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marauderundercover · 3 years

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Taking Chances Ch. 13: To the Death (Death)

AO3

Their last few days in Gotham went by smoothly. No rogue attacks, no akuma tacks. The only negative was Mr. Wayne refusing to allow her on patrol again because she was “injured” and “could have died.” Gotham has been nice for the most part and was full of surprises, but Marinette was relieved when the plane landed in Paris. The entire trip moved to the back of her mind, almost like a dream. Like it hadn’t really happened. Until Hawkmoth sent out his next akuma.

---

Taking in a shaky breath, Marinette blinks back tears. Everything was suddenly real. Hawkmoth might win.

She despised akumas with weapons. Specifically, the lethal weapons. Creative weapons or blasters she could handle. No problem. Legitimate swords or guns? Not so much. Instead she was left with a feeling of dread and uncertainty.

Pushing forward, she’s just about to call her lucky charm when she feels it. Choking slightly on the blood- why is there blood- she looks down at the sword sticking out of her chest. Oh. That’s why there’s blood. Blood. She coughs, wincing as she watches the blood pour out of her mouth. Huh. That’s not right. She almost hears Chat screaming. But why? Why does he sound so upset? Why- Oh. OH. She’s dying. She realizes this with a start as the world around her darkens and she begins to sway. She’s dying, and Hawkmoth is going to get her Miraculous. Hawkmoth is going to win. Oh, no- please-

“Chat.” She manages to say, watching as he runs towards her and scoops her up, carrying her out of the way of cameras and prying eyes. A place she can stay. A place where Hawkmoth won’t take her Miraculous. He won’t. He can’t. She frowns, black spots covering her vision, but not enough to hide his tears.

“Take them. Save them.” She manages to say, shaky hands reaching for her earrings. His lips move, so she knows he’s saying something. She wishes she could hear it. Wishes she’d thought of this possibility. She thinks Chat will win. But it’ll be so hard. She should’ve wrote a will. Should’ve planned ahead. Should’ve been more like her father. She blinks at Chat- Adrien- and realizes he’s still talking. She hopes it’s not important, that maybe he could tell her later. Her thoughts continue to jumble, just like her vision. Shifting into one incoherent mess. Words become shapes, pain dulls until she’s numb. Until she can’t feel it. Until she closes her eyes and lets the darkness carry her away.

---

Immediately after finding out about his Parisian daughter, Bruce Wayne had installed the akuma alert system in the Batcave. And on his phone. He wanted to be absolutely certain that he would know what was happening when, and maybe even find some way to help. Do something. Stop the emotional terrorist that had taken over his daughter’s childhood.

Sitting in his study, he takes a swig of coffee, thankful for a relaxing Saturday. He wanted to avoid WE, stay as far away as possible. They’d been bombarding him with questions about Marinette and the (true) rumor that started when her class first arrived in Gotham. Wanted to know if it was true, what they could say, what the official statement was. He wasn’t sure. He wanted Marinette to be able to make that decision. But it wasn’t something you could just ask after only a week of knowing each other.

A shrill ring breaks him out of his thoughts and he glances at his phone. That’s odd, he thinks, looking at the screen. Until he reads closer and realizes why it looks different. The Parisian news stations, who had never seemed too distressed by attacks before, were urging people to hide. Not just shelter in place. But hide. Making up his mind quickly, Bruce makes his way to the Bat Cave. Sure he couldn’t jump over to Paris to assist his daughter in battle, but he had to know that she was safe. He had to know Marinette would be okay. Miraculous cure or not. Walking into the cave, he’s unsurprised to see Tim already there, the news feed pulled up on the largest screen.

“It’s not looking good B. Casualties have already passed fifteen hundred. LB and Chat both look exhausted and the fight just started.” Tim informs him, frowning into his unnecessarily large cup of coffee. Bruce simply nods, trying to ignore the sudden tension in his jaw.

“How’s she holding up?” Dick asks, arms crossed as he walks in, Damian trailing in behind him.

“She’s giving ‘em hell but she also took a coupla good hits.” Jason says, watching his phone as he walks in through another entrance. Bruce’ chest feels warm at the obvious concern and care his sons have for their sister. He had no doubt that Cass (who had returned to Hong Kong before Marinette returned to Paris) was also watching the stream. Although not necessary, it was still nice of them to check. To care. As the fight goes on though, Bruce becomes antsy. The cameras are too far away to pick up the conversation between the heroes and the akuma, but it doesn’t look good. Marinette looks anxious, nervous, almost frenzied. All emotions he’d never seen on her (as Ladybug).

“Call your lucky charm.” Damian hisses, glaring up at the screen. Bruce silently agrees. As odd as the power was, it hadn’t failed her yet. There’s no- his blood freezes. The world shuts down as he tries to remember how to breathe. To remember that it’s okay to breathe. Because standing in front of the akuma is his daughter. With a sword protruding from her chest. The entire cave is silent, everyone waiting. Trying to process. The sword is pulled back and Bruce watches, sick to his stomach as blood falls out her mouth. As she sputters, more blood falling out. The dazed look on her face as she sways on her feet, not quite seeing her surroundings breaks his heart. She stumbles, her legs giving out, and he stares, unable to look away as Chat Noir manages to grab her and swing away.

“Shit.”

“She did not even dodge! She could have-”

“She’s not- she’s okay, right?”

“Is she-?” Bruce is barely able to hear the chaos around him. Barely able to focus on the video in front of him. He lets out a shuddering breath, turning his complete focus to watch for her to come back. Surely someone would heal her. The Miraculous cure could heal her. It had to. He desperately watches the screen, waiting for her spotted costume to come back. She had to come back. He sees spots, but squints. Something’s wrong with the spotted costume swinging towards the fight. The colors are right, but the flash of blonde hair and distinct male figure- it’s not...it’s not her. Not Marinette.

“It appears Mr. Bug is on the scene. Ladybug is down. I repeat, Ladybug is down.” The news anchor reports, a distraught look on her face. But the look on her face is nothing in comparison to the agony that shoots through Bruce. How? Why isn’t she up? Why would Adrien use her Miraculous? Why not heal her now, let her finish her battle? Unless...could she not be healed? Was the Miraculous cure unable to bring the Ladybug holder back? No. No, he couldn’t think that. Couldn’t accept that. She had to be okay. He couldn’t lose a child. Not again. Never again.

“The Cure will save her.” Damian says stiffly, tugging Bruce from his thoughts. He looks over to his youngest, torn by how young Damian suddenly looks. How broken he looks, staring at the screen in front of them. Braving a glance at his other sons, Bruce suddenly feels sick. His phone rings suddenly, and Bruce jumps, hoping the name- but no. It’s Cass, requesting a facetime. He answers, giving his daughter (is Marinette okay? Will she be okay? What if he loses her right after finding her?) a quizzical look.

“Little sister is okay, right?” She signs furiously, a frown on her face. Bruce grits his teeth, trying hard to push down the emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

“I’m not sure.” He answers, leaving his tone flat and without emotion. He couldn’t break. Not right now, not when his children looked so scared. Not when they all looked horrified. He couldn’t afford to be scared or horrified too. He had to hold it together. Even if he was screaming on the inside. Screaming and begging and pleading with whatever powers there were. Pleading for his daughter’s life. For her to wake up. For the Cure to work on her. He watches and waits. Wincing as Adrien is thrown around even more than usual. His hands twitch, wanting to do something, anything to help. Bruce finally stands, ready to put on his suit and just take the damn Zeta tubes to Paris. Who gives a damn about Hawkmoth, his daughter needs him. He’s just about to walk away when he sees it. The pure white butterfly flying out of Mr. Bug’s yoyo. Bruce inhales sharply, watching the wave of light and tiny ladybugs sweep across the city. He watches as Adrien slides the victim a card before swinging away. Watches as he doesn’t reappear. The camera zooms in to the area he’d flown off to, but there was nothing. Zooming back out, the camera focuses back on the news anchor.

“And that’s another akuma, taken down by our brave heroes. Back to you, Jean Marc.” She says with a tense smile. And the footage cuts out. It’s no more. No one moves. No one speaks. Everyone just stares at the blank screen. The screen where they’d watched Marinette be stabbed. Where they’d seen a sword go through her chest. Bruce clenches his jaw, trying desperately to stop himself from crying.

“I’ll be back.” He says gruffly, leaving his seat to go and put on his suit. There was no way she was gone. He wouldn’t accept it. So, he was going to go to Paris. He’d find her and wrap her up in some goddamned bubble wrap and make sure that his daughter didn’t get stabbed again. God, she has to be okay. His thoughts are frantic as he moves swiftly towards his suit, his thoughts only of getting to Paris. Getting to Paris, and finding Marinette. A sudden flash of light brightens the cave and Bruce instantly gets into a fighting position, watching the light turn into a circle. A portal, right in the middle of the Bat Cave. His breath catches as he watches two figures fall through the portal. Adrien, obviously still in spots. And the girl next to him….he frowns, not quite recognizing her.

“Kaalki, dismount.” The girl says, a soft light flashing over her. Bruce freezes, eyes scanning his daughter as she smiles awkwardly. Glancing over her, reminding himself that she’s there. She’s alive. He crosses to her in three large steps and drops to his knees in front of her so that they’re on eye level.

“Never do that again.” He begs, voice breaking slightly as he wraps his arms around her, pulling her close. She’s alive. She’s okay. She’s alive.

---

Marinette buries her face in her father’s shoulder, tightening her hold on him. He was the only parent that knew she was Ladybug. The only one who would be affected by seeing her stabbed on live tv. Coming to see him directly after the battle was all she could think of when she woke up. She knew she had to see her dad and her brothers. Reassure them that she was still there.

“I’m so sorry Dad.” She chokes out, tears running down her face as she remembers the pain of being stabbed in the chest. The way her vision went dark. The way the blood felt as she choked on it. She squeezes her eyes shut, breathing shakily as she holds onto him for dear life, barely registering when more warmth surrounds her. She doesn’t have to open her eyes to know what it is. Her brothers, all hugging her. Surrounding her, making sure she’s there. She sighs in relief, glad that they’re all there. Glad that she’s able to hug them again.

Master list

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shiftynightshade · 3 years

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“He’s so young. Too young to be in a suit like that.”

Tony glanced at Steve and Natasha’s expressions, faces scrunched up in some mixture of discomfort and anger. It was understandable, really. The kid was on the younger side, though they could not tell much considering under his helmet was a yellow domino mask.

The kid was shifting in his seat, hands cuffed to the metal table in front of him and super-power inhibitor collar clasped around his neck. They had gathered on the other side of the glass, uneasily staring at the child who happened to be decked out in a very high-tech suit. Nat uncrossed her arms to run one hand through her hair. “Why is a kid with superpowers and a suit that advanced doing trapezing around New York?”

Steve shrugged helplessly, eyeing the teen through the glass as if it held all the answers. It kinda did, in a way.

“Fury’s on his way.”

Clint shuffled to stand between Tony and Nat, face drawn with the same discomfort whenever he dealt with kids in bad situations. Steve gave a small huff, setting his shield down and striding through the door into the interrogation room. The kid looked up when Steve entered the room, eyeing him as if he was an unknown variant on a battlefield; an enemy.

Steve settled in the metal chair opposite the kid, leaning forward in his seat to stare directly into his masked eyes. “Hey son, can I get you anything? Water perhaps?” He didn’t respond, opting to stare Steve down. After a small bout of tense silence, he shook his head. “No thanks.”

God this kid was young.

His voice was smoother than expected, but still held the hint of youth to it that Tony often heard from Peter. Tony couldn’t see Steve’s face, but based on Nat’s pinched expression, his was probably similar.

“So, what were you doing running around New York like that?”

The kid smirked. “Like what? Sir.”

Steve sighed and ran a hand through his short hair, clearly caught off guard. “You know,” He waved a hand helplessly in the air. “In armour that very few places make, and I highly doubt someone of your age could afford such equipment.”

The kid mere shrugged with that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face. “But here we are.” He said carelessly. “Cuffed to a table in the Avengers Tower for no discernible reason, one might say that this was a biased arrest.”

Steve spluttered, leaning back in his seat as if the Hulk had slapped him. “I beg your pardon!?”

“Well, I wasn’t disturbing the peace, I wasn’t attacking anyone. So I don’t see the reason for my detainment.”

“We had determined you as a possible threat because of your super powers and the fact that you were participating in vigilante acts, which is illegal son.”

Tony had expected the kids smirk to slip, for him to collapse into a mess of tears and discomfort, which was definitely overdue. The kid hadn’t even looked at them like they had saved the world, no hero worship, no stumbling in his words. It was like he didn’t care that they were heroes!

The kid hummed. “Well you are right about me being a vigilante.”

Steve leaned forward again. “Son, vigilantism and trying to be a hero is extremely dangerous. This is no world for someone as young and inexperienced as you.” He said gently.

The kid snorted. “Look here Mr. Rogers. I don’t think you lot know this, but I know what I’m doing, believe it or not. Frankly, I’ve been doing this whole business longer than you Avengers have been together as a single team.”

Steve stared for a moment before sighing in defeat. He turned slightly in his seat to look at them with a pleading expression. Tony looked at Bruce and the two SHIELD agents before shrugging and walking over to the door, his suit whirring with every movement. He opened the door and stepped into the bright room, eyes immediately locking onto the kids suit; it was such high quality that Tony wanted to steal it and pick it apart until he knew about ever Knut and bolt within the metal.

Tony put on his suavest voice and sauntered over to stand next to Steve.

“Hey kid, this is what’s gonna happen. You are gonna give us your name, age and we will let you go. How about that?”

Tony expected that that would make the kid cave. Whenever he used that voice, he got whatever he wanted. It would obviously work on a wannabe Avenger. Right?

The kid tilted his head to the side for a moment. “Mmm, you can call me Signal.” He settled on, leaning back in his chair ever so slightly. Tony huffed. This was getting old. “One, you didn’t give us your age and two, I really doubt that your real name is Signal.”

‘Signal’ smiled serenely, smugness rolling off him in waves with an air of superiority that pissed Tony off. “Sorry, no names in the field and I’m turning seventeen in a few months.”

Tony blinked. This kid was sixteen. What the fuck.

Steve threw his hands up. “That’s beside the point! You’re not an adult, so you shouldn’t be running around playing hero!”

Signal scowled, his easy-going expression melting into something colder, more dangerous. “Oh? And what is the definition of hero, Mr Rogers? Someone who does everything they can to protect those who cannot protect themselves? Or someone who only saves the world and doesn’t bother with the daily crime that litters the streets?”

He leaned forward in his seat. “Tell me then, what is your definition of hero? Because last time I checked, which was this morning mind you, the Avengers are very diverse when it comes to their backgrounds.” He tilted his head briefly at Tony. “A former weapons manufacturer who now works to better the earth.”

“Maybe a hero is someone like Natasha Romanoff, a redeemed Black Widow from the Red Room, who joined SHIELD after encountering Clint Barton who was sent to kill her for being a Russian spy, only to instead become friends with her. Is that it? Two assassin’s, one from the Red room and one from the circus?”

Signals voice and gaze didn’t waver once.

Tony and Bruce shared a glance before leaving the room, shutting the door behind him firmly. The lock buzzed. Natasha looked pale, her face was blank and she had rested her weight against the wall with Clint beside her. Tony opened his mouth, only for Banner to open the door and motion them out into the hall. “Fury’s here.”

Tony groaned but followed the doctor anyways. Director Pirate himself was exiting the elevator when they followed Bruce, his dark coat fluttering with every movement. “Who the hell did you capture off the streets?” Was his greeting.

Clint shrugged. “No idea, some kind of vigilante with super-powers. He definitely needs to be in SHIELDS systems though.” At Fury’s questioning look, Clint frowned. “He knows about the Red Room and how I met Nat.”

Fury scowled. “How the fuck would they know that!?”

They all piled back into the room, Signal still perched calmly in his seat, staring right back at them through the glass. Fury frowned and looked the the ‘vigilante’, only for his eye to widen and whirl on the spot to glare at them.

“You captured one of the Bats! Are you lot crazy!?”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Bats?” He asked incredulously.

“Yes! The Bats! His name is Signal isn’t it?”

At Steve’s nod, Fury groaned. “Great…. just great. “You lot managed to nab the Bat’s favourite.”

Tony slapped a hand to his forehead, wincing when the metal hit his skin. “Can you please tell us what the hell you’re yabbering on about Fury?”

Fury planted a hand on his hip. “The Bats are Gotham’s protectors. Simply put they’re a clan of vigilante’s that stop crime and deal with corruption. That person right there. Signal?” He pointed to Signal. “Is Gotham’s daytime guardian. You see Bat’s doesn’t like Meta humans in his city, bar Signal. The other work in the shadows, Signal works in the light.”

Fury pursed his lips. “Signal is considered the Bat clan’s guiding light, he’s the cities beacon of hope.”

The sound of metal clinking against metal drew their attention back to Signal, only to see an empty chair and a set of cuffs next to the repression collar. “What the-“

Then there were alarms blaring, Jarvis’s voice nearly swallowed by the noise. “Sir there are three confirmed intruders in the entertainment room, two unknown, one identified as the prisoner.”

That had them flying from the room, into the common area with their weapons at the ready, only for a sharp ninja star shaped like a god-dammed bat fly past and imbed itself in the wall beside them.

“I wouldn’t take another step if I were you.”

Tony stared at the the figure standing in front of them with a gaping expression. He had a full bodysuit of Kevlar equipped and a bo staff pointed threateningly at them. Another on dressed in traffic light colours of all things was standing protectively in front of Signal with a katana in hand.

“H-how the hell did you guys get here? Who are you guys?”

The small kid scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Amateurs.” He muttered. The kid with the staff narrowed his eyes briefly. “I’m Red Robin.” He said curtly.

“We’ll be taking our leave now. Director Fury.” He nodded at Fury. “Please be careful with your heroes, if something like this happens again Batman will not be pleased.” At Fury’s nod, Red Robin slammed a pellet into the ground causing smoke to erupt and fill the room.

They all coughed when they inhaled the smoke, and when it cleared after a few seconds, the three were nowhere, no evidence indicating they existed.

“Soooooo, guess we’re avoiding Gotham now?”

Extra: Damian kicked his legs back and forth and he sipped his milkshake, the familiar smog of Gotham's nightlife sitting heavily in the air. "So," he began. "How'd you end up tangling with the Avengers?"

Duke snorted from beside him. "They saw me use my powers alone and pegged me for an amateur hero." He made a face that made Tim giggle.

Damian scoffed. "Please, you? an amateur? That's like saying my Grandfather doesn't have a school-girl crush on Drake over there." Tim gagged. "Really Robin? Did you have to make me think of that?" Duke laughed. "If we have to live with that fact so do you."

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codenamed-queenie · 4 years

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#BatsInQuarantine

I am going insane. So I poured my restlessness into one long and very detailed post and got super into it. Please enjoy this hot mess.

The Justice League, being the well-meaning virus-proof Super Friends that they are, took one good look at the news, one good look at their non-powered friends Ollie, Bruce, and their families, and collectively decided that these normal humans must be Protected At All Costs.

Now, keep in mind, Bruce is never one to roll over when it comes to being benched.

However, he understands the importance of social distancing. He knows he needs to set a good example for his kids, and keep up appearances as Gotham’s Most Responsible Multi-Billionaire.

So. Quarantine it is.

But how are his kids handling it?

Dick -

100% on board in the beginning. Gotta do the Responsible Thing. Gotta set a Good Example. Besides, guys, this is gonna be Fun. Quality Family Time is always a Must.

He lasted 2 days.

Then he started to get twitchy.

And as everyone knows? A Trapped Dick Grayson is a Feral Dick Grayson.

He bounces off the walls.

Literally.

“I have to climb.”

“Dick, no.”

“I have to climb everything.”

Has scaled the manor 16 times already. Has climbed the chandelier. The banister. Bruce. The roof. The Cave. Anything in the house that’s been bolted down and especially anything that hasn’t.

Duke found him clinging to the wall 10 ft off the ground like Spiderman and screamed so loud it shattered glass.

Desperate for news of the outside.

He thrives off of it like a starving man.

Was the one to suggest he and Barbara take a break to Social Distance from each other (”Sorry, babe, kissing spreads germs”) and experienced Instant Regret(TM) approximately 5 minutes after.

The Family has labelled him a Flight Risk Level 1 (Most likely to say f**k it and make a break for the outside world)

Jason -

Accidentally got trapped inside the manor with the others when Bruce called Shutdown. If he had his way, he’d be chilling in his favorite safe-house right now, binging The Witcher with Roy and Artemis, and not worrying about finding a stray brother in his sock drawer.

But he’s nothing if not an opportunist.

The way he sees it, Jason has 3 options:

Self Improvement

Self Isolation (See Duke, Cass, and Damian)

Descension Into Madness (See Dick and Steph)

And, well, he always wanted to try a few things. Now he’s got the free time to do it.

So he settles on baking.

Alfred’s got enough food and raw ingredients stored up to feed an army. (Not because he’s a Panic-Buying-Hoarder in times like these. But because he’s a Panic-Buying-Hoarder all the time. Just try feeding 11+ teenagers sometime.)

Uses recipes he finds off Google.

His first few attempts are, in a word, ‘tragic’.

Alfred slips him a few of his recipe cards, and Jason suddenly starts seeing Results.

Turns out he’s pretty good at this baking thing once he gets the hang of it.

Hope everyone’s okay eating nothing but pie, macaroons, biscuits, and whatever else Jason whips up.

Cause that’s gonna be the only food left by the time he’s done.

Barbara -

Self-quarantined with her dad.

They’ve been binge-watching classic black and white movies together.

It’s a fun time, but she’s started to get a little antsy. Loving her dad and wanting to be around him 24/7 are, understandably, mutually exclusive.

Calls the manor to video-chat every day.

For her sanity just as much as theirs.

Gives everyone little challenges to film on their phones and send in. She makes compilations of everyone’s submissions so they can all watch and laugh together.

Bonus points for Creativity

One comp shows the family trying to drop Mentos into coke bottles.

Dick did a handstand, and dropped his Mento from the second story balcony.

Tim did it wearing the Batman cowl. The soda exploded into his face, and the rest of the video is just Bruce’s Shrieking.

Stephanie tried it, but the bottle tipped. Everyone on camera screamed as the bottle rocketed through the front window.

She spends most of her calls having one-on-one convos with Dick.

They’ve come up with little code phrases so they can be Cheesy even with family members lurking in the background.

She thinks the way he clings to the monitor is cute.

Almost like he’s giving her a hug through the screen.

(It’s easier than letting herself worry about his mental state, at least)

Tim -

Oh this boy.

Freaked out for the first five minutes before he decided ‘hey wait, Bruce is letting me stay in my pajamas all day? Noice.’

Now he’s just vibing.

The rest of his family is Low-Key shielding him.

He Has No Spleen, you see.

Steph: “Someone could cough on him and he could die!”

He just goes about his day, playing Animal Crossing like there’s no tomorrow, tinkering on projects, taking naps, etc. Living his best life.

Meanwhile there’s always someone lurking behind him, keeping watch, keeping him safe.

Dick sneezed within 5 feet of Tim once (the fact that he was on top of the dusty bookshelf Tim was perusing is irrelevant)

Jason still full-body tackled him the second Tim’s back was turned.

No one with any symptoms--

Like, any symptoms. They don’t even have to be Corona-related.

--is allowed within 10 feet of Tim.

Tim has been wandering the manor for weeks, now, without seeing another human being.

(He sees Dick on the ceiling sometimes, but that doesn’t really count)

He’s been trying increasingly drastic pranks and shenanigans to draw someone, anyone, out.

But it doesn’t matter how many times he steals Damian’s sword, or sets fire to Jason’s brownie bites.

Nobody wants to risk it.

Cass -

No one has seen her since quarantine started.

Everyone is approximately 87% sure she’s somewhere in the manor though

Because she does eat the meals Alfred leaves out for her.

Or at least someone does, at any rate.

(Jason and Santa top the running suspects list)

Santa was Steph’s suggestion. For some reason it snowballed.

It’s assumed that Cass misunderstood the meaning of ‘social distancing’ and took it too far.

But no one knows for sure.

She is Tim’s Guardian Angel.

People who so much as clear their throats a little too loudly anywhere near him suddenly wake up on a different floor of the house four hours later.

Duke came closest to spotting her while he was up in the attic.

Either that, or there’s another Creepy Sister everyone forgot to tell him about living up there.

She is silent, and watchful, sticking to the shadows, but she does leave the occasional note out to brighten her siblings’ day.

Things like ‘helo i love u’ and ‘hop u ar ok’ mostly.

She is bound and determined to protect her family from this invisible threat, no matter the cost.

Steph -

Like Dick, she was Super Pumped at first.

(Just kind of showed up at Wayne Manor before quarantine was enacted. The original purpose of her visit is unclear, but regardless, she’s Trapped.)

Also Like Dick, her descent into madness was swift.

She is impossible to pin down.

Not like Cass or Damian, who’ve stayed off the grid, and are therefore Untraceable.

No. She’s impossible to pin down, because she never stops moving.

Switches seamlessly between Zumba on top of the Giant Dinosaur in the Batcave, and furiously knitting Alfred (the Cat) a sweater with a pair of Tim’s used chopsticks.

Braided everyone’s hair while they were asleep.

Even Bruce’s.

She tried to do Tim’s, but somehow blacked out and regained consciousness in the attic.

When she woke up with a scream and a furiously twitching eye, she startled Duke out of his Makeshift Fort he built out of old cardboard boxes and antique furniture. He’s had to resort to finding a new hiding place.

Sometimes, on the rare occasions she does sit still, staring off into the distance, she’ll suddenly start laughing hysterically. This may last between thirty seconds and thirty minutes, depending entirely on how long it’s been since she’s knitted a cat sweater or done cartwheels through every room in the house.

Blew up the greenhouse out back, somehow.

Everyone has agreed not to talk about it.

Some people were built to handle prolonged time inside their homes.

Stephanie Brown is not that way.

Damian -

Damian Wayne Cannot Be Contained.

At least not inside the house.

He took off thirty-six hours into quarantine.

Thanks to the security equipment around the borders of the Wayne Estate, he can’t escape the grounds.

(He’s tried and failed multiple times. Jason and Bruce have a running bet on how many times the perimeter alarms will go off per day.)

(Jason is winning.)

He wanders the grounds with Titus as his only companion.

The two of them run laps, practice drills, and find ways to occupy their time.

No one’s entirely sure what those ways are.

In fact, nobody knows exactly where Damian is at any given time.

Only that he is Out There.

And he’s the best security system Wayne Manor’s ever had.

So far, he’s stopped five groups of civilians scaling the perimeter walls before the lasers and electric nets even have a chance to deploy.

They were trying to break in and steal supplies.

(Even ones they already had in surplus. Like Toilet Paper.)

He’s also stopped Dick from escaping twelve (12) times.

Drags him back by his shirt collar and deposits him on the welcome mat.

Usually with a note for Alfred/Jason, requesting more fruit tarts.

Duke -

Did not leave the attic for two weeks.

Then Steph discovered his hiding spot (read: was dumped there by Cassandra) which forced him to relocate to the basement.

Yes, it turns out Wayne Manor does have a basement.

This was a surprise to Duke, who always thought that the Batcave was Bruce Wayne’s basement.

Alfred keeps him supplied with all the necessities:

i.e. food, magazines, assorted pastries from Jason’s latest batch, usually straight out of the oven.

Duke also snagged the Manor’s Alexa.

She has become a sort of ‘Wilson’ to Duke’s ‘Chuck Noland’.

She is his only comfort. His only ally.

He’s determined to wait out this quarantine, doing his best to avoid the others.

Duke has seen these people under pressure.

He knows exactly what he’s dealing with.

Duke: “Alexa is the only motherf****r in this madhouse I ever respected.”

*offended butler noises from the other room*

Duke: “And also Alfred.”

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phis-corner · 3 years

Text

statue of ice

yes i am still updating this fic lmao

main masterlist ◈ maribat masterlist ◈ ao3 link

She only lasts a few weeks before caving and telling her brother that she’s Ladybug.

The Guardian – Fu is his name – was vehemently against revealing her identity again, already annoyed that she’d told Jason. Privately, Marinette thinks that Fu can “go fuck himself”, and maybe Jason would have said it out loud, but she does not.

Instead, she ignores his wishes and tells Tim anyway.

To his credit, her brother isn’t even surprised. He just quirks a smile during their scheduled video call and says in a light voice, “I guess it runs in the family, then, doesn’t it?”

Marinette is inclined to agree. After all, what are the odds that both of them ended up being protectors of two cities?

.o0o.

A week later, Tim calls her to confirm Marinette’s suspicions that Gabriel Agreste is Hawkmoth.

“He’s slippery. Paid to have all the security cameras around his home removed, but I traced akuma sightings on social media and marked them on a map and what do you know, his house was right in the center of the circle. I also checked out the property. He literally has a butterfly window, Mari. Everything in his house is butterfly patterned. It checks out.”

“Thank you, Tim-Tam. I’ll take care of it from here,” Marinette says. Her mind is already working, forming a plan to take Gabriel down. Permanently.

It has to be public. The city wouldn’t believe it otherwise, and some are already accusing Ladybug and Chat Noir of creating the akumas themselves so that they can make themselves look good by defeating them.

Exposing Gabriel as Hawkmoth would cause the downfall of his company and result in the loss of thousands of jobs, but Audrey Bourgeois had a Parisian branch of Style Queen that was still fairly new and looking for employees, and she knows that Audrey would most likely hire all of Gabriel’s employees out of spite.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to help?” her brother asks. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

She knows. She wants so, so badly not to do it alone, to have her brother by her side as she faces down a magic user that could turn her into a puppet in the blink of an eye if she allowed herself to feel just a little bit too much, but she can’t bring him into this. Can’t bring anyone else into this. Tim already spends his nights stopping rapists and murderers and seeing all the horrors that Gotham has to offer. He doesn’t need to see what Paris throws at its people as well.

“It’s a miraculous matter, Tim-Tam,” Marinette says instead of voicing any of those thoughts. “Besides, bringing anyone else in puts them at risk of akumatization. It’s best to keep as few people involved as possible.”

“Okay then,” Tim responds, not fully managing to hide the disappointment and apprehension in his voice. “Good luck, Mari.”

The corners of her lips twitch upwards in a tiny smile. “I am the living embodiment of good luck, Tim-Tam. It will be alright.”

.o0o.

It is easy to poke and prod at Gabriel’s ego until he thoughtlessly lunges, crashing through his own window onto the street below when she dances out of his way.

Ladybug follows, dropping and rolling with a familiarity that comes from being forced to do that same motion countless times, and she toys with him, dodging, ducking, but never really attacking, until the news helicopters start circling overhead.

Chat Noir arrives just as she sweeps Gabriel’s legs out from underneath him, and he doesn’t quite manage to stifle his gasp of horror, all irritation at Ladybug for taking Hawkmoth down without him forgotten when he sees who is underneath the mask.

Ladybug may find Chat Noir (Adrien Agreste, she reminds herself,) a nuisance at best, but she is not heartless. She knows what it’s like, to want to believe that one’s parents are good people. She knows what it’s like when that illusion one tries so hard to maintain finally shatters, and it’s something that nobody deserves to experience.

Chat’s face hardens as Ladybug starts murmuring words in an ancient tongue underneath her breath, casting a spell on his father, who gave up the fight as soon as the butterfly was removed from his hands, to ensure that Gabriel will never be able to touch another miraculous again. He won’t be able to exist within three feet of one.

It’s a good thing she chooses that spell too, because it protects Gabriel from his son’s wrath.

As the authorities are cuffing his hands behind his back, something cold settles in Chat Noir’s eyes as he calls up a Cataclysm and lunges at his father, the clawed hand rippling with dark magic outstretched, ready to disintegrate a living, breathing human being.

Gabriel is yanked backward by an invisible force, pulled out of harm’s way, and Chat’s Cataclysm lands on a chunk of debris instead. The Black Cat is held back by his partner before he can try something else.

“Chat,” Ladybug hisses, as he struggles in her hold, still trying to go after his father, who is being put away into a police car. “It’s done. It’s over. He won’t hurt anyone ever again, and the justice system will deal with it.”

Chat Noir slowly starts to resist less and less at her words, and she takes that as a cue to continue. “It feels anticlimactic, and I know you want to do more. You think we should do more than just let them take him away, because you’ve been fighting on the front lines of this battle since the beginning. But our part is over. Our duty has been fulfilled. He won’t be acquitted, if that’s any consolation. There are mountains of evidence against him.”

Her partner turns around, suddenly, and buries his face into her shoulder as his body jerks with what she realizes are sobs. He’s crying,Ladybug realizes. He’s crying for his father. For who he thought his father was.

When was the last time she cried for one of her parents?

Ladybug reaches a hand up and awkwardly pats Chat Noir on the back for a moment before she spots the reporters.

“Let’s take this to our usual meeting spot,” she whispers to her partner, and he nods, composing himself in an instant. Janet would have liked Adrien, she thinks. Gabriel’s parenting style was evidently similar to how Marinette had grown up.

Five minutes later, they’re standing on the Eiffel Tower, overlooking the city they’d sacrificed so much to protect.

“This is it, isn’t it?” Chat Noir asks, turning to her. “This is the end? There’s no use for us anymore.”

Ladybug inhales slowly, taking in the view from above one last time and committing it to memory. Not that she needs to – her eidetic memory ensures that she’ll never forget. It’s for the sentiment, she supposes.

“Yes,” she murmurs. “We have to give them back now. Say goodbye to our kwamis.” She’ll miss Tikki’s company, she thinks, but not as much as she misses Jason’s. The kwami was sweet, yes, but she didn’t understand Marinette’s need to do something other than being Ladybug.

“Where do we even return them to?” Chat questions, and then she remembers that he’d never been told of the Guardian’s existence.

Ladybug unhooks her yoyo from her side, tossing it up and down one last time as she prepares to swing. “Follow me,” she says, and then she throws the yoyo and leaps off the side of the Tower.

.o0o.

Fu’s massage parlor is just as inconspicuous as ever, and somehow, no one is walking along the street when Ladybug and Chat Noir enter.

The Guardian has been expecting them – there are three cups of tea sitting on the table in front of him.

“Ladybug, Chat Noir, please sit,” he says in his wheezy voice. They oblige, but the tea remains untouched on the table.

“Chat Noir, it is time to return your miraculous,” Fu states, and the two of them stiffen, immediately picking out what’s wrong with that sentence.

“Why am I not included?” Ladybug inquires, her polite tone holding an undercurrent of danger. “There cannot be a Ladybug without a Black Cat.”

“Well, you see, you won’t be using the Ladybug,” the Guardian explains with a slightly condescending look on his face. “But there can only be one Guardian, and I’ve chosen you to be my successor.”

The sound of Ladybug’s palms slamming on the table makes the other two people in the room jump. “Absolutely not,” she declares as she stands up. “I did not agree to become the Guardian. This has never been discussed.”

Fu looks up at her with confused eyes. “But you became a candidate when you agreed to put on the earrings, and Chat Noir is simply not fit for the job.” Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Chat Noir wince, but he does not disagree.

“I put on the earrings because people were dying,” Ladybug growls. “Because this city needed something, someone, to look up to, and there was no other viable option. The Guardian is never in the light. They spend the rest of their extended lives hiding in the shadows to protect a box of magical jewelry. The Guardian is not a symbol of hope, because nobody knows the Guardian exists. I put on the earrings to be a symbol of hope, not because I wanted to, but because people needed one. The people don’t need one anymore, and I don’t want to continue doing this.”

“I was fighting a war, Fu,” she spits, furious words laced with venom. “I was fighting a war with one ally by my side and we were both children. Now that the war is over, I am no longer needed, so I am leaving. I want the shreds of innocence I had before this war back, but that is not possible, so I can at least try to move on from this instead. Let me move on.”

Without warning, she reaches up and carefully takes the earrings out of her ears. She would have loved to rip them off in one swift movement, but earrings were not that type of jewelry. The Ladybug suit disappears in a flash of pink, and then she is Marinette again, standing in a massage parlor with a pair of red-and-black earrings in her hand and two sets of wide eyes fixed on her.

“Marinette,” Chat Noir breathes. “Oh my god, I… I’m so sorry.”

Marinette drops the earrings on the table in front of them. “Are you sorry for being an ass, or just sorry because the person you convinced yourself you were in love with was an illusion?” she asks, not looking at anyone or anything in particular as she pivots on her heel and strides for the exit.

When she reaches the doorway, however, she pauses, eyes still fixed straight ahead of her. “Oh, and Adrien?” she calls, eliciting two identical noises of surprise. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. About your father, of course.”

Then she opens the door and walks through, never once looking back as she sees the city that once weighed so heavily on her shoulders from the ground looking up, instead of from above, gazing down.

.o0o.

She’d spent some time wondering how she was going to adjust to life in Paris after that, knowing what she knew about Adrien and Gabriel and what Adrien knew about her.

As it turns out, she only has to go through one week of feeling Adrien’s green eyes on her at every available moment in class and going out of her way to avoid him, because her mother dies.

It’s surprisingly anticlimactic.

Janet Drake was always such a formidable woman. Her mere presence in a room could make grown men cower. To Marinette, she seemed almost invincible – always superior to everyone else, untouchable as she lashed out with quick with and a sharp tongue and long nails digging into her children’s shoulders. If there were ever any cracks in Janet’s façade, if it even wasa façade, she’d never seen one.

And yet, in the end, it turned out that she wasn’t untouchable after all. She’d died because she drank poisoned water out of desperation, even as Batman was right there. Batman had arrived to save them, he had freed them from their bonds, and the first thing they did was drink water poisoned with nerve toxin. Jack had survived, though he was in a coma and paralyzed.

Janet did not.

And that was it. That was the end of a woman that had dominated Marinette’s life for so long, a woman whose voice still hissed and lingered in her mind, reminding her to sit still and be silent and never, ever let your emotions show on your face.

Tim – he’d never had that mindset thrust upon him as forcefully as she did. After all, Tim had a father that didn’t despise him for his gender. Jack took charge of molding the son, and so Tim is crying, when he tells her all of this. He thinks he’s being subtle, but she’s his sister. She knows better.

Marinette didn’t care for her mother much, but she supposes she could give the dead at least some modicum of respect.

So as she packs her bags and books the next available flight to Gotham City, Marinette honors her mother’s wishes and does not shed a single tear for Janet Lynn Drake.

statue of ice

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#maribat #my writing #statue of ice au

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editorofeverything · 4 years

Text

Day 6? of going through my drafts I never finished or posted because ✧Low Self-Esteem✧

Except I started going through my fanfic folder... and getting really into the plotlines I had going on there... and I may have started completing them all of a sudden?? I won’t question it because I’m afraid the will to write will suddenly go away so here is my now complete first part of my Daminette fic I wrote like a year ago?

So, without further ado, here is four times the Ladybug magic teleported Marinette to where she would be safest, and the one time she was already there—Part One.

When Tim Drake started his nightly shift in the Batcave with a pot of coffee in hand and a research project in the works, he didn’t expect a magical portal to spit out a ladybug themed superhero at the Batmobile with a cut off scream.

He froze as the swirling red portal disappeared and the hero that made a dent in the Batmobile stopped moving. He reached over and pushed the SOS button that would alert the others that something was wrong before grabbing his coffee mug as a weapon and heading over towards the girl.

She was small, was his first discovery. Probably shorter and younger than Damian, and yet she was wearing a bright red suit over her curled body and a mask over her closed eyes. She was hurt, and Tim didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t slept in over a week and the brain cells that were left were combusting at the sight of a child crumbled on the floor after playing the hero game.

He sucked in a breath and froze at the puddle of blood starting to pool under her head. The crashing of glass broke him out of his stupor and he barely noticed his favorite mug broken on the floor beside him before he threw himself at the girl’s side and eased her onto her back so he could look her over. All he could do was breathe a sigh of relief when he could feel her pulse beating weakly. He tried her mask first, and, after discovering that it wouldn’t budge from her skin, he realized that whatever magic she possessed would prevent him from checking her for injuries.

He brushed her hair out of her face and saw the bruises and scrapes all over before he checked her head. Her lips parted in a small cry when he touched a tender spot and he cursed at his red coated fingers when he pulled away.

“What the hell is it now, Drake? Do you even know what time it is?” Jason walked over with Alfred on his tail and rested his hand on Tim’s shoulder, startling him. “What’s up-? Who the fuck is that?”

“She teleported here. She’s… Jay, she’s hurt really bad and she’s some type of magic so I don’t even know how hurt she is and-” A beep interrupted his rant and they both looked for the source on her.

“Alfred, get the first aid kit and get the others in here.”

“Of course, Master Jason.”

“All I’m saying, Father, is that maybe if we put him through a rehab system, these ridiculous late night emergencies would decrease.”

“They’re not all hallucinations, Damian. We haven’t had an incident since last month.”

“Until now,” Damian huffed as he and his father ran into Alfred who was carrying a first aid kit, some blankets, and some towels.

“Was Tim injured, Alfred?”

“No, Master Bruce. There seems to be an intruder in the Batcave. I believe Master Tim and Master Jason are currently trying to assess her for injuries, but it seems she is of the magical variety and her suit is giving them some trouble.”

Damian was already sprinting to the cave while Bruce grabbed some of the items from Alfred and walked with him to the group of his kids kneeling around a small figure on the ground.

Damian saw the dent in the Batmobile before he saw the girl and actually stopped in surprise. “She did that?”

Bruce followed behind him and made a surprised noise as well before moving towards Tim and Jason’s side. “What happened?”

“A portal opened up and she was thrown into the Batmobile. She’s been unconscious the whole time. Her head is bleeding and I wouldn’t be surprised if she has a concussion. I can tell she’s hurt more, but we can’t take off her suit to check.”

Jason placed a towel under her head and she moaned at the movement, her eyes fluttering.

“She has these earrings that have been beeping for the past three minutes. I think they might be where she gets her powers from. They seem to be timing out.”

A final beeping noise echoed throughout the cave before a bright pink shine encased her body, revealing a small girl. She had blackish-blue hair tied in falling pigtails, pale skin that was speckled with bruises and lacerations. Her clothes looked impeccable, though the blood from her wounds was starting to soak into her red sundress.

“What the actual fuck is that?” Jason spotted a round, red figure moving on the girls collarbone.

The bat family took in the little red bug as it sat up and shook its head before seeming to notice the girl she was on.

“Marinette!” the thing spoke and Tim clutched Damian’s arm with an urgency that startled him.

“Please tell me you heard that thing talk.” Damian patted Tim’s hand lightly.

“You are not alone in hearing the kwami talk, Master Tim.” Alfred straightened up at the sight of the mystical being fretting over her charge’s unresponsive body.

“Kwami?” Bruce muttered under his breath, looking to Alfred for answers.

“Tikki, Goddess of Creation,” Alfred pressed his fist into his hand and bowed towards her, “how may we assist you?”

Tikki turned her wide eyes to Alfred and floated up to him. “Please help her! She’s more hurt than I can heal, and the fight is still waging on! Without Ladybug, the entire team will fail!”

Bruce straightened up at that and turned to his sons. “Jason, Tim, keep pressure on her head wound and wrap up any minor lacerations. She’s lost too much blood. Damian, come with me so we can get some more supplies for Miss Marinette.”

“Father, a word, please?” Bruce paused as soon as they exited the cave and were heading for the kitchen with a list of things Alfred told them to grab like water, cookies, and something light for Marinette when she would wake up. Damian had gotten better with being open and calm with his family for a while, but it still took time to unlearn years of life being taught one way for so long.

“What is it, Damian?”

“I… I know everyone’s concerned about the girl—I am too—but has anyone thought of what will happen if she wakes up? Will she recognize the Batcave? Will we reveal our identities to her, especially since she’s been forcefully revealed to us? What if she doesn’t wake up? How will we explain how a foreign girl ended up in Gotham?”

“These are all good questions, Damian, and I’m glad you’re able to share your concerns with me. In this matter, though… I believe we’ll just take Alfred’s que for right now. If at any point you feel uncomfortable with your identity being discovered when Miss Marinette wakes up, then you can leave and we’ll fill you in later.”

Damien’s silence carried into the kitchen as Bruce started handing things to him to take back.

“I’ll go back,” Damien finally said as Bruce pulled the cookie jar off the cabinet, planning on taking the whole thing. Who knew how much those kwamis could eat? Bruce certaintly didn’t, and the fact they were magic too didn’t help him any. “I think… Alfred usually knows best, and I trust his judgement… As well as the rest of the family’s. I want to make sure the girl is okay firsthand, and we can go from there.”

Bruce felt a wave of affection and pride towards his son, and wished Damian would look him in the eyes, but he would settle with placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Then, let’s go give them a hand, son.”

Bruce and Damian joined the group quickly enough to arrive just as Tikki and Alfred were starting their own conversation while Jason and Tim assisted the girl. Damian stood with his father, both with their guard up in case someone could possibly track Marinette and Tikki down. Magic, they agreed before they entered the room, is a fickle thing, and they didn’t want to take any chances of their family, or their sudden patient, to be caught off guard.

“You were a previous Miraculous holder, weren’t you? I can sense your bright soul. Who was your chosen?” Tikki asked, hovering just over Marinette’s collarbone. Alfred didn’t know if it was because she was protective of the girl or injured herself, but he felt it too rude to ask directly of the tiny god.

“Duusu, the Peafowl Miraculous of Emotion. We were separated after a year of us working together, and I never knew what happened to him or Nooroo, who was taken as well.” Alfred could tell Master Bruce and the boysr were listening intently on their conversation, but wouldn’t interrupt. Detectives they might be, but Alfred raised Master Bruce, and they, in turn, raised the boys to have manners. He could sense their questions piling up, but was confident they would save them for after they delt with Marinette’s most pressing wounds.

“Unfortunately, they ended up in the wrong hands. It’s why Ladybug and Chat Noir were called together in the first place. Marinette has made excellent work in finding and defeating Hawkmoth, but there has been too many obstacles in her way lately. She’s been through a lot…” Tikki turned on to face Marinette and Alfred was overcome at the overwhelming sense of sadness emanating from Tikki.

“We will do all we can for her,” he choked out, and shook his head at Jason and Tim, who paused at the catch in Alfred’s voice. “For such a young child to be a holder though…” Tikki sat on Alfred’s shoulder as Tim and Jason started wrapping Marinette’s head gently and patched up some larger cuts she had on her side. Her ribs were likely broken if the mottled bruised running down her side were anything to go by, and her ankle seemed to be sprained, if not broken as well.

“The previous Guardian made a rushed decision on who to choose for the Miraculous. It just so happens that Marinette is the one soul in this lifetime that resonates with mine. Despite her age, she has become one of the best Ladybugs I’ve had the honor of assisting, and she is now the Guardian of the Miraculous Box as well.”

“Guardian? She’s a Guardian as well? How could that be?”

“The previous Guardian’s identity was compromised by Hawkmoth, the villain with the butterfly miraculous. He’s been terrorizing Paris for almost three years now. Marinette had to step in as Guardian or the Miraculous Box would be lost.”

“Tikki…” The girl winced away from Jason and Tim’s hands and she whimpered.

“Tikki…” Bruce began in a steely tone, “how old is Miss Marinette?”

“She’s turning eighteen in a few months. I know she’s young, and I hate to put so much on her shoulders, but she’s the only one who can be Ladybug, and competent enough to be Guardian. She’s intelligent, strong emotionally and physically, and her heart is pure. She is the embodiment of what Ladybug is supposed to be.” After that speech, Damian took a breath and knelt down between Todd and Drake to assist. They still didn’t know everything, which could be dangerous for them, but Damian felt that if he were to take a chance on anyone, it would be this girl that was worthy of so much power and responsibility.

As soon as Damian brushed his fingers against her wrist to check for a break, however, the girl suddenly seized up and Damian jolted his hand away. Tikki gave him a strange look before floating over to her chosen.

“Tikki!” Marinette shot up, instantly collapsing with her head pressed into her knees with a groan. Tikki nudged Marinette cheek with her head reassuringly.

“It’s ok, Marinette. We’re safe for now. Please lie down or you’ll hurt yourself more.”

“Safe…? But where are we? School?”

“I believe that a Ladybug power was activated when Mayura cornered you. It teleported you to where you would be safest in the world.”

“Safest?” Marinette looked around and seemed to panic at the group of men surrounding her. “Oh my god, who are these people?! Did they see me transform? Tikki, you’re supposed to stay hidden!”

“Excuse me, Miss Marinette, but you can rest assured that you and Tikki are safe here.” Alfred rested a gentle hand on her arm, and she immediately relaxed. “I know first-hand the challenges of being a Miraculous holder, and we will do everything in our power to assist you if need be.”

For a moment, Marinette seemed paralyzed. She was looking at Alfred unfocusedly, as if she was seeing right through him. Suddenly, she met his eyes and started speaking a language only the three could understand.

“You have the soul of emotion and light. Touched by one who has been stolen and corrupted. You have my trust and thanks for your assistance, young Peafowl.” Marinette stated in an ancient, unfamiliar language before blinking out of her haze and nearly falling to one side if Damian hadn’t grabbed her and kept her propped up.

“Sorry,” she blinked slowly and focused on Alfred again, “I’m still getting used to that.”

“Your trust in me is an honor, my lady Guardian, but I doubt I can be considered very young anymore,” Alfred said with some humor in his voice. Marinette smiled warmly at him and, with the help of Damian, Jason, and Tim, eased back onto a few blankets and some towels to cushion her beating head.

“Damian, pass some water over,” Tim asked, still checking over Marinette’s head. Damian did so, being uncharacteristically silent during the entire conversation.

“My head is fine,” Marinette said in a thick accent. “I believe I hit it after I have been teleported, not during the battle.”

“You speak English very well, Miss,” Bruce praised, leading to Jason cooing at her blush.

“Ah, well, it’s important to be able to communicate with tourist during akuma attacks. I’m afraid I haven’t had much practice, though. And it’s definitely not as good as your French.” Marinette gave a shy, kind smile to Alfred.

“What did I hit my head on, anyways? I’ve been thrown before, but I’ve never hit anything so hard that I’ve passed out and detransformed.”

The resounding silence echoed throughout the room and Marinette took a breath before sitting up properly and keeping her gaze steady at the ground.

“Whatever it is, I don’t want to know. Don’t even tell me your names.”

“Miss?”

“I’m a superhero fighting an evil villain with magic jewelry, I know the awkward ‘I have a secret I can’t tell you’ silence. I haven’t exactly been on this side of the conversation much though. I understand. Just let me catch my breath and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“’Catch your breath?’ You have a concussion! And broken ribs! You can’t fight like this!” Jason was getting too worked up, but this was a child.

“Yes, I can. Just give me a minute. I’ve fought in worse conditions, and I’ll be better once I can reverse the damage.”

“Reverse the damage?” Damian said, and was almost disappointed when Marinette didn’t look at him directly. She wasn’t looking at any of them, except for Alfred, in the face. Deniability, most likely, but definitely not what he was initially expecting when he decided to stay with his family despite the chances of being recognized.

“Tikki?” Marinette said, and rested her head against the Batmobile while she started poking at her wounds.

“I give Marinette many powers. One of which is the power of the Miraculous Ladybug. It reverts ay damage done by a kwami instantaneously. In fact, the dent in your motorized vehicle should be back to normal as well once the battle is won.”

“Tikki, I need to know how the fight is going. Be stealthy and take a look, and grab Khalki. I’ll need him to teleport back to Paris. I don’t want to risk using whatever power got me here in the first place.”

“I’ll be right back!” Tikki turned towards Alfred and patted him gently on the cheek. “I leave my chosen in your hands, Alfred. Look after her, please.”

“Of course, Tikki.”

“Thank you, young Peafowl.” Alfred returned her smile instantly before Tikki disappeared through the floor.

“So, let’s play ‘Do I Have a Concussion 20 Questions!’” Jason announced after he and Tim propped her up between them, leaning against the dent in the Batmobile.

Damian sat in front of them while Bruce and Alfred had moved over to the Batcomputer to try and do some research into the Miraculous themselves.

Marinette giggled and focused herself from closing her eyes by chipping at her black nail polish.

“So question number one: what is your name?” Tim was holding the broken handle of his coffee mug in his fist and was talking into it like it was a microphone.

“Marinette, but you already knew that,” Marinette said in a teasing tone.

“True, but this is if you know your name, not for us, little lady,” Jason bumped her shoulder with his gently and she giggled again.

They went through a few questions that were vague enough not to uncover her identity completely, but still show that she had her wits about her. Where are you from? Paris, of course. Do you go to public, private, or home school? Public! I hate homeschooling. Do you live with your parents? Yeah… oh I left my phone with my stuff at school. They’re probably worried sick. Do you have a job?

“Oh!” Marinette suddenly exclaimed, jolting where she sat. “Maman and Papa are going to be so disappointed if I can’t get home in time to watch the bakery! They’re going on a date tonight, and we have three orders to fill… I wonder if I can get Chloe to push their reservation…”

Jason shared an apologetic look with Tim when they realized how much she just let out. Damian was alarmed. She didn’t even seem to notice how much she just gave away about herself during her rambling.

“Why are you telling us all of this?” Damian finally asked after a moment of silence. He didn’t understand this girl. She was in a strange place, surrounded by strangers, and willing to avoid looking at them or around to keep them comfortable with their secrets, and the she goes and basically tells them where she lives.

“I know it might not makes sense, but as Ladybug and Guardian, I can sense things most people can’t, and I’ve learned to trust myself above all. My powers brought me here because I’m safe, and I can sense that you all have pure souls. You two even have souls saturated in Destruction energy… The Black Cat’s energy. It balances my own soul out well… How did you come across a Lazurus pit?”

Jason and Damian jolt and look at each other. Bruce was at Damian’s side in the next moment. “How do you know about the Lazurus pits?” He asked in a cautious tone, though Marinette didn’t seem to notice. She was still picking at her nail polish and Damian had a moment of irritation at the flaky mess until he realized she was probably doing it to keep her focus off of them.

“I am Guardian, and Tikki’s chosen. I know everything there is to know about the Miraculous, though I only recall the information when I needs to be used. When the Ladybug and Cat’s miraculous are combined, the holder may make a wish. One of those wishes was to be immortal. The Lazurus pits were created out of that wish, but the price was heavy. To manipulate a soul into bearing life after one should die… it leaves a mark—mentally, physically, emotionally… Most of the Lazurus pits were destroyed to restore balance, but some still remain in this world to keep the balance of what was already taken as its price. If they were all to be destroyed, something else in the world would have to be as well to keep balance.”

The resounding silence in the room felt suffocating, but Marinette just smiled reassuringly and brushed her dress down. Damian suddenly noticed that he felt… calmer in her presence than he usually would with someone he met barely twenty minutes ago.

Marinette’s voice brought him out of his thoughts once more. “Tikki is coming back.”

The kwami suddenly appeared a moment later with another one right behind her. Marinette smile and held out her hand.

“Hello, Khalki.”

“My Lady,” Khalki purred, floating around her hand.

“The fight is still going, Marinette. Chat Noir and Queen Bee are playing decoy and distraction. I informed them that you had been transported away for your safety and that we would be present for the fight soon. Hawkmoth and Mayura can’t end the fight and get what they want without Ladybug present, and Chat Noir and Queen Bee are smart enough not to let them leave or capture them while you’re gone. Both sides are playing it safe and waiting for your return.” During Tikki’s rundown, Marinette slowly but surely began to stand on her own, leaning against the Batmobile.

“Well, let’s give them an entrance they won’t forget. Are they all still at the Tower?”

“Yes. Chat Noir has followed your direction to keep them centered there well.”

“Good. Tikki, spots on. Khalki, Tikki, merge.” The family all stood and watched in amazement and shock as Marinette glowed that same pink hue before the red and black spotted heroine stood before them.

“Your injuries are still there.” Damian broke the silence to his family’s surprise. “You should be careful and finish your battle quickly to minimize your injuries until you can heal.”

Marinette seemed surprised, focusing on his shirt, the closest she’s gotten to looking his in the eyes the entire time she had been there. He almost… wanted her to. He wanted to look directly into her bright blue eyes and let her see him as he saw her… He shook himself out of that embarrassing train of thought just as Ladybug said something that caused a portal to appear.

“Thank you for your help…” Marinette nodded to them and looked one last time at Alfred. “I hope we meet again, young Peafowl.”

“As do I, my lady Guardian,” he bowed.

Ladybug turned and was suddenly gone. The only evidence of her being there was the broken remains of Tim’s broken mug and the huge dent in the Batmobile.

“Well, I’m going to sleep,” Tim announced to the room. “Someone else can take night shift tonight and someone can also tell me this wasn’t all some fever dream in the morning.”

Half an hour later, Damian, who had volunteered to stay up and finish the nightly watch in order to gather more information of the Miraculous and Marinette, noticed Tim’s mug appear sitting perfectly on the floor half full of the sludge he must’ve been drinking before it had broken and the dent in the Batmobile disappear in a wave of ladybugs.

Damian smirked at the knowledge that she and her team had won their battle, and that, if these items were fixed, then so were Marinette’s injuries. He ignored the part of him that felt… proud at the knowledge of her win, and happy knowing she was healed.

Damian grabbed the mug off the floor and took it with him to drop off in the kitchen while he searched for a snack. All his searching through all the bakeries in Paris was starting to make him hungry, especially the one he left on the Batcomputer. He would have to see if the Dupain-Cheng Bakery catered internationally, or if the woman posing with her husband in the owner’s bio passed down her black-blue hair to any daughters his age.

UPDATE: Here’s the link to the next part and the AO3 link for anyone who wants to continue!

Next - AO3 Link

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batfam-rewrites · 4 years

Text

Batfam During Quarantine: Training Day

Thanks so much for the amount of love the last post got!I’m sorry it took me so long to post this next one, school and other stuff started to get in the way, so to make up for it I added a surprise arc at the end. I might start doing theses in chunks to save time and fill in any gaps where I don’t post as much because of school. Not so sure yet but it’s just an idea. I hope that if you read this you enjoyed it! I am going to try and post more frequently now that I’m almost caught up with my school work.

Damian: Good morning Tim! I made you breakfast.

Tim: What do you know? Why are you calling me Tim?

Cassandra: Plus three large hot cups of coffee.

Tim: What’s going on? Why are you guys acting so weird?

Cassandra: No reason. Just want to be nice.

Tim: Nope. That’s not it. What did you guys do.

Jason: Done making Tim’s bed! I’m off to steam his suit!

Tim: WHAT THE SHIT IS GOING ON???

Cassandra, Damian, and Jason: *in unison* We just want to be nice. *all three surround him in a big hug*

Tim: THIS IS SO WEIRD!

Dick: *walks into the breakfast room* Morning Tim! How’s it going?

Tim: NO! ALL OF YOU LEAVE ME ALONE! *storms out of the breakfast room*

Dick: What did you do to Tim?

Jason: We have no idea.

Damian: The dude is losing it.

Dick: *gets face to face with Cassandra* Cass, do you have something to say?

Cassandra: We woke up early and decided to be nice to Tim for no reason.

Dick: You guys are evil. Go have your fun.

All three run out of the room.

Jason: TIM LET US LOVE YOU!!!!!!

Daily Briefing

Dick: Hey, Babs doesn’t know your here. I don’t want her to get jealous or something so could you please join the zoom call from another room.

Helena: Sure, I understand, lover.

Dick: No, we aren’t going through that again.

Helena: I make no promises.

Tim: You know you’re going to be in deep shit when Barbara finds out, right?

Dick: I’m in deep shit anyway.

Tim: Very true.

Dick: *begins the zoom call* Hey everyone, so if you can’t tell, Huntress has arrived to help out. Now, to everyone at the manor I created a schedule for when to work out. They should be completed before patrol. For those of you at home, I trust that you made your own.

Barbara: Yep!

Kate: Please, I’ve been training much harder than most of you guys since I was 6.

Harper: Yeah, sorta did. Not able to do much because I’m not at the cave.

Dick: That actually leads me to my next point. Harper I made a schedule for you because Bruce, Alfred, Selina, and I found a way to have Cullen inside the mansion without him finding out who Batman really is. Cullen already knows the alter egos of Red Robin, Spoiler, Orphan, and Nightwing. Everyone else is a question mark, so we will allow you to enter the mansion. When Cullen is around, we all will have to restrain from talking about our vigilante work. Have everything ready by next week. Once you arrive you’ll have to quarantine in your room for two weeks.

Harper: Awesome!

Dick: Today there has actually been no crime in Gotham City, so far, so we’ll take a day off, but if something comes up, cases will be assigned as they normally are. So everyone, after training, feel free to relax but be ready in case something pops up.

Dick and Jason

Dick: *turns on his training playlist, first song being “Devil in I” from Slipknot*

Jason: You know what, if this is the kind of stuff you have on your playlist, I might actually enjoy training with you!

Dick: I have 357 songs on here.

Jason: Damn!

Dick: What did you expect, I listen to every genre!

Jason: Really! I should actually start listening whenever people talk.

Dick: Remember that next time Bruce yells at you for shooting someone.

Jason: I’m just saying, if I mistake someone’s knee cap for their head, is it really that bad?

Dick: *laughs* Yes!

The two stretch a bit before moving on to pommel horse.

Dick: Figured you’d want to get this out of the way first.

Jason: Fuck you!

Dick: Just think of the music, and not falling.

Jason: *goes for a loop on pommel horse and bangs his legs against the pommels and falls* AHHHHHHH!

Dick: Maybe I should take pommels off first?

Jason: That’s an option? Then yes, please do so!

Dick: *quickly takes of the pommels then goes for a magyar, a triple russian, flare, spindle, press handstand one and a half piro, and flawlessly sticks his dismount*

Jason: Show off.

Duke and Damian

Dick and Jason had been training for an hour and fifteen minutes before Duke and Damian walked in. After stretching, the two began to spar.

Dick: Duke! You made a mistake when choosing your partner.

Jason: Nah! My boy Duke will show Dami who’s the boss.

Duke: I honestly like my chances!

Damian: Good Thomas, your over confidence will be your doom!

The two begin to fight. Damian dives right for Duke, rolling out and uses his momentum to go for a front flip and kick Duke in the chest, however Duke evades Damian’s strike and trips him after Damian lands. Damian gets back up though, thrashing at Duke. Duke dodges each strike and finally jabs Damian in the gut a few times and kicks him in the chest. That would be the only fight out of the three they had that Duke won.

Afterwards, Dick began to teach him the basics on both high bar. Duke was able to catch on very quickly and by the end of his training on high bar he was learning how to do kips and flyaways. Dick and Duke also decided to tumble together so Duke could learn the basics and some advanced skills too.

Damian spent the rest of his time trying to out do Jason. When Jason was using 100 lb weights, Damian would use 120′s. When Jason ran 5 miles, Damian ran 6.

Jason: Dami, you’re going to be extremely sore. Take it easy.

Damian: Easy? *huff* Let me *huff* remind you that *huff* I was also trained *huff* by the League *huff* of Assassins. *runs to the garbage to throw up* I am superior *huff* than all of *huff* you in every way.

Jason: Okay bud. Well, I’m about to spar with Dick.

Damian: I’ll fight Grayson, too. *jogs up to Dick while moaning in pain* *huff* Fight me Grayson. *huff*

Dick: I’m not going to fight you. You look like you’ll pass out.

Damian: I’m *huff* fine.

Dick: Throw a punch at me like you normally would without groaning in pain.

Damian: *starts to punch but his fist his Dick like a soft tap* Ahhhhhh.

Dick: Go rest, take an ice bath, eat a lot of fruits, and drink a lot of water.

Damian: Okay, *huff* but only because *huff* you said so.

Dick and Jason then started to fight and after they concluded, Dick took the trash bag that Damian hurled in and tossed it out. An hour later Duke concluded his workout.

Cassandra and Julia

Cassandra: Woooo! Are you ready?

Julia: Your enthusiasm is a little bit concerning.

Cassandra: Yeah, but just deal with it.

Since she arrived to the mansion Julia has not let herself stop her routine. She has been training as much as she has been since her days in Britain's Special Reconnaissance Regiment. However as soon as she saw Cassandra doing freestanding handstand push-ups while doing an inverted crunch, she knew she had to up her game.

Cassandra just ignored the list Dick gave her for the most part and did the craziest exercises she could think of. When she started strength conditioning, she ran to the still rings and tried to do what she saw Dick doing once. She tried an azarian to an iron cross but immediately fell through the rings. it took her twenty minutes but she finally made it to the iron cross and rolled backwards into a planche. An hour later she finish conditioning and waited for Julia to finish so the two could spar.

Julia: Okay, you ready? *walking over from the treadmill*

Cassandra: More than ready! Lets do this! *she started bouncing on her toes like a boxer*

Cassandra won all three fights within a matter of minutes. Julia almost had a chance in the second one where Cassandra lost her balance, but she reacted too slow as Cassandra regained it and knocked Julia to the floor.

Selina and Helena

Selina focused more on her agility during her cardio workout than anything else. I mean, it’s definitely something that she takes pride in so why wouldn’t she?

Helena: Hey, can I ask you a question? *throwing punches toward Selina*

Selina: Sure! *dodges each strike, jumps off the wall, and dives over Helena’s head*

Helena: What’s the situation between Dick and Barbara? *grabs Selina’s torso and slams her body down*

Selina: Oof. *gets back up from the floor and sits down with Helena* Don’t think of it. Dick is all sad that he has to stay at the mansion without Barbara. I wouldn’t even try to approach Dick about the situation because he’ll act even more weird then when you arrived.

Helena: That explains this morning.

Selina: What happened?

Helena: I said hey and he replied with “Hey, what’s up, gir......friend, lady. Girl who is a friend and a lady. Saved it.” Then, just for fun, I pinched his ass and he jumped up and screamed.

Selina: You’re playing with fire, I don’t blame you for pinching his ass though.

Helena: Hold on, it gets better. After that I leaned towards him and he started leaning over the table and asked, what’s wrong lover. He then stepped to the side and said “Nothing, nothing.” and started walking backwards saying “coolcoolcool” until he reached the door.

Selina: Why bother messing with his head?

Helena: Because it’s fun. Plus I still feel like there is something there.

Selina: Very well. Now that you have that out of your system let’s head to the showers.

Helena: You won’t tell Dick, right?

Selina: What you just told me is between you and Dick. I will not interfere in any way.

Stephanie and Tim

Tim: *walks in tired as hell* Hey Steph. You ready?

Stephanie: Yeah!

Tim: Alright. Cool.

Both Stephanie and Tim go to do their separate training regimes. Tim however, being extremely tired started to move very slow during his workout. Halfway through his work out he stepped out to grab a five hour energy shot and started flying through his conditioning list that Dick made.

Tim: You ready to spar? *jumping around like a rabbit, then lands sideways, falling to the floor only to get back up*

Stephanie: *looking at Tim like he’s a crackhead* No, I think we should skip the sparring match today.

Tim: No, come on let’s go! *grabs Stephanie's wrist and drags her over to the sparring arena*

Stephanie: Tim your going to hurt yourself. Instead of sparring let’s take a nap.

Tim: Come on, sleeping is for people who have don’t have tragic backstories. Let’s fight!

Tim tries to throw a few quick jabs but Stephanie quickly sweeps Tim’s legs causing him to fall. Stephanie Runs forward pointing her fist at his throat.

Tim: Owww! That’s abuse! You abused myself! Why are you mean?!

Stephanie: Tim, when was the last time you slept?

Tim: Ummmmm........... Tuesday?

Stephanie: Okay, training is over, go let yourself rest.

Tim: Pffft. I’ll sleep when I’m dead.

Stephanie: Okay. *text Dick* Hey Dick, we have a code yellow.

Dick: *text back* On my way up.

Tim: You know I like to live by the words of the Beastie Boys anyway. No sleep ‘til Brooklyn, and because I have never been to Brooklyn, I am not obligated to sleep.

Stephanie: You have a problem!

Tim: No, *points his finger dramatically at Stephanie* you have a problem.

Dick: *walks in* Hey Tim, I have a case I want to work on with you.

Tim: *to Stephanie* See, now I can’t sleep.

Dick: We’ll take the Batmobile.

*3 hours later*

Dick: Okay, we just entered Brooklyn. Now go to sleep!

Tim: No fair, you tricked my brain.

Dick: SLEEEEEEEEP!

Tim: NO!

Dick: Why are you staying up all night?

Tim: Because, I don’t want anything to change! *starts sobbing*

Dick: It’s okay, you’re alright. *pulls over to the side of the road*

Tim: No I’m not. Everything is changing and I don’t want it to. I don’t want to fall out of my habits because what about when things get back to normal. Then we have to build those habits again, and what if while we are readjusting someone dies because we weren’t ready. Plus, there is so much stress with helping Bruce keep his company from falling, trying to finish my homework, training, and patrolling the nights where there is more activity.

Dick: *embraces Tim in his arms* Look change is going to happen whether we like it or not. It’s not what happens that shapes who we are but how we react to the changes that occur in our lives that do. The world is never going to be the same after this pandemic is over, so you could either adapt, or repeat your mistakes. It’s okay to not be okay. You are not alone, you have all of us at the mansion to talk to. Another thing that you have to keep in mind is that people are going to die. We both knew that the moment we signed up, and sometimes there is nothing we can do about it. All we can do is learn from what happened to stop it from happening again. You also need to get some sleep. I know you are under a lot of stress right now, not going to lie, but you have it worse than all of us right now, but how do you expect to save others if you won’t take care of yourself.

Tim: *starts calming down*

Dick: I’ll talk to Bruce tonight to see if he could cut you some slack. I’ll find a way to help out too now that we aren’t patrolling as much. Just make sure to take care of yourself.

Tim: Okay.

Dick: Smart, toit.

Tim: Stop it Peralta. *begins to laugh*

Dick: *laughs pretty hard* Now get some rest, I’ll wake you up when we get back to Gotham.

Tim: Okay. I guess.

Black Mask, Hush, Two-Face, and Jason Bard

The night was very silent as Roman Sionis looked upon Gotham from the building. It was quiet, empty, peaceful, and disturbing. Hush walked into the room, followed by Harvey Dent and Jason Bard.

Black Mask: Congratulations, you found your way here.

Jason Bard: You’re pretty easy to find when you want to be.

Black Mask: Or is it because no one else is on the street other then your snitches.

Jason Bard:......

Hush: You called us here. What do you want?

Black Mask: Look out at the city. Tell me what do you see.

The three men walk forward towards the window.

Two-Face: Fear.

Hush: Silence.

Jason Bard: Caution, and paranoia.

Black Mask: You are all correct, but you missed one thing.

Two-Face: Stop playing games! What do you want us to see?

Black Mask: Opportunity.

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iphoenixrising · 5 years

Text

For 800 Followers! Broken Trust: Continued

So. SO. The original Broken Trust was pretty traumatic, but I got so many wonderful comments on the post that I did write a second part. Just a warning tho, the previous part to the story contained a suicide attempt. Here’s the aftermath.

A bit of a warning: one of my babes cried when she read this. It will hit your feels.

Raven and Gar stand behind Cassie when they firmly tell the Batfamily no, none of them can come to the Tower right now.

Nightwing and the Red Hood exchange a look while B is the usual silent and stoic, the darkness of the Cave behind them.

“Wonder Girl,” N hold up placating hands palms up, noticing the way Gar doesn’t look directly at the camera, and Rave is almost completely hidden by her cloak. He gets the impression of things not good. “We only heard Red Robin is in critical condition! Can you tell us anything about what happened if at least one of us can’t come see him?”

The family of detectives can pick out all the tells.

“My hands are tied until he wakes up,” the de-facto leader of the Titans goes with, as diplomatically as possible, “right now he’s being monitored twenty-four seven while he’s comatose–”

Because Kon and Bart won’t leave him alone for a second.

“–and we’re taking care of him–”

As we have been since he finally called out to us for the fun time against the League of Assassins in Gotham.

“–I’ll keep you updated with the latest news.”

“Comatose?” All three Bats on the screen echo with different pitches to their voices.

The sigh coming out of her is just on the edge of her patience.

“How?” Dick chokes out, “what the hell happened to him?”

Cassie just stares back, lips pursed.

“That ain’t good ‘nough, y’ feel me here?” The Red Hood’s helmet is turned toward the screen, arms crossed over his chest, “Baby Bird’s a Bat first n’ foremost–”

“Not in the last few years,” Cassie counters gently, firmly, “and the last instructions he gave us? Back when there were assassins all over your city? It was to keep the Bats out of his business. I’m only calling because–”

The Batman holds up a hand, “Wonder Girl, I’m grateful you did. But. I’m still Tim’s mentor and the only legal family he has. I’m asking you, please at least let me in the Tower to see him.”

“Batman,” and she massages the bridge of her nose, “I can’t. Not until he wakes up and tells me what he wants. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

She looks at the screen again, “please don’t try to force this. Gar’s family still owns Titans Tower, and I will authorize the security system to activate if you try anything. If–” her breath hitches, “when Tim wakes up, I’ll let you know.”

Gar finally seems to be able to move, stepping around Cassie to grin half-heartedly down at the camera. “You heard it from here. We’ll keep in touch. Tower, outtie.” And flips the button to cut the feed.

The monitor beeps steadily, the only comforting thing in the room.

Kon doesn’t need the soft noise to assure himself Tim is still alive.

He can hear it through his Robin’s chest.

For the last seventy-odd hours, he’s been sitting, laying, floating right in this spot next to the medical bed where his best friend is stretched out, comatose. He’s only takes short breaks to run to the bathroom.

The team keeps close tabs on them, bringing him food, someone always trying to stop by and stick around to keep him company.

(He knows what they’re trying to do.)

Food makes appearances and things get tucked away in the niches of the room. Tablets, books, a half-done knitting project, old school Playstation hooked up to the television, origami cranes all over the place.

The team is worried about both of them, and Kon still hadn’t told everyone what really happened out there, how he came to be flying madly in the Tower, sobbing while he carried Tim’s body, limp and still, blood everywhere. They’re worried because Kon’s been exhibiting signs of shock, white as a ghost, and quietly crying while Raven, BB, Cassie, and Miguel sprinted into action, getting their former Robin into the medical bay and working fast to try saving his life.

Kid Flash had watched from behind his working teammates, holding Kon tightly in both arms to keep the super on his feet, eyes wide when he catches glimpses of Tim’s slack, white face, blood on the pillow, on gloved hands, making everything more red than the old Robin tunic.

Since then, Kon’s been a wreck, unable to talk about it without breaking down, his immeasurable strength utterly useless in the face of whatever had happened to Tim.

(Raven and Gar went into the Safe Room of the Tower to talk it out, wondering if Luthor had some tech still hidden in their Superboy, if it was just like the time he’d broken Tim’s arm–)

So, the Titans absolutely close ranks, stay on edge, monitoring, waiting, watching, trying to be there for their teammate, trying to console him when Kon admitted he couldn’t stop Tim in time, he couldn’t stop him, didn’t know what he was going to do until it was too fucking late–

It’s enough to put the pieces together without forcing Superboy to come out and say it directly, keeping the pressure in the room for if...when Tim finally woke up.

New Protocols start appearing in the database the very next hour.

When he comes to, his mouth is so dry and his head is killing him.

Seriously.

The familiar room in the Tower’s Med Bay is soothing at least, not like he wants to be caught by the Joker right now or anything because that? Would not be conducive to Good Morning, Robin.

His senses gradually come back online, and turning his head on the pillow is just short of agonizing.

Conner Kent, Superboy, is sitting by the bed, head in his hands, shoulders shaking gently and Tim Drake’s eyes go wide, all the pain in his head forgotten when he sees his Superboy look up with red, watery eyes.

Tim shoots up in bed, can’t look away, can’t focus on the pain rolling down his spine with the movement.

“Kon?” Is a whisper, a broken sound, “Kon is it really you?”

Because fuck, he’s going to cry too, isn’t he?

(Oh yeah. Yeah, he is.)

“Tim! Oh my God, you’re awake! Tim, you’re awake!” The super barely has enough time to get to his feet before Tim Drake launches himself out of the medical bed, wires and IVs be damned, hurling himself straight at the red S shield against the black t-shirt.

Just like he expects, Conner Kent, Kon-El, Superboy, his best fucking friend–

–catches him.

Kon’s knees give out and they’re on the floor, sobbing against each other, Tim’s arms tight around him, holding on like he thought Kon would disappear the second he let him go, and all Tim is saying sounds vaguely like, “you’re alive, you’re alive! How the hell are you alive?!” where his face is buried in the side of Kon’s throat.

The camera are apparently working just fine because KF is in that room in the two seconds it took for Tim to launch himself out of bed and send the two sprawling all over the floor, ripped out wires all over them.

The speedster, his own eyes wet with relief, is gentle when he kneels next to them, when he touches Kon’s shoulder and lays a hand softly to the center of Tim’s back.

Bart’s mouth opens, ready to say something smarmy to cover up the emotions, something like, “hey, hey. Almost dead guys have to be in bed,” when Tim’s watery eyes are looking up at him and his expression is utterly fucking broken.

“Bart?” Cracks in Tim’s hitching chest, his eyes wide and wet and spilling over, and hands shaking but moving so fast to reach out and grip Bart’s shoulder. “Bart, you...Oh my God, you too! You’re back? You’re alive! You’re both alive.”

He has every intention of leaping up to throw both arms around Kid Flash as well, to bring him down and hold on to both of them forever, but when he tries to stand this time, his legs won’t hold his weight.

It’s only because the two of them are so super that he doesn’t go falling back down to the ground, both muscling a shoulder under his arms, sliding free hands around his waist. This time it’s Tim’s shoulders shaking while he bites down on his lower lip hard and tries to stop his eyes from spilling the fuck over, tries to keep the sobs trapped in the center of his chest where it won’t come out.

(Because he’s Robin, and that shit doesn’t happen…

And yet, here we are.)

He totally fails, and now they’re never going to let him live it down.

Bart darts across the room, viciously slams the intercom and yells for everyone to get to the Med Bay because their bird is awake, and someone needs to come down and put his damn IVs back in!

Then he’s hot-footing it back across the room, sliding on his knees to be right on Tim’s empty side, squirreling both arms under Tim’s since Kon’s is around his shoulders.

“I can’t believe it,” Tim sobs against the side of Kon’s face, wrapped in both of them. “I can’t...I can’t–”

“Tim, my bro,” Bart frees a hand to wipe across his eyes, “that’s our line. For fuck’s sake, you’ve been a coma for days. Do you have any idea how worried everyone is? Cassie is might literally punch you hard enough to break your head open again.”

“After you’re okay,” Kon’s voice is muffled and watery against his shoulder.

“After you’re okay,” Bart parrots back, “you asshole, you stupid, stupid asshole.”

“Asshole,” Kon chokes out, “how could you be so fucking stupid? Why didn’t you call me? Why...why didn’t–”

“You were dead. Both of you were dead, Kon. How could I have–”

And it’s a whoa moment right there.

Something very not crash.

“Tim what are you talking about? We’ve been back almost–”

With a terrible feeling in his gut, Kon cuts right in, “what’s the last thing you remember?”

With wide eyes, the super grabs both of Tim’s shoulders, “Tim. What the last thing you remember?”

“I...I moved to Blüdhaven. Because Steph. Steph...and you and you right after my dad,” He falters, pulling back, being Robin, trying to keep it the hell together.

(But he was literally the only one left standing. Just him and Dick and B, but that still didn’t make it better, didn’t make the pain go away, didn’t fill the void, didn’t bring them back.)

“What?” Kon mumbles, numb, not realizing his grip has gotten tighter and tighter until Tim flinches in his hold and Bart is pushing the center of his chest.

It takes a minute. A very long minute for him to breathe because Kon has such a bad feeling about where this might be going.

It takes Bart just a few more seconds than Kon. “Tim, Stephanie Brown isn’t dead. She’s alive.”

“Wh-what?” And even if his head is starting to hurt again, even if the nausea is building, he can push it all away with that sentence, with someone else he loved apparently alive. “She’s–she’s what now?”

Bart and Kon are looking at him intently from both sides, noticing how his expression crumbles, his shoulders slumping in shock, his eyes are blown wide, and he’s pulling back from them both, looking pale and unsteady.

Unconsciously, they tighten their grips around him, ready to catch, ready to hold him up, ready to be what he needed.

(It’s time to stop running.)

When Cassie slides almost past the door to the Med Bay, beating Gar literally by a hair, the small leopard gets with the program and leaps over her shoulder effortlessly transforming so they come to the three idiots on the floor.

“What the hell are you doing? Why isn’t Tim in bed?”

“Totes pulled out your IVs, man,” Gar tisks at him, the trembly kind of relieved to see one of his besties, a good teammate, a good leader, look up at him again instead of unmoving and unnaturally still. “Rave’s gonna get moody, right? No one wants to see that.”

He and Cassie are gentle, keeping in mind he’s the only one on the team that could get this fucked up and not die, while they get him back to bed.

Their resident supernatural specialist and part-time nurse comes in more serenely than her teammates, eyes warm when she spots Tim’s dazed eyes just watching them reinsert his IV and put patches back on his chest, a tube under his nose.

Looking up at Cassie, sees her I’m relieved you aren’t dead expression and just smiles dopily up at her (he can’t help a flash of awkward because, well, he’d kissed his best friend’s girl – they thought he’d been dead at the time, but...wait, does it still count?). His brain is fuzzy with the crazy emotional rollercoaster since he’d woken up and see his best friends alive, is still reeling a little bit from Steph. It makes him literally itch to get back to Gotham even if he’s sinking further down into the softer-than-it-should-feel medical bed with most the team scrambling around them.

He glances up when he catches Raven injecting something in his IV, smiles at her too.

But, it’s fine. He’s going to stay long enough to let them take care of him because he doesn’t have to go back to Blüdhaven and that shitty hovel he’d been holding up in after things went so, so wrong. Bruce had taken them training, had worked with Dick to bring Tim back from a terrible edge.

The three of them were working better together, and he’s staying at the Manor instead of his...his parent’s house or the Carriage House where he’d passed the heck right out more than once in his tenure as Robin.

Things are finally better.

And now? Now that he’s got Conner and Bart back, now that he can head back to Gotham and Steph...his Steph will be alive–

He’ll have cases to work and school to eventually go back to, or at least the GED test to take. He’ll have Gotham, dirty and dingy, corrupt and cold and cruel while being a beacon to the best and brightest and the dreamers and the innocent. He’ll have the Cave and his room down the hall from Bruce. He’ll sign the paperwork to change his last name–

(Drake-Wayne, who would have thought?)

–and try to make friends with Damian, again.

When it gets too much, he can come back to the New Teen Titans, and work it out with his team.

Life? Life is finally going his way.

(And if he doesn’t remember anything from before clearly enough to explain how he got hurt, well, that’ll wait until he wakes up.)

*Note: I imagine Tim’s memory is stuck on the One Year Later arc where after Tim, Bruce, and Dick went on some kind of training journey and afterwards, he comes back to reform the New Teen Titans, Cass is in the wind, probably not even Black Bat yet, and he’s sporting a red and black suit. It’s after he tried to clone Bart and Kon? I’m a little fuzzy on how the events fall, so I’m pretty much making it up as I go along :D

#winter answers #800 followers #broken trust #tim drake #conner kent #bart allen #DC comics #my drabble #my writing

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drawingsanddrabbles · 7 years

Text

Joke’s On You

betaed by @ilovebeingintroverted

pesach sameach everyone!

Chapter Six: Under The Red Hood

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Batman—Bruce Wayne! That was so cool! —looked through the pictures one by one. He looked at the one on the top, he studied it, then he moved on to the next. He performed the rhythmic motion silently, languidly, carefully. Nightwing—Damian Wayne! —scowled, crossed arms over his chest. Tim had never been so close to him in his new suit before, his Robin suit was really cool and semi-colorful, but his Nightwing suit was awesome! It was all sleek and black with a dark green League green V that went from his fingers up to his shoulders then down into a tip between his pectorals. A belt wrapped around his hips, a scabbard hung from either side. He sat off to the side making that “~tt~” noise that he always made when he was irked.

“These are good.” Batman finally decided. He handed the pictures back to Tim who stared wide-eyed up at the Dark Knight. Batman had just told him that his photos were good!

“T-thank you, Bruce!”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Right! You’re in costume, you’re Batman! I swear I’ll get it right next time!”

“There will not be a ‘next time,’” Damian hissed. “Father this is absurd, he is a child, with no prior training. He’ll die out there.”

“I’ve got training!”

“Stalking is not training.”

“You didn’t even know I was there! I’m good! I’ll-I’ll just be an extra set of eyes until I’m ready. You can train me on your off time!”

“Don’t be delusional, becoming Robin is much more than that. Father this is absolutely-“

“I think it’s a good idea.”

Damian blanched, then quickly began to scowl. Tim’s eyes widened. “R-really?” He asked in awe.

“Like Tim pointed out, Batman needs a Robin. He’s proven that he can surveil without being caught, he can be useful. We can train him.”

Damian shook his head sharply. “I will not be party to this. This… perversion of my legacy. You want Drake to be Robin be my guest. But don’t ask me to help him.” Damian snapped before firing his grappling hook and flying off into the night.

“Don’t worry about him, Tim.” Bruce said, putting a hand on the younger’s shoulder. “He’ll warm up to you.”

The man under the red hood was restless in his sleep. Long hair that covered his eyes matched with shaggy, uneven stubble on his jaw. He was small, maybe five foot five or five foot six. He had thin but well-muscled arms and legs. His chest, as well muscled as the rest of him, was too thin—malnourished. He slept on his stomach while his back healed from second degree burns and surgery to take out shrapnel. He’d been lucky that the Kevlar of his vest had caught most of the debris from the bomb, but some had sliced through.

Damian glanced at his watch, it had been almost five hours since the explosion that the man had saved Jason from. It had taken thirty minutes after the explosion to neutralize the Riddler, after which took another hour to do damage control, during that Bruce had taken the Red Hood in the Batmobile and had raced home. Alfred had recruited some doctors he trusted and they had operated in the Batcave, after which they had sterilized a room and placed the Red Hood in it for recovery. In which he was sleeping at this moment, morphine pumping through his system via an IV.

His suit was low-tech, but his mask was impressive. Handmade oxygen filters, infrared lenses as well as night vision. He was well equipped, an arsenal of weapons, anything a detective needed, even a mini-oxygen supply in case he was deprived for some reason. He had definitely been trained by the League. It was rather amazing actually, it was almost as if he’d been a vigilante before.

“I thought he’d be taller.” Jason said. He’d had some minor scraping and bruising but the man in the bed had taken most of the damage.

“Short people rule.” Cass hummed. Jason rolled his eyes.

Steph wheeled up to the cell, because the room the Red Hood was in really was a cell. It had three opaque walls and one clear one, so that people could see in. The man lay on a metal bed that had a mattress, a pillow, and a blanket on it. A toilet and sink hid behind a pulled curtain. The room really was a cell, that was its original intended purpose, but seeing as they had nowhere else as of now to put him, that was where he was. “He looks familiar, doesn’t he?”

“I don’t think so.” Damian mumbled.

“Will the injured vigilante show continue past lunch or shall I make some food for you?” Alfred asked.

“Sorry, Alfred.” Steph said, blushing slightly. “Can I help with lunch? The DNA match won’t come back for few minutes.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I will decline. Give the poor man some peace.” Alfred said, shooing the young heroes away from the sleeping man.

Damian faltered, taking a last look at the man while the others left the room. Wait a minute… did he just move?

The man groaned, rising slowly. “Don’t move quickly.” Damian warned, using what Traya called his ‘I’m-trying-to-sound-gentle-but-I-sound-threatening’ voice. “You have second degree burns and lacerations up and down your back. You’re on morphine.”

The man sighed, straightening his back slowly so that he was sitting. “I assume you’ve done the DNA test, and you already know who I am.”

Know who he is? Was that important? Did Damian know him? “You assume correctly.” Damian lied. He watched the man’s face. The man’s blue eyes… those blue eyes, they looked so familiar. Stephanie was right, there was something about him…

The man frowned. Confused. “You just lied to me. You don’t know who I am. Which means that the test results aren’t back yet. Which means… you just want to find out what I meant.”

“I don’t know to what you are referring-“

“Ohh… this is too good. The results should be back any minute, but for now I’m going to watch you struggle to figure it out.”

“Why are you so convinced the results of a DNA test would affect me?”

“Because, if it didn’t Damian,” He knew Damian’s name. Damian was suited up and masked and this man knew Damian’s identity, “then there would be something really wrong with you.”

Damian didn’t retort. “You know, I can see the wheels turning. You can’t wait to figure it out, to find out. And I’m assuming afterwards you won’t let me out of here, even though you weren’t planning on doing that originally.”

“Why wouldn’t I-?”

“You think the League is after me. This is Bruce’s way of paying me back for saving Jason’s life. No… he wouldn’t have kidnapped me. But you would have. You… you feel, what? Kindred with me? Why? Because I’m ex-League? Because I’m a hero?”

Damian didn’t speak. The man smirked. “You don’t know why. You think it’s because you feel like we are ‘kindred’ but you don’t actually know. Damn, are you going to blow a gasket when you find out.” He lay back down on his front, careful not to put pressure on his wounds. “I’ll just wait here.”

Damian scowled. “~tt~”

There was a sudden crash, the man smiled grimly. “Go on. I’ll be waiting for your return.”

There was a scream. Damian began to run. He skidded to a stop when he saw his family in the Cave. Stephanie was frozen in her chair, hands on her mouth, eyes watering. Cassandra had cuts on her hand from something breaking (shards of a china cup were on the ground below her). Bruce sat in his chair, staring ahead just as frozen as Stephanie. Jason looked confused, startled but mainly confused. Alfred had dropped a tray of food. They all stared at the computer. The computer which had been running the DNA analysis. Why…? Damian pushed passed Cassandra and over to the monitor screen.

But… that wasn’t possible!

“No…” Stephanie whispered. “No! This isn’t possible! This isn’t- we would have known! We would have-I would have known…”

“Run it again.” Damian ordered.

“Damian, this was the second run through.” Jason whispered.

“The second-?” Who the fuck cares what number test it was? “Run it again!”

“Dami…” Cassandra. “It’s correct.”

Damian needed to leave. He needed- “This has to be wrong! If we could have brought him back we would have! It’s possible to-to hack the computer. He’s screwing with us! He’s-“ Stephanie was rambling.

“M-Master Damian, where are you going?” Alfred asked, sliding back into his role as den-mother.

“Out.”

“Master Damian-“

“Dami…”

Damian needed to leave he needed to find his Grandfather he needed to kill his Grandfather he needed he needed he needed-

“DAMIAN!”

Bruce ignored their screaming, he ignored their denial, he ignored the sound of a motorcycle speeding from the Cave. Because he’d seen it all before, he knew it all. He’d done it all. Bruce stared at the screen, a hundred percent match to Timothy Drake. Somehow, he’d come back (most likely through Ra’s, that bastard) and he’d travelled here. He’d travelled to Gotham, he’d taken the Joker’s old name and he was looking for him.

He wanted the Joker. But Tim… Tim wouldn’t want revenge, he never wanted revenge, that was the beauty of Tim, he never wanted revenge. He forgave. He moved on.

He’d saved Jason. He’d saved Jason’s life.

“So,” Timothy Drake called from his room, “is everyone done processing? Because I’m hungry.”

Steph

He was sleeping. His hair was too long, he had grown stubble, and he was barely older than he had been the last time she’d seen him. Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown’s ex-dead boyfriend was sleeping. She knew he’d looked familiar. She should have known. She should have known.

“Steph?” She’d woken him up. It wasn’t his voice. It was, but at the same time it was deeper, more hoarse. Older. Steph took a breath that sounded too much like a sob. “Steph? Oh my god, Steph are you crying?” She wiped at her eyes. “Please don’t cry, Steph.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Steph. I’m really sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“For not coming to you. For not telling you. For letting you lose your legs.”

“You-you didn’t. That’s wasn’t you Tim, that was the Joker.”

“I should have come back sooner.” Tim whispered, hands running through his hair.

“Come back sooner, Tim you-how long have you been alive?”

Tim met her eyes. His blue eyes. Those blue eyes. “Long enough.”

“Did you… did you even die? Did we bury you? Were you really in that coffin? Are you still there?”

“Ra’s.” Tim explained. “Ra’s wanted me alive, so a few months after I died, he brought me back.”

“Why?”

Tim didn’t respond. He rubbed at his hands, nervously, and scratched the back of his head. He wouldn’t look at her for a long time. Then after a silence too long and too loud he glanced back at her. He stood, and walked forward, dragging his IV with him.

“Tim…” He held up a hand to the clear wall between them. Steph wheeled closer to wall and held her hand up to Tim’s. A thin layer of glass all that was between them.

“I missed you.” He whispered, his voice cracking.

“I missed you too.” Steph was crying again.

“Please don’t cry, Steph.”

Steph took a calming breath and wiped her eyes. “Why didn’t you come to us? Why didn’t you let us help you?”

“You wouldn’t have believed I was really alive.”

“We did after the DNA test!”

“That’s-I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

Tim dropped his hand, and went back to his bed. He fiddled with his fingers, legs crossed into a pretzel. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I wasn’t planning on staying.”

“What…?”

“I’ll explain everything Steph, I will. But first you need to let me out.” He began to speak frantically, as if he’d just remembered something.

“But-you’re not healed yet. I-“

“Steph please, just let me out. It’ll only take a day or two, then I’ll come back. We’ll all be safe again, and I’ll stay here, I’ll rest.”

“Tim, the League of Assassins are after you, I can’t just-“

“Steph, let me out!” The growl was so unlike him, so… feral. Those blue eyes that Steph loved so much were cold and hard. Steph flinched at the words and Tim’s eyes widened, the angry blueness disappeared. “Steph, oh my god, I’m sorry.” Steph backed up her wheelchair. “Please Steph, I’m sorry.”

“You’re not Tim.”

“Steph, no, come back! Please Steph-“

“You’re not Tim.” Steph wheeled herself as far away from the cell as she could get, Tim calling her name, pleading apologies all the way.

It was Tim, that was the worst part about it. She’s seen that look on his face before, but she’d never caused it. It was Tim, that was what had been so scary. Steph put her face in her hands and began to cry.

Jason

“You made Steph cry.”

Tim Drake sat on the floor of his cell. His IV of morphine stood near his bed, he’d taken it out. He stretched his arms, muscles flexed. “I saved your life.” He said, not looking at Jason. He massaged his shoulder, wasn’t the guy in pain?

“You made Steph cry.” Jason repeated.

“Not on purpose.”

“I thought you were supposed to have the hots for her.” Tim froze. He glanced up at Jason, staring at him now with an intensity that made Jason uncomfortable. Tim smirked and returned his gaze to the floor. “What the hell is that smirk for?”

“You like her,” Tim hummed.

“W-what? No! I’m don’t! Why-why would you think that?”

“Don’t worry. I’m not jealous.”

“I’m not worried.” Jason snapped. He-he didn’t have a crush on Steph! Sure he liked her, but that didn’t mean-

“It’s not uncommon, I mean, I have met Steph before. If I didn’t know Damian, I’d be surprised he didn’t have a thing for her.” Tim said lightly. He stood and twisted his back, a loud crack resounded and he grit his teeth, a thin sheen of sweat covered his face and chest. When he twisted Jason saw his patched back and the deep brown of dried blood on white bandages.

Wait, was that a blotch of red? “You’re bleeding.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Jason was liking Tim Drake less and less every second. “Why aren’t you using the med-drip? You’re obviously in pain.”

“I don’t like them. They make me groggy.”

“Does death make everyone a saint?”

“Only when those left behind feel guilty. So yeah, usually.”

Jason rolled his eyes. He took a cigarette pack out of his back pocket and lit one, bringing it to his mouth. Tim frowned.

“Those’ll kill you.”

“From what I can tell that doesn’t mean much.”

Tim laughed. Actual honest to god laughter. Maybe Jason could see where Steph was coming from on the whole Tim issue. Maybe. He grinned at Jason, shaking his head slightly. “Damn, no wonder Bruce picked you.”

“How do you know it was Bruce?”

“Because I know Damian.”

“You also know Bruce.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “You’re annoying. Damian definitely didn’t want you to take the job.”

“Damian isn’t the same, he’s not… I know you and Steph didn’t like him but he’s not like that anymore.”

“What? You mellowed him with your amazing talent to smoke?” Tim snorted.

“No. You did.”

Tim froze. He stood there for too long.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” Tim said softly. “I’m fine.” He paused. “Are you here just to ogle at the alive ex-Robin or did you come here for a reason?”

“Just wanted to know what the fuss was about.” Jason snapped. He dropped his cigarette onto the floor and extinguished it with his boot. “Don’t have to be an ass.”

Tim didn’t respond. He slowly walked over to his bed, took the morphine drip, stuck it in a vein and closed his eyes.

Cass

Cass stood on the other side of the glass wall. She wore her suit but from what she knew about Tim Drake it wouldn’t matter. Anything he wanted to know he already did. He’d been handling it well, the not being dead. He laid on his stomach on the cot in the cell, forehead resting on his arms, IV winding out from the crook of his elbow and up around the stand that held the packet of drugs. It was almost out now. Bruce would want to give him more, keep him doped up. Jason had told Cass that Tim hadn’t liked the painkiller, he wouldn’t want another round.

His forearms sporadically constricted in his sleep, she couldn’t see his eyes but she could see his toes. She could see them curl, hold, then relax, curl, hold, hold, curl, hold, relax. He didn’t speak, he didn’t moan or heave. He was having a nightmare, but he wasn’t screaming.

He woke up with a gasp, his chest began to rise and fall, his breath quick and heavy, his muscles tightened again.

He slowly rolled onto his side and took the IV out of his arm. He glanced up, frown coloring his face.

“Cass, right?” Eyebrows pulled back for less than a second. Then they returned and they furrowed.

Cass nodded. He was surprised to see her.

“Why are you here?” He asked.

“You.”

“Obviously.”

“Healthy?” She asked.

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Healthy?” He asked, confused. She nodded to him. “Am… I healthy?” She nodded again, and everyone raved about how this guy was smart. “How could I be healthy? I have second degree burns and stitches all up my back.”

Cass raised an eyebrow though she knew he couldn’t see it because it was under her mask. He chewed a lip while the wheels in his head turned, before nodding slightly, agreeing with her. “Okay. I’m healthy enough.”

Cass unlocked the glass door with a swift motion. Tim’s eyes widened as she stepped inside and cracked her knuckles. “In here? You’re serious?”

Cass cocked her head. Tim took her silence for her gravity and nodded again, accepting submissively. That was interesting, no one had ever mentioned how easy he was to maneuver before. Not even Damian… which meant that he was acting differently with her. Was it because she wore the suit? Or the name? Maybe he was just feeling her out.

“Are… you waiting for me to begin?” He asked. Cass nodded slowly. Tim tensed, eyes flickering all over her body sizing her up. Then he lunged.

Cass ducked and hit him in the chest, his feet shifted in the floor, steadying his gait. Tim let out a heavy breath. “Good hit. Powerful. You learn that somewhere?” He asked. Cass didn’t respond, instead she fought.

Tim moved fluidly despite the wounds on his back. He bent and jabbed. His fighting style like Bruce’s and Damian’s… but with something extra... There was this desperateness in his art, there was a sense of need. He needed to win, not just for himself, but for others. Who those others were, Cass wasn’t quite sure, but they were there. A person like Tim did not fight for himself. She grabbed his hand, twisting it around to his back, a few of his patched lacerations had opened spilling red blood on his new pristine bandages. (Alfred would be so pissed.) He let out a sharp cry of pain and Cass released him suddenly. He fell to his knees on the ground, breathing heavily.

“You’re good.” He turned around, his pain hidden but not that well.

Cass held out a hand. Tim studied it carefully before taking it and letting Cass help him up and onto his cot. She handed him the morphine but he waved it off rubbing his forehead wearily. “You need it.” She insisted.

“I’m fine.”

“No.”

“I’m fine, Cass.”

“Tim.” Cass bent down to be level with him. He grit his teeth, jaw muscles tensing. She held out the drip. “Take.”

“Why?”

“Friend.”

“Fr-“ He looked surprised and he let the Cass stick the IV in a vein. “Really? Me?”

Cass put an arm on his shoulder. Tim let out a loud sigh as the narcotics hit his bloodstream. “Sleep. Get better.”

“I was healthy enough to fight you.”

“Next time? I still beat you, but longer. Maybe fifteen minute. Time next? Maybe not.”

Tim held back a smile. “Okay, Cass. Sure.”

“Don’t think?”

“How about we wait until I’m at a hundred percent before making bets.”

Cass raised an eyebrow and although she knew he couldn’t see it she was sure he knew she was. “Sure.”

“You think you’ll win.”

“Know.”

Tim didn’t bother holding back the smile. “It was good to meet you, Cass.” He said softly as he began to lay on his front, his eyes drooping slowly. Cass opened the glass door again and locked it behind her. He stared at the floor, pupils dilated from the pain relief.

“You too, Tim.”

Damian

“’Morning, sunshine.”

Damian groaned. He rubbed his eyes wearily, his head pounded. Oh, god. “What did I do last night?” Damian grumbled, peeking out from under his eyelids, the lights in the room he was in were too bright.

“You know, that’s a lot scarier coming from your mouth than anyone else’s.” Colin teased. Damian glared at him as much as he could through squinted eyes.

“Did I…?”

“No.” Maya assured her friend. “No one is dead.”

Damian rubbed his forehead, hoping the headache would go away soon. “We found Nightwing running around Bludhaven looking for blood.” Colin debriefed. He specified ‘Nightwing’ which meant that Damian hadn’t went berserk out of costume, good. That would have been a nightmare for Wayne Enterprises public relations. “Five gangbangers were beaten to a bloody pulp about fifteen feet away but they were all still breathing.”

Someone else sat down next to Damian. Damian seemed to be on the floor of his apartment, Maya and Colin sat next to him near his head, the third person sat near his middle. There was a clink of a glass on tile. “And after what Maya found out for you, she was worried.” A new voice said. Great, the whole gang was here.

“And you are an idiot.” Jon finished helpfully.

“So she decided that I suddenly was not allowed to have secrets?” Damian mumbled, accepting the aspirin that Traya so graciously offered him.

“Exactly!” Colin exclaimed. Damian glared at the man. He took a swig of water from the glass that his friends had brought him.

“So, you going to tell us why you flipped and what this has to do with your Gramps?” Colin asked.

“Can you turn off the lights?” Damian mumbled. Traya raised an eyebrow but rose to do as her friend asked. “Grandfather has… resurrected someone.”

“What?”

“Are you serious?”

“I thought he couldn’t do that.”

“Apparently he can. And he has.” Damian responded.

“Okay, so who did he bring back?”

Damian sucked in a breath, and took a long sip of water. The looks on their faces, so full of concern, so full of fear, their minds were coming up with the worst possible people. They wouldn’t guess, they couldn’t guess. He couldn’t leave them in suspense forever… “Tim.”

“What?” Colin cried.

“Tim-That isn’t possible.” Traya whispered. Maya wouldn’t meet her friends’ eyes she just stared at Damian.

Jon’s mouth dropped open. “D-Damian, are you sure?”

“Positive. The computer confirmed it.”

“What-what can we do?” Traya asked.

“Do?” Damian asked.

“To help.” Traya offered. She turned to Jon who met her eyes and nodded enthusiastically.

“Yeah. Whatever we can, however we can,” Jon added.

“Don’t tell them.” Damian said quickly.

Traya and Jon looked at one another, eyes wide. “Damian… you have to tell them, we can’t keep this a secret.”

But they couldn’t tell them. They couldn’t-Damian couldn’t let them know. Not yet. He needed time. He needed-

“You have to tell them.” Colin agreed. “They deserve to know.”

“Not yet-“

“Yes, yet. Damian you need to tell them and you need to tell them now.”

“Not-not yet. I can’t-.” Damian stuck his head in his hands. His head was still throbbing, heavy and hard, god it hurt. He couldn’t think about this now. He needed time. He needed to talk to Timothy. “I need to go back to Gotham.”

His friends exchanged expressions. Damian could tell that they disapproved of his request. “Afterwards. I promise. I’ll tell them afterwards. But first,” Damian stood, his headache was getting worse. “I need to get back to Gotham.”

Colin sighed. “I’ll take you.”

“I got here on my own, I can get back on my own.”

“Actually… you can’t. Apparently the gangbangers you hospitalized did a number on your bike.” Damian groaned. “So you’re stuck with me!”

“I’ll stay here. Jon, Traya, go back and make sure the Titans aren’t planning on going off-world anytime soon. We don’t want them to deal with the end of the world when they find out their late best friend is still alive.” Maya told the others. “Damian, go take a shower. You smell like Gotham.” Damian shot glare at her but complied.

When he trudged off he heard Jon add: “Keep an eye on him, Col. As soon as he’s done, make sure that he gets to the Tower.”

“I can hear you!” Damian called from his bathroom.

“We know!” Jon and Maya responded. Sometimes Damian hated his friends.

“I’ll wait here.” Colin told his friend, offering Damian and his brother a sense of privacy. Damian knew that he was just being courteous, but it meant a lot anyway.

“Thank you.” He walked down the hallway, to where Tim was being held. Tim was sitting on the floor, legs crisscrossed. When he heard footsteps he looked up, blank face quickly dissolving into a frown.

“Didn’t think you’d be back.”

“That’s not-that’s not true, is it?” Damian asked. Tim looked surprised of all things.

“Damian, why wouldn’t it be true?”

“Timothy-“

“Oh, so I’m Timothy now? Got sick of ‘Drake’ and ‘Pretender’?”

“I-“

“You know, I actually thought we were off to a good start. I didn’t expect you to run away. Although I should have, it’s all this family knows how to do.”

“You sound like Jason.”

“It doesn’t take Lee Thompkins to see that you don’t give a shit about anyone not related to you biologically.”

“Timothy, that isn’t true.”

Tim scowled, blue eyes set to kill. Damian had hoped that his brother would never use that expression, that expression that he used to have so often when looking at Tim. “Don’t- do that. Don’t pretend we’re all fine and dandy. Don’t pretend you cared.”

“I did, Timothy, I really did.”

“That’s a lie!” Tim roared. “You never cared for me! You didn’t even care for Steph, not as long as she didn’t worship you!”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I did not… care like you say. But I was wrong, Timothy. I was wrong, I should have cared more. I should have protected you-”

“Survivor’s guilt does not a loving brother make.” Tim snapped.

“You’re right, again. It doesn’t. A loving brother is a loving brother for no purpose other than that of his sibling. And I’ve learned that now, Timothy, I’ve learned that I was an ass. I should have protected you and I should have trained you because that is what a brother should do. I want-I want to try again, Timothy. I want to help you.”

Tim studied his face the same way that Tim would look at case files. He was trying to find the lie, the trick, the catch, but there was none, because Damian really did mean it. He wanted to save his little brother. He had learned that when it came to family members in need and pride, pride always lost. He’d made that mistake once, he wouldn’t again.

“Then let me out.”

“Okay,” Damian stepped towards the door. It was cramped in the cell it made sense he would want to leave. “Where do you want to go?”

“Downtown Gotham, with your help maybe-“ Damian stopped. He couldn’t let Tim leave the Manor, the League was still out there. Grandfather was still looking for him. Tim saw the change. “What…?”

“I cannot let you out, Timothy. You-Grandfather is still after you.”

“I’ve been doing fine on my own.”

“Clearly you haven’t.”

“The only reason I’m here is because you failed to learn a lesson! Jason shouldn’t be out there!”

“Jason is good, just as you were.”

“Good enough to miss a bomb.” Tim muttered.

You did too. Damian hated himself for thinking it. It had been a quick and fleeting thought, but he still hated himself, because it proved he hadn’t changed. Not at all. He would keep trying. He had to.

“I can’t do it. It’s for your own safety.”

“People always say that, not even thinking to ask why the one asking to be in the unsafe situation wants to be.”

Damian blinked. Timothy was right, he was always right. “Alright, so why do you want to leave?”

“Bruce is in trouble.”

“Father is always in trouble.”

“It’s worse, Damian. They’re working together. All of them, Gotham villains network, you know that, and now… now they’re planning something big and bad, which means that Selina will be getting in on it soon. He’ll want everyone to know, even the Bat’s main squeeze.”

“Timothy…” This didn’t make sense. Why would there be no chatter? Stephanie would have picked up something. Father would have.

“It’s big, Damian. I’m not-I’m not crazy, this is real. Bruce is in danger.” Timothy seemed to be pleading. “I know what they’re planning, if you would just-listen to me!”

“I’m sorry, Timothy. I need-“

Tim groaned angrily, cutting Damian off sharply. “You don’t-listen! You try-I get it Damian you think you’re trying but you’re really not.” He was getting angry, quickly. Way too quickly. Were these effects of the Lazarus Pit? Or were they Tim? The real Tim…

Damian really didn’t know his brother at all.

Alfred

Alfred dabbed at the wound softly, the skin around the wound was raw and pink. No sign of infection, that was good. He moved onto the next laceration, checking it for disease and to see how it was healing. Timothy’s face contorted and Alfred moved his hands slower and softer, he didn’t want to hurt Timothy. Timothy was too young for his face to have that expression. That pain…

He hadn’t been eating well. How had he been getting food? Timothy wasn’t one to rob, but then again, he wasn’t one to abandon his family, wasn’t one to leave them, to come back from death and not speak to them, for years. He hadn’t grown up from a fifteen year old boy to a twenty year old like he should have. He hadn’t learned how to get his license or graduate high school. He hadn’t been in Alfred’s charge while he grew. Alfred wasn’t there when he got his college acceptance letter because he never got one. He never had the chance.

He had been in Alfred’s charge and Alfred had failed him. Had let him die.

Bollocks. Don’t cry, Alfred chided himself. You can’t cry. Not here, not where they could walk in. Not where his children could see him.

“A-Alfred?” Oh dear, the poor boy seemed to be conscious.

“Just retouching your dressings, Master Timothy. Please, do not strain yourself.” His back rose and fell anxiously.

“Al-Alfred-I-“

“Please, sir. I do not wish to cause you pain, but I must do this.”

“No-no. I-“ Tim sucked in a large breath, eyes clamped shut as he tolerated the pain. Alfred cleaned and inspected as gently as possible. “Bruce-trouble-I ne-you always-“ Alfred pressed against an angry red stitch, checking to see if the inflammation was contaminated. “You always-believed me. Always. Bruce is-“ Tim cried out as Alfred put ointment on his burns. “Danger. Villains-network-trial-danger.” He breathed out the four words between heavy ragged breaths. Alfred was sure that together the string of words meant something, but he had to worry about Timothy first. Family always came first.

“Please Master Timothy, just rest now.” Alfred spoke softly, but as he saw Timothy’s back return to its unconscious breathing pattern. He was sleeping again, good. He deserved a good night’s sleep, even if it was from pain.

Bruce

“You have to go see him, Bruce.” Jason said. He was the third person to say that to Bruce today. Bruce hadn’t visited Tim yet for a reason, he was trying to find Tim’s hideout. And he hadn’t yet, which was concerning him. Where had Tim been staying?

“Later.”

“Now, Bruce.” Steph snapped. She had been out of sorts since she’d talked to him. Which was partly what Bruce was afraid of…

He had failed Tim and he prayed Tim didn’t blame him, but he knew that that as wishful thinking. Of course Tim hated him, Tim wouldn’t want to see him.

At least he had an excuse.

“Sir.”

“Not you too, Alfred.”

“You should see him.”

Bruce didn’t respond. “Um... Mr. Batman, sir?” Colin. Only Colin spoke to him like that. “Can I talk to you? Alone?” That was… a surprise. Even Damian hadn’t expected that. Bruce’s son looked between his friend’s angry gaze and his father’s stony one. Bruce glanced at his son, who gave the barest nod.

“Out.” Damian ordered.

“As you wish, sir.” Alfred said with a polite nod, he took Steph by the chair and began to roll her up the ramp.

“Alfred! Stop! Don’t do this Bruce, don’t distract yourself by-“

“Miss Stephanie, please.” Alfred implored.

Steph quieted her protests and allowed herself to be taken upstairs. Jason frowned but shortly followed. Damian glanced at Cassandra who took one last long look at the three of them before turning and leaving. Only after a few seconds of silence did Damian realize that ‘alone’ meant that he too would have to leave.

“You. Me. Afterwards.” Damian told Colin. Bruce wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but whatever it meant Colin nodded in response and flashed him a small comforting smile. Damian left.

“It’s just us, Abuse. What is it?”

“It’s none of my business.”

“It isn’t.”

“But, you should see him.”

“Colin…”

“I can go with you if you’re scared.” Scared? Sometimes Bruce was amazed at who was friends with his son. Colin saw a look on Bruce’s face and paled a little. “I mean, if you’re scared but you’re not because you’re Batman.”

“Colin, how long have I known you?”

Colin thought for a second. “Over fifteen years.”

“How long have you been calling me Mister Batman?”

“I still do.”

“Are you… afraid of me?” Bruce asked.

“Duh.” Colin said. “Everyone’s scared of you.” Well that was comforting.

“But you still tell me the truth.”

“You need to hear it.” Colin crossed his arms over his chest. Maybe it was time for Bruce to start thinking about another partner, someone who wasn’t and never had been a Robin…

“Do you think…” Bruce lowered his voice. “Do you think that-“ He couldn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t finish anything, not even saving Tim.

“Yes. He can forgive you. I think he does. Tim is… forgiving. He’s heroic. It’s okay. Go talk to him.”

Bruce didn’t look at him. “Stay here.”

“Yes, Batman, sir!” Colin gave a salute and Bruce almost cracked a smile.

Bruce walked over to the cell, Tim was in there. Where else would he be? He was doing forms. He didn’t stop, nor did he look at Bruce. But he knew he was there. Tim always knew. That was one of the reasons Bruce had chosen Tim. Okay, that wasn’t true. Tim had chosen Bruce, and Bruce was glad he did.

“Are you going to just stand there?”

“Didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Bullshit.” Tim froze. “You okay?” He asked. Bruce frowned, did Tim see something?

“Fine. Why?”

“Your hands are shaking.” Bruce looked down and clenched them, stopping the motion. “Tell me the truth, Bruce. Why didn’t you kill him?”

“You know why.”

“Yeah, but I want you to tell me.”

“Once I begin to go through that door, I can never go back. There will be no stopping me. I can’t do that.”

“Then let me.”

That’s what he wanted to do. He wanted to kill the Joker. Oh god. Oh dear god. Bruce needed-Bruce needed to get him help. The best help he could find-Leslie! He had to call Leslie and- “Listen to me, Bruce. Before you do the whole thing. The whole ‘no you don’t really mean it’ thing, ‘no you shouldn’t want that, no we can help you’. The ‘Justice!!’ argument. The ‘don’t sink to their level’ argument. I’ve heard it all. It won’t change my mind. Just let me out Bruce. Let me save Gotham, and then put me away. Send me to Arkham or Blackgate. Blacklist me, call me a villain. Just… please Bruce. I have to save you.”

He wanted to kill the Joker. And he wanted Bruce to help him. Bruce looked at the floor, shifting his feet. How could he have screwed up so much his child wanted to kill someone? Sure Bruce always wanted to kill people, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. In his deranged resurrected mind Tim thought he would be saving Bruce… Bruce had really fucked up.

“Today is six years.” He said softly.

“Bruce if you don’t let me out, if you go on as you do, going on patrol… there’s going to be another death anniversary around now. Please, just let me out.”

He couldn’t. God help him Tim was asking him for one thing and he couldn’t. “Tim…”

“I’m not like you Bruce. I never was. And that’s okay. But Bruce, please, just this once, trust me.”

Five people had told Bruce today that he needed to see Tim. It was ironic really, seeing someone on the anniversary of their death and having an argument.

“I love you Timothy.” He whispered to his son, who just shook his head. “But I can’t. You need help. We’re going to get it for you.” He turned his back and did the only thing Bruce Wayne knew how to do well. He walked away.

“Happy death day to me.” Tim Drake mumbled.

“Tim, Tim wake up.” Tim groaned, his eyes flitting open. Steph smiled next to him. They were both fully clothed, laying on Steph’s bed. Tim had been working late on a case in Steph’s designated room (she wasn’t always there because she had actual living parents, but sometimes Tim would stay there to work if she wasn’t sleeping there) and he guessed he must have fallen asleep.

“Steph, what are you doing here?” He mumbled, rubbing sleep away from his eyes.

“It’s my room, Tim. What’re you doing here?”

“Nothing…”

“Aww… ya missed me, didn’t you?” Steph hummed happily.

Tim felt a blush color his cheeks and ears. “N-no!”

“You looove me,” Steph sang, nudging Tim. Tim smiled and leaned in for a kiss and Steph shook her head, bouncing off the bed. “Brush your teeth first.” Tim pouted but walked out of Steph’s door and into the hallway so that he could go to his own bathroom.

“Oh! And afterward get dressed. There’s a surprise downstairs.” Steph called after him.

Tim brushed his teeth, and pulled on a t shirt and jeans. Surprise? What surprise could there possibly be? And why? Tim returned to Steph’s room to grab his laptop and stuck it under his arm as he walked downstairs.

“Hey, Steph, what’s the big-“

“SURPRISE!”

Tim was very glad all of his friends were superheroes, because for a second he freaked out and tried to punch Bart who had jumped suddenly in front of him. Bart zipped under the punch and swung an arm around Tim with a loud cheerful laugh. “Dude! Happy birthday!” Bart cried.

Tim looked around, all of the Titans were here, even Maya and Colin. Steph, Alfred, Bruce. They were all here, all in one room with cheerful grins on their faces. It was all for him. Conner grinned and snapped one of the cone party hats on his head. “Great reflexes.” He said sarcastically. Tim rolled his eyes. “Did you forget about your birthday?” He asked.

Tim shrugged sheepishly. “Thanks you guys.” He hugged his friends one by one, each of them wished him a happy birthday.

Steph nudged her boyfriend. “Hey. Good surprise?”

“Yeah.” It was weird, this was the first time that he’d had birthday like this. When his parents had been alive, they were always away, and when they weren’t his birthdays… well they were nothing like this. “Thank you.” He said with a grin.

“Sirs and ma’ams, may I urge you to adjourn the dining room to where there will be the traditional singing of ‘Happy Birthday.’” Alfred announced. The crowd of heroes moved to the next room to where Jon and Kon herded Tim into a chair sitting in front of a cake. Jon lit the candles with his heat vision and the crowd sang the traditional melody. Tim smiled and blew out the candles. Alfred began cutting the cake and Steph pressed a kiss into Tim’s hair.

“And many mooore~”

#diana writes #diana writes batman #diana writes dc #joke's on you #batfam #robin!reversal

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iphoenixrising · 5 years

Text

For 700 Followers!

Hi babe.

That is terribly angsty and now I’m intrigued.

(Just a note for babe not familiar with No Home for Dead Birds or Fracture: I write a scene in which Tim literally has a gun to head. This is not lighthearted angst, please be warned if you read this.)

At one time, his colors had been red, gold, and green.

At one time, he’d been part of something bigger, something important. A legacy.

At one time, he’d been able to fly without being afraid of falling.

Being Robin had been the epitome. Even with all the terrible things he’d endured, all the injuries, all the catastrophes, all the insane megalomaniacal baddies breathing down his neck, he wouldn’t have traded the tunic for anything in the world.

(Dick had known it, had known how painful it was for Tim give it up once his Dad found out.)

He would have died with the R on his chest and never had a single regret.

Realistically, he couldn’t have been Robin forever, and he’d known that someday he would have to give it up and either move on with his life as a regular person, or take on another name, another mask, to keep fighting the good fight.

He hadn’t expected Dick would take it without a thank-you or fuck you to mark the end. That hadn’t been in the plan.

But it’s fine because Dick was the first and Robin had been his anyway, right?

Right.

Wrong.

Staring down the .45 in hand, the gun his father hadn’t had the chance to use to save his own life, Tim Drake wonders how it all came down to this.

(Last one left standing. Of fucking course.)

How it had all come out so badly, how he could barely step foot back in Gotham, how he had to avoid the Manor, the Carriage House, his own family home. How he couldn’t pick up the phone or answer texts coming from his former team. How he could barely keep himself the fuck together now that Bruce was back. How his hands would start to shake when the Manor phone number popped up (Alfred). How his mind’s eye would go back to Dick at the Big Computer in the Batsuit, telling him they were still equals. How he would imagine what would happen if he hadn’t caught himself when that zip line was cut. How he would sit in his safe house, off the Bat radar, and mourn the times when he was actually–

(happy)

–part of a family.

The pictures from an old Vans shoebox, the ones he’d taken back when he’d had the run of Gotham, following Batman and Robin (Jason), are burning in the kitchen sink. He watches Nightwing’s blurry face melt away and pretends there aren’t tears in his eyes.

The old memorabilia from Haley’s Circus is in a storage unit outside the city, along with a box that has his last Robin suit.

The lawyer has strict instructions to deliver the key and a letter to his former adopted father, Bruce Wayne, upon news of his death so anything incriminating can be properly disposed.

(They wouldn’t need any of it anyway. They could just shred all of it and wash their hands of him. The Robin that never should have been.)

A map with all his safe houses would be send to Conner Kent, along with a letter of apology.

His favorite nerd shirts would go to Ives.

The sundries in his Perch would be for Steph, and the penthouse itself would go to Babs in case things in the theatre went sideways.

Bart would get a zip drive with all their old shenanigans on video, the only copies left once his systems uploaded relevant data to Titan’s Tower and his electronic footprint would be–

gone.

The box with the Red Robin costume he wore was already sealed and addressed to Jason Todd. The note on top was short and sweet: You were right. It never should have been me after all.

He’d already arranged for his share in Wayne Enterprises to be returned to Bruce Wayne immediately, handing him his family’s company back without any strings attached.

Months ago, he’d returned The Red Bird to the Cave when he was sure no one would be around to catch him. The implication that Robin would need the car one day right there in the fact he’d brought it back because honestly, it was never really his in the first place.

Alfred would get his pick of antiques from Drake Manor, and the house itself would be given to the city to be used as a halfway home for runaway teens. He’d made sure the funding would be there to run it for a few years. The donation was made in his mother’s name.

The hilt molds to his palm, the barrel glinting bright in the night. To his credit, his hands aren’t shaky when he slides the clip home and pulls the slide back to put one in the chamber.

(The team had been working fine without him for a while now. Even if they did need someone, there was another Robin to join the roster and keep them moving forward.)

An abrupt light in the darkness, his phone screen lighting up with a missed call notification.

Missed call: Dick the OG

Ironic since the last time he’d come this far, it had been him calling out to the last person he thought could pull him back.

(Not this time. He has a new little brother, a new Robin.)

Slowly, without putting down the .45, he presses the ignore when the phone starts buzzing against with another incoming call. He thumbs the button on the side to turn the phone completely off without listening to the voicemail.

The clip makes a difference, but the absurdity of it, of the last time he did this, was when his future self was a murdering, gun-toting Batman, and the only way he could see to stop it was to stop himself.

The press of the barrel is familiar, and not in that soothing kind of way.

He blinks, just blinks, and his face is wet, which is really stupid because no one is going to miss him any damn way.

His chest gets tight when he fingers the trigger guard, giving himself the time he needs to do it right. In the final moments, he inanely thinks about the time he was huddled against Dick, right after he'd almost tried cloning his dead best friends in an insane attempt to bring them back. It's really the last time he remembers being held, being warm, feeling like he still fucking mattered. It was Dick holding him tight with restraining, breathing against the top of his head, fingers buried in his hair.

It's when he could be weak while still in the mask, babbling to Dick about how he can't do this, he can't lose them all. He was crying then, too, when he told Dick about his mom and dad leaving, leaving, always fucking leaving. About how he got used to seeing their backs more than their faces. How he was left standing on his own for too damn long to just let it keep happening. He couldn't keep losing them, couldn't keep seeing people walk away, how it fucking breaks him.

And in the here and now, his chest hitches, eyes fluttering, hand tightening down because he'd said...and Dick had...

"But I'm here, Timmy. I'm always going to be your big brother!"

It had been the last time he'd been surrounded by the famed octopus hold.

(It was the last time for a lot of things.)

He laughed, smothered in Dick shoulder, something further away from a sob. "Then I guess you'll at least never leave me, right?"

"You will never be able to get rid of me. C'mon. We're going the hell home and having a movie day. Screw the Lazarus Pit, Robin. It's time for some R and R."

Dick had half-carried him to the waiting Batplane and talked him down out of trying to use the Pit for his own gain ever again.

The first knuckle rests on the smooth curve, a six-pound trigger.

(In the end, they all leave.)

(Not again.)

Conner's terrible mohawk and leather jacket.

Bart racing Wally at a hotdog eating competition.

Cassie running full tilt to throw herself at him when he'd come to Titan's Tower to ask them for help when Ra's was going to kill everyone Batman ever loved.

Raven nuzzling Gar out of plain sight so no one would think she was totally gone for him.

Jason coming to the Tower, alive good God, and the Robin he used to be super-imposed to be his hero and enemy in the same ghostly figure.

Bruce putting a hand on his shoulder on a ride back to the Cave, chasing the dawn, the Good work, tonight tired but sincere, and his whole body lights up.

His mother looking at peace in her coffin, a lily in her folded hands.

His eyes close on the out-of-the-way safe house, the plain beige walls, stripped and soulless. He keeps the team in his mind, the times he was happy.

Now.

Instead of a resounding boom followed by his grey matter splattering his personality, intelligence, imagination, him all over–

the wall to the safe house caves in under a super punch.

Conner is white as a sheet on the other side, brick and mortar crumbling under his hands. "No! Tim. Tim. Put. The. Gun. Down."

His mouth is dry and his brain pan full of nothing but pain and disappointment.

(But you brought it all on yourself, didn't you? The Robin nobody wanted. The son nobody asked for.)

He isn't numb enough to be calm, cool, and collected. "All...all you have to do–" a hitch in his breathing "–is walk away."

The meta floats in a little closer, hovering over the flooring instead of outside. His hands stretch out, gaze focused and intense.

"Can't do that, buddy. Looks like I should have been more of an asshole after all the League of Assassins shenanigans. Sorry, my bad."

Kon knows he's in trouble when Tim Drake doesn't laugh.

"Tim," he goes to serious in about two point five seconds because the hand holding that shiny automatic tightens enough for him to hear the screws in the hilt strain, "Tim. It's me here, okay? It's just you and me, just like it's always been. We’re besties, whether you're Robin or Red Robin or Tim fucking Drake because that guy is so damn cool." He inches closer, wondering if he's fast enough, wondering if he can really get to Tim in time–

Like the former Robin can read his mind, those violet-blue eye give him a blink.

"I’ve always wondered if you really are faster than a speeding bullet."

“No!”

(...as it turns out, he isn’t.)

#so there's that #winter answers #700 followers #loves to you babe #warnings for possible triggers #you will probably cry #tim drake #kon-el #i cried so yeah #comment if i should continue #my fic #my writing

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iphoenixrising · 7 years

Note

Hi! Hate to bug you when you are probably busy, but I need a story on this! A story where Tim somehow becomes a bat earlier. Possibly with some Dick/Tim or Jason/Tim, or all three later? Please and I love you!

Hi babe. This? Would be so just adorable. All the adorable please. Hm. Robin!Jason maybe? Ah, just a short thing tho, okay?

The little kid is such a tiny thing, Robin has no fucking clue how he got all the way up the side of the Wallstone with just his hands (and apparently a camera). But the inevitable fall is something he already banked on.

With an easy swoop down, the Boy Wonder snatches the small child in one arm, pressing the button on his grapple gun to haul them back up to the roof.

“Gotcha ya, hold on!” Robin kicks off the side of the Royale so they don’t slam into it mid-swing. His cape flutters, caught in the wind, and small arms wind around him silently.

He gets an eyeful of the waif when they reach the top, and he’s got the kid hefted up on one arm, amazed at how small he looks.

“It’s way ta late fer anyone your age ta be out,” he lectures in his deeper voice, putting the kid down. “It’s Gotham, kid. Don’tcha know any better?”

The little kid just scuffs his nice sneakers and hunches his shoulders, cradling the camera around his neck like the most precious thing in the world.

“S’allright. I getcha, okay? So, yer gonna tell ya name, and I’ma taking ya home. We’ll right it off as an adventure, you feel me?” He reaches out to ruffle the kid’s too long dark hair, grinning a little when those blue-violet eyes peer up at him through the night.

“My name is Alvin Draper and I live in the Narrows, above the old theater,” the kid tells him, all eyes and please believe me on his mug.

Not likely.

“Uh-hu, and I’m Red Arrow. Nice ta meetcha, Alvin. You ain’t from the Narrows. That camera? Ya didn’t steal it. Someone bought it f’ ya. Sneakers, Class A. Pricey. Jean, even the hoody probably cost more than most people in the Narrows make in a day. So, ya not foolin’ anyone.”

Those brows draw together, the eyes dart to the side of the building—

(Stupid move, kid, but Robin’s body tenses anyway)

—and over his right shoulder. The change is immediate, the jaw-dropping awe, the eyes widening, a small gasp taking in abrupt air, all of it making Robin throw up his goddamned hands because someone is landing it on the roof with them.

And it’s just gotta be—

“Aw, Little Wing! You have a fan!” Nightwing comes striding up, zip line wound in hand, and a smile that would light up the night. The asshole comes right up and kneels down to the speechless kid and holds out a hand.

“Hi. I’m Nightwing. What’s your name?” The vigilante all but coos.

“Tim. I’m Tim. Hi Nightwing, it’s nice to meet you,” and the boy turns his face down, pink suffusing his cheeks, shy and adorable. The combination just hits the vigilante right in the heart.

“Oh? I thought it was Alvin,” Robin smirks because gotcha.

The kid takes a second to come out of his fanboy haze to look up at Robin with a sigh, “you were going to take me home. And…and even if my clothes are nice and I have a camera, there’s no on waiting for me there. I…I don’t want to get anyone in trouble, but it’s really okay, Robin.”

And the unwavering certainty makes Robin take the same pause Nightwing is because this kid?

Another sigh when both vigilantes just stare.

“Give me a curfew and I’ll do what you say, but please don’t turn me in.”

Slowly, Robin and Nightwing look at one another and share an understood nod.

Plan B time.

The kid gets to wear Robin’s cape while he clings to Nightwing’s shoulder and the older vigilante shimmies down sly-like to the street for some burgers, fries, and a kid’s meal with hot chocolate (you want coffee? You’re nine, no!).

The two vigilantes listen to the sparse deets over the food while the kid lays it out for them.

He’s Tim Drake. A neighbor to Bruce Wayne and the heir to a large Fortune 500 company. (That’s apparently living spans of months with nannies in the daytime and nights to himself in the large estate on the edges of Gotham.

Robin and Nightwing had raised the whiteouts at this little piece of news, but they got the whole story before making a ruling.

On the way to the Batmobile, Nightwing holds Tim on a hip while perched three stories up as Robin takes out a few muggers with a little fast and furious.

(He knows he’s not as fast as N, probably never will be. Will never be half the crime fighter, the partner, his predecessor. Who fucking could be?)

And by then, the kid is finally showing some wear by the time Nightwing lays him down in the back seat and Robin digs out a fluffy blanket from under the passenger seat to cover him (he’s not taking on the fight for his cape. Nope. it’s gone).

He and Nightwing fired the big car while those eyes drooped in the back seat. A full belly and warm fuzzy, little Tim Drake sighs because it’s been absolutely the best night ever (and he’s already planning contingencies in case they tell the police or Mom and Dad or something comes out of this).

He’s about half aware when he asks, “where are you taking me now?” with a kitten yawn and only his eyes peering from the warm fuzzy and Robin’s cape.

“Home,” Robin looks around the seat, giving that smirk, his eyes so deeply blue outlined with the domino. “Ya promised to go in by curfew, so’s we’re taking ya home, Timmy.”

And he’s sleepy enough that he lays back down on the back seat, the leather firm, holding him just right. He fits here like he fits in the window in the attic room.

So he isn’t out-thinking himself when he says, “okay. At least you’ll be closer to home, patrol is over, right?” and closes his eyes to try falling half asleep with the vibrations under his cheek and side.

The big car slows to a crawl and eases to a stop. Very slowly, both vigilantes turn to look at him around their seats.

“Tim. What did you say?” It’s Nightwing asking, his voice deeper and suspicious.

Robin’s brow is arched over the dominio, his expression disbelieving.

Oh no.

He fumbles to sit up, still wrapped in the blanket, and stuttering out, “what?”

Both of them give him the look.

Oh…no…

Tim buries his face in his hands…and tells them the truth.

It’s Dick marvelling at the perceptions of the kid (natural detective), and Jason grinning at him in wonder.

So…they’re out of plans for this one.

Time to call

The Boss

Who is stuck in the Cave monitoring while healing up from a terrible run-in with Killer Croc (ironically the reason Nightwing is in town for a while, to patrol with the Boy Wonder and maybe try bonding).

B’s voice over comms is calm and somewhat petulant when he gives the Executive Order to bring the young man back to the Cave (He’s probably driving Alfred up the wall).

In the background, the butler is musing aloud if they have any clothing to fit a nine-year old boy. Perhaps some of Master Dick’s old things are still in his room. (Of course they are.) And as young men have a rousing appetite, perchance, what is the boy’s favorite pizza topping?

And since he doesn’t seem to be in trouble, Tim goes with it, rubbing the slick, thick Kelvar lining with his thumb and forefinger while Jay puts his feet up on the dash and wiggles his toes in the pixie boots.

They draw more details out of him on the way to Wayne Manor: where he goes to school, what his activities are, where his parents are constantly going to leave him at home alone. (“I mean it. It’s fine. They can’t hate me if they never see me, right?”) And when he thinks they might kill him, driving straight into the side of a hill, the secret way parts and complete darkness settles around the car.

Jay slides a gloved hand back behind the seat, and Tim latches on to it, leaning between the seats to see the cave in the headlights.

Lights give way and he is in complete awe.

“Welcome to the Batcave, Timmy,” Dick grins over his shoulder as the car parks by an impressive bank of computers, and Jay squeezes his hand before the top rolls open…

And he meets, the Dark Knight.

Batman is suited up. He has a walking cast around his leg and has a cane, but that nothing to retract from the total bad ass emanating from every pore.

“Wow,” Tim breathes softly as the vigilante that started it all limps up to him, and tilts the cowl down to size him up.

“Hello, Tim.”

“H-Hi.”

“My partners tell me you figured out our secret identities.”

Tim blinks and swallows, his hands fisted down at his sides. “Mr.—Mr. Wayne, I’ll never, ever, ever tell anyone. Not even if the Joker gets me and—and, I’ll just! I’ll tell him I don’t know. I will never give up your secret!”

A scowl under the mask makes the young boy sweat a little, but he tilts his chin up and waits.

“I think,” the Batman starts slowly, and his free hand moves up, taps the side of his cowl, “it would be a better idea—”

And the cowl goes back, showing electric blue eyes and dark brows, black hair, and cut cheekbones. Bruce Wayne.

“—if we teach you how to defend yourself. In case that ever happens.”

The breath goes out of him in a rush. “Teach me?”

Nightwing and Robin pull off the masks, move to stand beside their Mentor and regard him. But B sees exactly what would happen here.

If they put Tim Drake into the system, reported neglect to the police, he would probably go through an unforgiving system for a while and go right back to his normal life since the Drakes were independently wealthy.

Nothing for him would change.

But, since he could do this as Bruce Wayne, and not just as Batman, they could give this young detective a chance.

“Something tells me you’re going to have a place here, Tim, but I’m going to warn you. What we do is dangerous. There’s always a risk. Until you learn the rules, you do it my way or no way. Deal?” Bruce sticks out a hand without looking away, his gauntlet spikes gleaming in the overhead light.

And Tim Drake straightens his small back, anticipation trembling on the edge of his tongue. But he shoves his hand in Mr. Wayne’s

“Deal!”

and shakes on it.

#winter answers #ask #this was cute #Robin!Jason #big brother Dick #tim drake #dick grayson #jason todd #tiny!tim

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