I can tell you, from personal experience, what he saw in your mom.”

“Do you wanna die, Todd?”

“Do you wanna not have a job?” Jason wanted. “Also, been there done that. But hey, if I died twice then I’d have buffy status so don’t threaten me with a good time, kid.”

“On that note, I’m leaving,” Damian grimaced. “I have to meet Raven, anyway.”

“Oh,” Dick sang. “You have a date!”

“It’s not a date.”

“Bet you wish it was a date,” Stephanie teased. “Y’know, if you just stopped acting like a dick all the time, I bet she’d go out with you.”

“Shut up, Brown.”

“Oh no,” Dick smiled. “I know it’s hard to believe, but he’s nice to Raven.”

“Hey keep that shit up,” Jason added. “If you’re nice to her, she’d be nice to you!”

“I hate all of you,” Damian proclaimed and stormed away.

“Fuck you too! See you at work Monday! Jason called, earning a tiger middle finger.

“He might be an asshole, but he’s a good kid,” Jason nodded with a sense of pride, causing to Dick to silently scoff. “Still needs to get laid though.”

“Bruce is gonna be so pissed when he finds out you pulled Dami into your bullshit.”

“You’re using Raven’s pet name for him now?” Jason mocked. “And fucker’s gonna have to prove it first; there’s a reason I hired ‘Dami’ for that job.”

“Dude, fuck you; dig your grave,” Dick lamented. “And don’t come at me with one of your tired ass death jokes, they’re getting old.”

“Suit yourself,” the Outlaw glowered as silence set in.

“So Dick,” Tim dared sheepishly. “You, um, wanna invest in--”

“Absolutely not,” the elder hero replied.

Leaving Jason to chuckle. “And that’s the way the cookie crumbled.”

If you enjoyed that feel free to leave me kudos 👉 here on Ao3 lol. If you have any remdom prompts send them my way; maybe I’ll feel inspired 😘

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stxleslyds · 3 years

Note

Jason doesn't show up in DC's animated series (though the does "spiritually" show up as Tim Drake in Season 2 of Batman the Animated Series).

Jason has a strong presence in the video games, though. So what is your opinion on Jason's characterization for Arkham Knight? He is a DLC for the Injustice games as well. Judy be warned that I did watch some clips of Arkham Knight and the torture was too gruesome for me.

RED HOOD IN VIDEO GAMES.

Hey there friend, thank you for the ask!

INJUSTICE 2.

I had to do some research on Red Hood’s appearances in the Injustice games because I was never really in touch with that story. Here is what I knew about it, there are two games for PC, one of them is Injustice and the other is Injustice 2, the games also have the comic books that give context/background to the lore of the game.

I used to play Injustice: Gods Among Us on mobile phone, and I had Jason as a playable character there, I also found out way too late that “Nightwing” wasn’t really Dick Grayson, it was Damian because he took on the mantle after he and the rock killed Dick in the comic (forever mad at that ridiculous death and the kinda scary art that comic had).

I looked for information about Red Hood’s backstory in wikis and all that because I refuse to read an alternate universe book written by Tom Taylor, there are things that I am just not willing to do.

All in all, I think that this Jason was in surface level, the same as his canon comic counterpart up until the time of his resurrection. Given that the world was at war and the League of Assassins wasn’t working openly, he and the others had to live in the shadows, he seems to have been trained proficiently by both Batman and the LoA so he is a very hardcore opponent. There are some bits of his story with Damian and a place called Gorilla City that I do not understand because I haven’t read the comics but I am fine without it.

The thing is that this Jason is pretty cool, he sticks to his morals and fights for what he believes is right, he doesn’t look like the kinda guy that takes sides in this war which is probably the best idea. Both Batman and Superman seem to be on the wrong side of history with they ideals.

What I did see and I loved eternally was the ending to Red Hood’s story, I will link the video here! But I will also copy and paste all that he says there because I think it’s really important and where I was able to see more of his characterization.

"That. Felt. Good. Titanium composite hollow point bullets with a C4 kicker. Fastest, most explosive ammo in the world. I made them myself. With the invasion over, Bruce and Superman started fighting again. I wasn't down with either of them. On the one hand, the Regime's right. Scumbag murderers and rapists deserve to die. But on the other hand, I'm no fan of government authority. Especially the dictatorial variety.

So, while the world's finest fight each other, I fight for the people. The weak. The innocent. Anyone who can't protect themselves. When they cry out for a saviour, I'll answer. As for the criminals that threaten them? They need to know that their actions have consequences. That the Red Hood is coming for them.”

This is excellent, I absolutely love this, this Jason knows his morals and doesn’t bow down to anyone and in the end, he is truly a hero to the people that need heroes the most.

Him saying that he believes that some criminals have to die but that he can’t really join Superman’s side because he cannot associate with it because he isn’t a fan of dictatorial ideas, I love this man.

I feel like this is a fair characterization for Jason, I believe that if something along the lines of what happens in Injustice happens in current continuity then Jason wouldn’t join any sides, he wouldn’t be neutral per se but he will fight for his own ideals. And his ideals in most universes are protecting people and I think that’s great. I love to see a world where Jason is seen as more intelligent and put together than the Batman.

Something that I find quite funny and interesting from this game is the dialogues that characters have with each other when they fight, I found this video compilation where you can see all the dialogues between Red Hood vs Robin (Damian Wayne), they are so fun and I love the animations too.

BATMAN: ARKHAM KNIGHT.

Oh, ArkhamVerse Jason, my beloved.

He is, to me, the epitome of this meme.

I have actually watched the whole game playthrough, several times, and Jason had a DLC as the Red Hood for that game (Nightwing has one too and I will talk about it later because I love this version of him). And, yes, the torture scene is very gruesome, it was incredibly sad and it made me feel bad. But I also think that they made it that way so it could support the kind of storytelling they were going for.

The reality is that this Jason suffered his whole life, and was constantly introduced to lifestyles that he never wanted to be part of. The world around this Jason wasn’t kind at all to him and there is a long list of people who did him wrong.

Although ArkhamVerse Jason didn’t die, like his comic counterpart did, he suffered the most. And his suffering really drove him to be the best version of an unhinged Jason Todd. But it’s clear, his brutality and murder intent isn’t laced with his Red Hood persona or at least not on the same level as it is with his Arkham Knight persona.

This Jason’s characterization works to perfection, but it only works that way because he was well developed within the game lore and the comics. This Jason was extremely well trained, he is probably the smartest version of Jason, his mind and his level of preparedness are unparalleled when it comes to other Jason Todd variants (a little MCU Loki talk right there).

I would go as far as to say that this Jason would be an excellent match to peak Dick Grayson from before New 52 in comics. Those two would clash so immensely, but man, it would be one hell of an intellectual and physical fight. Two Kings doing what they do best.

Anyway, for now take my word for how well characterized Jason is in the ArkhamVerse, I will make a post were I deep dive more on his character both in game and comics. There is so much to say about him, he is truly interesting and very complex.

Now, I will be a little cheeky and I will use this ask as an opportunity to talk about my man, ArkhamVerse Nightwing aka Pretty Boy.

I love him so much! In the game when you get to meet him (I will link the video here! it’s five minutes long, and worth the watch) you get to see both Nightwing’s and Dick’s personalities. Nightwing is fun and relaxed, he is a little bit cocky and doesn’t let Batman be a pain in his ass, he is truly a beast. Although he is never seen without the mask in a moment when he is alone with Bruce you can really see Dick’s personality shine through. He obviously has had issues with Bruce in the past but there is also this palpable respect coming from both of them to the other. Bruce wants to protect Dick but he acts like a jerk instead of telling him what is on his mind. Dick wants to help Bruce at all costs, he refuses to leave Gotham until they solve something that he was already working on before Bruce needed his help.

There is also this sort of goodbye scene between the two (I will link it here!) that is extremely sad because Dick doesn’t believe Bruce when he tells him that he is proud of him. Dick cuts him off just when Bruce was trying to open up and I think that scene speaks volumes about how rough their relationship was. Dick never finds out that Bruce was “dying” after being infected with the Joker’s blood/gas, so it’s very bittersweet.

There is also the Nightwing DLC, where we get to see Dick being the best of the best, he is so skilled and funny and smart. It is amazing how much this game made me love their Nightwing even though he doesn’t appear much, his dynamic with Penguin is just perfect, Dick literally makes Penguin’s life very difficult. All of the people working with Penguin kinda fear Dick a little bit, some of them are even impressed by his skills.

Oh and, when Nightwing gets captured at some point in the game, Penguin’s men are saying something along the lines of “I was sure Batman will come in” “how come?” “what’s tied up downstairs and getting the crap beat out of it?” “Oh yeah, Nightwing” and that is so true, if I were Batman, I will also risk my life for Nightwing.

I just love Nightwing, he makes me so happy! He is the best here!

Anyway, enough of me loving Nightwing uncontrollably, I will make a separate post where I only talk about ArkhamVerse Jason so, yeah, be ready for that one because I love that Jason too, he is hot.

#jason todd #red hood #arkham knight #dick grayson #nightwing #arkham games #injustice 2 #arkhamverse #asksss

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catxsnow · 4 years

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I want to see Tim go absolutely feral.

Tim Drake, the guy who always has the right intentions, even with the sometimes wrong means of doing so. The guy that always seems to know what he's doing and is always one step ahead. The guy that always has everything under control because he's already planned everything out from the moment he steps into a room.

It always seems that he's so in control of every situation that nothing could go wrong. It's true for the longest time. Bruce trusts Tim to keep everyone safe on his own. If there's anyone that's going to get every civilian out alive, it's him. Everyone knows that Tim won't ever cross that line.

Until he does.

It was an accident, it really was. Tim had been getting stronger, his moves more agile than ever before. He didn't realize just how hard he could swing his bo-staff and just how precise a hit to the temple could be. Tim didn't realize that he had taken the last breath of a man until it was too late.

He wasn't scared of what Bruce was going to say, or Dick, or Jason - or anyone. That wasn't what he was scared of. It wasn't that he was petrified at how easy it was to kill someone. No, Tim was scared because everything that he had ever done finally clicked into place. Why was he the one that had to risk his life to save the bad guys? Why was he the one that needed to reach the brink of death just so that some scumbag could live and breathe again?

Tim couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't keep putting himself out there when he knew there was a better way. And so he did the one thing Batman refused to do: he killed. Tim broke free of this ridiculous rule that Bruce instilled into him. He was tired of it, tired of coming home broken and bruised.

They were minor at first - criminals scumbags that had no family and no one to miss them. Breaking free of Batman's vice grip of justice to find his own way - the better way. His brother's trying to bring him back before it was too late. His friends were unsure of what happened to their headstrong leader.

Tim got lost in the darkness far quicker than some of their enemies. He worked his way up from petty criminals to the ones that really matter. Boomerang. Calculator. Clock King. Kid Crusader. Mad Hatter. Joker. Ra's al Ghul.

It's Ra's that finally tips the scales. His brother's siding with Bruce on his quest to stop Tim. Cassie and Bart realizing that Tim has completely lost his moral sense of direction. It's Kon that stays with him. Kon believed in his best friend because Tim has never proven him wrong.

It's when he's standing above Ra's dead body does everyone realizes just how far he's gone. The league in shambles, blood soaking his hands, the criminals of Gotham - hell, of the world are starting to fear the Robin that they never had to worry about before. Everyone is scared because Tim's lost it.

Tim's gone completely feral against his enemies because he's so fucking bad at himself for wasting his years bedridden and in pain when he could have been doing this all along. He's pissed at Bruce for persuading him to fall under his moral code and keep everyone alive. Why is it his choice that everyone gets to live?

Why does the Bat get to decide that the people that have killed so many get to keep breathing themselves? He shouldn't have that power. No one deserves to say that people like Joker get to keep living after everything they've done. Tim couldn't stand by anymore - whether or not Bruce agreed with his plans.

So when the day comes that Bruce has to face his son, it's horrendous. It's not very often that Tim has seen Bruce cry. Damian's death. Jason coming back to life. Dick getting shot in the head by KGBeast. There are very few cases that Bruce breaks down. Seeing Tim for the first time since Boomerang's death? That was one of those times.

Tim's bo-staff is blood-stained. His knuckles bruised and scarred far worse than ever before. New cuts on facing from facing his foes like never before. It's not the physicality of it all that makes Bruce like this. It's the look in Tim's eyes that breaks his heart.

The look of someone who doesn't care that they've killed, that takes pride in those that they've killed. Tim's got that empty, horrendous look in his eyes that Bruce has only ever seen that look in the people that Tim's already killed. No one came back once they had that look in their eyes.

It's that night that Tim realizes that he can't have anyone getting in his way - not when the safety of everyone is at stake. Why stop at the Joker or Ra's? Lex, Deathstroke, hell even Darkseid? Why let those people roam free when they can be stopped? Tim has the power, he's always had the power to put an end to it.

It was Bruce's code that held him back before, and now, it was Bruce himself. So Tim gives him the ultimatum - stay out of his way, or become an enemy. If there was one thing about Batman that Tim knew, it was that he was never going to stand aside when someone was in harm's way.

So what was Tim supposed to do? Let Bruce take him to Arkham to miraculously bring him back to his old self? Nothing about him had changed - he was still the same boy he once was. The difference was now his mind had been cleared of all tainting Bruce had cast on him. Tim couldn't lose to Bruce, not when he still had so much work to do.

Tim did what he had to. He did what no one else in Gotham managed to do. He got rid of the Bat, once and for all.

With Bruce Wayne gone, Tim had no one holding him back. No one to try and sway his moral compass that all this killing was wrong. No one to stop him from cleaning up the world from people that didn't deserve another breath. Batman was gone, and it was Tim's turn to be the protector of Gotham - the right way to protect Gotham.

It was at that moment did everyone realize just how far he was willing to go. Clark, who swore that Bruce could bring his son back home. Dick, who was horrified that Tim was able to go as far as to kill his adoptive father. Kon, who swore that Tim always knew what was right, suddenly faltering at every choice he's made.

Kon, who realizes that this whole time that he was back Tim up, that he was only pushing his father and father towards the edge. Killing Bruce, that had been the final push to get him to fall. Tim would never be able to return to that ledge, not when he had dived headfirst off of it. Kon, who realized that he was the one that was encouraging his best friend to become a monster.

Dick, who knows that he has to face Tim for what he's done. Dick, who tries to stand up against his little brother who murdered their father. Dick, who's on his knees, pleading for Tim to realize what he was doing and that he was going too far. He could forgive him for Ra's, JOker, hell all the other petty criminals that had been disposed of. But Bruce?

Bruce who had given them so much had created this life for them when they had nothing else. Dick couldn't look past that, he could never look past that.

When Tim gives him the ultimatum - the same one that he had given Bruce - Dick can't accept. He can't get on board with this, this mad way of justice. Dick lets Tim defeat him because he can't fight his brother, not even after everything that he's done. All he can see while looking up at Tim from his knees is the little boy that was so filled with joy, so filled with hope to make the world a better place.

Dick's broken because how the hell was he supposed to stop someone who he practically raised, that would now go to no end to take out every criminal he could. How is he supposed to take down Tim until he can't get back up when all he can think about was the first time that he brought Tim to the Titan's Tower and seeing the same joy on his face the first time he arrived all those years ago.

Tim falters, only for a moment. He can't take Dick down as easily as Bruce because he knows that the only reason that he's given up is because he is too broken to fight back. Dick has so much hope in him that Tim will realize that this is wrong. He doesn't; he doesn't realize that what he's doing is wrong because he's not wrong.

It's that split second that everything happens so fast that he can't control it for the first time since he started this mission. Dick moving so fast in one last hope that Tim will come back as himself because he sees that flash of hesitance. It's his last mistake. Tim moves out of reaction, not thinking about his movements but pushing Dick so hard that he stumbles towards the ledge of the building they're upon.

Dick grabbing onto the ledge with all his strength with Tim just standing above him, staring at his brother without thinking to help him back up. He gives him the same ultimatum once more. Dick doesn't have the voice to reply, his throat is tight and it feels like claws dragging down it. He can’t breath, can’t think properly. Dick’s destroyed at what’s become of his brother.

He doesn't need a response, it's his release of the ledge that answers Tim's question.

Dick takes a final fall, just as his parents had. The fall that started this whole thing - that brought Tim to where he is now. The fall that ended the Grayson family, once and for all.

another (longer than ten minutes this time I promise) ficlet angst! Because apparently I like making you suffer. Had some help this time with @pricetagofficial @river-bottom-nightmare @screennamealreadyused and @subtleappreciation

#tim drake #tim drake imagine #tim drake headcanon #red robin #red robin imagine #red robin headcanon #bruce wayne #batman #jason todd #red hood #dick grayson #nightwing #angst #tim drake fic #batfam #dc #dc imagine #batfam imagine #tw violence

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chronicbatfictioner · 3 years

Text

Exchanges and Compromises - Chapter 19

The third time Dick sneezed as he went by the kitchen, he decided to take action. Enough is enough. But he definitely was not prepared for what he would get a faceful of when he opened the kitchen door.

"Too much chili! Abort, abort! This is not a drill!" he choked as he closed the inner door and darted to the back door, opened it, and inhaled fresh air. "Good god, it's lethal in there!" he exclaimed.

"What even..." Damian muttered. "Grayson, there are only two ounces of chili in that Baiwang!"

"Is that why Alfred and Jason are wearing gas masks?" Dick demanded.

"This is to prevent our breath to get into the food, Richard. And they're just masks - paper masks. I can still smell the chili and all."

"What's a baiwang?" Dick asked curiously.

"Blood pudding," Alfred replied. "I must say, it is a... rather unique dish."

"Is it too late to be vegan, now?" Dick knew his face must have turned green. But Jason rolled his eyes.

"It's technically a kind of vegetarian, except for the goat blood. Do you know how hard it is to get blood around here? We had to go to a slaughterhouse, 'fer cryin' out loud. And now you're gonna insult my cooking??"

"'Technically', 'a kind of' bloody," Dick observed the pot that Jason was stirring from a respectable distance. "...those aren't likely things a TV chef would use to describe their creation..."

"It shall be a sort of soup, and the red didn't come from the blood. In fact, cooked blood would look like meat, dark colored," Damian explained. "Mother loved this..." he continued and stopped abruptly.

Dick immediately regretted all the nasty words he has said, and swallowed the rest that he hasn't said. "I'm..."

Damian, however, shook himself out of his melancholy quickly and added. "I requested Todd to make it, and it appeared that father is aware of it being my mother's favorite as well. And its cooking method. He promised he shall take grandfather and grandmother - as well as the brute - out of the house until we are done."

The sneezing from outside the kitchen broke their reverie. "Goodness gracious! How much chili is in progress here?" Tim squawked indignantly. "Now I know what you mean by lethal, Damian..."

"Imagine waking up from a night shift to that..." Dick grumbled, still.

"Seriously, you two are the whitest people to ever white." Jason scowled at them, paused, and glared at Dick pointedly. "...and you're not even white to begin with!"

"Hey, I might have Romani blood, but I was raised in the Owl's nest and they're full of white people!" Dick protested.

"Seriously, though, don't forget to leave some for my aunt Dinah. She loves spicy food." Tim hinted. "I reminded you of that already, haven't I?"

"You did, and will do, you hear that, brat? I'm gonna set aside a portion for a Ms Dinah Drake, the nice lady who likes spicy food." Jason told Damian. The latter scowled.

"You are trying to bribe her, are you not, Todd?" Damian retorted.

"Bribe her over what--" Jason started, but Dick leaped over the kitchen counter and turned Tim around and dragged him outside.

"How about you accompany me for some fresh air here, Timbers? Feels like my lungs are on fire!" he chirped. Kind of. He was thankful, though, that he'd turned Tim just in time for the kid to spin-sneezed and missed the pot by several inches. "See? I'm not the only one..." he added, waving to Jason's grumbled 'thanks for not sneezing into my baiwang, derp!'

Outside, once he was sure he was out of hearing range of those in the kitchen, Tim groaned out loud and slumped to the ground. "Oh I'm so screwed..."

Could be incongruous, could be case-related; but Dick's gut feelings said something else. "Well, I dunno, try scrubbing up nice and you could still get..." he wiggled his eyebrows and grinned mischievously.

Tim threw him a dirty look, and Dick mentally patted himself on the back. "What-ever." he snarled at Dick.

"Oh come on, Timmy! It's not like anyone would be mad if you're mad crushin' on him!" Dick finally started to laugh. "Your denial is... cute. But I think someone like him would want a direct proposal."

"Annnd... I'm officially lost. I don't know what you're talking about." Tim replied, straight-faced. But Dick has read enough people in his life to know a tell when he saw one.

"About six-two, two hundred pounds give or take, a whole load of muscle enough to bring down a pair of oak doors if necessary, black hair, blue-green eyes-- need I go on?" Dick hinted.

"What about that-- that sounds like Bruce, you know."

"Bruce Wayne has blue eyes. Not blue-green. Oh, wait, lemme make it exotic-like, teal-colored eyes..."

"I'm seriously thinking about murdering you and dump your body to the Gotham harbor, but then I worry for the other mutated harbor residents if they have to face your ghost."

Dick laughed out loud. "Oooh... kitten is crushin' hard! Look, lethal gas notwithstanding, we're doing alright. Come back by like, seven tonight, bring a bottle of good red or white wine, and dress up a little, but no suit. Just like it said in Alfred's pretty invitation. If it'll make you feel better, we all get the same invitation - in spite of us living here and all. So..."

"Remind me why we're doing this again?"

"So you can eventually have a real date with--" Dick chortled as he dodged a handful of compost Tim threw at him.

#Batless!AU #JayTim #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #Dick Grayson #Damian Wayne #Alfred Pennyworth #stray!tim #Talon!Dick #RedGhost!Jason #Birds of Prey

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sparkleofpizza · 4 years

Text

The archer - Tim Drake x reader 4/?

Requested: no

Warnings: swearing, death, gore, fluff

Taglist: @isthataladybag @the-fandom-ness @takoyakkun @caswinchester2000

Summary: Y/n Queen will be living in the Wayne Manor for a while, and Dick Grayson decided to be the Cupid between her and his little brother Tim Drake.

Word count: 2.807

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

Arrow after arrow was shot to the target glued to the wall. You kept going, practicing was a good thing to keep your mind off things and also clear your head. Sometimes it was good to just let your pent up feelings go with every arrow that left your quiver.

You haven’t been out on patrol since you moved to Gotham two months ago, all you did was sometimes spare with Jason - that was a rare occurrence now, he had one of his many fights with Bruce and has been avoiding the manor lately. That left you to practice archery on your own, not that you minded, it was good being alone for a while.

You could feel Damian’s eyes on you. You knew he had been keeping a close eye on you ever since they found out about the whole League of Assassins stuff. Even if you hadn’t heard what they were talking at the kitchen, you would’ve still found out he was suspicious of you, he didn’t know how to keep a low profile when giving you murderous glares or muttering under his breath - maybe he wasn’t trying to be subtle, maybe he wanted you to know he was keeping tabs on you.

You didn’t mind him watching you, you just kept doing your thing at the batcave. You didn’t want to pick a fight with a twelve year old.

“Hi.” Tim said, a smile on his face as he came to a stop beside you “I didn’t see you at breakfast today.”

“Good morning.” You nodded your head, not daring to look at him “I didn’t have breakfast today.”

He frowned “Why not?”

“So I could practice.”

He nodded his head, watching you do your thing. You looked beautiful, deadly and beautiful. He couldn’t help but admire you, you didn’t even seem to notice - at least he hoped you didn’t, he didn’t want to seem creep.

“Do you want to have breakfast with me?” He asked before he could think about it

“I thought you already had breakfast.” You put your bow down to look at him

He smiled sheepishly “I could never pass up the opportunity to drink more coffee and spend some time basking at your company.”

You felt heat spread through your cheeks. That was very smooth of him.

You nodded your head, agreeing to his idea of breakfast. You didn’t trust your voice to not betray you with your feelings for him if you spoke your agreement out loud.

You put your bow and arrows away, taking that time to gain control back of your emotions. This is Tim, the guy who doesn’t trust you enough to ask you questions about you himself - you had to remind yourself that.

“I was thinking we could have breakfast at a cafe downtown.” He said, walking out of the cave with you “It is one of my favorite places, they have really good coffee.”

“Sure.” You smiled at him “I just need to get changed.”

Tim nodded, taking notice of your sports bra and leggings. He let his gaze linger on your body as you disappeared from his sight to go to your room to get dressed.

After taking a quick shower and throwing on some clothes, and sunscreen on your face. You went down to meet Tim waiting for you.

You honestly had no idea what to expect from this breakfast with him. You were still weary of him after the conversation you overheard. You are still waiting for him to tell you, but apparently he wasn’t going to do so, and you are honestly disappointed.

Dating had always been a hard thing for you, considering your life and everything. You tried dating people you met at high school, but you couldn’t exactly say ‘hi, I can’t go on a date with you tonight because I am helping the Green Arrow fight a big threat to the city.’ Then again, most people were only interested in dating a Queen and not to exactly date you. And you also did try to date Connor, but it just didn’t work, you see each other too much as a family to have romantic feelings involved.

And then you met Tim, and he was cute and sweet and pretty and soooo incredible. You really did think that maybe things would go right this time, but just like everyone else in your love life, he let you down.

As you sat at the coffee shop, stirring your drink with a straw, you watched as Tim seemed way too nervous. He kept pushing his hair back and gripping on his cup.

“Are you ok?” You questioned, eyeing him suspiciously

“Y-yeah. No.” He shook his head making you frown “There’s something you should know.”

You nodded, motioning for him to keep talking. Whatever he was going to tell you, didn’t seem like it was a good thing.

“I did something bad, something I really shouldn’t have done. And guilty has been eating me alive because I just can’t believe it I did it instead of taking to you.”

Oh. Oh. Oh.

Is he going to tell you what you think he is going to tell you?

"What did you do?" you asked quietly after a moment of silence

Tim took a deep breath before looking into your eyes. It was now or never.

"After you told us about the League of Assassins thing, I realized I didn't know much about you, so instead of asking you what I wanted to know I looked you up and found out a lot of things about you. I am really sorry I treated you as some sort of criminal, it was not my intention and I realized that I shouldn't have done that the minute I finished doing it."

You kept quiet, processing his words. Although you already knew the truth, you are still trying to find out if he really means what he said. He didn't seem to be lying, and he does seemed very nervous to tell you that.

"I already knew."

He blinked a few times, not fully comprehending what you had just said.

"I'm sorry, what?"

You smiled a little "I said I already knew what you did, Tim." you chuckled "I overheard you and your brothers talking in the kitchen."

"And you're not mad?" His eyes were wide, making him look adorable

"Oh, I am more upset and disappointed than mad. I didn't say anything because I wanted to know if you were going to tell me, and I am glad you did."

He nodded his head, feeling a bit of relief, but also sad you are upset and disappointed with him. These are not good feelings.

"I spent the last two week trying to find ways to tell you, none of them seemed good enough because what I did was really a shit action." He hesitantly grabbed your hand that was lying on top of the table, his cold fingers caressing your palm, making shivers go down your spine "I'm really sorry about what I did, y/n. And I totally understand if you don't want to talk to me anymore. I just need you to know that I am truly deeply sorry."

You smiled at him, squeezing his hand. Could this boy be more perfect?

"It's ok, Timmy, I understand why you did what you did. In this line of work, you can't make mistakes, even if it means doubting people you shouldn't be doubting." You leaned over the table, pecking his cheek "I forgive you."

Tim seemed to be in a daze for a few seconds, processing your words and the kiss you just gave him.

"Thank you. I don't know what I would do if you didn't want to talk to me anymore, I really like you."

His cheeks were tinted a dust pink and so were yours.

"I really like you, too."

To say you and Tim were living daydreaming after having admitted you two liked each other was an understatement. You were so happy that he liked you two that it didn't even occur to you that you said you liked each other and then did nothing about it. But Dick Grayson was having none of it.

"So you're telling me you told y/n that you like her and she said she likes you back, but you didn't kiss her or even asked her out on a proper date?" he had to refrain himself from yelling out in frustration

He and Tim were standing together at a rooftop of an apartment building while on patrol. He asked his little brother how the two of you were doing, and although he was delighted to hear you both declared liking each other, he was very disappointed that was it. Nothing more happened.

"I was too busy making sure she didn't hate me after what I did." Tim shook his head, not believing his older brother was disappointed in him "I didn't know if I'd be rushing into things by kissing her after what I told her."

Dick nodded his head, heaving a sight "I know, I know. It is just that... Oh, there is so much sexual tension when you two are together, I just want you to kiss and be a happy sweet little couple together! Is that too much to ask?!"

The younger boy felt his cheeks heat up with what the other had said. There wasn't that obvious sexual tension between you two. Was there? Oh God, he hopes not, that would awkward for other people. Tim still remembers how he felt weird when Dick was pinning over Kori, the tension between them, the endless flirting and longing looks, it used to kill him to be in their presence with the Titans. He didn't want anyone to go trought what he did, and to know he was doing the same. The worst, or best, part was that he didn't even realize it because he was so enchanted by you that he didn't notice he was pinning over you that hard.

"I'll ask her to have dinner with me tomorrow." Tim settled with that, if you are still awake when he returns home from patrol then he will ask you out on a proper date, that's it

"Good, and then I will help you prepare it!" the older boy grinned at his little brother

Before Tim could reply, telling him there was no need to do so, Jason cut their conversation short.

"Although, I love to hear about replacement's love life, there is still a job to be done." he said trough the coms "So if you could meet me that would be great. There is some fucked up shit here."

You didn't want to seem desperate, but you also couldn't help but stay awake waiting for Tim to return home after patrol. You had already talked for almost two hours on the phone with Connor, telling him everything that happened. Then you FaceTimed Oliver to see how his mission was doing, and proceeded to get very annoyed with the fact that he still refused to tell what the mission was, saying he would tell you everything once he gets back next week.

You also tried sleeping, but you kept thinking about your brother's safety and then your thoughts would drift back to Tim and how you wished when you kissed his cheek, earlier today, that you had kissing him on the mouth instead.

That left you wandering around the cave, telling Alfred you were just waiting for them to come back in case any of them were hurt and needed medical assistance. The butler knew you were just waiting for Tim to arrive, but didn't say anything, only gave you a knowing smile.

So when they all finally arrived home, you expected tired faces and sore muscles, not faces like they've seen ghosts. You frowned upon watching their expressions, did something happen?

Bruce had a deep frown on his face and quickly dismissed Alfred when he asked him something. Damian went straight to the showers, Dick and Jason had lost looks on their faces, and Tim seemed deep in thought, almost missing the chair as he sat down to use the batcomputer, typing furiously in it.

You bit your lower lip, it seemed like it had been a rough night. Thankfully none of them were hurt.

"Hey." you said in a low tone, not really wanting to disturb Tim, but also wanting to give him some comfort "Everything alright?"

He turned to look at you, in his hurry to use the computer he didn't even took his mask off. You raised your hands, brushing some hair from his forehead, and then pulling the mask away from his face, reveling his blue eyes and deep bags.

"Hi." he whispered, basking in your tender touch, you rubber his temple, trying to ease some tension "Just something that doesn't make sense."

You hummed, letting your hand go to his hair as you massaged his scalp with your fingernails. Tim closed his eyes, enjoining the sensation you were proportioning to him. He placed his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him as he smushed his face against your chest, listening to your heartbeat. After what he saw tonight, feeling your warmth and sweet touch were everything his needed.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you questioned him, not wanting him to you trough this alone

"It is not something nice, I'm not sure if..." you placed a kiss on top of his head and he almost melted against you "It is a really horrible thing to say, are you sure you want to know it?"

"Yes." you tilted his back so he could look you in the eyes "Tell me, you don't have to suffer alone." you kissed both of his cheeks

Tim felt his insides burning, he wasn't used to so much affection. Of course, his brother Dick was a man of hugs, he loves to hug his brothers, but other than that, Tim is a pretty touch starved boy. He was almost sighing in contentment with your touch and kisses, he wanted nothing more than to just stay like this forever.

"Ok." he pulled back from you, still keeping his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you down so you could sit on his thighs, he wanted to be able to look you in the eyes

You smiled at him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

So Tim proceeded to tell you what him and his family had seen tonight. The trail of bodies at the casino Jason asked them to meet him. All the blood and every single one of the people in there dead. How they all looked horribly, so many wounds, so many knives, arrows, bullets. It was honestly one of the worst things he had ever seen in his life - he was Red Robin and before that Robin, born and raised in Gotham, he had seen a lot of horrible things in his life, but what he saw tonight? It was absurd.

All the time he was telling you the events, you kept a comforting hand on him, wether caressing his hair, or trailing patters on his arms. He was glad you were there, making him calm and come down from the high emotions he was feeling.

"This sounds like something the League could do." you muttered

He shook his head "There was something off about that, it didn't look like the League of Assassins pattern."

"Maybe the League of Shadows?"

He shook his head again, staring at the computer screen across from you.

"Can you show me?" you asked, he frowned at you

"I don't think you should see it, pretty bird. It really is horrible."

"Maybe I can help. Please."

He hesitantly pulled the pictures he took with his phone, showing the casino littered with bodies. Your small hands zoomed into the picture, watching it with close eye and disgust, it really was horrible. You were sure this would cloud your nightmares tonight.

"I know this arrows." you said "Malcom Merlyn uses them."

"So you think this was a mercenary work?" he questioned, it did make a bit of sense, but it was so brutal the way they were killed

You shook your head. Still staring at the picture in front of you, a thousand of thoughts running trough your mind. Possibilites, theories, everything. You couldn't even bring yourself to conclude one thought before another came crashing down.

Tim gripped at your hands before closing the picture. Staring at it would do you no good. He also didn't want to look at it anymore for now.

You turned around to look at him, a frown adorning your face making him worry.

"Timmy, have you ever heard of the Ninth Circle?"

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miss-choco-chips · 4 years

Note

hey so I had a quick question about twisted soulmates! so tim knows who his soulmates are, jason knows tim is his soulmate, damian thinks tim is his nemesis, but does dick know? do they all know about each other? love the story!!!

(2/2) I also love how you call ra’s a cheap kazoo at the end it really fits him

---

Hey sweetie! I’m glad you liked it. Twisted Soulmates has a very special place in my heart, it’s the first long-ish fic I wrote for the fandom and it’s received so much love, it amazes me. And yesss Ra’s totally is. I read that in a post I saw in Pinterest about someone saying that to “play someone like a fiddle” isn’t a fitting insult cause fiddles are hard to play and should instead say a kazoo, and I thought Tim would think so too.

So to clear the soulmate mess a bit.

….This got really really long so I’m gonna put it under the cut. Also, beware of spoilers of the possible second part!

Dick knows Tim is his soulmate, but it doesn’t get directly addressed in the fic by anyone else than Tim, and that was on purpose. Dick didn’t get his mark at the same time Tim did. Or rather he did, but he was in costume and didn’t see his own wrist, and then his parents died and the trauma kinda fucked things up and the name got erased. Like, he repressed the whole thing so hard he forcefully forgot about Tim and removed him from his own body. That is, until Tim went to ask him to be Robin again, and when Dick touched him he was bitchslapped by the feeling of the name appearing on him.

But the thing is, Dick is a young man, emphasis on the ‘man’. And this weird little kid is, soulmate or not, a *kid*. Dick is uncomfortable as fuck in this situation. He gets fond of Tim with time, they become friends and he mentors him to make sure what happened to Jason won’t happen to him, but he’s very carefully keeping him at arm’s length in anything soulmate related, because he won’t ever see a twelve year old as some romantic partner just because some cosmic force says he’s destined to be that. Maybe in the future, maybe not, but certainly not when there is this age difference that creeps him the hell out. He has his relationships with other people, which Tim respects because he doesn’t think he has any say on the matter, and they honestly love and care for each other (Tim is crushing hard but he’s a teen and Dick is his hero, that would be expected even without the soulmate thing), and everyone kinda turns a blind eye to the whole thing (except from some of the Young Justice gang, but that’s another thing entirely). Sure, Dick’s girlfriends (or at least the ones that are in the know) look a lil uncomfortable when Dick takes them home and they meet this tiny, starry eyed kid who does his best to be polite, but except for that it might as well be a taboo. The most Dick does is when any danger comes near Tim and he outright freaks out, like when he got Ra’s mark and he flew all the way from San Fran just to fret, but, again, the do love each other, so that might or might not be because of their bond.

Jason as explained gets the mark when he’s attacking Tim at Titan’s Tower. He already had the Joker on his other wrist, so there was no place for doubt. That’s why he left Tim alive, instead of finishing the job like he intended to. The second attempt on Tim’s life was made under Pit influence, because Tim rejected his offer to be his Robin, which Jason’s highly damaged mind translated to rejection to him as a soulmate, which in turn made him really mad, and… yeah. He *does* want to get to know Tim properly and apologize, he felt awful about it all once his mind got cleared up, but like… regret doesn’t just erase all the pain he brought his soulmate, a fact he’s perfectly aware of. So when shit hits the fan with Tim and Dick, Jason is away on a self-discovery trip with the outlaws where he works through his issues, hoping to get himself to a place from where he could start a new relationship with Tim (only if Tim is cool with giving him another shot; he’s hopeful but not going to press, the decision will be firmly in Tim’s hands). He doesn’t know about Dick and Damian, but he does know about Ra’s because he once heard Talia ranting about his father being too ‘soft to his nemesis’, which got him curious enough to investigate. It makes him feel even worse, because the poor kid’s nemesis AND soulmate actively tried to hurt him, which… is really fucked up. So Jason is a hot mess right now, but he’s on the path of redemption.

Damian’s thing was another mess altogether. Damian hasn’t met his nemesis yet (I’m still not 100% sure who is gonna be for him), so when he gets to Wayne Manor and gets his mark as he’s hitting Tim… well, the kid’s been groomed to think of his Father’s other kids as enemies already, its not too much of a leap to consider Tim, his direct predecessor and the one he has to live up to, as his ultimate foe. He also knows about his Grandfather having Drake’s name, so his proud little head gets a high at the idea of having the same nemesis as Ra’s, like some kind of validation to him, like he could someday be equal to Ra’s if he has his same nemesis. Tim tries to correct him, but he’s also busy dealing with the fact that a ten year old is another one of his soulmates, and a murderous one at that, so he’s probably not explaining himself as well as he could, and Damian walks out of that encounter totally sure that Tim is his nemesis (he didn’t see Tim’s wrist, so as far as he’s aware, he’s on the same wrist as Ra’s and thus Drake’s nemesis). He doesn’t know about Jason, but he learns about Dick later on, after he becomes his Robin. They are bonding one night and Dick tells him about his soulmate and nemesis (he’s probably trying to explain something about morals and whatnot to him using that as an example), and Damian can’t even suspect of Dick having it wrong, because the one he claims as his nemesis is one of his worst foes, and no matter how bad, Tim couldn’t be worse than him, so, by elimination, Tim IS Dick’s soulmate. This freaks him out, badly, and he does his best to avoid telling Dick about his mark, because he is still sure about Tim being his nemesis, and that means he is destined to hate the one dick is fated to love; Dick would never choose him above Tim if he was aware of this. He’d never love Damian more than Tim, and that makes the child in him even MORE mad at Drake because jealousy.

So by the time Tim says ‘fuck it’ and basically elopes with Ra’s, Dick is unaware of Jason and Damian; Jason is also unaware of the other two; and Damian only has half the information.

They will find out about the others though (and in Damian’s case, about Tim being his soulmate instead of nemesis), when they find out about Tim’s disappearance (he’s with Ra’s but he’s not exactly advertising it so not a lot of people know where the fuck he is) and join forces to look for him. But that will happen in the second part, if I gather enough brain cells to write it lol

Also, a bit about Tim, if you’re interested!

Tim knows they are they soulmates- even when things get twisted when Ra’s, who is his nemesis, treats him better than the people supposedly destined to love him. Its very confusing, and while a part of him is sure of it, the other is like… maybe Ra’s is his destined one, after all. In the end, Tim decides it doesn’t really matter. Ra’s can be his nemesis, soulmate, whatever- he’s taking him down, hence the last scene where he smiles at having deceived him. And Dick, Jason and Damian might or might not be his soulmates- he doesn’t give a fuck either, he’s not gonna forgive them just because Fate winks at him and pushes him towards them. Oh no, hell no. He’s basically giving up on love, soulmates and all that jazz. He’s gonna use his unique position to do his best to take Ra’s down, even if that means he goes down with him, because he’s a very depressed boy who only feels something when in immediate danger, and sadly the most danger he can be in is inside the lion’s mouth- travelling around the world with Ra’s.

This got really long, anon, sorry! Hope you’re having an amazing day!

#twisted soulmate #soulmate au #Nemesis au #tim drake #dick grayson #Jason Todd #Damian Wayne #Ra's al Ghul #My writing #answering anon

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thattimdrakeguy · 4 years

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Jason and Tim’s relationship has so many possibilities if they weren’t done dirty. I mean imagine all the adventures we could’ve have gotten with Tim and the man he looked up to during his years as Robin. That would’ve been freaking awesome.

Well, I mean, depends on what you view as “done dirty”.

Because honestly Tim and Jason’s whole entire relationship makes no freaking sense to me.

Like I’ll say this, Dick was the Robin that Tim admired the most, he also admired and looked up to Jason, but Dick was Tim’s Robin. He got attached to Robin because of Dick. But again, he still looked up to Jason.

But here’s why it makes no sense to me: Why did Jason attack Tim? Because Jason doesn’t attack or try to severely harm anyone he doesn’t view as someone deserving it, and I don’t see Jason beating up a kid over half a foot shorter than him just because he became Robin after him. He’d surely still have enough morality in him that he would still view that as entirely messed up. Tim did nothing to Jason personally, which is the reason why Jason was mad at Bruce in that way to begin with.

I don’t believe he even brought up Tim during Under the Red Hood. Just that Teen Titans issue written by Geoff Johns rather than Judd Winnick (who did UTRH) where Jason acted severely unstable, where in UTRH Jason was actually quite calm besides in specific moments. He was plotting and methodical, mysterious, mad at Batman because he didn’t kill Joker after he took him away from him. Not “I’m going to break into your house, wear a cheesy outfit, and lose my mind and beat you half to death” like he was in that Teen Titans issue, besides with the Joker (minus the cheesy outfit).

So to me it never made good logical sense that Jason would attack Tim, because it takes away his morals, which are important to what makes Jason interesting as a character. Jason would be aware that Tim is a kid, and ultimately it’s Batman who decided to allow another Robin. So wouldn’t he be more mad at Bruce for it, rather than Tim? If anything Jason would consider Tim a potential future victim as that’s Jason’s typical way of thinking. He died because of being Robin, and he thinks Bruce didn’t do anything about it. He’d be more worried about Tim and pissed at Bruce for allowing another one, then beat up the kid he’d realistically would view as also being in extreme danger.

At the same time though, Tim would not want to hang out with Jason post the Red Hood, because Tim is adamantly against killing to the point he cried at the belief that Bruce did kill someone, and snapped at Steph just for her saying that it doesn’t matter if they let one criminal die. Not even killing them, just letting him die.

So Tim in no way would want to be around Jason. He would be so uncomfortable and depressed just thinking about what happened with Jason, because Tim has a bit too idealized version of his heroes in his head, and seeing Jason be a murderer would destroy Tim inside.

Although, then there’s in the hypothetical that Jason got better in a way that didn’t erase who he was as a personality. Who really knows what’d happen then.

There’s the idea that Jason would be protective over Tim because of Jason’s complicated opinion of Bruce after all that happened. But also Tim being weary and intimidated by Jason, because he knows that Jason had killed.

But if you develop that through interesting stories. There’s a chance that they genuinely could get along. Tim would have so many questions for Jason, and if Jason’s welcoming enough, maybe he’d learn to enjoy him. Or heck, maybe he’d find him annoying, but still just wants to make sure he’s okay.

The potential that wasn’t used is shameful.

(I also don’t care what relationship they have in the New 52, they just forced it together, and it wasn’t even actual Tim. It was just witness protection kid named Tim Drake. Plus, Jason can’t be both the closest thing Tim has to a brother, and also be someone he rarely talks to. That makes no sense. They took away any potential interesting dynamic just because Lobdell or whoever simply wanted it to happen. Freaking terrible character writing.)

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iselsis · 4 years

Text

Unholy Matrimony 2

Jack had left early in the morning two days later for his meeting with Mr. Wayne, and Tim had been waiting in the grand foyer almost without a break ever since.

He knew, like, intellectually, the Mr. Wayne wouldn’t buy him, because, duh, Batman, but he was having a hard time convincing his body of that. His heart pounded wildly, his hands were clammy and gross, and his stomach roiled, both with heat pain and at the thick scent of distress and pheromones in the room. Janet had tried to order him to his room, but he kept sneaking back, and eventually, she just gave up and opened windows.

In the end, he decided that he was less worried about what would happen if Mr. Wayne bought him, and more worried about what would happen when he didn’t. His parents were going to be furious, and while he kind of hoped that they’d just spend a lot of time thinking about what to do next, go on another trip, and forget, like they usually did with commitments they made to him, he didn’t think that that was going to happen this time.

After a few hours, Janet wordlessly stepped into the room. Neither of his parents had spoken to him since the first morning except to snap order and make absolutely sure how much of a disappointment he was. Instead of acknowledging him or snapping at him to stop making her house smell like a crime scene, she leaned against the banister to watch the front door with him. He supposed that meant that his dad would be back soon, and his gut wrenched again. He wasn’t sure if that would be good or bad, but at least it would mean an end to the waiting.

It was only a few more minute before they heard the Drake’s rental (they were never in town long enough to need their own car) roar up the front drive with a worrying speed. His dad was either really excited, or really mad. Tim was leaning towards mad, given the whole “trying to sell my kid to the unholy terror of the night” thing, but that wasn’t assured, he realized. He might have drastically mistyped Batman, and the real Bruce Wayne was more of a “do as I say and not as I do” type person, or maybe he didn’t really mind child brides. Like, he’d stop a grab & go rape, but if they were, like, married, then maybe he wouldn’t really mind.

The door flew open and Jack stormed into the foyer, his whole body and scent screaming rage.

Tim breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He wasn’t getting married, then.

Janet frowned in confusion. “He refused.”

“Refused? Refusing is one thing, but that bastard,” Jack snarled, hurling his briefcase at the floor, where it landed on its spine with a resounding crack and an eruption of papers. “That absolute bastard had the nerve to lecture me about how we should ‘respect and treasure our son’ and ‘cherish the time we have with him.’”

Oh, that was… That was beautiful. Poetic. The small part of him that had been worried about Mr. Wayne actually wanting him that way curled up and died of laughter. The thought of his parents actually following through on Mr. Wayne’s suggestion and respecting him and cherishing their time with him, though, was just too much.

Jack turned and shot a glare at Tim, like it was his fault that Mr. Wayne didn’t want to buy him, and Tim struggled to keep his grin in check.

He must not have been able to keep his amusement from his scent, because his father’s expression darkened, and he stalked toward Tim.

“You think that this is funny, bitch?” Jack snatched Tim’s collar before Tim could make a run for it and shook him harshly.

Tim stumbled, throwing his head back in submission to bare his throat. Jack growled and slapped Tim hard across the face with enough force to send him crashing to the ground.

His head hit the tile hard, making his vision swim with disjointed shapes and blurred edges. He tried to get up, but his father’s shoe slammed into his ribs and he was down again with a cry of pain. The next kick landed in his stomach, then another to his ribs, then his mother’s voice was saying something quietly that Tim couldn’t hear over the pounding of his heart in his ears.

“He deserves it, pompous little omega brat!” Jack snapped venomously.

Tim chanced a glance up, but found only a furious glare from his father and a cool, calculating stare from his mother.

“True.” She lifted her chin so that she was looking down her nose at Tim even more than she had been before. “But we won’t get as good a price for him if he’s broken and ugly. His only asset is his pretty face, dear. Luthor or Queen might be interested if he looks decent.”

A small, ridiculous part of Tim was thrilled, because calling him pretty was the nicest thing his mom had said about him in years. A larger part of Tim cringed at the idea of having to marry Lex Luthor or Oliver Queen. Mr. Wayne was Batman, which meant that of course he would never agree to marry a kid. Tim was sure that the drunken playboy role was just an act.

Lex Luthor, from what he had overheard from his parents, was arrogant, cruel, manipulative, and completely amoral, and that was just with his business partners. Tim was sure that he wouldn’t object to being given a child bride, and Tim also knew that his parents had wanted a deal with Luthor almost as badly as they wanted a deal with Wayne.

Oliver Queen, he knew less about. He did know that he was the CEO of Queen Industries. His parents didn’t think much of him. He was apparently what Bruce Wayne pretended to be: a drunk playboy with too much money and low moral character. He was a useful idiot, though, and they might try to get the better of him with a stilted business deal and a young omega. For all those faults, though, Tim was pretty sure that he wasn’t a criminal.

Jack growled and kicked Tim once more before storming out of the room.

Janet’s lips curled into a frown of distaste. She didn’t have to say anything to communicate just how disappointed she was. After a few moments, she calmly followed her husband out of the room.

Tim tried to get up, but it hurt too much to move. He lay there, curled up in a fetal position on the tile floor, where at least the icy tiles numbed the pain of his bruises and heat, for a long time.

Finally, Tim dragged himself up off the floor, and up two flights of stairs to his bedroom. If he even had his own house, he was going to get a ground floor bedroom, like a sensible person. Or maybe he’d just take suppressants for the heat, and stay away from angry alphas.

Tim slipped into his room and shut the door behind him louder than he would have normally dared with his parents home, but he was hurt, and they were already mad, so he didn’t think it mattered if he slammed the door.

Tim wanted to just curl up into a ball and fall asleep for the next five years, but he had research to do first.

He dragged his laptop out from under his bed, where he’d hidden it in case his dad took it like he’d taken Tim’s phone. Jack had said that Tim didn’t need it anymore, but Tim had a feeling that it was really more out of a fear that Tim would go on social media and paint his parents and their company in a bad light in an attempt to get out of a marriage.

Tim was smart, though, or at the very least, smarter than that.

Options were limited for omegas. He could live on the streets, but he doubted he’d survive long without a pack. Jason Todd had done it, but Jason Todd was an alpha and he was strong enough that Batman had impulse-adopted him to be his Robin. If Tim wanted a prayer of survival, he’d probably have to find a pimp or an alpha. He didn’t want to, but if his other option was Luthor… He’d have to see.

Foster care, especially in Gotham, was basically just the prostitute option. He’d have a guaranteed roof, and probably food, but he wouldn’t get to keep his money and his parents would probably be able to get him back. Gotham’s omega group homes were also hotbeds for abuse without pay.

Tim’s main problem was that what his parents were doing wasn’t technically illegal. Even though omegas weren’t legally considered property anymore, they were second class citizens. If their parents wanted, they could marry them off to any alpha they wanted. Most didn’t anymore, but most also weren’t negotiating multimillion-dollar business deals. His new husband would be his guardian until he was eighteen, and he couldn’t even be divorced until then.

At the very least, Tim was the only one in the marriage who could request a divorce. Something about the alpha assuming responsibility since the omega had little real-world experience before the marriage. If he wanted, once he was eighteen, he could just be really really annoying until whatever alpha married him agreed to give him a severance check and alimony.

That plan probably wouldn’t work. There weren’t any rules about beating your omega for being a brat, or marital rape.

He needed to make a plan, and for that, he needed information.

A search on Lex Luthor turned up relatively innocuous results, until Tim started trying to get around any doctoring of the algorithm by adding keywords like crime and conspiracy. Most people turned their noses up as soon as the word conspiracy was uttered, but Tim had figured out that the richest man in Gotham ran around town dressed as a bat and beating people up with his underage accomplice all because of an acrobatic move. Small clues were important, and rich people are weird.

It turned out that the internet suspected Lex Luthor of a lot. Illegal weapons deals, links to supervillains, human testing, abuse, rape, murder. There wasn’t much that he wasn’t suspected of. Several of his more vocal accusers had turned up “suicided” as some had termed it. There was one, a CK, whose allegations of Luthor’s crimes was so extensive that Tim wasn’t sure if it could actually be true that one man had committed so many crimes.

Luthor was a hard no. Tim would rather chance the streets. Tim would rather die. Heck, if he wanted to die, marrying Luthor would probably take care of that pretty quickly.

Oliver Queen was a different story. Tim couldn’t find many accusations against him of anything, and the accusations he did find were mostly just being a drunkard and a whore. He didn’t seem so bad, or so smart. He seemed like he’d be nice enough, and Tim might even be able to manipulate Mr. Queen into letting him go to school. He’d probably be safer than the streets even if he couldn’t, and if he wasn’t, then at least the streets of Star City weren’t nearly as dangerous as the streets of Gotham.

It struck him while he was looking at a photo of Mr. Queen at a charity gala for polio or rickets or something. Mr. Queen’s beard seemed…familiar.

There was no way.

Tim quickly split the screen and pulled up every picture the public had of Star City’s Green Arrow on one side, comparing it to the picture of Oliver Queen from the newspaper.

How.

Had.

No one.

Noticed?

The facial hair was the exact same, the build, the hair color. Wouldn’t it be more efficient to wear a mask over his mouth and nose than over his eyes? It would take away the risk of the domino slipping over his eyes and actually cover extremely identifiable marks.

His heart sank. Mr. Wayne wouldn’t buy him, because he was a hero. Mr. Queen was a hero too.

He was being sold to Luthor.

#batman #bruce wayne is a good dad #tim drake #bruce wayne #omega tim drake #alpha beta omega #alpha bruce wayne #adoption #accidental baby acquisition #fake marriage au

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tired-college-student-writing · 5 years

Text

Tim’s Secret Weapon Pt. 4

I’ve been slightly obsessed with @ozmav ‘s Damian Wayne/Marinette Dupain-Cheng pairing as of late, and just saw a post that has inspired me more than anything else has in months, so I felt the need to write it

Summary- Tim has always seen the numbers floating above people’s heads, been able to perceive their threat levels with a single glance. After being a hero for so long he thought he was desensitized to seeing high numbers above people’s heads until Damian brings a new friend home.

Part 1

Part 3

Part 4 (HERE)

Part 5

_______________________________________________________________________

“Yup!” Jason popped the ‘p’ before holding up the book Tim had given him, “Who’s ready for storytime?”

“What do you mean Tim is afraid I would throw him out?” Bruce pushed even as Jason led them towards one of the desks, “I want to help him with-”

“Yeah I’m gonna stop you there,” Jason cut him off, eyes hard as he set the book down with an uncharacteristic amount of care,“Tim was very offended by what we thought was going on with him and it just made him more sure that all of us were going to leave him behind as his shitty parents did. So let’s just cut to the chase and cool off before he seriously decides to run off before we can go talk to him because I’m pretty sure even after talking to him for twenty minutes, he’s still around seventy-five percent sure that’s going to be a better option than waiting around.”

Jason had never seen the energy of a room shift so fast, the anger and bloodlust that had been suffocating since Dick uncovered the file on Marinette vanished into a deep rippling uncertainty. If there was one unspoken rule of the household, it was that no previous trauma will knowingly be replicated. It’s why Jason always makes a point of leaving his guns in the cave and never points them passed Bruce unless it’s life or death. Why no one touched the trapeze unless Dick was going up with them and they always used a net, no matter how good their aerial skills were. Why no one spoke to Jason in angry or stern Arabic. No one told Damian he was overreacting, especially when it was about illness or injuries.

No one was allowed to make Tim think they were abandoning him.

Dick looked stricken at the very idea, “Jay, why is Tim so scared?”

“Short answer? Tim’s Meta.”

The whole room froze, eyes flying wide, making Jason chuckle, “Yeah that was my response to.”

“How long?” Bruce asked, hand gripping the back of his chair so hard, Jason wondered if he was going to break it.

“From what he said, he was born with his power, it’s always on and pretty impossible for him to block out.”

Damian’s face scrunched, “And father always made it clear that he doesn’t like Metas in Gotham.”

“Fuck,” Dick swore, turning to punch the cave wall, “How the actual shit did we miss this? We’re fucking detectives goddamn it!”

Seeing Dick lose it like that made Jason pause. It was rare to see the carefree brother truly get mad about anything, let alone for him to cuss up a storm, he always did prefer those filler cusses that make the rest of them groan.

But then again Damian looked pained and Bruce was sinking into the Bat-computer chair looking lost as he ran a hand through his hair.

“I never meant it like this,” Bruce whispered, “I just didn’t want anyone else coming to Gotham expecting to be able to fix it overnight. Did I really come off anti-meta?”

“I…” Jason winced, stopping to think, “I never thought so, but I can see how Tim thought you might be. We all need to talk to him, but I promised I’d explain some of this shit like Tim did to me, and look through his book so that we don’t all bombard him with questions.”

The four shared a look before they all surrounded the table as Jason began. He told them of the numbers, the skill Tim had that he never shared. After they opened the book they found that it was more complex than just that.

The entries started off very rudimentary, clearly written by a small child, the dates claiming that Tim began this journal when he was merely six years old. They detailed the color, font, and number of the person he had met. A few of the higher ranks having little ideas next to them on the cause, but as the list grew and the handwriting even outed, there were itemized lists on the reason for each number above a 5.

By the time they reached Bruce’s they were pretty dumbfounded as they read through Tim’s confusion and fear at the number that broke the code he’d knew through his whole life, his reason section was filled with sentences of ideas, instead of the short bullet points, trying to ration it out.

The most confusing part of it was he ruled things out that he couldn’t have known, insider trading and corruption would have been a logical conclusion for him to draw of the Billionaire he knew nothing about but he ruled them out instantly, not even bothering to consider they might be part of the reason.

Not to mention when he actually put it together.

“His power works on broadcasts as well?” Bruce mused, “I know I never saw he was never on the streets when I was out during this time period,”

“Adding it to the list of questions,” Dick said as he typed it out into the sheet he had made when they started asking too many questions only Tim could answer.

“Never mind that,” Damian brushed off, “Look at the traits he listed, all listed at the same time from the looks of the ink but if the date is to be believed, this is from before Todd was debuted as Robin, how did he know you had a mastery in hacking, spoke multiple languages and stunt flight?”

All of them froze at those words, hunching over it to look at the words.

There was no logical way Tim could know any of those things. Most of Batman’s skill set could be guessed through out the rumors and gossip that flew since the caped crusader started his reign of the city, but those skill sets still weren’t widely known to the public.

“I…” Bruce shook his head, “Add it to the list, we have a lot more of the book to get through to worry about this now. We should try and finish the book.

But the issue popped up again and again as the pages went on, each hero he met he knew their skills down to the littlest detail, things he shouldn’t be able to know, especially before he became the third Robin.

He knew Clark was Superman when he met the reporter first.

He knew Diane was made of clay before the woman had ever given away that little tidbit.

He knew that Barry was a wiz when it came to criminology before the speedster had ever given up his identity.

He knew Arthur had low-level empathic abilities that went beyond sea life before Arthur was even considered a hero.

They were only two-third of the way through the book, arguing over how The Commissioner could possibly know their identities, let alone why it would make his number rise so quickly when not even Bruce’s number had done so when he learned the other League member’s identities, when a stern voice cut through their thought.

“Gentlemen, There’s a bit of a situation that Master Tim and I discovered that could use your attention.” Alfred cut in, making them turn, stopping when they saw Tim practically sprint to the Bat computer, pointily looking at the wall to avoid looking at them, his shoulders so tight they shock.

“Tim?” Dick asked, concern dripping from his words as he started towards the younger man only to freeze as Tim visually flinched away from the word, curling inward as he frantically typed away on the keyboard.

Before any of them tried to break the silence again the giant screen lit up to show a battle play out. A young girl dressed in a red and polka-dotted outfit flipping and twisting out of the way of the pages thrown like ninja stars at her, a yoyo used to propel her, eyes filled with laughter behind her mask. Her moves were agile and practiced, as another figure, a boy her same age dressed in skin-tight black leather entered the frame.

“I figured out why Marinette is a 15,” He finally managed out, making the bats’, minus Jason, heads snap to him.

A 15?

The brat couldn’t just have a normal girlfriend, could he?

No, he had to have someone that shattered Tim’s power completely.

And he had no idea why, until now.

They really couldn’t blame him for being obsessive.

“I couldn’t find out why Mari was so powerful,” Tim rambled on, “But Alfred helped me realize that she’s a hero too. A hero with the power of the god of creation on her side, which makes sense for why she completely broke my, uh, my power. She’s been-”

“Tim,”

“-fighting a supervillain,” Tim just continued as if he hadn’t heard Bruce, his voice skipping up a few pitches, “ who also uses the power of a god to help him make others into villains to do his bidding. They’ve been locked in battle for years now. Years! We really should have noticed before now, but better late then never right? Heh, she has some allies though so it’s not like she was fighting on her own or anything, and-”

“Drake,” Damian cut in, ducking past Dick to grab Tim by the shoulder to spin him, staring into his eyes with the type of harsh determination only the demon spawn seemed to be able to, ignoring the quacking fear in Tim’s own eyes, “I am the byproduct of the daughter of one of Father’s greatest enemies drugging him. I was raised will one goal in mind, to be the ultimate weapon to take down all that stood in the way of the League of Assassins, and yet Father, Grayson, Todd, Pennyworth and you gave me safety and taught me why my grandfather was wrong. Todd was murdered by a clown with psychopathic tendencies, was brought back by the magic that my grandfather has a monopoly on, went crazy with Lazarth sickness and thought the best course of action was to become a crimelord in the very city he vowed to protect, going as far as trying to shoot Father, the man he saw as an older brother and you, the boy he was convinced Father had only brought into the circle to die as he had, and yet once the sickness faded Father welcomed back in with open arms, shedding tears for the child he thought he had lost. Father may have made it clear that he’s not a fan of metas operating in the city, but you’re a moron if you believe for a second that means he’s going to disown you or take Red Robin away from you. You’re also lost all my respect if you think this means I or any of the others that dawn the bat moniker are going to feel any different about you for having these powers.”

Tim’s mouth opened and closed several times after Damian’s speech had come to a close as the others waited for him to break the silence of the cave. All he could feel was his hands trembling as his eyes welled up.

Damian was still looking at him before sighing, “You really are an idiot,”

He wanted to retort, wanted to bite out a response as he blinked back the tears but he suddenly found Damian’s arms wrapped around his waist, a tight grounding embrace, the younger boy’s chin resting on his shoulder.

Tim wasn’t sure he was breathing, his whole body shaking like it was trying to shatter into a million pieces. The brat, Damian, the one person he thought would gladly cast him aside given the slightest of reason to was…

“You’re family, Tim,” Damian stern voice cut through his mental frenzy, “If I’ve learned one thing since moving to Gotham, it’s that you don’t give up on family, not for anything, and certainly not for something like this.”

Tim felt something inside him break and the next thing he knew he was sobbing into Damian’s shoulder the pair on their knees in the middle of the cave, gripping Damian back like he thought if he let go the boy would vanish. Slowly as he felt his breathing calm down and his sobs fade he could feel more arms surrounding him. The entire bat family was surrounding him, silently holding him through his breakdown.

He pulled back, scrubbing his eyes as his family slowly untangled from around him.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered, voice scratchy from the tears, “I guess I should have known none of you would hate me but… I’ve been so scared that I’d lose you guys too. I didn’t want to risk it, I couldn’t risk it.”

He flinched slightly when a large hand squeezed his shoulder looking up into Bruce’s eyes, softened by a love that could destroy the world if his child was hurt. A love that none of the Waynes needed to put words to because of looks like this.

Glancing back to his brothers he saw the love in Bruce’s eyes reflected in theirs, all of them accepting him and loving him still.

The weight Tim had carried for as long as he knew to grow lighter as a small smile worked its way onto his face.

His eyes burning with the same intense love for his family back at them.

For the first time in a long time, Tim knew without a doubt

It would be okay.

_______________________________________________________________________

Tim couldn’t stop the whimper from falling from his lips as Marinette’s class came pouring out of the doors of the school.

All of the Wayne boys had decided to surprise Marinette by showing up at her class when it let out, in addition to not wanting to wait to reveal they knew her secret. It wasn’t hard to get all of them to Paris merely days after Tim’s secret came to light, especially since Bruce was planning on checking up on the Paris branch of Wayne Enterprises the following week before everything happened. Expanding the trip last minute to include all of them had taken little effort, and all of their suits were tucked away in their hotel suites, waiting to be dawned once they got Marinette alone.

Tim was ready to turn back now though and for a very good reason.

In the normal sea of threes and fours, normally Marinette stood out with her overwhelmingly soft pink 15, but now...

The tanned girl that had hoards of kids surrounding her had an obnoxious copper 9 floating above her, the font looking like a tiger had scratched it into the very fabric of space.

A trio of students, a bulky boy, a small pink-haired girl, and a dark-skinned nerdy-looking boy, were messing around as pale numbers circled their heads, a pair of stark white 12s over the boys and an icy blue 13 over the girl.

A pair of girls, one blonde and one of Asian descent, were bickering as they made their way down the steps, a canary yellow daintily drawn 14 for the blonde and deep burgundy calligraphed 13 for the more stoic girl.

And the blonde boy Marinette was happily conversing with, looking even more softspoken and sweet than the baker girl.

He had a venomous green 15 swirling over him in it’s rounded bubble-like font.

His brothers glanced at him warily.

“Everything okay Timmy?” Jason asked, eyes flitting over the crowed on instinct, looking for the threat that spooked him.

“I’ll tell you later,” He groaned back, “... but keep an eye on the girl in the orange jacket, she feels slimy from all the way over here,”

His brothers nodded, but even so, Tim felt a migraine coming on.

For once Tim wished for an alien invasion so he didn’t have to deal with this bullshit.

_______________________________________________________________________

Taglist: @vixen-uchiha @iggy-of-fans @mewwitch @roseinbloom02 @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @mochinek0 @royalchaoticfangirl @09shell-sea09 @mystery-5-5 @derpingrainbow @aloha-posts-stuff @hauntedfreakdeputyhero @maribat-archive @blue-peach14 @kae690 @zazzlejazzle @vincentvangoose @be-happy-every-day-please @xxmadamjinxx @celestiacq @peculiarlylostdreamer @dani-ari @melicmusicmagic @themcclan @nyctamaximoff @nataladriana9 @drama-queen-supreme @miraculousbelladonna @urbanpineapplefarmer @graduatedmelon @lexysama @hecate-hallow @ki117h3dr4g0n @vinerlover @interobanginyourmom @bluefiredemon @imanerddealwith @tinybrie @clumsy-owl-4178 @shizukiryuu @whogavemeaninternet @schrodingers25 @lunar-wolf-warrior @urbanpineapplefarmer @xxmadamjinxx @crazylittlemunchkin @littleredrobinhoodlum

#miraculous ladybug #batman #maribat #marinette dupain cheng #Tim Drake #meta!tim #BatFam #Damian Wayne #dick grayson #Jason Todd #bruce wayne #Alfred Pennyworth #miraculous class #numbers AU #Tim is so tired

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iphoenixrising · 5 years

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For 900 Followers! Dr!Tim: Arkham Breakout

So, there was once upon a time this Ask aaaaand then this Ask. Then babe asked how things are going for a certain Dr. Drake, so...you know, it’s really a standard Wednesday when he’s literally caught in the middle of a massive Arkham breakout :D

Some day, he’s really going to have to reevaluate his life choices.

Volunteering for rounds at Arkham Asylum is definitely going to be on the list for review.

Sure, at the time, no one else from Mercy General was stepping up to volunteer (honestly, you’d have to be a patient here to willingly step up for this assignment. It’s fine, he’s been called worse).

Sure, he might have gotten friendly with some of the less insanely deranged inmates because really, considering how many times some of them had come through his ER to be patched up after a confrontation with one of the Bats, it was only a matter of time before they knew him by name.

Sure, he actually started to like wandering around the halls, talking with the inmates when they weren’t clutching stab wounds, contusions, and broken everything.

Sure, he might have been doing some side research on MacGregor's Syndrome (just some fun with genetics and incurable diseases), so the guards let him talk with Victor Fries a few times. And though short, their conversations were amazing, giving him a second thought about cryogenics.

Sure, maybe he enjoyed sitting outside Poison Ivy’s cell to ask her questions about her publication on cellular regeneration in plant hybrids.

(He brought her a sad, droopy orchid in thanks. She was actually smiling when he left, so he’s already got a resource when he needs it.)

Sure, he didn’t think it was dangerous enough to mention it to Dick or Jay.

The sounds through the Bluetooth in his ear, the lowly muttered curses from the Red Hood, the muffled boot falls, the rev of a massive engine, all of it is soothing in the fact they’re on the way to help him out here. Ass-kicking vigilantes for the win. But, still.

He’s well aware there’s going to be some conversations about why the hell he’s in Arkham in the first place once this is all over.

None if it makes him feel any better about the current sitch, not when the Joker, Scarecrow, Mr. Freeze, the Clock King, and Poison Ivy are moving through Arkham Asylum’s cafeteria, looking like a whole lot of shit has hit the proverbial fan in the works.

How do I keep getting myself in these situations? Is the real question here.

But Dr. Drake just focuses on the emergency at hand, fumbling through his doctor’s bag for more gauze with one bloody glove since what he’s pressing against the awkward stab in Jim Newman’s belly is already saturated, and his other hand is in mid-stitch.

He gives a customary glance to where the Mad Hatter is rolling around on the floor after someone took out his face with one of the trays.

The mashed potato mess is going to be such a pain in the ass to clean up later. Tim is pretty sure the perpetrator is one of the Hatter’s previously employed thugs, probably pissed off his 401-K got cancelled when the last heist didn’t really pan out.

Really, bad guys don’t have good medical insurance. Shouldn’t that just be, you know, a requirement?

He stays hiding behind his circle of protectors with the snatch-and-stich, most of whom are still tensely watching the progression of the Rogue Gallery through the general population, probably wondering if even one of those crazy fucks has some kind of mind-altering drug, high-test explosive, or some other painful way to die hiding in their jumpsuits.

Tim tries to make it fast, feels the pressure of the situation just by glancing down at Jim’s terrified eyes rolling back while he gets his side sewn back together without general anesthesia. It probably beats bleeding out all over the floor, but Tim knows that’s little consolation. At least the scar won’t be too bad.

(Probably.)

The guard with the nasal fracture in the circle with them is crouching low, fingering his side arm, looking pretty on the edge of terrified himself at the group of other guards with their hands up, prodded in the back with their own guns by some inmates that have obviously chosen crazy to side with.

Perfect.

They’re probably all going to die.

“Well, well, boys. We have a golden opportunity here,” the Clown Prince of Crime chorts with his sickening smile, makes Tim literally cringe with two more to go.

Even if his hands are shaking and the comm in his ear blanks out because they must be on the way (please, God, let them be on the way), Tim is quiet about it when he presses a fresh gauze pad from the already opened package and tapes that sucker in place without drawing too much attention to himself.

Mike Monohan, an inmate in his circle of protectors, plays a mean game of Uno, and flicks his fist open to a flat hand, the international sign for stay back and shut up.

Staying back and shutting the hell up it is.

“We could have so much fun now that we have the Warden here with us,” the Joker is saying, gesturing to the narrow-eyed Warden thrown down on the floor, right on top that wasted pasta salad.

While the rest of the formerly-fighting, raging inmates are wary and listening, Tim crab-walks back, finger over his mouth aimed at Jim. Sliding his arms under the inmate’s, he slowly, quietly, starts pulling his patient back in short bursts, trying to get them under a table without catching anyone’s eyes.

Dr. Crane has found his mask, is pacing around the frozen inmates and guards with the creepy mask, and the Clock King is standing behind the Joker like some kind of Enforcer.

Dr. Fries is leaning against the wall in his suit, the freeze gun holstered.

Dr. Isley is close to him, the two of them talking low whenever the Joker’s back is turned.

Harvey Dent shoves the Warden down on the floor, gives him a very pointed No moving, or it’s curtains for you.

Shauna Belzer waits serenely behind the Joker, the sock puppet on her hand snickering, eyeing the inmates over his shoulder.

Temple Fugate is tapping his foot impatiently, the glint by his right side is a pocket watch.

The inmate’s face is almost white with the effort to slide under the heavy table, even with Tim to help push him under.

“Fun, boss?” One of the inmates eagerly pushes through the frozen crowd, “is it the kinda fun what might break us outta here?”

“Chucko!” The Clown seems happy to see his previous henchmen, and from his point crouching by the edge of the table, Tim can see that sick smile gets wider. “If you aren’t a sight for sore eyes.”

“Hiya, boss,” the orange-clad henchmen seems just as happy to see the villain, “M’ sorry Mister Joker, but the cops took away my mask.”

“That’s all right, Chucko! The Gotham City Police never did have much of a sense of humor, but we’re all going to have a little fun before we break out of here anyway, huh huh huh.” It’s kind of sick how the Joker pats the henchmen on top the head like a dog, even worse considering the henchmen grins dopily back.

“As long as we stay on our time table,” Fugate interjects, “we have approximately one hour and thirty-seven minutes before the next shift arrives. Less if anyone makes it to the control room and radios for help. The, we will have Police and Special Forces descend upon us. Not to mention the Bat and his brats.”

“Hu-hu-hu, I guess you’ll have to keep an eye on the time, then, won’t you, Tempy?”

The Ventriloquists’ sock scrunches up, “we need to be out of here as soon as possible, Clown. I have a very important person to pick-up out of a locker in the bus station.” Which explains the sock instead of the creepy puppet, Ferdie.

Two-Face sneers at the circle of inmates effectively shielding the shaky doctor from first glance, turns to look at the gathering of other super villains, “I want out of this shit-show, Joker. I don’t get out, you are gonna have a bad fucking time on the inside. Any questions?”

But unruffled as ever, the Clown Prince of Crime just smiles at the group, eyes taking in the terror from half of the inmates, “of course, of course, Harv. We all want out, don’t we? And we’re going to do just that!...After we have play a little game with the Warden and his numbskull guards. Won’t that be worth sticking around?”

A hand tugs at Dr. Drake’s scrubs, and he glances down at the injured inmate, his eyes probably wide and terrified as he feels hearing the Joker talk about shit like games–

(Not fun for the whole family. Really, just your faces getting cut off, no big deal.)

“– gotta get to the infirmary and hide,” Jim hisses up at him, “who knows what they’ll do to ya. All of ‘em are nuts.”

“I can’t just leave,” he whispers back, eyes for the real problems here.

“Doc, there’s nothin’ you can do against these guys. They’re the real deal, and they will straight up murder you. I work for Two-Face, and you don’t wanna dick around with him.”

He’s listening, but his eyes are all for Fugate helping Jervis Tetch to his feet, trying to see if he’d broken his face in the first round of rioting–

And the idea, the plan, on how he could get everyone in this cafeteria out of this alive is right in his brain pan. Risky, but really the only shot he can think of.

“Stay down no matter what,” he tells Jim, pats the inmate’s hand gripping the hem of his scrub top, “I think I’ve got a way out of this.”

His legs shaking, knees knocking, Tim pulls away from Jim’s grip and takes a few steps closer to the inmates hiding him. He pockets the comm in his ear, leaving it on for when his vigilante boyfriends might actually make an appearance.

He takes a deep, trembly breath, watches intently as Fries walks over to look at what is obviously a very broken face.

“He probably has a nasal fracture,” Tim says loudly, cringing internally when everyone, everyone turns and stares right at him. “I’m a doctor. I can help.”

Mike is glaring at him, eyes narrowing in displeasure that he gave himself away, but, you know, thwarting break-out attempts means he needs to be able to move around the baddies.

None of that stops the painful lurch in his chest when that sick grin is absurdly delighted.

“Oh! I guess that answers that question, doesn’t it?” The Joker throws his head back to start laughing.

“What question?” One of the inmates interrupts the maniacal peals of laughter, looking around confused.

The shiny barrel, one of the guard’s side pieces, goes off like a bomb exploding, and the body drops with a hard thud in the sudden silence.

“That’ll teach you. Never ruin the punchline!”

And that sickeningly delighted grin turns on him, the barrel with a whisp of smoke still curling from the barrel.

“And as for you, well, I suppose there is a doctor in the house!” The laughter is loud and manic, echoing off the walls, a cacophony of insanity.

But.

Tim sees Victor Fries straighten noticeably, and hopes that maybe he can play his cards right to avoid getting himself killed.

“This is really going to hurt. There might be pain meds in the Infirmary, but I have no idea. I’m not permanent staff here,” he tells Jervis Tetch and Temple Fugate, gloved up at, looking critically at the mess that is currently the Mad Hatter’s face. “We can also check if they have a portable X-Ray because you are seriously going to need it.”

Tim clicks off the penlight and palpates the swollen area gently, “from what I can tell without any secondary evidence to support it, is you have a crack in the maxillary, which is why your eye is almost swollen shut. Yes, the swelling will go down, but cracking a bone this close to your eye could mean shards are going to cause more problems than you would want to deal with if you like being able to see.”

And even if the Mad Hatter is–

One. Scary. Mind-Controlling. Psychopath.

– his squashed face is obviously panicked.

“If you are a doctor as you say, then you will fix it – or you shall pay.”

“Mr. Tetch, I don’t know if Arkham is even equipped to do major surgery. Without the right tools, I could run the risk of permanently blinding you.”

He finally releases the swollen area, completely bullshitting with a straight face and intense eyes (he’s done more complex surgeries in a few back alleys and rooftops, but no one really needs to know those details), pointedly takes the villain’s pulse while glancing at his watch.

“Not to even mention your risk of infection here. Considering the number of organic material that could get into an incision on your face, it’s too much of a risk here at Arkham. There’s a reason why the Warden stopped allowing major surgery on inmates twenty years ago. One of them being nearly impossible to keep a sterile enough room in tact after the many escape attempts.”

Temple Fugate makes a strangled noise he covers up with a cough.

“Next issue is appropriate staffing. You’ve got RN’s, psychiatrists, one other medical doctor. But to be honest with you, Dr. Isley would be the best choice to keep you under during general anesthesia, taking her knowledge of chemicals into account, I mean. But, we run the risk of infection since her current state was caused by a combination of pesticides. That is not enough people to assist during major surgery and monitor your vitals while you’re under. If you code while you’re on my table, I don’t have enough qualified people to bring you back.”

While the Mad Hatter goes pale, blinking his good eye, Tim folds his arms over his chest and gives the villain his most sincere look.

“Your best bet to save vision in that eye is to take two inmates in an Ambulance and have them drop you at the hospital. They can say you got in a fight and the on-call here told them to get you to Gotham General immediately. Their OR has more state-of-the-art equipment than Mercy, and they could reconstruct your ethmoid flawlessly.”

He breaks a disposable ice pack and works it with his gloved hands, gently applies it to the area, and picks up the villain’s limp hand to hold it himself.

Jervis tries to slouch his eyebrows down, but flinches at the pain radiating from his injury, holds the ice pack tighter.

“After all those fights with the Bats, this certainly won’t be my last.” The neuroscientist mutters to himself, “Very well, Doctor, I’ll take my business into the city as you suggest, but don’t think this gets you any immunity from that pest.” And well meaning head nod to the Joker, gun still at his side while the Warden of Arkham is tied to a support pole in the center of the cafeteria.

“Perish the thought,” he closes up his doctor’s bag, giving the villain a wave before going back to where the inmates injured in the dinnertime scuffle were laid out on tables waiting for him. He figures it’s fine because he’s pretty sure he know how to handle that guy.

(Again.)

He leaves Fugate and Tetch to talk out the details, relieved neither of them realizing he dropped the tiny tracking device from his stethoscope in the band of Tetch’s hat when he turned the villain’s face to look closely at his injury.

He’s on his way to his next emergency because Jim is breathing hard and rapidly losing color, surrounded by four other inmates, but the dangerous gangster slash lawyer hovering by Jim’s hand is the real danger, not the muck they call potato salad still painting the walls.

“All right, let me through,” while he’s sliding between Rodney the Hammer (for obvious reasons) and poker-playing macrame enthusiast, Big Earl McCalister (a name from Jay’s life in the Narrows).

He re-gloves, puts his Arkham-specific bag down by Jim’s shoulder and unwinds the steth to check the usuals.

“Doc,” is the deep rasp of Two-Face’s I’m not happy tone. “This is one of my guys, you get me?”

“Read you like a book,” he replies without looking up, checking the skin around his stitches, “none of that changes the fact I don’t have what I need to help him.”

Tim curses softly, eyes going to Jim’s, noting the profuse sweating. The blade went in at least two inches, so they could be looking at intestinal perforation, which he is in no way equipped to handle in the fucking cafeteria of Arkham Asylum. He could possibly do a peritoneal lavage verify fluid out of his bowel is spilling into his abdominal cavity, but the slight swelling and discoloration are sure signs Jim needs laparoscopic surgery.

Now.

“I need you to listen to me,” he starts haltingly, but a hand on his forearm stops Dr. Drake cold.

Like he’s in a horror movie, his eyes go to where Two-Face has leaned over the injured thug on the table, and the ruined side of his face is prominent enough for him to see the excessive scarring.

“Yer gonna tell us what you need to take care of my man here,” is a not-fucking-around kind of dangerous, making Tim suck in a deep, deep breath just to try and keep himself calm.

(They’re on their way. They’re coming for him. They wouldn’t leave him here.)

“He needs an actual hospital with medical staff,” falls out of his mouth firmly, “I don’t have the people or equipment or the surgical staff I need to operate on him here. What I can tell you is that his lower intestines have probably been punctured, and he’s going to die of sepsis shock in less than an hour if we can’t get him into an OR.”

The sickly yellow eye narrows on him, assessing, and the pilfered gun in the gangster's other hand makes a soft click.

“There’s an ambulance here somewhere. Arkham has one for emergencies. Your guys can take it to Gotham General and no one would be the wiser,” Tim shrugs and looks back down at his patient. “As is, you can threaten me all you want, but attempting surgery here, is only going to end up in infection and probably death. I have no supplies of blood, IV fluids, antibiotics, or qualified staff. The nurses and MDs you do have here are good, but not trained at all for major abdominal surgery. There’s no way I can open him up and repair the perforation without killing him.”

And it’s a tense moment when Tim finally looks up at the gangster’s face, his own jaw set

“Then we gotta get ‘im out,” and Two-Face looks down at Jim Newman’s face.

Jim, eyes glassy with pain, reaches out a bloody hand, “ ‘Face?”

“Yeah, yeah. No worries, Jimmy. We’re gonna take care a’ ya.” And in what is an impossible-to-predict move, the burned side of the gangster’s face tries to lift up in a half-smile.

“M-My little Tracey, ‘Face. If I don’t–”

“Hey,” and it’s Tim drawing the sluggish eyes, “we’re going to get you taken care of, right?” And he glances up at Two-Face, swallowing hard, but keeping his gaze steady.

“Yeah,” the mass murderer looks back at him, an assessing something in his bulging eye, “yeah, we are. You, Doc, you gonna tell my man Vinnie what ‘cha need, and he’s gonna get it.”

The hulking thug still in his orange jumpsuit steps up to Jim’s side while Two-Face makes his exit, going straight for the laughing mad man gleefully shoving pies in the Warden’s face.

“Is your real name Vinnie?” Because honestly, his mouth is going to get him every damn time.

The thug just smiles.

Welp, okay then. “I need a gurney to transport him to the ambulance. I’m going to check his wound and re-wrap it.”

He’s already reaching in the bag for more gauze pads, pulling back the layers he’d already applied, checks the skin around the stitches, wishes he had a cuff to get Jim’s systolic pressure but estimates it’s down to 80 and dropping.

All it takes is for Vinnie to nod and two lackeys are scrambling to get down to the infirmary.

“Thought...thought I told ya ta get gone, Doc,” Jim wheezes, gritting his teeth as Tim gentle presses just his fingertips against the slight swell.

“Couldn’t leave you,” he replies without looking away.

After long seconds when he hurriedly pulls a syringe and antibiotic, hoping to give them some time then scrambles for a notepad and pen, scribbles instructions quickly while muttering aloud, “administered augmentin...probable perforation of intestine or bowel…”

He scribbles something at the very bottom and tears the paper off his notepad, slides it in Jim’s jumpsuit pocket.

“Make sure the ER doctors get that. It tells them what I’ve already given you so they don’t mix other antibiotics or painkillers.”

He pointedly ignores the fight breaking out between Two-Face and the Joker, but notices Vinnie turns completely away to watch the proceeding shouting match ending in guns pointed at other another.

“Fuckin’ stand down Clown, or I’m gonna make ya a stain.”

“C’mon Harve! Where’s your sense of humor? Ha ha ha haaa!”

“He’s going to get us out of here you ass!” Crane shoves his creepy mask right in Two-Faces peripheral, something probably dangerous clenched in the fist behind his leg.

“We can get ourselves out,” Belzer replies serenely, “we’ve all done it before after all.”

“That means we need to get going,” Fugate is pulling Tetch along with an arm over his shoulder, the other holding the ice pack against his face. The pocket watch makes an appearance, and Tim tapes fresh gauze pads down, mentally preparing to roll Jim off the table and shove it over if bullets start flying.

(Please, please, please hurry.)

Vinnie seems to get the tension suddenly in the room, milling inmates all freezing in place, eyes for the boatload of crazy in the center of the cafeteria by the salad bar.

“But we were just starting to have some fun!” The Joker almost screams, gesturing wildly with the gun to the hacking Warden.

“As usual,” Dr. Isley sighs, calmly walking in the middle of the two villains in the middle of the showdown, “you aren’t using your brain.”

“C’mon Red! I know you want to get out and visit our little Harl, but we have a golden opportunity here!”

Tim sucks in a hard breath when Dr. Isley’s eyes narrow dangerously, and oh God, oh God, oh God.

His eyes dart to the corner of the salad bar where Dr. Fries is leaning, the goggles over his eyes not showing at all what he’s thinking. But, but, Tim notices the ice gun is not longer in the holster at the side of his leg, instead it’s in hand with the doctor’s finger on the trigger.

A subtle shift, upper body moving because that suit has got to be heavy, and Tim isn’t imagining Dr. Fries is looking right at him around the Joker’s back.

Tim’s eyes shift down to his patient, muscles tightening in preparation for something.

“That’s enough,” is robotic through the suit’s speakers, kind of like Jay’s syths Tim thinks crazily when his heart starts to pick up when the Joker tilts his chin down and narrows his eyes right back at Poison Ivy and Two-Face.

If he wasn’t suddenly terrified about a Rogue Gallery Throw-Down, he would be fanboying right through the mashed potatoes.

“Stay out of it, Freeze Pop,” the Joker’s voice is low and utterly fucking terrifying.

“This accomplishes nothing but waste precious time,” Freeze deadpans, “it gives us less time to get far enough away from the Batman.”

“Oh, that’s easy enough to remedy!” And the Joker straightens, easily lowers the gun, smiling right at Two-Face’s shiny .45. “We just take some hostages along for the ride.”

Because, of fucking course, the Joker’s head swings over to stare him right the fuck down.

“Especially Gotham’s little darling, here! Why my stars and garters! I believe it’s the indomitable Doctor Drake! AH HA HA HA HA HA HAAA!”

And his heart jumps right up into his throat, choking him on his next breath.

Leaning to talk out of the corner of his mouth, the Joker’s eyes are all for the frozen civilian, “He was on the news, Harve, remember? The little do-gooder on the bridge.” The low drop of the Joker’s tone on that word, on bridge, hits Two-Face in the right way, making the gangster’s attention shift.

(Oh shit. This is bad, getting more bad, getting so, so, so bad.)

“That was you?” The other gun falls and Two-Face turns on him while the Joker is doing that cliche steeple-fingers-and-look-insane kind of thing, and that just really makes him want to take a step back. He should probably run, but it’s more likely Two-Face would shoot him in the back if he tried, so he’s got no other choice but to improvise.

With the copper taste in the back of his mouth, with the possibility he’s about to die horribly depending on the level of utter crazy in the room right now, Tim Drake straightens his spine, crosses his shaky arms to hide the fact.

“There were children, Mr. Dent. Children that didn’t deserve to die on a collapsing bridge.”

Jim Newman tenses on the table under him, still going pale, still on a ticking clock, and some of the other inmates are cowering back. The Ventriloquist looks eager to see what happens, her sock puppet whispering in her ear; Scarecrow, the Mad Hatter, and Clock King are looking at him intently, uncomfortably so. Poison Ivy sighs and arches a put-upon brow.

“I patched people up and put them in cars to get off the bridge. Your bombs did what they were supposed to do,” is more accusatory than he feels. “I just tried to keep the victim count down.”

“The other one didn’t go off. You have something ta do with that, Doc?” The question suddenly very, very important to how the next six seconds are going to go.

So Tim calculates what he’s going to say for a split second, “I was being hit with debris and pulling little girls out of cars,” which is true, “I only saw the Batman for a few minutes, and I didn’t have anything to do with another bomb.” Mostly true. B already knew it was Two-Face before Tim ever got a surprise ride on the Batplane courtesy of the blood-loss-and-shock express.

The new train leaving the station is I-might-die-in-Arkham-Asylum.

All Aboard

“Now Harve,” the Joker starts, tisking.

“Shut-up, Clown,” because the glint is the famous coin appearing in Dent’s unblemished hand.

Some crazy instinct makes him step away from the gurney, eyes all for the inevitable flip, hoping, praying his luck is going to hold out long enough to get a message out to the ER staff and stall long enough to keep them here until the vigilantes make a dashing, in-the-nick-of-time entrance, and really just save the day.

(Please please please save the day.)

“Got a fifty-fifty chance, Doc. I’m hoping ya got some extra luck.”

His breath gets caught in his chest at the twing when the coin rolls off Two-Face’s thumb into the air, is hyper-focused in the moment, doesn’t even notice Victor Fries straightening from his slouch to watch the proceedings. Fixes his eyes on the palm of that ruined hand–

–and the arm holding the gun slowly, surely rising.

The coin doesn’t make it back to that hand, gets slapped out of the air instead, and the gangster actually chokes.

“You-you son of a–!”

“Harve, Harve,” and for the first time, Dr. Drake can say he’s seen the Joker actually frowning, miffed that his plan is going sideways, anger simmering under the insanity, but it just goes to show he’s special kind of psychopath when he stretches his neck out to put his face less than an inch from the ruin side of Two-Face’s, and smile.

It’s telling how the Joker doesn’t even flinch at the cold rage across from him.

“He has more potential in the ‘hostage’ category, than the ‘dead’ category, Harve, and we need a nice little nest egg.” One white finger carelessly, comically pushes the barrel of the gun down to the ground with that sickening grin in place. “You and I both know–”

The he-he-he literally makes Tim’s skin crawl.

“–those caped do-gooders roll over for a nice hostage.”

The stare-down is like something you read about– the Joker is intense while Two-Face glares silently back, that yellow eye fixed.

The inmates around the Rogue Gallery are shifting, trying to stay out of the way in case the guns come back into play, and everything Dr. Drake has been trying to do seems to go immediately, irrevocably sideways.

The stand-off is interrupted when one of the inmates hurriedly scoops up the coin and brings it back, holding the scratched surface up, presenting it like a gift.

Two-Face doesn’t bother looking at the inmate, just snatches the coin, eyes narrowing on the Joker’s grin.

“As much as I fucking hate you, Clown, you got a point. We’re gonna need some leverage.”

“Oh, you flatterer. You don’t have to hate so much that I’m right, hu hu hu. Good! Now we can get this show back on the road and execute the Warden, right?”

The childish stomp jars Tim out of panicky brain-freeze, lets him suck in a choking breath at the crazily entertaining back-and-forth, and his knees wobble a little in weakening relief.

(He keeps himself calm by running through the last year of crazy shit he’s gotten his hands into since he’s been dating certain adorable, entertaining, and very, very late, vigilantes. He’s been up against some of these psychopaths, ninjas, and is the go-to guy for every kind of strange alien bacteria Booster Gold could possibly pick-up during his travels.)

Out of his peripheral, he sees Dr. Fries slouch back, head turned and looking at him, utterly unreadable with the goggles and glass dome.

The Ventriloquist, however, is pouting like she’s missing out on a good show. Great. At least someone wants to see him dead in the next few minutes.

“You have approximately forty-five minutes before the next shift will begin showing up for work,” Temple Fugate inserts, “and we need people to drive our Hatter friend to the hospital along with Dent’s right-hand man. It’s a perfect cover to get us through the gates without alerting authorities. Thus, whatever you intend to do, do it now.”

The impatience draws the Scarecrow’s attention, “expediency is preferable, ladies and gentlemen. I still have reserves hidden in Gotham, and I don’t need Bats on me before I get to them.”

“Fantastic!” The Joker laughs loudly, back arched, “then we get to–” and he spins on the heel of his spat, finger out to point at the Warden still tied up in the center of the cafeteria, pie remnants dripping off him.

But the Joker trails off with a “eww,” when the Warden is obviously gasping for air, his lips turning an unnatural shade of blue.

Like his life wasn’t hanging in the balance a few seconds ago, Tim snatches up his bag without looking away from the distressed Warden and takes off around the table while the guys waiting for Vinnie’s signal with the gurney move in to load up Jim Newman.

He skirts around the inmates, and already has his stethoscope in his ears, listening to the sickening sound of arrhythmia.

“He’s going into cardiac arrest!” Tim turns to shout at the gathered criminals, and his eyes slide up to the panicked Warden.

“...heart attack...last year,” the Warden gasps weakly, leaning into the ropes.

The Joker sputters, “I can’t kill him if he’s already dying! Where’s the fun in that?!”

And it’s a terrifying moment when the villain stalks up next to him to glare in the distressed Warden’s face, pointing a finger like he’s berating a naughty child.

“You’d better not shuffle off this mortal coil until I have the perfect joke to send you out!”

Tim ignores the villain fairly vibrating with anger, and keeps calculating, rooting around in his bag for a similar medication to the one he gave Nightwing back when the fear gas almost killed him, one that will help thin the blood and hopefully make sure the Warden survive the night.

He fills the syringe and quickly injects the Warden in the side of the throat, not bothering to waste time untying him to look for a vein.

“This medication is hopefully going to put him back to a normal rhythm,” Tim fills in as Dr. Crane, Dr. Isley, and Dr. Fries join their little pow-wow. “I don’t know any of his history to know if this is going to even work–”

Dr. Fries gets closer to the Warden, goggles seemingly fixed on his face, “do you have a history of arrhythmia, or a family history of heart problems?”

Still gasping for air, the Warden just nods.

“Give me a few details,” the villain demands. “Start with your parents.”

To Tim’s surprise, Dr. Isley and Dr. Crane listen intently to the Warden’s details about his family medical history while Tim keeps two fingers on the Warden’s pulse and listens closely, hoping the uneven pitter-patter evens out to at least under 100 beats per minute.

“I doubt they have an echocardiogram here,” Crane snarks to Isley when the Warden is gasping and Fries turns to a random inmate, demanding water and aspirin immediately.

“Of course not,” Dr. Isley sighs with a shake of her head, “anything more involved than a bandage is too much for these nitwits to handle.”

Multitasking like a boss, Tim looks at the biologist, psychologist, and geneticist over his shoulder, “there’s not even an electrocardiogram here to monitor his sinus rhythm. There might be defibs in the infirmary if we hit worst case scenario–”

“Those were removed the last time we broke out,” Scarecrow shrugs nonchalantly. “I think someone used it on a guard.”

Ivy steps up, fingers moving in a gimmie motion until Tim hands over his stethoscope. “It’s still faster than 100 per minute. What was that you injected? Beta blockers?”

“Yes, Dr. Isley,” he accepts his stethoscope back, not mentioning how there was a little more than just Beta blockers in that syringe.

“Good,” and she turns back to her fellow non-medical doctors that seem to have opinions on treatments. “If they get him to Gotham General in time, they can perform–”

“For now, we must get him down and elevate his feet. The staff can take necessary measures from there,” Fries is already behind the Warden, untying the ropes. “It will give them time to escape without impeding treatment.”

“Agreed,” Crane and Isley turn together and very pointedly stalk toward the mass of inmates still standing around the cafeteria waiting for how this little sitch is going to pan out.

The Joker and Two-Face flank them, making it an utterly terrifying meeting of bad guys.

“Listen up,” Crane makes a terrifying figure even still in his orange jumpsuit. “You are going to let the medical staff treat the Warden. If any of us find out he died, then there is going to be a reckoning.”

The Joker’s laugh punctuates the severity of the message.

“We’re the ones that get to kill him, understand? And once he’s back to his normal, healthy self, we’ll give this another go!”

“Until then,” Poison Ivy’s eyes glint dangerously, “we expect everyone to behave.”

Tim is helping Dr. Fries lay the Warden on his back, “since when has everyone been moonlighting as MDs?” He asks breathlessly while Ivy heards the full-time medical staff away from the general population and closer to the panting Warden.

“You would be surprised how much time one has for reading in here,” Fries fills in. “On a different note, I am impressed with your latest article on McGregor’s Syndrome.” Fries holds a hand down to help him stand, “Nora’s case is too far advanced, but your preliminary findings are exciting nonetheless.”

Shaky, Tim allows the medical staff he’s familiar with take over with the Warden and accepts Dr. Fries’ hand. “Everything is based off your research, so really, I’m the one that should be grateful for your help.”

The supervillain makes a humming noise and squeezes his hand, “whatever you do,” is low, just between the two of them, “do not antagonize any of them. You will make it out of this alive if you are careful, Dr. Drake.”

The hysterical laughter bubbling up in his chest really has nothing to do with things that are hilarious.

“Staying alive is my top goal tonight,” but the bravado doesn’t cover up how badly his hands are shaking.

“We shall see if you manage to accomplish it,” Fries deadpans as the huddle of supervillains breaks up.

While he’d been assessing the Warden, Jim Newman has been loaded onto the gurney, already prepped for the ambulance ride, and the Mad Hatter’s ice pack finally melted, so he’s really feeling the need to be in a hospital with plenty of nice narcotics.

“We are out of time,” Fugate flips his watch closed, facing the rest of the escaping Rogue Gallery, “we leave now or risk getting caught.”

“Well, when you put it that way–” and the Joker turns on him, reaches out to wrap bony fingers around Tim’s wrist, clenching down tight. “I suppose you’re out of time too, right Doc?”

Two-Face has no problem getting close enough that Tim can see the residual scarring, can trace the deep grooves, wonder if a second try at plastic surgery would be helpful or destructive at this juncture in the supervillain’s life. “You don’t make trouble, you’ll see tomorrow. We have an understanding here?”

“Yes,” he replies breathlessly in the face of two utterly terrifying murderers. “I’m going to do what you say.”

“Stay smart and I’m not gonna have to flip for you again.”

And as Tim manages to snatch his doctor’s bag while he’s pulled behind members of the Rogue Gallery, he closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath, hopes Dick and Jay can follow wherever in the hell the villains are taking him.

Which is to the ambulance bay where two rigs and a car with Arkham Asylum on it are housed. He almost facepalms when the keys are hanging up on a wall hook.

Temple Fugate is already dressed in EMT clothing while Crane takes off his mask to put on another set as Jervis Tetch and Jim Newman are loaded in the back.

Shuna Belzer hops in the driver’s seat of the other ambulance while Tim is shoved up into the rear by Joker and Two-Face. Dr. Isley and Dr. Fries join him, sitting on the opposite bench with the empty gurney between them.

“Now, now, good Doctor,” the Joker’s manic grin is even creepier in the lighting, the madman holding the doors almost closed. “If you try to misbehave, our Plant Queen and Freezy Pop are going to have to spank you for being naughty. And trust me, kid. You don’t want that kind of spanking.”

Tim’s eyes are wide as the doors close, his chest getting tight when the Joker locks him in, and for the first time since this whole mess started, his eyes feel heavy and hot without an emergency to focus on (but he still has a plan). All he can do is blink rapidly, try to stop it before it starts, before he gets a little hysterical about everything.

(What if they just leave you here?)

At this juncture, he has no idea what their plans are for him, if he’s riding along just to get shot in the head and left in a ditch somewhere outside Gotham City limits, or if the nice psychopaths really might let him go.

With all of them, it’s a 50/50 really.

(A toss of Two-Face’s coin...)

So he doesn’t feel bad leaning over, bracing his forearms on his knees, one hand over his eyes to keep Dr. Fries and Dr. Isley from seeing it while the ambulance roars to life and jerks forward.

“You did well back there,” Poison Ivy’s voice floats over his head, makes him look up with his nose still pink and eyes still watery. “Most doctors are intimidated around criminals like us. You are...a refreshing change.”

“Everyone is a person when they’re sick or injured,” he replies lightly, scrubbing at his face.

He doesn’t see her mouth curl up in a smile. “Criminal or not doesn’t matter in my line of work.”

“He is quite accomplished,” Fries isn’t looking at either of them, idly staring out the windows in the ambulance doors. “Anyone taking on genetics would have to be.”

“Hm,” Dr. Isley hums, “a simple medical doctor also taking on genetics–”

“Botany isn’t that much different,” he defends lightly, eyes narrowed.

It’s telling when the terrifying criminal leans forward, one fist braced on her knee, and draws him in with the history of Physiology and the mind-blowing chlorokinesis.

She pauses when he calls her Dr. Isley respectfully when he disagrees, and eventually even Dr. Fries joins them on the discussion when they move to microbiology.

It’s close enough to talking with colleagues that he almost forgets about the whole hostage thing for a few minutes while the ambulance rolls down from the mountains and splits ways with the other rig going toward Gotham General while their rig is heading toward Midtown, probably to pick up that puppet the Ventriloquist was yelling about.

He’s in the middle of arguing mitosis with Dr. Fries when the obvious sirens cut through the air. The ambulance jerks forward, accelerating.

Tim doesn’t hit the floor, but only just.

Dr. Fries opens the small window to the front, “what is going on?”

“We’ve been made, Tasty Freeze,” the Joker snarls with the EMT cap pulled over his forehead. “Someone ratted us out!”

“Step on it, Bells. Get us gone,” Tim hears Two-Face saying.

The sock puppet on her hand turns to look back at Fries. “Might wanna buckle up, kids! It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

In a creepy movement, Fries and Isley turn to him.

“Sit down down and hold on,” Isley tells him, wiggling her fingers. Something up her sleeve moves, worms down her hand and fingers while Tim watches with clinical curiosity.

Tim gasps, watching the small plant growing under her mental coaxing, the long stem dividing, wrapping around the bolted legs of the bench he’s sitting on and form a makeshift harness around his shoulders and chest.

When he expects the vines to be thorny and coarse, terrifyingly restrictive, it’s actually kind of okay. The plant is warm and alive almost a heartbeat against his chest and arms, securing him to the bench.

The sirens on their ambulance start to wail and the Ventriloquist shoves her foot on the gas to make the rig lurch and speed faster, dodging around traffic.

“Where are you going?!” He can hear the Joker shriek, “the docks are that way!”

“I told you,” is the nasally voice of the sock puppet. “We’re going to get Ferdie first!”

“Oh no,” Dr. Isley mutters a second too late.

Because the Joker reaches over and jerks the wheel out of the Ventriloquists hands, yelling “getting away from the cops first, idiot!” and the ambulance careens sideways, skittering across the busy highway and smashing into a sedan minding its own business, and a tire on the rig blows while the villains in the front are fighting over control.

So Tim expects the rig to to smash into something, maybe even flip over and skitter across the pavement while the plants keep him from being thrown all over the back. He doesn’t expect Poison Ivy to lunge across the empty gurney just before the ambulance is airborne, throwing her arms around him, and shoving his face in her shoulder to protect him from the next few minutes of grinding metal and breaking glass.

The side of the ambulance splits on impact, twisting metal cuts through the vines holding him, severing the makeshift harness, and not even the remaining tendril could keep him and Dr. Isley from being thrown out of the rig onto the hot Gotham street.

The jolt of the landing drives the breath out of him, is when he slams his head hard enough that moving immediately is a real bad idea. The road rash is going to be shitty, but the blood in his eyes and woozy quality to life once he can raise his head probably means he’s just hit concussion city.

“D-Dr. Isley? Dr. Fries?” Sounds rough from his throat, sounds choked.

He’s dizzy when he pushes himself up, trying to keep from vomiting at the abrupt turn his stomach takes when he sits up, blinks at the the too-bright street lights.

Dr. Isley is laying a few feet from him on her side, breathing but not moving.

“No! No, no, no,” but his limbs feel heavy and sluggish when he tries to stand up and fails. He settles on hands and knees because at least he’s not going to throw up now, so he’s already winning for the night.

“Dr. Isley!” But he’s already assessing before he even touched her shoulder to roll her over, shaky hands assessing her neck, cracking open her eye lids, and by some miracle, he’d been wearing his Arkham-Only medical bag when they were thrown from the ambulance in the first place.

It proves to be moot when Pamela’s eyes flutter over while he’s taking her pulse and blinking rapidly to keep his vision clear, trying to be gentle but firm when he presses on her belly, and looks over every inch of her jumpsuit to make sure he hasn’t missed any indications of injuries.

“Oh thank God,” he whispers when her eyes dart up to him, and Tim leans back just a little to swipe his forearm over his eyes to make sure he doesn’t, you know, cry all over a patient.

“Dr. Isley, are you able to sit up? Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous?” He doesn’t realize he’s gone from taking her pulse to holding her hand.

“No,” she replies faintly, pushing herself up, “I believe I’m all right.”

“Okay...okay, that’s good. That’s so good, but I’ve got to check on Dr. Fries and the others. Just-just call for me if you start to feel worse, or sleepy or anything! I’ll be right back.”

Standing the second time is really a win when adrenaline hits him somewhere in the spine, and that small secret smile of hers convinces him she doesn’t have any serious injuries. But the vines flattened and slightly writhing under her makes him hope they cushioned her fall.

He uses all the strength in his weak arms to pull at the ambulance doors until they damn things open, and he can see Dr. Fries laying in a sprawl of metal suit and limbs, weakly gasping since the glass dome of his helmet has been broken.

“Dr. Fries!”

And the concussion has to take a back seat for the moment because time really isn’t on their side.

His brain starts working while he makes his way back into the ambulance, stumbling before righting himself, and gripping the villain under both arms, straining to drag him out of the ambulance and lay on the Gotham street.

The dome has a broken piece with frigid air escaping, and with the goggles askew, he can see the pupils are almost blown.

“Hold on, hold on,” he’s chanting and pulling everything out of his bag, searching for–

Duct tape and a Bolin Chest Seal.

Without any idea if the seal can stand-up to the frigid temperature of Dr. Fries’ suit, Tim makes his hand stop shaking to peel the backing off and apply it around the broken area, ripping the duct tape with his teeth to help reinforce the cracks.

Dr. Isley falls to her knees beside him abruptly, watching him apply a final strip. Together, they hold their breath while his breathing evens out and the visible eye flutters.

Luckily for them, police cars and a legit ambulance are quickly closing in on the carnage, so he can finally, finally, rest.

–or would have, but Two-Face kicks the door to the front of the wrecked rig open and stands out with the gun still in hand.

“It was you,” the gangster is dragging one foot, snarling wildly, “you got us caught. I shoulda gutted ya back at the nut house while I had a chance!”

The Joker woozily climbs out after him and just face plants into the street, something slurry like “anyone get the number of that bus?” while Shauna Belzer is already running away from the scene with the sock puppet leading her way.

“Harvey,” is a warning in Dr. Isley’s tone.

“Shut up, Pam. You know it was him!” The gun is wavery, but Tim is still one hundred percent sure the shot is going to be accurate enough to be bad news for him. “There ain’t no other way!”

“I was in the back the whole time,” he tries, subtly sliding an arm up in front of Dr. Isley, and the other over Dr. Fries. “There’s no way I could have alerted anyone about anything.”

“I ain’t taking anymore chances on you, no more flips, no more hiding, just curtains,” and the hammer goes back–

The next second, a blast of light takes over the sight of the gun barrel pointed at his chest, and the gangster’s hand and weapon are instantly encased in a block of ice.

“What the hell!?”

Dr. Fries pushes himself up, his freeze gun in hand, the seal around his domed helmet still working to keep him breathing. “It would be in poor taste to allow you to kill the young man that saved my life, Dent.”

Wearily, Dr. Fries drops the freeze gun while Two-Face falls to his knees with the heavy block encasing his fist and the gun.

Tim automatically winds his arm around the shoulders of Dr. Fries’ suit, helping the villain stay upright while the slamming of brakes and opening of doors signal the GCPD to the rescue.

Commissioner Gordon himself questions the young doctor, eyeing him critically when he insists Dr. Fries and Dr. Isley weren’t really trying to escape, but went along with the Joker’s plan to make sure he, the civilian, didn’t wind up dead.

“I’ve worked with Dr. Fries before,” and even though he told the young uniform no about the blanket and ride to Gotham General, he’s regretting it now because he’s starting to get cold his head is aching, “I published a paper about McGregor’s syndrome a few months ago. Early stage treatment. He helped me with the background, so yeah, he didn’t want me to get hurt. And Dr. Isley protected me when the ambulance flipped over. If there were trying to escape, they wouldn’t have saved me, or stopped Two-Face from killing me.”

“All right then, Doctor,” Gordon eyes him while he closes his little notebook, “I’ll have a word with the judge and the Warden. He’s fine by the way, and asked me to thank-you. He’s in Gotham General, about to go into surgery.”

“What about Jim Newman?” He asks quickly, rubbing his arms when a light dusting of rain makes him even colder.

“They were still working on him last time I checked, but everything looks good from what they said.”

And since the Commissioner is taller than him by at least a few inches, he can look over Tim’s head to signal another officer to their little pow-wow on the back of the intact ambulance.

Tim had immediately waved the gaping EMTs off to pick up Two-Face and Joker, had slapped a bandage on his own head and did a quick saline wash of his road rash.

He’d personally helped Dr. Fries and Dr. Isley into another ambulance, his expression troubled when the double-doors closed on them, and the rig took off through Gotham. It had been enough for him to seek out the Commissioner and tell him exactly what had gone down tonight so Poison Ivy and Dr. Freeze wouldn’t face further jail time.

(The flutter in the night, gold and black of Robin’s cape, or well, maybe he’d just imagined it. He’s got a pretty rocking concussion after all.)

Detective Renee Montoya is someone he’d worked with on more than one occasion. When she whistles low at the obvious damage, he knows the bruises are probably going to be beautiful tomorrow.

“Montoya, Dr. Drake doesn’t want to go to the hospital. Can you give him a lift when you head back to the station?”

“Absolutely, Sir–”

“To Arkham,” he interrupts blearily, “my car is still there. I need to pick it up.”

Both cops arch a brow at him, but Tim just stares back without further comment.

“All right. To Arkham it is.” Montoya grins at him and crooks a finger, leads him to her car sitting on the outskirts of the accident.

And really, Detective Montoya is a kind soul, stops long enough to get awful drive-thru coffee for him to sip on while they drive back to the Asylum, and she listens intently as he tells the story with a little more depth the second time.

“I’m glad you aren’t badly hurt, but you still should consider going to the hospital, Tim–”

“That’s not necessary, Detective.” Concussions not withstanding, he thinks as he sips his coffee. “I would probably go to work instead of rest anyway, so moot point even I went to Gotham General instead. But, I mean, how did the GCPD get control of Arkham and come after us so fast? I didn’t expect anyone to come after us.”

Except certain masked vigilantes, but, you know, prison breaks are really time consuming.

Montoya side-eyes him again. In her career, she’d brought more than one perp into Mercy Hospital’s ER, guarding handcuffed suspects, usually sporting a variety of injuries tangling with the Bats of Gotham. More than once, it was her or Bullock or another cop on one of Dr. Drake’s gurneys bleeding out, and the guy was absolutely unshakeable, pulling miracles out of his ass.

So yeah, she knows the Doc and his odd tendencies to get tangled up in too many...situations. Many of which lead right back to the city’s resident vigilantes.

(As a detective, she put together at least seven incidents in the last 24 months connecting their good doctor with the Bats. Crane taking over the hospital, kidnapped by the Joker, the bridge. Reported sightings of JLA members in Gotham hovering over Mercy General, and she would bet her badge it was the superheroes bringing their Batman to see Drake. Then the question as to why else would the Batman come out during the day and save what appeared to be one person? Unless that person was his personal physician. Not to mention that time someone got a few pieces of security footage with a Robin that was...taller, not as smooth jumping from rooftops. Oddly enough, some unknown masked crusader running with the Red Hood chasing this, what, fourth kid wearing the tunic? Given the evidence, Renee has theories.)

She might smirk a little at his very obvious deflection, but it also triggers every instinct she’s cultivated as a cop in Gotham City.

“Well, I’ll be honest with you, Doc, but it looks like the night crew had a hand in settling down things at the Asylum. Not to mention we got a call from the Head Nurse of the ER at Gotham General about a note you apparently left. That was probably after an anonymous tip to the station made us aware the Clock King, Mad Hatter, and Scarecrow were on their way to the hospital in disguise.”

He smiles into his coffee and appreciates the blasting heat all the way back up to the madhouse on the hill. She notices he doesn’t ask who the night crew is, and just adds it to the list of evidence.

It nice when Montoya walks him back inside, apparently not trusting him to get through to the infirmary at the back of the Asylum and get the keys to his car without another incident.

(She probably has a good reason.)

He makes an effort to keep it together in front of the detective when they make their way through the throng of police officers, extra guards, and personnel filling the hallways. The itch on the back of his neck could be the events of the night catching up to him, the anxiety on the edges of his consciousness that looks a lot like smeared cream corn and stab wounds, aching palms and exhaustion in every bone of his body.

It could also be how closely Montoya is watching him while they walk further into the compound.

His keys are on the same hook by the keycard access door, and it’s finally a spark of luck when a uniform on the premises catches her on their way in, pulls her aside to talk about something. (“They were here from what the inmates say,” the uniforms tells her low, “Red Hood and Nightwing were pretty brutal this time. The Bat had a hard time wrangling them in.”)

He gives a small wave with keys in hand to let her know he’s on the way out.

She puts a hand on the uniform’s shoulder to pause their conversation and give him another long look. “You should get some sleep, Doc. Take a few days off. I’ll bet you’ve got some… people looking out for you that will agree with me.”

For absolutely no reason, his face starts to get warm. “Thanks again for the ride, Detective.”

With her card in his pocket (not that he doesn’t have a collection of them from GCPD back on his desk at Mercy), he calmly adjusts his bag over the blood stains on the side of his scrubs and makes sure his badge is visible.

He keeps it the fuck together when he walks out of Arkham through the thinning throng like nothing is out of place, like he hasn’t just gone through half of the Rogue Gallery and lived to tell about it.

He absolutely doesn’t notice the vigilantes going through a particular vent as he starts down the maze of hallways to get the fuck out.

His battered Civic (because the nice car is only for special occasions, why chance getting it blown up?) looks more like safety than he’s ever associated with it before. Maybe that’s why his knees abruptly go out on him when he’s at the driver’s door, but it’s fine, fine to just take some time to sit, get his lungs full of air for the first time since this shit-show started.

(They had to take care of things like good saviors of the city and he survived, he’s good. He’s good. He’s good. He’s going to go home, make coffee, get a shower, and wait up for them to ask how the night went on their end. Just as soon as his knees get strength again–)

The crunch of gravel somewhere behind the car is what shakes him up from the blank time since he sat (fell) down to now. Before he can be up and moving, it’s Jason, his boyfriend, kneeling there beside him instead of the dangerous vigilante, the Red Hood.

He barely registers when Jay reaches for him, wraps him up in a tight embrace, talks gently against his hair

(“S’all right, Baby. Gotcha all caught up now, don’t I? Time ta go home, yeah?”

“J-Jay, what-what are you...?”

“Sorry, Timmy. They already gotcha out by the time we got here, n’ by the time we got those fuckers back in their cells, we gotch word there was an accident and GCPD was on the scene! Dick lost his fucking mind when we heard it over the radio.”

“O-Oh. It’s...it’s okay. I’m okay. I-I’m okay.”

“Mmhm. We’ll be the judge a’ that, won’t we, Baby?”)

It’s so easy to slot himself against the front of Jay’s body, the leather against his cheek is cool and worn and the smell of brimstone, gives him a reason for another deep breath.

It’s so easy for Jay to slide the driver’s seat back to make room for longer legs, to maneuver Tim in the passenger seat and buckle him in without complaints, stupidly lifting him instead of helping him stand.

E - we’ll go with Edmund, he thinks lazily when exhaustion sets in and the movement of the car keeps him aware enough to know Edmund isn’t going to be the worst concussions he’s ever had, so the night ends on a high note after all.

It’s better because Jay drives with one hand while the other has a grip on his wrist that is just this side of a little too tight, just what he needs to be able to drift because that hold is safe. At some point he’s burrowed down in the Red Hood’s famous leather jacket with the belt over his chest, and it smells like Gotham and brimstone enough to keep him grounded, so all he has to do is stare at the comm in Jay’s ear and drift.

“I got ‘em, Dick. He’s movin’ but he needs one hell of an aftercare hour if ya know what I mean.” Pause.

“Get the fuck off this wave, Demon. Ain’t nobody asked yer ass nothing anyhow.”

Another pause and a side-eye.

“There’s blood on ‘im, Alf, don’t look life-threatening, bruises n’ scrapes more n’ likely. Prob’ly a concussion ‘cause he ain’t trackin’ well, are ya Baby?”

He’s down in a soft, sleepy place, doesn’t feel like he really has to answer if it brings him closer to the surface. He manages to wiggle his fingers up to rub at Jay’s wrist, checks in as well as can really be expected.

Seriously, it’s been a rough fucking night.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. S’okay, baby, ya done good t’night, yeah? Me n’ all the Bats are proud as fuck, you feel me? Some a’ the worst of the worst n’ ya kept the body count low. Whazat? Naw, Dickie, we’re almost there. Gonna be waitin’ on us? Not you, Rob, got school inna morning, ain’t cha? Time fer little birdies ta go back ta the nest.”

Tim cracks his eyes open when the soothing roll of movement finally stops, but Dick is already there opening his door, barefoot with sweats and a hastily thrown-on t-shirt, bodily lifting him even though he’s all kinds of awake now.

“Oh my God,” and those arms get so, so tight.

(It feels so nice.)

“C’mon, put me down,” is huffed more by habit than conviction because really, he’s good with the damsel in distress act this time.

“You’re taking years off my life, Tim, and I’m a seasoned vigilante,” is about as deadpan as mother-hen Dick Grayson can get.

“If I ain’t a’ died already, ya’d be getting me close t’ it,” a soft kiss to his forehead, “no more gettin’ caught up with murderin’ psychos.”

“I think we’ve already had this conversation.”

“Apparently, it ain’t been stickin’.”

He hums a little and lets his eyes flutter closed again, lets them talk over his head while they take the fire escape up just to slide in his window.

He rouses enough to get a shower, tries pushing them bodily out the door to stop hovering, but it’s not like that’s going to happen.

It’s still feels really nice when they’re absolutely gentle with him, sliding his clothes off, touching the bruises and road rash with soft, hurt noises. It gets worse because he takes the time to really wash in case there’s residual debris, finally gets pulled under the hot water with a wall of muscle and security bracketing him in.

Jay washes his hair while Dick holds him by the hips, the two of them talking gently about what happened after they left the Cave and headed to the Asylum for pound the baddies into pudding time.

They had just worked their way to the cafeteria when they get word some of the Rogues escaped in ambulances, alerting the GCPD while they wrangled inmates back to their cells and took care of the captive staff.

B himself took the Warden to Gotham General once they had things well in hand, and the bats monitored the police radio when mentions of the accident heading toward Dixon with Gordon on scene. Rob jumped outta the big car fast enough to intercept GCPD to see Tim moving. It’s more hilarious than it should have been when Jay clucks his tongue and tells him to stop making friends with bad guys.

“I ain’t saying Pam n’ Vic are bad ta have on yer side,” a wet kiss to the top of his head, “but why don’t cha stick wid’ Ives and leave ‘em ta us?”

Dick is kneeling down gently washing his battered knees, “not to mention the conversation we’ll be having tomorrow about why we didn’t know you were moonlighting at Arkham and working with Victor Fries.” The warning in his tone makes Tim just sighs and lean back against Jay’s chest to let the two of them hold him up.

“Demon brat’s got something ta say ‘bout it, too,” said in his ear, “little asshole was worried as fuck. Don’t let ‘im tell ya any different.”

“I’ll call him tomorrow, let him know I’m okay,” and he absolutely will, if anything, to avoid Robin showing up at Mercy with another sandwich and soup to shove at him.

“Good idea, Baby. He was fighting like hell until we found out you weren’t even there.”

He doesn’t laugh at the insinuation, but he might just snicker a little.

He manages to step out on him own, but Jay takes the towel from his hands to get his back and Dick lifts him by the hips to set him on the sink so they can put salve and gauze on his injuries themselves.

They keep him distracted through the process with easy kisses and updates on Jim Newman, Hatter’s face, and Fugate’s excuses of coercion because, “I’m clinically insane. Of course I went along for the ride.”

They tell him they’re sending Pam a nice fern and Victor some data sets from B’s own trials with McGregor’s since it’s just good manners to thank supervillains for saving innocent civilians. He mumbles back about pasta salad and guns in his face. How playing Uno with some of the inmates has somehow made him cool enough not to die during a breakout, which they should take as a win considering the circumstances.

He must look about as bad as he feels because they get more gentle when he finally gives them what they desperately want, details about what went down. It’s woozy ramblings more than his usual high-level short and sweet because Shauna Bellzer is probably still out there looking for Ferdie, because the Joker apparently remembers him and is actively checking out shit like YouTube, and because now Two-Face is probably going to want him dead since that whole bridge fiasco is a point of contention.

He might wobble enough or sound shitty enough for Jay to take it as a reason to steer him toward the couch and cuddle the hell out of him, do that thing where he kisses the back of Tim’s neck in the right spots to make him shiver.

Dick runs a hand through his hair while he answers B’s wave with the last tag-up of the night, listens to the Dark Knight ranting about the clean-up at Arkham and going over the damn place yet again to check how the crazies keep escaping. But whatever Dick says in reply is lost on him when the world around him gets fuzzy at the edges again. He doesn’t realize how tight his hands are fisted in Jay’s shirt until fingers are trying to massage them open.

He might mumble something payment in kind because really? He did the job for them this time. One less shit show for them to fight (you’re welcome), so he really does deserve cuddles and warm showers dammit.

He totally earned it this time.

Dick eventually hangs up and unapologetically smushes him further down against Jay and coos softly, so he might have said it out loud, but can’t be bothered to care when he finally sinks down, comfortable and safe with that he’s just suddenly–

–out.

When he blinks again, arms over his hip and warm bodies bracket him in. It’s still early enough for him to sigh and sink back down for a few more hours, the ache in his bruised muscles secondary when his bed is full. It’s enough for him to sleep without nightmares of guns in his face and echoing laughter.

And if they wake him up with kisses to his stomach and chest, with bare hands sliding under his pajamas, with oh so gentle lovemaking, with talking against his throat and hip about how relieved they are, how brave he is, how strong he is, how he really oughtta have a Kevlar suit all his own and a domino on his face just on principle.

If they coddle and cuddle him, demand he tell them everything again from the beginning, take him back to the bedroom when his chest stutters at the most frightening parts, if they make him stay close until nightfall when they have to move into the shadows and be the protectors Gotham City needed. If they argue with him about resting instead of leaving to run the Gauntlet at Mercy with Steph and his team. If they check in on him half-way through the night and maybe just kidnap him for an hour to check his knees and the road rash. If they make him take two aspirin and drink a bottle of water, claim mid-patrol sandwiches for the win.

If they tell him they love him before they go back to it and leave him on the roof of the hospital with a fully belly and stars in his eyes, mouth still swollen from their kisses–

–then he’s going to to back to work with a stupid smile on his face and fight harder to save lives, to beat back the darkness of Gotham in his own way. He’s going to run until his lungs are on fire and his legs are wobbly. He’s going to answer calls from fucking space, and race the clock when the heroes of their world are facing mortality and need a doctor with hobbies. He’s going to keep track of the ninjas spying on them and be a safe place when the night life is killing his most important people. He’s going to do everything he can to keep moving. He’s going to fucking fight the good fight and it’s going to be by his choice every time.

Because this?

This is his life.

#winter writes #900 Followers #dr!tim #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #Rogue Gallery #dc comics #dickjaytim #I'm so proud of this fic #I can't even tell you #bad ass civilian tim #my fic #my writing #long post

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emotionalcello-makefanfics · 5 years

Text

Away From Here (Jaydick Fic for Fictober)

Prompt number: 2. “Just follow me, I know the area.”

Fandom : DCU

Rating: General Audience

Warnings/Tags: Major Character Death/ Non-canon compliant.

Summary : Jason dreamed that he became a killer. A man wearing a Red Helmet with guns on his hands and bodies on his feet. He waited a moment to wake up. What came instead is an 8-year-old Dick Grayson in his Robin uniform. “What do you want? Why are you showing me this dream.” “I told you, this is your future, and I’m here to save you from it. I’ll take you to a place safe from your future.”

Word count : 5k

Click link to read on AO3

Click keep reading to read on tumblr~

In his hands are smoking guns. Around him are the walls of abandoned skyscrapers he had known as his home. On his feet, is a puddle of blood flooding from the man filled with holes that lay limp in front of him. That person is not the only one bleeding, there are a lot more around him, by the roof. Some with heads snapped way to the back, holes on their face, and the only one here that could’ve done it is Jason himself.

He lets go of the guns from his trembling hands. He knows this place like the back of his hand, but suddenly, he has nowhere to run. His feet won't let him get away.

When he finally gains his senses, his instinct brings him home. The manor never felt like home, but Dick made it feel like it does.

The world feels uncanny and off-putting. Reality doesn’t feel solid, but Jason disregards it. He just wants to go home to the people that take him in.

When he does, he finds Alfred the butler that’s been the most present, looking at him with distaste then looks away. Jason felt a sharp pain in his heart, accompanied by sizzling anger, but what he wanted the most is an explanation. He doesn’t get that as his feet bring him down the hall against his will.

The hallways lead to the library where he often spends his days, then he turns the grandfather clock to open the path to the Batcave. There, Batman, even with his mask off, there’s no Bruce in that cave, only Batman. Even so, his adopted father always cares for him. Despite being his soldier, Jason is still his son. Batman looks at him, he doesn’t even look away, his furious furrowed eyes pierce through him like he had committed the greatest sin.

“I know what you did,” his adopted father growled.

On the multiple screens of the Batcomputer are someone in body armor, cargo pants, and a leather jacket. On his chest is a bat symbol painted in red. It’s a costume he has never seen before and his face is covered with a red helmet, but Jason knows that person is him. Clips of him murdering people with guns he promised he’ll never touch, snapping people’s necks, stomping them to the ground played again and again. Jason would never do that, but the feeling in his gut forced him to believe otherwise.

Again, without his permission, his body starts to move. His feet walk down the familiar hallways and sets of stairs until he finally faces Dick’s room. He knocks before he lets himself in. Dick in a tight brand-new Nightwing suit he has never seen before. Slick body-con black suit, enforced but not disrupting his beautiful form and the stark bright blue bat symbol on his chest and strips down his arms. A complete upgrade from the flashy discowing suit.

One thing that doesn’t change, is the throb in his heart whenever he sees Dick. Even when the one that’s been showing him compassion since he was adopted, is looking at him as the lowest scum of the earth.

His domino mask on hand, showing the hatred in his bright saturated blues.

“You’re a monster,” Dick spat, the coldness of his voice froze Jason on the spot.

“We should’ve let you die on the streets,” Dick approaches, and suddenly Jason feels small despite the line of his eyesight in this body is above Dick. “If I had known you’d betray me, I wouldn’t have taken you in.”

Jason screams but his mouth doesn’t move. In his forced silence in this weird world, he has no control in where he is or what he has done to deserve being abandoned again.

He tried so hard to be the soldier Batman needs, to be considerate for Alfred, and live up to Dick’s legacy as taking the Robin mantle. Did he fail again?

It wasn’t him that kill all those people. The gun was in his hand when he wakes up but Jason didn’t pull the trigger.

This must be a dream, he refuses it to be anything but.

As he thought so, he’s taken to another building with a blink of an eye. The first thing he noticed first is his bloody fist, and when the world becomes clear, he sees another body on his feet. It’s the only body laying on the floor, not one of those goons in black.

For the horrible sickening feeling of disgust at the back of his throat, his heart is oddly calm when he sees himself there. A bloody Robin that’s been beaten to death. The swollen face and busted lips bring back bad memories. He kneels down with his grown-up body, again without his consent, and takes off Robin’s domino mask. It’s not him.

His heart pounds a million beats per minute, and when he finally regains control of his body, the shock drops his body to the floor

“No,” he whispered his first word ever since entering this dream. Eyes gawking, horrified at the child in front of him.

“This isn’t a dream,” Whispered a voice he recognized. Another child appeared beside him, wearing the first Robin uniform with those scaly green boyshorts.

Little 8-year-old Dick Grayson kneels beside him with his little palms on Jason’s shoulder that looks even bigger now. How did he get so big? And how did Dick get so small? Guess, in a dream, everything is possible.

“But it isn’t Jay,” Says the first Robin, putting his gloved hands on each of Jason’s cheek, cradling his face gentler than one would a baby. Despite the bizarre things presented in front of him, he feels calm at Dick’s presence.

“Then what is this?” Jason decides to play along.

“This is your future,” Dick waves his hand behind him and in front of Jason, formed a mirror.

He looked at himself, and he looked like him from the clips on Batcomputer, but now he’s wearing a Robin costume, different from the one used by the boy that he presumed dead. His face grows large, more square and elongated than the last time he sees himself. He looks old, an adult. Like a mad man with the blood all over his face. Like his mother, with the bruises all over his face.

“His name is Tim, Tim Drake. In the near future, you’ll be replaced by him.” Dick lay his face on top of his head and his hand on the side of his face.

Both of them are looking at the mirror. The far difference of age in their look doesn’t feel real.

Then he looks away from the mirror, to where the boy named Tim still lay with lifeless eyes opened and staring at Jason.

“No, they wouldn’t do that to me, they wouldn’t abandon me, and you told me you won’t ever hate me, you told me that’s impossible,” Jason croaked to the little Robin beside him.

“Oh, sweet boy,” Dick tips his jaw with those little fingers, now that he thinks about it, it’s damning how little he was when he became a soldier. “I’m not Dick, your mind sees me as him because you trust him.”

“What do you want? Why are you showing me this dream.”

“I told you, this is your future, and I’m here to save you from it. I’ll take you to a place safe from your future.”

“A safe place? Where?”

“Somewhere far away, where you’ll always be young, where you’ll always be happy. To a land far away from this.” His voice soft and kind as he can be, so flattering as his voice have emotion too mature for his age.

“No... there’s no such place, you’re just an imagination. I’ll wake up soon, and I’ll forget you.”

“I am as real as you, and you’ll never forget me, I promise you.” It hurts how earnest Dick’s cute little face begged in agony, “Please, I’m trying to save you.”

“I don’t need saving!” Jason roared, and only now he hears himself with such a deep voice like Bruce’s. He shoves Dick away and stands up on his feet, towering above the dead Robin and Dick, “I’m Robin!”

“And Tim Drake knew that,” Dick adds eerily calm. “Find him, and you’ll know what I say is the truth,” Dick approaches with solemn eyes and a grimly pursed lips. “Call for me when you changed your mind, I’ll come to save you.”

“But, I don’t know who you are.”

Dick jumps up and loops his arms around Jason’s neck. The first affection he received in this odd dream.

Then Jason wakes up in his bed.

++++

He couldn’t tell his dreams to anyone, not even to Dick who senses that Jason is holding back something. The cursed dream where little Robin appeared sticks in his head for the whole year. One day he just breaks and looks for this Tim Drake.

He doesn’t need to look up to Tim Drake, everyone in the city knew the multi-millionaire Drake family and their darling young and only son. He doesn’t even need to come to his house, because the kid appeared in between dark alleyways when Jason was patrolling.

He lands right behind Tim who jolts rigidly as his wide blue eyes twinkle.

“Robin! I-I-I-I-I was just...” he looks down to his camera and holds it tightly.

Of course Jason is angry. Why would Tim Drake go out in the night with cameras out if not for the intention to jeopardize their identity? But seeing his batman backpack, and Robin shoes says that his intention is otherwise. That and how small and so young Tim is, he couldn’t be older than 9. He wondered when –if his dream is real– that Tim replaced him.

No, no way. It’s just a dream. A stupid dream.

“You know who I am, don’t you Tim Drake?”

The child clutches his camera closer to his chest, looking down at his red, yellow and green shoes.

“I do,” He admits.

For now, Jason just smiled, “A little genius aren’t you?” He put his hands on top of Tim’s rubbing gently and messing up Tim’s hair. “Don’t go out too often alright? It’s dangerous out here. Promise me.”

“O-Okay, I’ll go out less,” Tim says with a cute furious blush.

Just to coax Tim more, Jason takes a selfie with Tim and promised to visit him in his room if Tim goes out less. The kid is cute, almost pure, it’s hard to imagine someone like Tim to be a Robin. That just adds another proof that it’s just a dream.

With a big smile and enthusiastic wave, they parted ways.

Jason goes back to Dick’s place that night. Wearing Dick’s hoodie that’s too big for him and training pants that need to be rolled 4 times to not make him stumble.

“You’re gonna tell me what’s this about?” Dick puts down a cup of chamomile tea on the coffee table in front of Jason.

“You’re not gonna believe me,” he turned himself into a ball and shrinks even deeper to the plump sofa.

Dick put his own tea on the table and scoots closer to Jason, “Oh c’mon, I’ve been in space and see the most fucked up shit, try me.”

Jason reasonably hesitated, but Dick’s twinkly eyes and cat-like smile is working too well on him. With a defeated sigh, Jason scoots closer and lands his head on Dick’s shoulder.

“I had a bad dream, it was a year ago but I keep remembering it. Now I confirmed that some pieces of the dream are true.”

“Oh... bad dreams huh,” Dick deflated, putting an arm around Jason’s curled shoulders, “yeah I got them too... Sucks that you already got it.”

“It came with the job huh?”

“Sadly it is, it’s not the safest job. You can still tap out if you want, just be a kid and go to school.”

Jason actually liked the idea, and maybe he’ll avoid the future that comes near him... no way, that was a dream. Maybe Tim’s name in his dream is just a coincidence. A thing of Deja Vu. There’s no way that nightmare is his future. He won’t become that person he looked in the mirror. That’s not him, he won’t beat Tim up, he won't kill people, he won’t betray Dick.

“No, I like kicking ass.”

Dick chuckled, “Okay, just know that the option is there. What did you dream about anyway?”

“Nothing, I think it’s just a Deja Vu thing.”

Jason stayed the night, sleeping with Dick in his cramped single bed.

It’s not the first time Jason slept over at Dick’s but he can never get used to sleeping next to him. His body gets sensitive and over-conscious of the one next to him. At 3 am, he’s still wide awake. Whenever he does, he sits up on the side of the bed and just marvels at Dick’s sleeping face.

It’s like looking at snow white sleeping in a casket of glass, beautiful and out of reach. Even though he’s touching him, there’s an invisible glass that divides them. Dick sleeps deeply and always a tornado of a sleeper, but Jason never complained, because he’ll always get tangled between Dick’s limbs. It helps that Dick is a heavy sleeper and he won’t wake up when Jason snuggles close and steal a big hug.

Dick is in a fetal position, back curling towards where Jason sits. He dared himself to comb back the soft strands of hair from Dick’s beautiful face, sighing dreamily at the sight.

Dick doesn’t hate him, they promised they’ll be there for each other, and Jason meant to carry that promise for the rest of his life. He won't let him down, and he won't let his dream become a reality.

One day, when he’s older, when he can stand up on his own two feet, when he became an adult of a sort, he’ll tell Dick all the things he wanted to say.

Jason cradled the back of Dick’s head and dared himself to kiss the corner of his eyes. He slipped in between Dick’s arms and tuck his head under Dick’s jaw, his own arms wrapped around his built torso. He’s still not sleepy from this closeness, his heart in joyfully dancing. Jason lets it frolic, and enjoy the night awake in Dick’s arms.

++++++

His mother died. His real mother.

What’s left in this musty dim warehouse is him with hands tied tightly on his back and a ticking time bomb sets on top of stacked boxes across the room. He tried the door, but it’s locked from the outside. There are hundreds of ideas in his head on how he escape this situation, but he saw the time on the bomb. Three seconds left, and he just slumped to the floor with the door on his back and close his eyes. Awaiting the explosion to take him.

At least this way, the far future he was shown is wrong. He’ll never be that monster.

“Jason,” Calls a voice of the dream.

Jason cracks his eyes open and sees Dick, grown-up this time with the slick black Nightwing suit with blue streaks on his arms and legs and chest. As much as he wants this to be a reality, it’s not. The clock stops at 00:01. Not only the clock, if he squints, the dust in the air had paused too.

Dick takes off his blue domino mask, looking down from where he’s standing with inhumane crystal blue eyes.

“Come with me Jason,” Dick persuades as he descends to his knees. His striped blue fingers crawl to the knot on Jason’s wrist. With simple touches, Jason’s hands are free.

Dick put his hand on top of Jason’s, now both of them are sitting on the grimy warehouse floor. His eyes won’t let him go, and Jason can’t look away.

“You’re... you’re going to kill me aren’t you?” Jason whispered, the morbid question somehow doesn’t scare him.

“I would never, I just wanted to protect you from your future.”

Jason remembered his dream again, and he started to hate himself, “Or were you trying to protect them from who I’ll become?”

“No, never,” Dick growled, he doesn’t look angry, but his firm voice weighs tons of tension. “There’s a lot of pain in your future, I want to protect you from it.”

Jason looks at the bomb, “But... I’m going to die, there’s no way I’ll grow up.”

Dick shook his head, “Six months after you die, you will be revived, awaken a different man filled with vengeance.”

“Why... why would I want vengeance?”

Dick looks at him solemnly, and looks at the bomb, “You’ll die here,” he says grimly. “Even so, Bruce didn’t avenge you, he let the Joker run free, and then, he’ll replace you with Tim.”

And that’s when Jason wavers. He wants to believe that none of it is real. However, he’s not afraid of the doppelganger in front of him. He might not be Dick, but, Jason clung to him as if he is.

“I don’t want to die,” Jason croaks.

Dick... the fake Dick smiled, “I’m not here to kill you, I’m just taking you away.”

“Where?”

Dick stood up and extend his hand, “Come, I’ll show you.”

It’s not that there’s no sliver of mistrust, but when Jason sees him, he remembers his dream as clearly as it just happened yesterday. His bloody fist, their distasteful faces. It makes his blood runs cold, like a dread burning on his throat, choking the life out of him when he sees what the future foresees him to become.

He takes Dick’s hand, “I’m not coming with you.”

The fake Dick doesn’t express any anomaly, but he paused, “Why?”

“Whatever I’ll do wrong, I’ll say I’m sorry. Wherever you’re taking me, I don’t want to be in a world where there’s no him.”

“What if they’ll never forgive you?”

The possibility drops a ton of weight on his heart. Even so, he eyes this being in front of him, dead on the soul. Even though he’s not sure if his imagination is truly alive and sentient, he can see a person behind those eyes.

“Even you don’t know about that,” Jason answered.

With a stoic face, Dick wraps him in a hug, “As you wish my child.”

Jason closed his eyes, and the light burns behind his eyelids. He only heard the explosion for a split second, and he didn’t even feel pain when he passes.

++++++

Jason returned from the grave without a soul. The pit heals him wrong, and a few pieces of memory are lost with his sanity.

It all came back when his rage is at his peak and he goes head to head with Tim, his replacement.

Among the hits they landed on each other’s faces, one breaks the cage that keeps his memory suppressed

In a blink of an eye, a memory worth years pours into his conscious. In that one second of distraction, the new Robin’s incoming bo staff heading towards his head slowly. The bo arched by the sheer speed and strength that his replacement –that little Tim he met then– is putting.

It’s coming closer slowly, and Jason can dodge that easily. He doesn’t though.

Fighting with an intent to kill made this teenager opponent do the same. The hit on his head rings loudly and the tump of the metal bo against his skull made a loud and silencing thud. The hit threw him sideways just by the pillar, and he fell to the awaiting 20-meter drop.

A drop that never came.

In the next blink, Jason is already on the ground in the arms Dick in his BPD uniform. He saw him in this uniform A few months ago when he researched him. The job suits him. Though he knows this Dick isn’t real. Through the years of research, he knows who this person is now.

“I’m not a child anymore, you couldn’t save me,” Jason groaned. His head and body limp when Tim hits the balance and motoric function out of him. His vision grows sharp, and now he can see the new Robin jumping off the pillar with a retracting gun shooting forward, trying to catch Jason in mid-air.

The entity smiles and emits white light. It blinds him for a few seconds, but when it finally cleared, a beautiful woman with pale skin and white hair covered in veil takes over Dick’s form.

“Where did you take them?” Jason asked about the children.

“A better place than their future,” the woman’s voice sounds light and compassionate, it warms him wholly, almost having a lethargic effect on Jason.

“But you don’t know one’s future... just now, it’s supposed to be Tim in this floor bleeding, but it’s me this time. I can... I can change my future.”

The shining woman express no emotions, but the way she caresses Jason’s face says the opposite.

“I’m sorry my child, I failed to protect you.” She pressed her forehead on top of Jason’s, veiling him in her veil as well.

“I don’t... need protecting... I don’t need saving.”

“I’m not here to save you, I’m here to see you off.”

“What?”

“You’ve died before you hit the ground.”

“No... how do I... It’s just a hit in the head.”

“Too strong to a place it shouldn’t have.”

Jason stares blankly to the woman’s pale blue eyes. Her lips –that are almost as white as her skin– curled slightly downwards. For that moment in her arms, Jason can’t feel angry or regretful. He planned so many things ahead, his revenge, the Joker, his father, he wanted answers from his father. Even though he couldn’t get them now, all he feels now is relieve. The future he remembered had haunted him, and now he’s going to be freed from it.

Only one face that stops him though. The nights he spent with Dick, his sleeping face as Jason quietly stares.

A tear fall to his side as he looks up to where Tim is still falling slowly.

“Shall we go now, Jason?” she softly thread her voice.

“Can I... can I have a few seconds? Please, I need to say something to Tim,” Jason’s voice level and serene.

“Yes you may, it’s the last thing I could do to atone my failure,” her glowing hands gently pressed on top of Jason’s chest.

When Jason blinks again, his head is on the floor and Tim is checking his pulse with shaking hands. As Jason takes off his mask, Tim jolts, but relieved.

“Oh... oh thank god you’re alive, I didn’t mean to... you’re supposed to dodge and I would’ve-”

“Tim listen, I don’t have much time,” Jason blinks a couple of times, and he can see clearly the destruction they’ve created. The third Robin takes off his mask too, and his blue eyes are on the brink of tears. For a moment, Jason can see the tiny baby Tim, just being a fan, now basked in blood and bruises.

“This isn’t your fault... I’m sorry.”

“Wha- that... did I hit your head too hard?” Tim chuckled, though the morbid fear still clear on his face.

“Yeah, you’re a good fighter kid, you fit Robin just fine,” Jason lightly punches Tim on the shoulder. “You always have gut since you were a kid, you’re gonna make a great Robin.”

“You... you remembered me.”

“Of course I do,” Jason sees her behind Tim and smiled. “Tell Dick that I...” the words stuck behind his throat, weighed down by his heavy heart.

Oh, he can’t meet Dick anymore. He’ll never see him again.

His mind travels back when he was still a small tween. Making excuses to sleepover at Dick’s, slipping a hug when he’s asleep. The nights he spent watching him close, too high-strung to sleep just because they’re touching each other. The days when Dick’s offline is agony, and he remembers counting days until his 17th birthday to finally able to approach him.

He promised himself that he’ll tell Dick what he felt when he grows up, it seems that the only one he disappoints is himself.

“You can tell him himself,” Tim breathed, “Stop making that face, why are you saying these things?” his relieve turns into fear.

A hand landed on top of Tim’s and when he looks up, Jason knows Tim can see her too.

“You...” Tim breathed, eyes wide and lips hang in disbelieve, “I thought you were just a myth.”

She smiled as her slender glowing fingers caress along Tim’s jaw, “There’s going to be a lot of hardship in front of you, but your soul is pure and your future is bright, you’re going to be just fine.”

Jason is clutching her hands, and he sees body on the floor, no longer breathing. His line of eyesight is shorter, and the woman seems a lot taller, just like how he used to look up to Dick when he was little.

Tim jumped into a fighting stance, wary of the glowing being and him.

The being looks down towards him and smile, a sign. As she walks, Jason feels calm when he’s pulled to where she’s heading.

“You can’t take him!” Tim shrieked but they didn’t stop. “Jason! You haven’t told me what to tell Dick yet.”

Jason stops, so does her. There’s a heavy lump in his soul, and she looks at him, smiling and nodding in comprehension.

“It’s okay Tim, I’ll tell him myself.” He looks back, passing Tim a bright smile, “Don’t forget what I told you!”

Then Jason disappears.

+++

Chills run down his spine as the wind blows. He shouldn’t be able to feel those wind through his secure Nightwing suit.

He looks back to where the wind that brushed against his soul. The feeling in his heart makes him look up to the dark starless sky and found nothing. In that rooftop where he stood and searched for trouble, he spun around to where this feeling comes from.

At last, a boy materialized at the corner of the roof. He couldn’t believe his eyes. For a moment he thought he was under an influence, but there’s this serenity deep in his soul that called to the boy as someone dear.

Without his domino mask, the second Robin –Jason– is smiling with that toothy smile. A pinch twinged his heart, seeing Jason so small and in his old Robin suit. Boyish and innocent, his brother. For a solid second, he thought he was dreaming. But the reality is still intact and there’s his Jason, running towards him.

Dick catches him in mid-air, hugging him tightly. The warmth pressed against him, the small pair of arms that loops around his shoulder are squeezing tears from his eyes. The feeling of this contact hits too deep inside his broken heart. Too familiar to the days when he takes Jason in, when Dick has an adoring brother, before Jason died.

“How?” Dick croaks into Jason’s tiny shoulder. Detaching his arms from Jason’s back, the boy landed on the ground below, looking up with bright blue eyes filled with admiration and love, like he always does.

Jason tiptoed up to comb his bangs to the back of his ear, just like the nights he did when he thought Dick was asleep. Jason seems speechless as if overwhelmed, and his eyes brimming with tears.

“Without you, I would’ve lived without knowing what it felt like to have a family, to feel loved. So, thank you, for taking me in, for being there for me,” a tear falls down his rosy cheek, “I just wished I had enough time to return it to you.”

Dick feels his heart just sank into the abyss, he hates what Jason is implying.

“Jason, you... still can. You’re back right? You’re alive, you’re Red Hood... I don’t know what this is, but...” his words trail out to nothing when Jason shakes his head.

Jason wraps Dick in a hug, small but strong arms wrapped around his waist, “Goodbye, Dickie.”

A whine caught behind his throat, choking him out, and the pain in his heart feels physical. He wonders why he accepts this as it is, but somehow, he just knows.

Dick wraps his arms around Jason’s shoulder. With a hand on the back of his head, Dick pulls Jason closer and bury his face on top of his nest of hair. Inhaling the familiar scent, Dick’s tears fall on the blades of black and sobs.

“I love you, Jason.”

His little brother steps back, eyes wide as his expression broke. Something in his eyes that says something to him, something that Dick couldn’t point out, something that Jason won’t say.

“I love you too, Dick” Jason cried, grasping Dick’s hand tightly before finally letting go.

Dick tried to hold on to him, but he just slips through his hand. Just before he goes fully transparent, he sees a woman in the direction Jason is running.

It was only a glimpse, but Dick knows who she is, the savior of the tortured children. A lost soul of a woman that haunts the living and ‘saving’ children from their suffering. She takes the children’s soul and left their body in a state of comatose.

And she reaps the lives of adult grown up from the children she failed to save, giving them death without pain.

If Jason chose to go with her when he was young, he wouldn’t have died so horribly.

But he did anyway.

Dick just hoped Jason knew that he’s glad Jason chose to stay longer. Long enough for Dick to have these precious memories to live with now that he’s inevitably gone from the world.

#fictober19 #fictober #jaydick #jaydick fanfic #jaydick fanfiction #I kinda miss writing jaydick #I'm not totally happy with this but here it is I guess #emocel's

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