Jason was getting impatient, they had all settled down at the table, but no one had said anything. Bruce was keeping a close eye on Tim, and Jason couldn’t blame him. After everything that had happened, Tim probably felt like shit. He was the one in the middle of this mess with the Demon Brat.
Shit, Jason probably shouldn’t be calling Damian that.
He rubbed the back of his neck as he looked around the room. An awkward silence had fall over the room, pulling the tension up higher. The only person who looked remotely calm was Alfred, and that was probably because he was drinking a cup of tea.
“So?” Jason asked after a few more seconds of tense silence.
“Yes, Jason?” Bruce asked as he glanced at him.
“Alfred said you were talking to Leslie about the kid, what did she say?”
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Duke Thomas, Barbara Gordon, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Alfred Pennyworth
Word count: ±2100
Summary: Jason hasn’t spoken to his family in months. It takes a near death situation for him to realise that he should reconnect with them, especially his older brother.
part 2 •
"What the hell was that, Jason?!" Tim shoved his shoulders the moment he stepped off his bike. Tim may be significantly shorter than Jason, but that didn't stop him from being sure he could take Jason in a fight.
"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, Tim," Jason muttered, taking off his red helmet.
"You were gonna kill him!" Tim's voice echoed through the Batcave.
"I wasn't," Jason replied through gritted teeth, his fists clenched on his sides.
"Don't you lie to me, Jason. You were gonna kill him, and you aren't even sorry," Tim hissed, pointing an accusing finger at the older Robin.
"Stop it, both of you," Dick shoved his two brothers apart; one hand on Jason's chest, the other on Tim's shoulder.
"I really don't need you fighting right now, especially after the night we just had. We can talk about this tomorrow," Dick stated firmly, radiating authority over his younger brothers.
The rest of the Bats watched silently as they argued, unsure what to say. Of course they knew what Jason did was wrong, but could they really blame him for reacting the way he did? Jason had always been the most extreme amongst them when it came to the safety of children.
They certainly didn't expect Jason to nearly kill the man in charge of the child trafficking ring they had just raided. Their base of operations was in an old abandoned factory just outside of Gotham. Truth be told, Jason probably would've killed the man if Tim hadn't pulled him off the close-to-death man.
"He sells children for a living, Tim. What did you expect me to do? Arrest him and put him in jail just like the rest of the perps we catch?" Jason bellowed out, waving his hand around for effect. Completely ignoring what Dick had just said.
"Yes, Jason. Yes," Tim shoved Dick's hand off his shoulder. "Because that's what we do. We put criminals in jail and make sure they stay there!"
"No, we put thieves and drug dealers in jail. That man was a child trafficker," he took a deep breath to recompose himself.
"Maybe you didn't understand when we saw it, Tim. So let me remind you again: that man sells children as slaves, as child grooms and brides, as sex slaves," Jason's words vibrated all around them, the venom as in his tone as clear as day.
"That's enough," Bruce commanded, stepping towards his three eldest sons, "All of you."
"Jason, you know how I feel about you using extreme violence, much less killing," Bruce's words held authority and dominance like no one else could. There's a reason even Superman stops and listens to him during Justice League meetings.
"He fucking deserved it, Bruce, and you know that," he spat at his father, striding towards him and getting in his face; matching his stance.
"You agreed to use less violence if you wanted to stay loyal to this family, Jason, and I expect you to keep that promise," Bruce stood firm in front of Jason, his arms crossed over the Bat logo on his chest.
"Yeah? Maybe I shouldn't be a part of this family then!" Jason threw his hands in the air, rage evident in every inch of his body.
An audible gasp escaped Cassandra's lips, quickly covering her mouth with her hand. Steph took a step closer to Cass, putting a hand over her sister's shoulder in attempt to console her.
Babs noticed the small gesture between them. Leaning back on her wheelchair with her arms crossed; taking a deep breath to gather herself. Duke had his hand on Barbara's shoulder, too. But he wasn't sure if it was to keep Barbara grounded or to keep himself grounded. The four of them watching the scene unravelling in front of them.
"Jason," Bruce spoke in a warning tone, but keeping his voice levelled. Not daring to raise his voice at his son who has obvious anger issues.
Jason cut him off, "No, I'm sick of you telling me what I can and can't do, Bruce. I've spent my childhood growing up too fast, and you know that," jabbing a finger at his father's chest. "And I'm not about to let the man who caused these children the same thing happen to them get away with it."
Bruce was about to reply when Jason turned on his heel and began striding back towards his bike.
"Jay? Jay, c'mon, man," Dick chased after him, slightly jogging to catch up to his little brother.
Bruce watched in defeat as realisation dawned him, he was losing Jason, again. He realised he'd rather die before losing his son again.
Alfred had come down to the cave a while ago, drawn in by all the commotion. He, too, felt defeated. Jason wasn't a perfect son, but Alfred had always loved him like he was.
Alfred noticed Damian standing alone, seperated from Duke and his sisters who were all now consoling each other. Watching as his father and older brother's argument came to an end; with one brother chasing after Jason and the other standing next to his father in silence.
Alfred sighed as he stepped towards the youngest Robin, placing a hand on his shoulder. Damian glanced at the older man for a moment before taking a deep breath and turning back to the scene just a few feet in front him.
"Jason, come back here," Bruce tried to command, trying to keep his voice from wavering.
"You know, sometimes I wish I never bothered coming back to you, Bruce," Jason's voice echoing throughout the cave, turning back to give his father figure one last glance before mounting his bike.
That comment struck a cord in Bruce, in all of them. And Jason knew that. He knew he was hurting them, but he didn't care. He didn't want to.
Jason patted his pockets for the key, only to find that they weren't there. A gloved hand extended in front of him, with his keys in the palm of it.
Dick stood in front of his brother's motorcycle, preventing him from leaving. But Dick knew better than to get in Jason's way. He had picked up the keys earlier when Jason had dropped it during his argument with Bruce.
"Jason, please," Dick tried to plead one last time.
Jason glared at his brother for a moment before snatching the keys out of his hand.
"What do you want, Dick?" he grumbled, shoving the keys into the ignition.
Dick sighed, "I just want my family to get along," he muttered as he crossed his arms.
"It's a little too late for that, I'm not part of this family anymore," he said with disdain, turning the key. Dick stayed silent.
"What? You're not gonna chew me out, too?" Jason sneered. A part of him had expected Dick to scold him.
"No, I'm not," he let out a breath, "Even if you're not part of this family anymore, you'll always be my brother, Jay." Dick extended a hand to Jason.
Jason was hesitant to shake it, but he did anyway. Gripping Dick's wrist as Dick gripped his, giving a firm shake.
"Stay safe, yeah? Don't hesitate to call me if you need anything. You know I'll always be here for you, Little Wing," Dick's voice barely above a whisper as he called Jason the nickname he made up for him when Jason was just a kid.
Jason almost smiled at the nickname. Almost.
He pulled his hand back and gave Dick a firm nod before putting on his helmet.
Dick stepped out of the way and Jason sped out of the Batcave.
And just like that, the Bat family had lost Jason. Again.
That was the last time any of them had spoken to Jason, including Dick.
They had all been on edge ever since Jason left. Now that Jason was going solo, no one could stop him if Jason decided to kill again.
But he never did.
During the 10 months of Jason's solo act, he never once killed anyone.
They all waited, everyday. Waiting for the news to report the Red Hood had started killing again, but it never came.
Jason didn't exactly understand why he never got through with it. After all, the whole reason he left his family was so that he could do whatever he wanted without them interfering.
But every time he took down another bad guy, every time he had a clear shot, he didn't go through with it. He couldn't.
Deep down he knew why. He knew Bruce was right. No matter how badly these criminals deserved to die, it wasn't his place to decide who lives or dies.
Jason never dared to go back either, never dared to face Bruce and his family. His ego wouldn't let him.
But how could he possibly think about his ego now? When his brother was laying half-dead on his bed?
Dick was no longer in his Nightwing suit, instead he was wearing one of Jason's t-shirts and a pair of his basketball shorts. And Jason had laid out some new sheets. The bloody sheets crumpled in the laundry room together with the torn Nightwing suit.
He almost looked like a normal guy sleeping. Except for all his obvious wounds.
A black eye on his right, a swollen cheek just below it. His lip was busted, his left cheek had a cut on it. And this was just his face.
Jason had found many more cuts and bruises peppered all over his brother's skin when he was cleaning him earlier. He had cleaned each cut carefully; making sure that they would heal with minimal scarring.
Tears filled his eyes as he sat next to his brother. He was hunched over in his chair, with his elbows propped up on his knees.
He let out a defeated sigh as he held his head in his hands, allowing the guilt and regret flow through his body. Every emotion he had felt towards his family in the last 10 months overwhelmed him.
Thoughts of his family flooding his mind, how he had left them all behind when all they ever wanted was what was best for him.
God, how could he have been so stupid?
"Where are we on the Two-Face case?" Bruce asked as he stepped into the cave, holding two cups of coffee
Barbara was sitting in front of the computer, the screen lighting up her face.
"Nothing new so far. Some people reported seeing him by the Gotham Public Library, but no one has actually confirmed it was him," she replied, not looking away from the screen as she typed rapidly.
Bruce placed one cup next to Barbara's hand, sipping on his own cup. "Maybe Damian and I should go on patrol earlier tonight, we don't have much to do right now."
"Uh, no, Bruce. Did you forget? Damian has that big history test tomorrow. He's been studying all week," she finally turned to him, taking the warm cup between her hands.
"Oh, right. I forgot that's tomorrow. Well, what about Tim? I'm sure he'd like to go on patrol tonight," Bruce leaned against the desk.
"No, he went bowling with Duke, Steph and Cass. Something about some overdue bonding," Babs sighed as she leaned back in her wheelchair.
They lingered in silence for a few minutes, enjoying their coffee. A loud beep sounded through out the cave, and the large screen flashed red with bold letters on it.
"What is that?" Bruce asked, quickly regaining his composture and stood up straight. Now facing the screen.
"It's a panic alert," Babs began typing away on the keyboard.
"Whose?" he quickly set down his cup on the desk. Bruce can feel the slight panic rising in his chest, one of his kids was in danger. And he intended on saving them from whatever threat was made.
"It– It's Jason's," Babs exclaimed in disbelief. They hadn't heard from him in 10 months, was this really how had he planned their reunion?
Bruce quickly strode to his suit display against the far wall of the cave. He was going to go after Jason. And this time, he won't lose him. Not again.
"Are you really gonna go after him, Bruce? After all he's said and done to us?" Babs asked quietly, rolling her wheelchair towards him.
"We don't give on family, Barbara. Especially Jason, not after all the shitty family experiences he's been through," Bruce stated, pulling his cowl over his head.
Barbara watched silently as Bruce strode over to the Batmobile, it's engine roaring to life. She knew he was right.
As mad as she was at Jason for leaving the way he did, deep down she was just a sister who was worried for her little brother.
A/N: thanks for reading! part 3 soon :)
once again, thanks so much for helping me proofread this :) @loxxscreens
Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, other Batfam members are mentioned
Warnings: blood, near death situation
Word count: 1100+
Summary: Jason hasn’t spoken to his family in months, it takes a near death situation for him to realise that he should reconnect with them, especially his older brother.
part 1 •
Jason shoved the key into the keyhole before turning it, the keychain jingling and rattling as he shoved the door open. He let out a deep sigh as he let the door swing shut behind him. He let the darkness of his apartment envelop him as he shoved the keys back into his pocket.
He had went grocery shopping for the first time in two weeks, his fridge was bare and whatever was left were either spoiled or just plain disgusting. He was about to walk towards the kitchen to set down the four grocery bags on his wrists when he smelled something.
It smelled like rust, the familiar scent of iron and water. But Jason knew better than that, he knew what it really was. Blood.
He quickly set the grocery bags down, and got into a fighting stance in case he needed to strike. He slowly reached for the light switch, suddenly hyper aware of everything around him. The light breeze on his face; Jason was sure he didn’t leave any windows open. The smell of blood lingering in the air; he’s certain it wasn’t the smell of his own blood. Surely, he’d know if he was bleeding. The eerie silence was deafening. If someone had broken in, they had probably already left.
But what Jason saw when the light fell upon his living room knocked the air out of his lungs.
There on the floor, a man was laying on his stomach in a pool of his own blood. Jason didn’t need to see his face to know who it was.
“Dick?” his voice was barely above a whisper, as if his tongue was tied.
Suddenly, realisation came rushing to him.
“Dick?! Holy shit!”
Jason rushed towards his brother, completely forgetting about the grocery bags by the door.
Dick was still in his Nightwing suit, a large gash on his side with blood seeping out of it. His arms were splayed above his head, a bloody escrima stick next to his right arm. The other escrima stick was broken in half, with only one half still strapped on Dick’s back. The other half nowhere to be found.
He had broken the window in Jason’s living room, he intended on staying a while, just to get himself patched up. But he lost more blood than he thought, he had only taken a few steps into the living room before passing out and faceplanting onto the floor.
Jason noticed the trail of bloody footprints from Dick’s body to the broken window. He’d curse at his brother for breaking his window, but he was too caught up in the fact that Dick was laying in a pool of his own blood. He flipped him over, quickly placing a finger beneath his nose to make sure he’s still breathing, letting out a small sigh of relief when he realised Dick was still alive.
He quickly pushed his palm onto the gash, trying to stop the bleeding. A loud, painful groan rumbled from Dick’s throat, obviously disagreeing with the new pressure on his side.
“Dick? Can you hear me?” Jason asked quietly as he hoisted his brother over his shoulder, putting him in a fireman’s carry.
“Hrrn..” Dick mumbled.
“What the hell happened to you?” Jason asked as he carried Dick towards his bedroom, not caring that Dick’s blood was all over him now.
When he was met with no reply, Jason concluded that Dick had once again lost consciousness. He soon realised the only reason Dick regained his consciousness was because he had palmed his wound; the pain must’ve jolted him awake.
He placed Dick on his bed, mentally cursing himself for having changed the sheets just the day before. The next wash day was gonna be such a pain the ass.
Quickly jogging back towards the kitchen, rummaging through his cupboard to find the first aid kit he kept. He rushed back to Dick’s side the moment his hand felt the familiar handle of the kit.
“Oh, he is so gonna kill me for this,” he mumbled before tearing through Dick’s Nightwing suit to expose the wound more. He raked his hand through the now open kit, searching for a syringe of morphine. He heard Dick let out a sigh as he injected the morphine into him.
He made quick work of the gash, stitching it together and wrapping a piece of gauze around his brother’s torso. Alfred would be disappointed if he saw how sloppy his stitch work was.
Jason smiled as he thought of Alfred, he missed the English man, more than he’d like to admit. He missed all of them: Bruce, Tim, Duke, Babs, Steph, Cass, even Damian. He let out a sigh as he recalled the last time he had spoke to them.
Refusing to dwell on what happened months ago, he prepared some painkillers and a glass of water on the bedside table.
Lord knows he’s gonna need it when he wakes up. He thought to himself.
Jason pulled up a chair next to the bed, and was about to sit down when he remembered Dick still covered in blood.
He went to his laundry room, he grabbed a bucket and filled it with water, and took a wash cloth with him. He was walking to the bathroom to grab a bottle of soap when something caught his eye in the kitchen, a small black pager on the floor; it must’ve fell out of the cupboard when he was looking for the first aid kit earlier.
Bruce had given him that pager last year, it was supposed to work as a panic button, to alert the big bad Bat if he needed anything. Jason contemplated on using it, but how could he? After the way their last conversation ended all those months ago. He had said some harsh things he couldn’t take back, even though he knew he didn’t really mean them.
The right thing to do was to contact Bruce. Jason knew that; he just had to put his ego aside. For Dick.
After all, Dick was still Bruce’s son. And any father deserves to know when or if their child is in danger.
Sighing in defeat, Jason reached for the pager. Pressing the small grey button, he watched as the screen started to flash before the familiar Bat logo glowed. Indicating that the signal had gone through. He placed the pager on the counter before continuing to the bathroom for that soap.
He sat next to Dick and tore the remaining pieces of his Nightwing suit off his body. He let his mind wander as he slowly wiped the blood off Dick’s torso.
His last conversation with his family, nearly 10 months ago.
A/N: this is my first ever batfam related fic (and also first ever fanfic period) so we’ll see how this does :) this is also my first ever piece of writing that im actually publishing so im kinda nervous on how people will respond to it. part 2 is done and will be out right after i post this one!
thanks for helping me proofread this :) @loxxscreens
This is fucking amazing n its a fucking travesty that it dosent have more kudos/coments/bookmarks! Go read it!!!!
I finally finished writing something!! An actual story! Wow!
Summary: Brion’s situation of trying to find his sister is hitting a little too close to home for Dick.
Dick uses a very personal example to try to convince Brion to be patient while they search for Tara
I have two requests coming out;
1. Dick Grayson fic
2. Zatanna fic
I also have some Flash and Titans fics coming out!
1. Caitlin Snow
2. Donna Troy
3. Dawn Granger
Rating: General Audiences
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Fandoms: Batman - All Media TypesDCU (Comics)
Relationships: Stephanie Brown & Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Dick Grayson
Characters: Stephanie Brown, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth
Stephanie Brown is Robin, Stephanie Brown is Spoiler, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Stephanie Brown Needs a Hug, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Stephanie Brown Deserves Better, Past Stephanie Brown/Tim Drake, Dick Grayson Tries to Be a Good Older Sibling, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Tired Alfred Pennyworth, Set during Steph's run as Robin, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Batfamily (DCU), Dick is worried about his dad but he also has a new baby sister to worry about now, Everything is an ordeal in this batfamily, Jason Todd comes up a lot
Still benched from her duties as Robin, Stephanie receives a surprise call to assist the Titans with an investigation and jumps at the chance to help. Of course when Nightwing unexpectedly arrives, the day quickly spirals out of control in ways neither could have anticipated.
(A Canon Divergence where Dick Grayson finds out Bruce's mentoring skills are languishing and Stephanie's been paying the price.)
Last Updated: 24/07/2021
*None of these are my writings
Marvel Cast / Avengers
Matthew Gray Gubler
Misha Collins / Alexander Calvert
So I just love torturing myself, so can anyone give me some requests for some angst oneshots. Specifically of dick grayson/nightwing. This wouldn't be x reader or have anything to do with shipping (unless you want it to have a ship then I totally can) but seriously, someone needs to make me write angst for this boy soon or else imma lose my mind
Family trait: Se podría considerar como herencia o rasgo que viene de familia o la simple expresión "viene de familia"
"Family trait" Es una serie de relatos acerca de la batifamilia y como una simple expresión como "a family trait" puede llegar a grandes dolores de cabeza para todos sus integrantes desde Dick en su deseo de ya no estar en soledad o a Bruce soportando el peso de ser el patriarca de su enorme familia.
Warning: Abuso de sustancia a temprana edad, adicciones a temprana edad, actos indebidos para menores de edad, padres irresponsables y temas psicológicos tales como: traumas, abuso, estrés post-traumático, depresión y ansiedad.
Well, Well, well porfin se esta concretrando la idea de este proyecto la verdad le ando dedicando tiempo, comprensión y amor para que se de su agrado y sera una bonita historia que sera desde la llegada de Dick hasta... ups! spoiler
Gracias por el apoyo a largo plazo os quiero <3
Rating: General Audiences
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Fandom: Batman - All Media Types
Relationships: Stephanie Brown & Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown & Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown & Alfred Pennyworth
Characters: Stephanie Brown, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, Original Female Character(s)
Additional Tags: Girl Scouts, Fluff, Angst, actually idk how angsty it actually is, this is a fic about cookies, non-american readers im so sorry if u dont get this rip
A trio of girl scouts decide that the best way to sell cookies is to go to every single house in Gotham. Including the rich people houses. Wayne Manor doesn't know what hit it.
Reverse Robin au with Tim first and he goes by Batboy instead of Robin. I’m gonna change all of their ages and order and they are all closer in age.
Summary: Tim goes to the circus with his parents.
Warning: death, prejudice against dick, and possible hint of sexual harassment of Tim but nothing obvious.
It was supposed to be a nice family trip to the circus. 16 year old Tim Drake went with his parents Jack and Janet. He noted Bruce Wayne was across the tent on a date. Tim pretended to not notice him. Batman and Batboy were secret number one; even when they were arguing something terrible and Tim spent more time at Mount Justice than the Batcave.
Jack had bought Tim a cotton candy and soda and ruffled his hair like he was 5 but Tim honestly could care less because it was the first time in 3 years he was around both his mom and dad. So Tim put on a happy smile and even allowed his parents to meet the performers. 10-12 years ago this activity would have had him almost in tears in joy.
Tim instead politely shook the hand of the young boy with a European accent he couldn’t quite place. His black wavy thick hair and blue eyes with freckles tan skin made tiny little Dick Grayson the star of the show before the circus even started and the way he grinned and bowed for the audience, he certainly knew it.
“I’ll do a flip just for you,” he said pointing at Tim who sputtered a thanks and turned red while the crowd laughed. This family trip was starting to turn mortifying for the teen. If his friends ever found out about this… he shuddered at the thought.
Tim sat on the mid riser seats in the huge circular tent. 3 rings were on the floor and all kind of manner of ropes and wires hung from above. He couldn’t imagine the work and precision needed to set it up. He recognized some of the rope types and knots used. These people knew their stuff.
“Looking up to the sky? The show is down here,” Jack said with a sarcastic smile “waiting on that kid to flip for you?”
“No, shut up,” Tim said without thinking. Jack clapped a hand on his shoulder and pushed him straight in the seat.
“Don’t miss the show I paid for you,” he said through gritted teeth. Tim clenched his fist so tight he almost broke skin while reminding himself he can’t knock the block off his father. Tim Drake has no reason to know how to land a punch. They weren’t exactly getting along either.
Instead Tim watched as a beautiful woman performed acrobatics on the back of a horse, a sad clown juggled bowling pins, and a strong man picked up both the acrobat and clown as well as a member of the audience to raucous cheering. It was fascinating, he was willing to admit.
Finally the stars of the show. The lights dimmed and the music from the small band in the corner turned tense. A spotlight shone on a single man. He was a sinewy well built handsome man in a baby blue suit that stood on top of trapeze stand. He had one arm gently outreached and skyward. His smile was like lightning.
The announcer called out “The Flying Graysons!”
The man bowed. Another spotlight showed a woman in a matching blue suit with a skirt attached. She also had a million watt smile and bowed for the crowd. A third spotlight landed on the final member of the trio. Dick Grayson stood proud and bowed and the crowd Ooh and aww at him. He was absolutely a doll in his matching blue outfit. He grinned brightly and Tim would swear he saw a missing tooth that just added to the cuteness.
John Grayson grabbed a trapeze swing that was hung near to his post and swung out with the bar gripped inside his strong hands. He swung a few times before flipping his feet over the bar ending with his head facing the ground and knees locked around the bar. The crowd gasped as he swung with just his upper body. You could see his amazing flexibility and athleticism.
Mary sat on her swing and swung a few times before standing up on the bar. John swung himself to sit on his bar. Dick was bobbing his head and obviously keeping count of some sort of timing, Tim assumed. John and Mary both flipped to hold on to the bar with the back of their knees at the same time and the crowd gasped once again. Dick unhooked his bar.
A few swings and John and Mary stretched their backs toward each other and he grasped her firmly around the wrist. Just as her legs released her bar and her weight was now being held by John, a horrifying snap could be heard.
Dick’s blood curdled and he stared in horror as one side of his father’s rope splintered and broke and both of his parents fell towards the ground. He didn’t notice the screams as they landed bodily on the ground. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t hardly breath. His world was gone.
Tim was also froze. He didn’t know what to do. People had started crying out and the security quickly came between the Grayson’s and the crowd. Tim was too busy staring at the broken body of the pair to notice that Bruce had excused himself. The Grayson’s hands still touched and they seemed to gaze at each other even in death.
Another performer climbed up and helped Dick down. He was in a daze. The blood pounded in Dick’s ears and he couldn’t tell you what a single person said that day. He just remembers standing over their dead body with tears falling involuntarily. A hand on his shoulder had him turning and behind him was Batman. The man wrapped a blanket around his shoulder and guided him to the open arms of another performer. She pressed the boy close to her chest and he sobbed.
“Move,” Jack Drake had told Tim. “Get up,” he said, shaking the teen’s shoulder. Tim stood and numbly followed the crowd. He had certainly seen a lot as Batboy but it was one thing to see horrible things while being a vigilante and another to see a tragedy at the circus.
3 weeks later
Bruce Wayne fosters tragic Circus Orphan
The headline in every major paper in the eastern seaboard read. It was talked about in tv and online. And Tim wasn’t jealous. It would be ridiculous. He had both of his parents. He didn’t need to be fostered. He had parents.
It didn’t stop him from avoiding the manor for a few weeks, only showing his face in the Batcave before patrol. Bruce noticed the change but didn’t comment. Tim would soon learn that batman work and Bruce’s home life were completely separate. The 8 year old never needed to know that about Batman.
A few weeks later and Tim was working as Batboy when he almost got hurt. The riddler had set a trap that Bruce almost didn’t solve. Tim was tied to a chair as water slowly rose. Above his head was a metal stake attached to electricity that would electrocute Tim if he didn’t drown first. Bruce’s hands almost trembled as he untied Batboy. The water made it to his chin before Bruce solved the puzzle. Tim was sputtering water near the end.
Back at the Batcave, Bruce had Alfred fuss over the teen far more than usual.
“Alf, I don’t have a fever,” Tim said pulling away from the butler.
“Tim, I need to speak to you,” Bruce said sitting down and it reminded Tim of the way his parents told him his dog died when he was a kid.
Bruce sighed. “Alright, chum. I don’t think you should be going out anymore.”
“What are you talking about?” Tim asked. “Nothing happened to me.”
“It’s not safe. You could have died today. Go to college, get a girlfriend, go be a kid,” Bruce said and he stood up to leave.
“Are you kidding me? You’re firing me? From Batboy? I made this name,” Tim protested. He started to stand up.
“It’s not up for argument. Turn in your suit,” Bruce said before leaving the cave. Tim stared at him. The black and grey suit was something Tim designed. It was nothing without him. What was Bruce even thinking?
“Is he serious? I didn’t even get hurt,” Tim said to Alfred.
“I’m not sure, sir. Bruce is as always, a very private person,” Alfred said. He sat the tray he was holding down and walked out of the cave leaving Tim alone. Tim felt hollow. He had spent years as Batboy. What would he do now? He went to Mount justice hoping to hang out with his YJ buddies.
Dick was nervous. His first gala as Bruce Wayne’s ward. What would he do? Charming people from the big top with a flip was different than speaking to people in English, his 3rd language. Dick wanted to kill his accent some times and other keep it forever as a way to honor his parents. That’s how John and Mary Grayson sounded. He still cried at night alone in his bed. Sometimes Bruce would catch him and hug him as he cried.
Dick adjusted his tie. He wore suits all the time but they were beautifully colored and didn’t restrict his movements. No ties and certainly no shoulder pads that would prevent full extension. He sat on the island in the kitchen and munched on an apple as Alfred worked. Alfred handed him a potato.
“Sir, if you would be so kind to peel this,” he said and carefully showed Dick how to peel a potato for the light meal the Wayne’s usually ate before galas. Dick liked Alfred. The man carefully enunciated his words so Dick could comprehend him. He tried to avoid slang or confusing language. And he even tried to make some of Dick’s favorite food.
Dick quickly peeled a dozen potatoes as Alfred busied himself around the kitchen.
“Oh dear, that is quite a few potatoes. We can always have extra,” Alfred said with a little laugh. Dick smiled sheepishly. “Well Master Wayne does like French fries. I suppose I can keep these on ice water and make them tonight..”
“We always had big meals for a bunch of people. I forget it’s just us,” Dick said and Alfred nodded. He never interrupted Dick when he talked about the circus but kept a careful memory of what the boy said. Alfred was just glad he was doing better than Bruce was at that age.
“How come Tim doesn’t come around to work with Bruce at night anymore?” Dick asked and Alfred almost dropped an antique bone China cream saucer on the floor. Alfred turned with a pleasant mask in his face.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“You know, when Bruce dresses up like a bat and beats up punks,” Dick answered like it was obvious. “The news calls him… man bat?” Dick struggled with the words.
“Batman. How long have you known?” Alfred asked, sitting the dish down just in case he wasn’t ready for the answer.
“For a moon,” Dick answered. He wasn’t bothered and Alfred supposed it wasn’t a surprise to the boy. His parents were world renowned acrobats so being Batman’s ward wasn’t a big deal.
“… yes,” Dick said after a moments hesitation. English wasn’t perfect for him. Alfred was helping him but there was stuff he didn’t know yet.
“Well then you know that it’s very important we keep it a secret or else Master Bruce could be in danger,” Alfred said.
“From punks,” Dick said in an adorable serious voice.
“Precisely. Now run upstairs and put on your shoes. I’ll pack you a snack before you leave,” Alfred shooed the boy out of the kitchen. Dick scrambled up the stairs 2 at a time and Alfred watched serenely until Dick left the area. Then Alfred furiously called Bruce and told him of the situation. They both went back and forth on whether to allow Dick to go to the gala at all but they had already informed the media and Dick was so looking forward to it. Not to mention, Dick had kept it all to himself for a whole month.
Bruce watched his young ward precariously carry a very full glass of pink punch from across the room as he spoke to some bore about investment banking. Couldn’t Lucius deal with this? Bruce had learned so much about patience but when they talk about percentage of pennies, his eyes glaze over.
“Aren’t you a doll,” one women cooed. She was tall and very thin and Dick kept staring at the way her eyelashes clung together with black makeup that resembled spiders.
“Hello,” he said in his best intimidation of Tim’s accent. Tim spoke proper English, like Bruce.
“Are you in school, young man,” she asked.
“I will in the fall,” he said softly but the w got him and it sounded softer, almost like a v. Most people wouldn’t even notice, much less care. You had to be a real jerk to make a fuss over a single letter.
“Oh,” her tone changed and she had been crouching near him but pulled back. “You really are from the circus. You need to speak English here,” she said sternly. Dick almost clenched the cup in two. He had seen people talk to his father like that before.
“But I am,” he said weakly, the accent bleeding into his voice. She laughed.
“Bruce really dug in the peanut barrel for this one,” she said with a mean laugh and Dick blinked before taking a step back.
“Hello,” Tim said beside her. He didn’t speak to Bruce much in the last few months after being fired but he wasn’t going to let the kid be insulted.
“Mr Drake,” she said brushing her skirt off as if Dick had somehow dirtied it. “How are you? You look good this evening,” she asked while batting her eyes. Tim looked at her and tried to hold back his disgust. He was sixteen for goodness sake.
“I’m fine. Mr Wayne was looking for you, kid,” Tim said and Dick ran off in the crowd.
“Can you believe that Wayne fostered that poor creature. Wonder if he had ever even slept in a real bed before he was taken in. Can’t even speak English,” she whispered to Tim. She also pushed her breasts up towards Tim who purposefully avoided looking at them.
“I have to go,” he said backing away. She grasped his wrist and Tim pulled away roughly. She dug her nails into his wrist and made an insulted noise and Tim knew that if he truly pulled away, she would make a terrible scene.
“Need any help over here,” said the distinguished voice of Bruce Wayne. Dick stood behind him with wide eyes and the woman dropped Tim’s wrist like it was fire.
“Mr Wayne,” she purred and stalked over to him. “We’re having a good evening, aren’t we Mr Drake?”
“It’s fine,” Tim said roughly.
“Why don’t I show you a painting I bought this evening while Timothy shows Richard the buffet table? You know how young boys are and both of them must be starving,” Bruce said smoothly pulling her away from them both. She forgot about her quest with Tim and followed Bruce.
“Thanks,” Tim said to Dick. How did the kid know Bruce would save the day?
“No problem,” Dick said with a smile. “I am hungry but I don’t know what anything is.”
“I can show you,” Tim said guiding him to the buffet table covered in fancy expensive food. Dick marveled at everything before carefully filling his plate only with things Tim suggested. Tim helped him carry his stuff to a nearby table.
“Thank you,” Dick said shyly. “I always knew,” he started before looking around, “Batboy would save the day.” Tim froze.
“Wha…” he started and Dick winked.
“I’m learning but I am also very clever,” Dick told the older boy.
“Indeed,” was all Tim could sputter. He would have to talk to Bruce about that one.
Let me know what you think. Yell at me. Tell me ideas or theories!
Legit question: does Tim have a spleen or not? Because I know he lost it Red Robin, but then Red Robin never happened and he started as Red Robin, but Bruce still died because Dick and Damian were still Batman and Robin, but if Tim still had his parents and Kon and Bart never died would Red Robin have gone down the same way? And everything is canon? But then like how's that gonna work for Cass who got thrown in the Lazarus pit in the old continuity? Do her childhood scars just disappear? Is Damian's spine still replaced? Did Jason still shoot Tim and Damian?
So. another dual prompt and I really regret nothing about this one tbh. I took tomorrow’s Talon and today’s Wings and made a Winged!Talon!Tim fic. Of course, I talked to the wonderful babes on Capes & Coffee about a what if combination and this just, whew. Careful, it might break your heart a little, but damn if it isn’t an interesting idea.
Not beta read, so don't be a hater :D
Previous Talon!Tim universe posts: The initial idea, Babe and I talking it out, Talon Training Ask, Ra’s vs the Court, Talon and Ra’s, Talon and Ra’s take 2, Talon and Shiva short.
Watching B take on the new and improved Talon is really the entertainment of the year.
Once upon a time it had taken all of them plus more to take down as much of the Court of Owls as humanly possible. Of course, like rats, the Bats knew there would be no way to get the entire Court or all the Talons, not when the upper echelons of Gotham had spent the better part of 200 years creating, storing, training, and obtaining more.
Politicians were investigated, corrupt cops removed, and criminals burrowed underground once word of what the capes did to save the day got passed around.
For the first time in years, crime in Gotham was at an all time low.
But, as the coin flip dictates, nothing good lasts forever. Trouble is always brewing below the surface to eventually rise to the top and try to take over.
Case in point:
The Bats of Gotham have come up against a new threat wearing the signature Talon armor, and the call goes out to all available capes for help taking on the undead mercenary before another crime family ends up in the Obituaries rather than Blackgate.
The fact the Court is still up and running after the Batfamily took them down in a fiery blaze that ended with all their Talons gone, Sensei exposed, and most the ruling families imprisoned or poisoned by Lincoln March, is like a kick to the abdomen after they closed that particular book. Worse, with a new Talon soldier is sighted running around Gotham, another circus kid has been kidnapped and turned into the right hand of the Court of Owls. Dick, with his absolute survivors guilt, is the one to make going after the Talon and whoever is still behind the scenes a top priority.
Which is how they find themselves in the middle of Knight’s Stadium facing down a Talon that is too short to be March. Red Hood, Nightwing, Robin, Batgirl, and Black Bat pretty much got their asses handed to them in the first twelve minutes. Pretty hard to understand until you take into account the new and improved Talon facing them now is terrifying in a completely different way than most undead assassins are.
He knows them.
He knows them in ways that lets him fight fast and furious with vicious accuracy, striking at weaknesses few of the vigilantes of Gotham realized they even had.
He isn't as big as Lincoln or even Cobb, not nearly as old. He hasn't been kept in cryostasis waiting for the next generation to need his skills. He doesn't have creaks in his joints from being put on deep freeze too many times.
This one is silent and efficient, obviously trained in multiple types of martial arts, is highly proficient with or without the standard Talon knives, is a master tactician, counters the majority of their moves with alarming consistency–
and the fucking Talon has wings.
Everyone had assumed the metal monstrosities on his back were weapons of some kind, but the glint of steel in the streetlight flash a warning before the lumps moved in an arch, extending far out past his shoulder blades, slicing into Red Hood’s body suit with a razor-sharp edge, shredding the armor like paper.
It’s not enough he’s got weapons obviously made specifically for his skill set, it’s not enough he’s an assassin and doesn’t hold to the same standards of non-lethal combat, it’s not enough that he can use his wings to fly or to fight like he’s using another limb to kick the shit out of them, and it’s not enough that he effortlessly counters so many of their attacks that he has to have some kind of inside information on all of them and their fighting styles.
The knives are definitely a thing when the Talon can throw them hard enough to penetrate parts of their suits in between armored plating, which further drives the theory that this is a person they’ve dealt with before. Intimately. Few people in the world know how their suits are made. Even more, few people know particulars enough when their suits are constantly reconstructed.
The only thing on their side that tipped the scales in their favor–
The wings threw him off his game, obviously, but not enough to stop B from holding his own with swift and merciless force.
It's like watching a dance of fast and furious fists, blades in Talon's hands glinting deadly in the night, finding B's suit over and over and over until he's made it to blood and bone. He takes every hit the Batman can dish out, head snapping back, left, and right with the volley of jaw-breaking blows and bone-shattering kicks.
None of it gives the Talon pause. When a move makes him drop a blade, another is already in hand, cutting into their body suits, wings flipping out to defend or distract, sweeping moves and well coordinated attacks.
The unnatural appendages are like another arm, another leg, an extension working on the same central nervous system, regardless as to how the Court managed to make it happen.
A jump kick off a trash can is a lucky shot as a wing catches B in the ribs hard enough to knock him into the wall of Mike's Famous Hotdogs. The only thing saving the Dark Knight from a concussion or permanent brain damage is the plating in his cowl.
It gives the Talon enough time to make a final bid for a battered Nightwing, Red Hood, and Robin struggling to their feet again, eyes for their fallen mentor.
Before he can lunge forward to start the attack yet again, the Talon just stops, pauses like he’s stuck or something, and in the span of a breath, both wings extend fully, flap powerfully once to propel him up into the Gotham night.
O tries her best to track his flight through the city, but no one’s arms are working well enough to toss a tracker on him.
She loses him over Cape Carmine, slams her palms against her system in frustration, makes sure she gets as much footage from the confrontation as possible.
After some sleep and a whole lot of bandages and ice packs, the Bat family meets in the Cave to watch the footage, breakdown the Talon’s fighting style, his weaponry, and make theories on his identity.
O helps out with readings she has of electronic pulses she managed to capture coming from the armor over his wings. She thinks she might be able to use it to track him if they can get close enough for her equipment to ping the signal again.
B makes a trip to Arkham since Freeze apparently hasn’t stopped producing the formula used to put Talons in cryostasis.
It’s not until Gotham’s power grid has a massive surge that O and the Bats can pinpoint a possible location, all of them invested in one hell of a fight to get the last rats still scurrying in the underground.
The plan of attack comes together smoothly once they’ve scoped out the location, seen the shady activity, and together, they make one hell of a plan.
And because, you know, Gotham, it is completely normal for the Court of Owl's headquarters to have a skylight.
For this one, they've got Batgirl and Black Bat, Red Hood and Robin, Nightwing and B, a real family affair.
O's quiet voice over comms leading them through the maze of traps and empty rooms, abandoned libraries and spooky ball rooms. The laboratory isn't the most horrific they've all ever seen (because the Joker's summer place is literally the stuff of nightmares), but a few of them do gag on the smell alone.
The plan, however, goes horribly awry when the clear sounds of tormented screaming echoes from right under their reinforced bootheels.
Black Bat's fists clench hard, her breathing wheezes out when the tone, the utter agony goes right through her.
A shudder slides up Robin's spine as all of them turn toward the noise.
Without a flicker or a word, the Batman moves, strafing in the shadows toward the sound. He can't assume it's an innocent civilian with something the Court wants, but he's betting on the fact that scream will lead them to whoever is running the show.
The medieval room has bars and reinforced locks, implements hanging on the wall. The cement brick is stained rust colored with old blood, the vestiges of training, and the awful realization they've found another hidden niche in the city that always existed right under their noses is punctuated with the abrupt drop in temperature, with the sudden charge in the air, with the zzzzcrack snapping beyond the door, replaced with a muted buzzing Robin can feel in his back teeth.
B is already on his way to the roof, Batgirl down through the floor vent while Nightwing picks the locks with fast precision, knocking the tumblers around.
Robin and Red Hood stay close to the reinforced door, balancing on the balls of their feet, katana and .45s at the ready.
Black Bat takes the high road, ceiling tiles giving way under her Bat-a-rang. She gives a sharp nod before she's up and gone.
"All right. Ready?" Nightwing stands, cracks his neck, flips his escrimas in both hands, works his shoulders to prepare for the strain of each blow he plans to give.
"Ya betcha ass," Hood murmurs low, a cut figure with both guns at his sides, gloved fingers on the trigger guard.
"Don't disappoint," Robin snarls, "either of you."
"Nice pep talk, squirt," Nightwing snickers.
"Tt, back up your mouth with action."
"Better shuddap, Demon. Golden Boy ain't fuckin' 'round. Neither is the Bat. We get one more chance a' this asshole. We ain't gonna blow it again, ya feel me?"
"Finally, something we agree on, Hood."
"Other than N's shitty mullet?"
Nightwing swiftly glares at them both over his shoulder, unconsciously putting himself front and center of the trio, ready to be the first in once they get the signal.
– which is the sound of the glass raining down from the heavens.
Three booted feet kick the door hard enough to take it off the hinges, lying against the faded stains like a fallen body.
First step in the room is the complete opposite to what they'd all been expecting.
The two Owl masks aren't the usual, but a perversion of the originals, crudely drawn yawning mouths complete with fangs dripping blood.
The boy on his knees, arms in a binder holding the appendages hostage at a painful angle, is dripping the real thing. Rivulets down his chest and where his back is partially visible. Some from the base of the wings going into the back of his shoulder blades where the skin is torn and raw.
The bar gag shoved in his mouth doesn't take away from the splatters on his chin, the bruising on his face, the swollen eye. But it's his wings that makes the Bats falter from the initial rushing attack.
His wings are without the armor, are bound straight up above his restrained body with hooks grotesquely puncturing through the downy softness, desecrating the beauty with blood and gore. The angle makes the pull to his back where the wings are part of him just another agony on top of atrocity.
"Fuck," from the first Owl mask, and a swift move frees the Talon's bound arms, the appendages flopping uselessly to the floor, only his trapped, tortured wings keeping him up on his knees.
The second Owl shoves the first back, "let him take care of them. Let's get out of here!"
The first Owl snarls out something low and foreign, the phrases rolling off his tongue.
The words lock into place, and the Talon's head snaps up, snarling around the gag in his mouth.
When his face is finally, finally visible, the protectors of Gotham are frozen in their tracks.
Familiar violet-blue eyes, too-long blue-black hair, cut jawline and pointed nose. Tiny scar on his right cheek from the time he caught Ra's al Ghul's ring across the face.
"Jesus Fucking Christ," is barely heard through the Red Hood's synths and in no way fully expresses his utter horror at what these dirty motherfuckers have done.
Robin wretches, bile burning the back of his throat once those eyes swing up to the masked parody of the Owls and his bare upper body is visible through the blood and sweat on his chest, when the scars peeking through on his collar bones form a half-visible Y-incision, when the coloring of the bared wings now makes sense (robin's wings, Damian Wayne thinks with his heart beating pitter patter fast, and his stomach in knots, they put robin's wings on him...).
And the hurt, agonized noise coming out of Nightwing's chest is the only noise he can make when those dimmed, dazed eyes swing from the Owls back to the vigilantes frozen in their spots, when there's no spark of joy or fondness or stubbornness he's so used to seeing staring him down.
The errant thought, the first instinct, is the only humane way to deal with this new Talon is to put him down for good wars with the man behind the mask that only wants to reach out, wants to pull the Talon into his body and curve over, to scream at the injustice of it all, to rail at himself for not even suspecting.
Another switch flipped and the hooks release his wings, blood splattering on top the old stains.
"Get them! Don't fuck it up this time or you won't get another chance," the second Owl shoves the Talon's injured shoulder in the direction of the horrified vigilantes.
They don't even bother to take the gag out of his mouth before setting him on his target.
A flap of wings, and the Talon is on his feet again, swaying only slightly. He's in the boots and pants from earlier, the rest of his uniform tossed carelessly behind him by his tormentors. A sweep of his feet and the knives glint in bare palms, a whisper of a sound.
The curved, clawed blade glints in the overhead light when the Talon raises it and cuts the strap of the bar gag in his bloody mouth, turns his head to spit it out without looking away from the vigilantes.
The Batman, grim and stoic in the face of this surprising turn of events, gives the barest nod. From her hiding spot behind the complex machinery, Black Bat takes off after the running Owl members, leaving the rest of the family to deal with their former third Robin.
The wings flinchingly flare out and their former bird hunches over, ready for the attack.
“Wait! Wait, wait, wait,” the Red Hood removes the helmet, leaves the domino underneath. He keeps one hand out in peace, slowly dipping down to put his helmet on the ground. “Is us, Tim. Timmy. Baby Bird. Is us. Yer family. Gotta lookit us, yeah?”
For the first time, the Talon speaks, “who’s Tim?”
And then he lunges.
The fight happens very differently this time.
The former power behind the punches is obviously dulled with the Talon’s identity reveal. He doesn’t hold back, is utterly ruthless with his attacks. He takes out B’s right knee, puts Hood down on the stained floor, knocks Robin into the wall with crushing force, and slams Batgirl’s head off the operating table.
He stands over Nightwing, wicked blade in hand and robin’s wings spread wide. He takes a knee, the sharp edge right above N’s adam’s apple, staring down impassively into the whiteouts.
“Timmy,” N spits blood, grunting when one knee pins his arm down. “Timmy, please. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I love you and I’m sorry they did this to you.”
Those eyes don’t change in the slightest. “You should not have tried to oppose the Owls.”
“We beat them once,” Nightwing gasps, “and you helped us, Baby Bird. You were with us then, don’t you remember.”
“I was nothing before the Court perfected me,” the Talon replies emotionlessly.
“You were perfect before they ever touched you.”
“No,” and the Talon leans down, puts them a breath away. “The only thing you and those others do is put the criminals back in prison, back in Arkham for them to escape again, for them to kill and destroy over and over again. Like this, I can stop them permanently.”
“Oh Timmy,” and behind the whiteouts, Nightwing’s eyes spill over, his vision wavery. “Timmy–”
“Don’t call me that. Stop calling me that.”
“You know me, you know us. You have to remember–”
“Lies. All of it lies!”
Nightwing’s chest stutters, his fist clenching, “it’s not. None of it is. Not even this–”
And he’s fast enough to grab the back of the Talon’s neck, to lean up enough against the blade pressed against his throat, can bring their mouths together, can kiss him like he’s dying and the Talon is the only thing that can save him.
It’s sloppy and awkward because the Talon doesn’t know what’s happening, gasps against the vigilante’s mouth. The tongue sliding over his, the muffled moan in his mouth sparks something in the back of his brain where the Court of Owls could never touch.
When Nightwing pulls back, stares up at wide violet-blue eyes, when the blade falls away to clatter against the block, when the Talon’s mouth trembles and tears fill his eyes, when his wings flutter and falter, fold in on them both, when his voice goes hoarse with, “D-Dick?” Nightwing throws both arms around his waist and holds on.