A Secret in the Shadows @postmortem-cipher - Tumblr Blog

#// ooc #[easier to piggyback off your announcement]#ill leave this post up for a bit but probably delete it inevitably

same with me here on Cipher's blog

there's a chance I'll have to move onto a new blog and I'll let y'all know

he'll keep his poisoning lore from this blog though at the very least

[You see a young man, maybe early twenties. He looks disheveled, tired. In pain. He seems to be favoring his right leg, his left looking stiff. Hes wearing comfortable clothes, but they look too worn. Like he hasn't bothered to change in too long.

He almost reminds you of Tim. But he's too old. He doesn't have the same light in his eyes. He walks up to you, and punches your face.]

@postmortem-cipher

Bruce is starting to get used to seeing versions of his children he might have struggled to recognize at first. He'd seen tiny versions of both Jason and Dick already. This Tim is older, his eyes are more haunted, but it's his darling boy all the same.

He's starting to recognize certain troubling patterns too. All his boys seem to be deeply traumatized, and he sees the punch coming seconds before the swing actually sets into motion.

Rather than block the hit, he braces himself, closes his eyes, and takes it. In fact he takes a half step back from the impact, hearing a faint crunch.

"Oh fu-mh." He brought both hands up to cover his nose, which was dripping a few drops of blood. Bruce had to nearly wheeze out his next words. "Nice shot Tim. I'm sure one of me deserved that."

[He doesn't seem to hear, or want to hear, what you have to say. He tries to land a few more hits, but they don't have nearly as much weight as the first. He starts shaking, like he's crying.]

Bruce doesn't try to dodge or block the weaker hits, at least not until Tim starts shaking. He immediately reaches out to gently grab his boy by the shoulders.

"Hey, hey it's okay. Tim, why are you upset? I'm sorry. I don't know what I did, but I am so, so sorry."

"No no no you're you're not supposed to be sorry. Why are you sorry? You're never sorry."

[He finally looks up, tears staining his dirty face. His expression changes to one of confusion, and he nearly falls backwards.]

"You're not him. Who are you?"

"But I am sorry, Tim." It seemed to him that a lot of these other Bruce Waynes should have been very fucking sorry. Why were all his sweet babies traumatized?!

"Bruce Wayne. Although not the one you're familiar with. Have you not run into any of the other versions of me or your brothers before? Cass? Duke? Stephanie? Superman? Ollie? Apparently there are a lot of different versions of all of us running around."

[he shakes his head.]

"Only a different version of Dick. He was a lot older than Lychee. You're younger than my Bruce. Not by much, but I can see it in your eyes. I haven't seen that light in a long time."

"Ah, yes. Dick is the oldest, for me, I mean. I take it Damian is the oldest for you? Explains why Dick - Lychee - was so little. You boys are in reverse order to mine." Bruce wiped the blood from under his nose and touched it tenderly. Not broken, and already stopped bleeding, but definitely tender.

"I'm sure your Bruce deserved that. Probably a lot of other ones too, from what I've seen of the different versions of you boys. I don't know what he did, but I'm really sorry Tim."

"Yeah. Okay. I thought that's how the order worked, based on what Dick said. It's just odd."

[He shifts his weight again, glancing quickly to see if there's a chair nearby.]

"My Bruce absolutely deserved that. Felt good, honestly. But you don't gotta apologize for his bullshit."

Bruce gestured towards a nearby bench when he noticed his son looking for a seat.

"I'm not apologizing for his bullshit. I'm sorry because it feels like every time I meet another version of you kids you're all hurting so much, and there's nothing I can do about it. Logically I know it isn't my fault specifically, but other versions of me have clearly failed far too many of you."

[Tim takes the seat almost immediately, needing to get off his feet (foot?). All he can think to do is nod.]

"Mine. Sucked to say the least. He just wasn't all there most of the time, and I barely wanted to be there either. There wasn't any sort of "adjustment" period after Jack died and Janet disappeared. I ran away a lot. Dames always convinced me to come back. I'd do pretty much anything for Damian."

Bruce winced at the idea of not being all there. There was a time, at the beginning, when he was the same way. The cowl, the mission, the obsession. As far as he was concerned, it had gotten Jason killed, and he'd hard corrected course.

Gotham might have needed Batman, but his children needed their father.

Nothing was more important than that.

"I'm glad Damian was looking out for you. I just wish I would have. It should have been me. I was the adult, you were just kids."

"It was his fault. Not yours. You seem more... Human than he did. For him, it was the mission. He only really took me in because of an old promise, but I proved useful. I still am useful, I hope."

[Tim presses on his left leg, like there's a pain, but his face doesn't change to react to it.]

"I See things. Things that get Lost or are Hidden. Side effect of the Pit, I think. Bruce's tendency to obsess seemed to bypass genetic barriers."

"I know, but I still wish I had been there, for all of you. My Tim saved me, after Jason was killed I was drowning in grief and veering down a dark path. You are valuable just by being you, Tim. You don't have to be or do anything else." Bruce had been watching Tim carefully this whole time, noticing something off the left leg, and it wasn't a subtle off either.

"Tim, what's wrong with your leg?"

"I heard about that, where Jay died instead of me. I think I'd kill the man if he'd laid a hand on my little brother."

[he pauses to breathe.]

"Oh, you noticed. It's nothing, really. Just a phantom pain. I'm still getting used to it."

"Believe me I wanted to." It had been so tempting, it would have been so, so easy to do it, but he wasn't sure if he'd have been able to come back from it. He still regretted not killing that bastard. Knowing how much pain him staying his hand had caused his Jason.

Bruce sucked in a sharp breath at the words phantom pain.

No.

No, no, no...

"Tim. Please. Please tell me..." Fuck. He wasn't sure what he wanted to hear. "You didn't. Please say you didn't lose it."

[Tim rolls up his pant leg, to show a custom built prosthetic from the knee down.]

"Lost it on Christmas day. Ricin poisoning caused necrosis, and I didn't want to deal with any more tissue death than necessary. I designed and built the new leg myself."

Bruce lets out a sound that's almost inhuman, it felt like he'd been drop kicked in the solar plexus, all the air punch out of him in a strangled wheeze. His vision tunneled slightly and he could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears as his hands started shaking. It took clenching them into fists to get them to stop and his teeth ground together with how tense his jaw went.

Ricin? Someone had done this to his boy? What had the other Bruce even been doing? It should never have gotten this far!

"Do you..." Bruce had to stop and lick his lips, eyes blinking rapidly, "Do you know who did this? Where was Bruce?"

#[thought you were going to sleep father zero]

[Tim rolls his pant leg back down, and readjusts himself.]

"Dames had gone to visit Lychee in New York. Duke needed backup here, so I was on patrol. Bruce was doing whatever it is he does these days, I don't know. But it was Penguin. You ever hear of Georgi Markov? Like that."

[Tim doesn't seem to like recounting this story, but he breathes past his struggle.]

"I'd gotten hit near Old Gotham. Most of my comms were out, so I was left there for maybe 8 hours? Dames found me then. Bruce hovered around a bit when I got taken to the cave, but he mainly kept his distance. Except to yell at Dames, I guess."

[You see a young man, maybe early twenties. He looks disheveled, tired. In pain. He seems to be favoring his right leg, his left looking stiff. Hes wearing comfortable clothes, but they look too worn. Like he hasn't bothered to change in too long.

He almost reminds you of Tim. But he's too old. He doesn't have the same light in his eyes. He walks up to you, and punches your face.]

@postmortem-cipher

Bruce is starting to get used to seeing versions of his children he might have struggled to recognize at first. He'd seen tiny versions of both Jason and Dick already. This Tim is older, his eyes are more haunted, but it's his darling boy all the same.

He's starting to recognize certain troubling patterns too. All his boys seem to be deeply traumatized, and he sees the punch coming seconds before the swing actually sets into motion.

Rather than block the hit, he braces himself, closes his eyes, and takes it. In fact he takes a half step back from the impact, hearing a faint crunch.

"Oh fu-mh." He brought both hands up to cover his nose, which was dripping a few drops of blood. Bruce had to nearly wheeze out his next words. "Nice shot Tim. I'm sure one of me deserved that."

[He doesn't seem to hear, or want to hear, what you have to say. He tries to land a few more hits, but they don't have nearly as much weight as the first. He starts shaking, like he's crying.]

Bruce doesn't try to dodge or block the weaker hits, at least not until Tim starts shaking. He immediately reaches out to gently grab his boy by the shoulders.

"Hey, hey it's okay. Tim, why are you upset? I'm sorry. I don't know what I did, but I am so, so sorry."

"No no no you're you're not supposed to be sorry. Why are you sorry? You're never sorry."

[He finally looks up, tears staining his dirty face. His expression changes to one of confusion, and he nearly falls backwards.]

"You're not him. Who are you?"

"But I am sorry, Tim." It seemed to him that a lot of these other Bruce Waynes should have been very fucking sorry. Why were all his sweet babies traumatized?!

"Bruce Wayne. Although not the one you're familiar with. Have you not run into any of the other versions of me or your brothers before? Cass? Duke? Stephanie? Superman? Ollie? Apparently there are a lot of different versions of all of us running around."

[he shakes his head.]

"Only a different version of Dick. He was a lot older than Lychee. You're younger than my Bruce. Not by much, but I can see it in your eyes. I haven't seen that light in a long time."

"Ah, yes. Dick is the oldest, for me, I mean. I take it Damian is the oldest for you? Explains why Dick - Lychee - was so little. You boys are in reverse order to mine." Bruce wiped the blood from under his nose and touched it tenderly. Not broken, and already stopped bleeding, but definitely tender.

"I'm sure your Bruce deserved that. Probably a lot of other ones too, from what I've seen of the different versions of you boys. I don't know what he did, but I'm really sorry Tim."

"Yeah. Okay. I thought that's how the order worked, based on what Dick said. It's just odd."

[He shifts his weight again, glancing quickly to see if there's a chair nearby.]

"My Bruce absolutely deserved that. Felt good, honestly. But you don't gotta apologize for his bullshit."

Bruce gestured towards a nearby bench when he noticed his son looking for a seat.

"I'm not apologizing for his bullshit. I'm sorry because it feels like every time I meet another version of you kids you're all hurting so much, and there's nothing I can do about it. Logically I know it isn't my fault specifically, but other versions of me have clearly failed far too many of you."

[Tim takes the seat almost immediately, needing to get off his feet (foot?). All he can think to do is nod.]

"Mine. Sucked to say the least. He just wasn't all there most of the time, and I barely wanted to be there either. There wasn't any sort of "adjustment" period after Jack died and Janet disappeared. I ran away a lot. Dames always convinced me to come back. I'd do pretty much anything for Damian."

Bruce winced at the idea of not being all there. There was a time, at the beginning, when he was the same way. The cowl, the mission, the obsession. As far as he was concerned, it had gotten Jason killed, and he'd hard corrected course.

Gotham might have needed Batman, but his children needed their father.

Nothing was more important than that.

"I'm glad Damian was looking out for you. I just wish I would have. It should have been me. I was the adult, you were just kids."

"It was his fault. Not yours. You seem more... Human than he did. For him, it was the mission. He only really took me in because of an old promise, but I proved useful. I still am useful, I hope."

[Tim presses on his left leg, like there's a pain, but his face doesn't change to react to it.]

"I See things. Things that get Lost or are Hidden. Side effect of the Pit, I think. Bruce's tendency to obsess seemed to bypass genetic barriers."

"I know, but I still wish I had been there, for all of you. My Tim saved me, after Jason was killed I was drowning in grief and veering down a dark path. You are valuable just by being you, Tim. You don't have to be or do anything else." Bruce had been watching Tim carefully this whole time, noticing something off the left leg, and it wasn't a subtle off either.

"Tim, what's wrong with your leg?"

"I heard about that, where Jay died instead of me. I think I'd kill the man if he'd laid a hand on my little brother."

[he pauses to breathe.]

"Oh, you noticed. It's nothing, really. Just a phantom pain. I'm still getting used to it."

"Believe me I wanted to." It had been so tempting, it would have been so, so easy to do it, but he wasn't sure if he'd have been able to come back from it. He still regretted not killing that bastard. Knowing how much pain him staying his hand had caused his Jason.

Bruce sucked in a sharp breath at the words phantom pain.

No.

No, no, no...

"Tim. Please. Please tell me..." Fuck. He wasn't sure what he wanted to hear. "You didn't. Please say you didn't lose it."

[Tim rolls up his pant leg, to show a custom built prosthetic from the knee down.]

"Lost it on Christmas day. Ricin poisoning caused necrosis, and I didn't want to deal with any more tissue death than necessary. I designed and built the new leg myself."

[You see a young man, maybe early twenties. He looks disheveled, tired. In pain. He seems to be favoring his right leg, his left looking stiff. Hes wearing comfortable clothes, but they look too worn. Like he hasn't bothered to change in too long.

He almost reminds you of Tim. But he's too old. He doesn't have the same light in his eyes. He walks up to you, and punches your face.]

@postmortem-cipher

Bruce is starting to get used to seeing versions of his children he might have struggled to recognize at first. He'd seen tiny versions of both Jason and Dick already. This Tim is older, his eyes are more haunted, but it's his darling boy all the same.

He's starting to recognize certain troubling patterns too. All his boys seem to be deeply traumatized, and he sees the punch coming seconds before the swing actually sets into motion.

Rather than block the hit, he braces himself, closes his eyes, and takes it. In fact he takes a half step back from the impact, hearing a faint crunch.

"Oh fu-mh." He brought both hands up to cover his nose, which was dripping a few drops of blood. Bruce had to nearly wheeze out his next words. "Nice shot Tim. I'm sure one of me deserved that."

[He doesn't seem to hear, or want to hear, what you have to say. He tries to land a few more hits, but they don't have nearly as much weight as the first. He starts shaking, like he's crying.]

Bruce doesn't try to dodge or block the weaker hits, at least not until Tim starts shaking. He immediately reaches out to gently grab his boy by the shoulders.

"Hey, hey it's okay. Tim, why are you upset? I'm sorry. I don't know what I did, but I am so, so sorry."

"No no no you're you're not supposed to be sorry. Why are you sorry? You're never sorry."

[He finally looks up, tears staining his dirty face. His expression changes to one of confusion, and he nearly falls backwards.]

"You're not him. Who are you?"

"But I am sorry, Tim." It seemed to him that a lot of these other Bruce Waynes should have been very fucking sorry. Why were all his sweet babies traumatized?!

"Bruce Wayne. Although not the one you're familiar with. Have you not run into any of the other versions of me or your brothers before? Cass? Duke? Stephanie? Superman? Ollie? Apparently there are a lot of different versions of all of us running around."

[he shakes his head.]

"Only a different version of Dick. He was a lot older than Lychee. You're younger than my Bruce. Not by much, but I can see it in your eyes. I haven't seen that light in a long time."

"Ah, yes. Dick is the oldest, for me, I mean. I take it Damian is the oldest for you? Explains why Dick - Lychee - was so little. You boys are in reverse order to mine." Bruce wiped the blood from under his nose and touched it tenderly. Not broken, and already stopped bleeding, but definitely tender.

"I'm sure your Bruce deserved that. Probably a lot of other ones too, from what I've seen of the different versions of you boys. I don't know what he did, but I'm really sorry Tim."

"Yeah. Okay. I thought that's how the order worked, based on what Dick said. It's just odd."

[He shifts his weight again, glancing quickly to see if there's a chair nearby.]

"My Bruce absolutely deserved that. Felt good, honestly. But you don't gotta apologize for his bullshit."

Bruce gestured towards a nearby bench when he noticed his son looking for a seat.

"I'm not apologizing for his bullshit. I'm sorry because it feels like every time I meet another version of you kids you're all hurting so much, and there's nothing I can do about it. Logically I know it isn't my fault specifically, but other versions of me have clearly failed far too many of you."

[Tim takes the seat almost immediately, needing to get off his feet (foot?). All he can think to do is nod.]

"Mine. Sucked to say the least. He just wasn't all there most of the time, and I barely wanted to be there either. There wasn't any sort of "adjustment" period after Jack died and Janet disappeared. I ran away a lot. Dames always convinced me to come back. I'd do pretty much anything for Damian."

Bruce winced at the idea of not being all there. There was a time, at the beginning, when he was the same way. The cowl, the mission, the obsession. As far as he was concerned, it had gotten Jason killed, and he'd hard corrected course.

Gotham might have needed Batman, but his children needed their father.

Nothing was more important than that.

"I'm glad Damian was looking out for you. I just wish I would have. It should have been me. I was the adult, you were just kids."

"It was his fault. Not yours. You seem more... Human than he did. For him, it was the mission. He only really took me in because of an old promise, but I proved useful. I still am useful, I hope."

[Tim presses on his left leg, like there's a pain, but his face doesn't change to react to it.]

"I See things. Things that get Lost or are Hidden. Side effect of the Pit, I think. Bruce's tendency to obsess seemed to bypass genetic barriers."

"I know, but I still wish I had been there, for all of you. My Tim saved me, after Jason was killed I was drowning in grief and veering down a dark path. You are valuable just by being you, Tim. You don't have to be or do anything else." Bruce had been watching Tim carefully this whole time, noticing something off the left leg, and it wasn't a subtle off either.

"Tim, what's wrong with your leg?"

"I heard about that, where Jay died instead of me. I think I'd kill the man if he'd laid a hand on my little brother."

[he pauses to breathe.]

"Oh, you noticed. It's nothing, really. Just a phantom pain. I'm still getting used to it."

[You see a young man, maybe early twenties. He looks disheveled, tired. In pain. He seems to be favoring his right leg, his left looking stiff. Hes wearing comfortable clothes, but they look too worn. Like he hasn't bothered to change in too long.

He almost reminds you of Tim. But he's too old. He doesn't have the same light in his eyes. He walks up to you, and punches your face.]

@postmortem-cipher

Bruce is starting to get used to seeing versions of his children he might have struggled to recognize at first. He'd seen tiny versions of both Jason and Dick already. This Tim is older, his eyes are more haunted, but it's his darling boy all the same.

He's starting to recognize certain troubling patterns too. All his boys seem to be deeply traumatized, and he sees the punch coming seconds before the swing actually sets into motion.

Rather than block the hit, he braces himself, closes his eyes, and takes it. In fact he takes a half step back from the impact, hearing a faint crunch.

"Oh fu-mh." He brought both hands up to cover his nose, which was dripping a few drops of blood. Bruce had to nearly wheeze out his next words. "Nice shot Tim. I'm sure one of me deserved that."

[He doesn't seem to hear, or want to hear, what you have to say. He tries to land a few more hits, but they don't have nearly as much weight as the first. He starts shaking, like he's crying.]

Bruce doesn't try to dodge or block the weaker hits, at least not until Tim starts shaking. He immediately reaches out to gently grab his boy by the shoulders.

"Hey, hey it's okay. Tim, why are you upset? I'm sorry. I don't know what I did, but I am so, so sorry."

"No no no you're you're not supposed to be sorry. Why are you sorry? You're never sorry."

[He finally looks up, tears staining his dirty face. His expression changes to one of confusion, and he nearly falls backwards.]

"You're not him. Who are you?"

"But I am sorry, Tim." It seemed to him that a lot of these other Bruce Waynes should have been very fucking sorry. Why were all his sweet babies traumatized?!

"Bruce Wayne. Although not the one you're familiar with. Have you not run into any of the other versions of me or your brothers before? Cass? Duke? Stephanie? Superman? Ollie? Apparently there are a lot of different versions of all of us running around."

[he shakes his head.]

"Only a different version of Dick. He was a lot older than Lychee. You're younger than my Bruce. Not by much, but I can see it in your eyes. I haven't seen that light in a long time."

"Ah, yes. Dick is the oldest, for me, I mean. I take it Damian is the oldest for you? Explains why Dick - Lychee - was so little. You boys are in reverse order to mine." Bruce wiped the blood from under his nose and touched it tenderly. Not broken, and already stopped bleeding, but definitely tender.

"I'm sure your Bruce deserved that. Probably a lot of other ones too, from what I've seen of the different versions of you boys. I don't know what he did, but I'm really sorry Tim."

"Yeah. Okay. I thought that's how the order worked, based on what Dick said. It's just odd."

[He shifts his weight again, glancing quickly to see if there's a chair nearby.]

"My Bruce absolutely deserved that. Felt good, honestly. But you don't gotta apologize for his bullshit."

Bruce gestured towards a nearby bench when he noticed his son looking for a seat.

"I'm not apologizing for his bullshit. I'm sorry because it feels like every time I meet another version of you kids you're all hurting so much, and there's nothing I can do about it. Logically I know it isn't my fault specifically, but other versions of me have clearly failed far too many of you."

[Tim takes the seat almost immediately, needing to get off his feet (foot?). All he can think to do is nod.]

"Mine. Sucked to say the least. He just wasn't all there most of the time, and I barely wanted to be there either. There wasn't any sort of "adjustment" period after Jack died and Janet disappeared. I ran away a lot. Dames always convinced me to come back. I'd do pretty much anything for Damian."

Bruce winced at the idea of not being all there. There was a time, at the beginning, when he was the same way. The cowl, the mission, the obsession. As far as he was concerned, it had gotten Jason killed, and he'd hard corrected course.

Gotham might have needed Batman, but his children needed their father.

Nothing was more important than that.

"I'm glad Damian was looking out for you. I just wish I would have. It should have been me. I was the adult, you were just kids."

"It was his fault. Not yours. You seem more... Human than he did. For him, it was the mission. He only really took me in because of an old promise, but I proved useful. I still am useful, I hope."

[Tim presses on his left leg, like there's a pain, but his face doesn't change to react to it.]

"I See things. Things that get Lost or are Hidden. Side effect of the Pit, I think. Bruce's tendency to obsess seemed to bypass genetic barriers."

[You see a young man, maybe early twenties. He looks disheveled, tired. In pain. He seems to be favoring his right leg, his left looking stiff. Hes wearing comfortable clothes, but they look too worn. Like he hasn't bothered to change in too long.

He almost reminds you of Tim. But he's too old. He doesn't have the same light in his eyes. He walks up to you, and punches your face.]

@postmortem-cipher

Bruce is starting to get used to seeing versions of his children he might have struggled to recognize at first. He'd seen tiny versions of both Jason and Dick already. This Tim is older, his eyes are more haunted, but it's his darling boy all the same.

He's starting to recognize certain troubling patterns too. All his boys seem to be deeply traumatized, and he sees the punch coming seconds before the swing actually sets into motion.

Rather than block the hit, he braces himself, closes his eyes, and takes it. In fact he takes a half step back from the impact, hearing a faint crunch.

"Oh fu-mh." He brought both hands up to cover his nose, which was dripping a few drops of blood. Bruce had to nearly wheeze out his next words. "Nice shot Tim. I'm sure one of me deserved that."

[He doesn't seem to hear, or want to hear, what you have to say. He tries to land a few more hits, but they don't have nearly as much weight as the first. He starts shaking, like he's crying.]

Bruce doesn't try to dodge or block the weaker hits, at least not until Tim starts shaking. He immediately reaches out to gently grab his boy by the shoulders.

"Hey, hey it's okay. Tim, why are you upset? I'm sorry. I don't know what I did, but I am so, so sorry."

"No no no you're you're not supposed to be sorry. Why are you sorry? You're never sorry."

[He finally looks up, tears staining his dirty face. His expression changes to one of confusion, and he nearly falls backwards.]

"You're not him. Who are you?"

"But I am sorry, Tim." It seemed to him that a lot of these other Bruce Waynes should have been very fucking sorry. Why were all his sweet babies traumatized?!

"Bruce Wayne. Although not the one you're familiar with. Have you not run into any of the other versions of me or your brothers before? Cass? Duke? Stephanie? Superman? Ollie? Apparently there are a lot of different versions of all of us running around."

[he shakes his head.]

"Only a different version of Dick. He was a lot older than Lychee. You're younger than my Bruce. Not by much, but I can see it in your eyes. I haven't seen that light in a long time."

"Ah, yes. Dick is the oldest, for me, I mean. I take it Damian is the oldest for you? Explains why Dick - Lychee - was so little. You boys are in reverse order to mine." Bruce wiped the blood from under his nose and touched it tenderly. Not broken, and already stopped bleeding, but definitely tender.

"I'm sure your Bruce deserved that. Probably a lot of other ones too, from what I've seen of the different versions of you boys. I don't know what he did, but I'm really sorry Tim."

"Yeah. Okay. I thought that's how the order worked, based on what Dick said. It's just odd."

[He shifts his weight again, glancing quickly to see if there's a chair nearby.]

"My Bruce absolutely deserved that. Felt good, honestly. But you don't gotta apologize for his bullshit."

Bruce gestured towards a nearby bench when he noticed his son looking for a seat.

"I'm not apologizing for his bullshit. I'm sorry because it feels like every time I meet another version of you kids you're all hurting so much, and there's nothing I can do about it. Logically I know it isn't my fault specifically, but other versions of me have clearly failed far too many of you."

#[he's taking the opportunity to vent now lol]#[also me when Tim idolizes Damian way too much]

[Tim takes the seat almost immediately, needing to get off his feet (foot?). All he can think to do is nod.]

"Mine. Sucked to say the least. He just wasn't all there most of the time, and I barely wanted to be there either. There wasn't any sort of "adjustment" period after Jack died and Janet disappeared. I ran away a lot. Dames always convinced me to come back. I'd do pretty much anything for Damian."

[You see a young man, maybe early twenties. He looks disheveled, tired. In pain. He seems to be favoring his right leg, his left looking stiff. Hes wearing comfortable clothes, but they look too worn. Like he hasn't bothered to change in too long.

He almost reminds you of Tim. But he's too old. He doesn't have the same light in his eyes. He walks up to you, and punches your face.]

@postmortem-cipher

Bruce is starting to get used to seeing versions of his children he might have struggled to recognize at first. He'd seen tiny versions of both Jason and Dick already. This Tim is older, his eyes are more haunted, but it's his darling boy all the same.

He's starting to recognize certain troubling patterns too. All his boys seem to be deeply traumatized, and he sees the punch coming seconds before the swing actually sets into motion.

Rather than block the hit, he braces himself, closes his eyes, and takes it. In fact he takes a half step back from the impact, hearing a faint crunch.

"Oh fu-mh." He brought both hands up to cover his nose, which was dripping a few drops of blood. Bruce had to nearly wheeze out his next words. "Nice shot Tim. I'm sure one of me deserved that."

[He doesn't seem to hear, or want to hear, what you have to say. He tries to land a few more hits, but they don't have nearly as much weight as the first. He starts shaking, like he's crying.]

Bruce doesn't try to dodge or block the weaker hits, at least not until Tim starts shaking. He immediately reaches out to gently grab his boy by the shoulders.

"Hey, hey it's okay. Tim, why are you upset? I'm sorry. I don't know what I did, but I am so, so sorry."

"No no no you're you're not supposed to be sorry. Why are you sorry? You're never sorry."

[He finally looks up, tears staining his dirty face. His expression changes to one of confusion, and he nearly falls backwards.]

"You're not him. Who are you?"

"But I am sorry, Tim." It seemed to him that a lot of these other Bruce Waynes should have been very fucking sorry. Why were all his sweet babies traumatized?!

"Bruce Wayne. Although not the one you're familiar with. Have you not run into any of the other versions of me or your brothers before? Cass? Duke? Stephanie? Superman? Ollie? Apparently there are a lot of different versions of all of us running around."

[he shakes his head.]

"Only a different version of Dick. He was a lot older than Lychee. You're younger than my Bruce. Not by much, but I can see it in your eyes. I haven't seen that light in a long time."

"Ah, yes. Dick is the oldest, for me, I mean. I take it Damian is the oldest for you? Explains why Dick - Lychee - was so little. You boys are in reverse order to mine." Bruce wiped the blood from under his nose and touched it tenderly. Not broken, and already stopped bleeding, but definitely tender.

"I'm sure your Bruce deserved that. Probably a lot of other ones too, from what I've seen of the different versions of you boys. I don't know what he did, but I'm really sorry Tim."

"Yeah. Okay. I thought that's how the order worked, based on what Dick said. It's just odd."

[He shifts his weight again, glancing quickly to see if there's a chair nearby.]

"My Bruce absolutely deserved that. Felt good, honestly. But you don't gotta apologize for his bullshit."

[You see a young man, maybe early twenties. He looks disheveled, tired. In pain. He seems to be favoring his right leg, his left looking stiff. Hes wearing comfortable clothes, but they look too worn. Like he hasn't bothered to change in too long.

He almost reminds you of Tim. But he's too old. He doesn't have the same light in his eyes. He walks up to you, and punches your face.]

@postmortem-cipher

Bruce is starting to get used to seeing versions of his children he might have struggled to recognize at first. He'd seen tiny versions of both Jason and Dick already. This Tim is older, his eyes are more haunted, but it's his darling boy all the same.

He's starting to recognize certain troubling patterns too. All his boys seem to be deeply traumatized, and he sees the punch coming seconds before the swing actually sets into motion.

Rather than block the hit, he braces himself, closes his eyes, and takes it. In fact he takes a half step back from the impact, hearing a faint crunch.

"Oh fu-mh." He brought both hands up to cover his nose, which was dripping a few drops of blood. Bruce had to nearly wheeze out his next words. "Nice shot Tim. I'm sure one of me deserved that."

[He doesn't seem to hear, or want to hear, what you have to say. He tries to land a few more hits, but they don't have nearly as much weight as the first. He starts shaking, like he's crying.]

Bruce doesn't try to dodge or block the weaker hits, at least not until Tim starts shaking. He immediately reaches out to gently grab his boy by the shoulders.

"Hey, hey it's okay. Tim, why are you upset? I'm sorry. I don't know what I did, but I am so, so sorry."

"No no no you're you're not supposed to be sorry. Why are you sorry? You're never sorry."

[He finally looks up, tears staining his dirty face. His expression changes to one of confusion, and he nearly falls backwards.]

"You're not him. Who are you?"

"But I am sorry, Tim." It seemed to him that a lot of these other Bruce Waynes should have been very fucking sorry. Why were all his sweet babies traumatized?!

"Bruce Wayne. Although not the one you're familiar with. Have you not run into any of the other versions of me or your brothers before? Cass? Duke? Stephanie? Superman? Ollie? Apparently there are a lot of different versions of all of us running around."

[he shakes his head.]

"Only a different version of Dick. He was a lot older than Lychee. You're younger than my Bruce. Not by much, but I can see it in your eyes. I haven't seen that light in a long time."

[You see a young man, maybe early twenties. He looks disheveled, tired. In pain. He seems to be favoring his right leg, his left looking stiff. Hes wearing comfortable clothes, but they look too worn. Like he hasn't bothered to change in too long.

He almost reminds you of Tim. But he's too old. He doesn't have the same light in his eyes. He walks up to you, and punches your face.]

@postmortem-cipher

Bruce is starting to get used to seeing versions of his children he might have struggled to recognize at first. He'd seen tiny versions of both Jason and Dick already. This Tim is older, his eyes are more haunted, but it's his darling boy all the same.

He's starting to recognize certain troubling patterns too. All his boys seem to be deeply traumatized, and he sees the punch coming seconds before the swing actually sets into motion.

Rather than block the hit, he braces himself, closes his eyes, and takes it. In fact he takes a half step back from the impact, hearing a faint crunch.

"Oh fu-mh." He brought both hands up to cover his nose, which was dripping a few drops of blood. Bruce had to nearly wheeze out his next words. "Nice shot Tim. I'm sure one of me deserved that."

[He doesn't seem to hear, or want to hear, what you have to say. He tries to land a few more hits, but they don't have nearly as much weight as the first. He starts shaking, like he's crying.]

Bruce doesn't try to dodge or block the weaker hits, at least not until Tim starts shaking. He immediately reaches out to gently grab his boy by the shoulders.

"Hey, hey it's okay. Tim, why are you upset? I'm sorry. I don't know what I did, but I am so, so sorry."

"No no no you're you're not supposed to be sorry. Why are you sorry? You're never sorry."

[He finally looks up, tears staining his dirty face. His expression changes to one of confusion, and he nearly falls backwards.]

"You're not him. Who are you?"

[You see a young man, maybe early twenties. He looks disheveled, tired. In pain. He seems to be favoring his right leg, his left looking stiff. Hes wearing comfortable clothes, but they look too worn. Like he hasn't bothered to change in too long.

He almost reminds you of Tim. But he's too old. He doesn't have the same light in his eyes. He walks up to you, and punches your face.]

@postmortem-cipher

Bruce is starting to get used to seeing versions of his children he might have struggled to recognize at first. He'd seen tiny versions of both Jason and Dick already. This Tim is older, his eyes are more haunted, but it's his darling boy all the same.

He's starting to recognize certain troubling patterns too. All his boys seem to be deeply traumatized, and he sees the punch coming seconds before the swing actually sets into motion.

Rather than block the hit, he braces himself, closes his eyes, and takes it. In fact he takes a half step back from the impact, hearing a faint crunch.

"Oh fu-mh." He brought both hands up to cover his nose, which was dripping a few drops of blood. Bruce had to nearly wheeze out his next words. "Nice shot Tim. I'm sure one of me deserved that."

#reverse robins rp #tim drake rp #reverse tim drake #reverse robins #ooc #ooc post #flynnlocke #ask game #emoji game #lore

[He doesn't seem to hear, or want to hear, what you have to say. He tries to land a few more hits, but they don't have nearly as much weight as the first. He starts shaking, like he's crying.]

🐐

( 🐐 ) : what has your muse achieved just to prove they could?

So much. Even just him managing to not die a second time. Often it's to prove things to himself, that he's still human and he still has a use and a purpose. A thing he proved to someone else was choosing to be a hero after he died. His Bruce didn't believe he'd make that choice. That he'd fall into a bad habit, and hurt someone more than he should. That he'd stop pulling his punches. But Tim knew better. Tim knew the choice he was always going to make, for the sake of his city and his family.

oifaaa

My hand slipped and I ended up drawing all my reverse bats after I realised I've never actually drawn all the kids together before woopsie

#ooc reblog

zachrp

ᝰ🚬 𝚉𝙰𝙲𝙷𝚁𝙿 .ᐟ SYMBOL ANIMAL-BASED HEADCANON QUESTIONS. CHANGE ANY PRONOUNS IF NECESSARY. SOME MATURE THEMES MAY BE PRESENT.

( 🐺 ) : does your muse lead, follow, or leave when things get difficult?

( 🦚 ) : how does your muse stand out? how does that make them vulnerable?

( 🦩 ) : what reward keeps your muse going when nothing else does?

( 🐻 ) : what pushes your muse from gentleness into something dangerous?

( 🦏 ) : what makes your muse charge headfirst without thinking?

( 🦞 ) : what does your muse hold onto long after it's gone?

( 🦉 ) : what does your muse notice that others consistently miss?

( 🐐 ) : what has your muse achieved just to prove they could?

( 🐆 ) : how does your muse react when they get what they've wanted?

( 🐎 ) : what makes your muse feel free? who has tried to take that from them?

( 🦜 ) : whose words echo in your muse's head when they're alone?

( 🐞 ) : how does your muse cope with being overlooked or underestimated?

( 🐝 ) : does your muse know their role, or do they resent being needed?

( 🐃 ) : what burden does your muse carry without complaint?

( 🦋 ) : what moment changed your muse so completely they can't go back?

( 🐖 ) : what comforts does your muse cling to when the world gets ugly?

( 🦊 ) : how often does your muse lie? do they believe those lies themselves?

( 🐌 ) : what emotional process takes your muse the longest to work through?

( 🦅 ) : is it easy for your muse see the bigger picture?

( 🐀 ) : how does your muse survive situations they were not meant to?

( 🐬 ) : how does your muse find joy in dangerous or unstable environments?

( 🐅 ) : when your muse wants something, how subtle are they about it?

( 🐈‍⬛ ) : how does superstition or reputation shape how others treat your muse?

( 🐍 ) : how often does your muse get away with things they shouldn't?

( 🐘 ) : what memories does your muse carry that shape decisions they make?

( 🦧 ) : how does your muse show care through action rather than words?

( 🐜 ) : how does your muse handle work that feels endless or thankless?

( 🐢 ) : what does your muse take their time with, even when rushed?

( 🦂 ) : what boundary, once crossed, changes your muse forever?

( 🐈 ) : how does your muse ask for affection without directly asking for it?

( 🐊 ) : how patient is your muse when waiting for the right moment to act?

( 🦌 ) : what spooks your muse easily, even if they won't admit it?

( 🦢 ) : what does your muse hide beneath a graceful exterior?

( 🦥 ) : what does your muse refuse to rush, no matter the consequences?

( 🐁 ) : how does your muse make themselves smaller to avoid harm?

( 🐟 ) : does your muse go with the current, or fight it until exhausted?

( 🦍 ) : does your muse feel safer alone, or among others like them?

( 🐇 ) : does your muse run from conflict, or freeze and hope it passes?

( 🦈 ) : how comfortable is your muse with being misunderstood or feared?

( 🐦‍🔥 ) : how does your muse reinvent themselves after being destroyed?

( 🦘 ) : does your muse stop moving when they're hurt? do they push harder?

( 🐓 ) : how does your muse announce themselves in a room?

( 🐕 ) : who or what does your muse remain loyal to, even when it hurts them?

( 🐄 ) : what kind of peace does your muse crave, and why can't they have it?

( 🦖 ) : what part of your muse feels out of time or obsolete?

( 🐕‍🦺 ) : who does your muse feel responsible for protecting?

can i visit now?

Yeah kiddo, I've moved back to the Tower, so you can absolutely visit. I've missed you.

really??? It’s really okay???

It's really really okay. I'm doing a lot better now, and I've got your late Christmas present ready for you.

I get a christmas present??? Really???

Of course you do, you're my little brother.

Hmm okay okay! I’m coming!

Lychee arrives at the tower, shivering slightly from the cold but also very excited to see Tim

Tim answers the door, still learning to use the crutches he was given until he can make the prosthetic he wants.

"Come on in kiddo, you look like you're freezing."

Lychee hurries in, wincing at the crutches.

“Does…does it hurt…?”

Tim shakes the remaining part of his left leg.

"Not really. Most of the time, it's just itchy. You don't need to worry at all, Lychee. How'd your Christmas go?"

Tim wasn't caught up on everything that happened, so he might as well ask. He leads Lychee towards the kitchen, where he makes him some hot cocoa like usual.

“Um…it was fine. It didnt feel like christmas…i just delivered cookies. Um…i got a play castle? And a robot bird…”

He follows Tim, still a little worried about the leg…is it really okay? It looks like it would hurt

"Oh, yeah I got my cookies. They were really good, you're one heck of a baker. And those gifts sound awesome, makes me nervous for the one I got you."

Tim slides over a mug of hot cocoa, and takes a seat across from Lychee.

“I’m glad you liked them!”

Lychee actually smiles. All he wanted was to make his brothers happy for Christmas. To actually see his brothers too

Better late than never…

He takes the hot cocoa

“It’s okay Tim! I’m excited for the gift. It’ll be like real christmas!”

He grabs the gift, which is a somewhat nicely wrapped box. He passes it to Lychee, careful to not knock any drinks over. Inside is a handmade sweater, with birds and lychees on it. There's also a baking set inside, with custom cookie cutters.

"I hope you like it. Bart helped me come up with the idea."

Lychee holds up the sweater. It looks very warm and cozy!! Like Dami’s sweatshirts!!

“I love it, Tim!! Can I put it on??”

There’s a lot of cookie shapes too. He can bake even more cookies with this!

Tim smiles. He's glad to see Lychee happy.

"Of course you can. Ma taught me how to knit just for these sweaters."

“Can you teach me too??” Lychee asks as he puts on the sweater.

"Yeah kiddo, I think I can teach you soon. Looks like the sweater fits?"

can i visit now?

Yeah kiddo, I've moved back to the Tower, so you can absolutely visit. I've missed you.

really??? It’s really okay???

It's really really okay. I'm doing a lot better now, and I've got your late Christmas present ready for you.

I get a christmas present??? Really???

Of course you do, you're my little brother.

Hmm okay okay! I’m coming!

Lychee arrives at the tower, shivering slightly from the cold but also very excited to see Tim

Tim answers the door, still learning to use the crutches he was given until he can make the prosthetic he wants.

"Come on in kiddo, you look like you're freezing."

Lychee hurries in, wincing at the crutches.

“Does…does it hurt…?”

Tim shakes the remaining part of his left leg.

"Not really. Most of the time, it's just itchy. You don't need to worry at all, Lychee. How'd your Christmas go?"

Tim wasn't caught up on everything that happened, so he might as well ask. He leads Lychee towards the kitchen, where he makes him some hot cocoa like usual.

“Um…it was fine. It didnt feel like christmas…i just delivered cookies. Um…i got a play castle? And a robot bird…”

He follows Tim, still a little worried about the leg…is it really okay? It looks like it would hurt

"Oh, yeah I got my cookies. They were really good, you're one heck of a baker. And those gifts sound awesome, makes me nervous for the one I got you."

Tim slides over a mug of hot cocoa, and takes a seat across from Lychee.

“I’m glad you liked them!”

Lychee actually smiles. All he wanted was to make his brothers happy for Christmas. To actually see his brothers too

Better late than never…

He takes the hot cocoa

“It’s okay Tim! I’m excited for the gift. It’ll be like real christmas!”

He grabs the gift, which is a somewhat nicely wrapped box. He passes it to Lychee, careful to not knock any drinks over. Inside is a handmade sweater, with birds and lychees on it. There's also a baking set inside, with custom cookie cutters.

"I hope you like it. Bart helped me come up with the idea."

Lychee holds up the sweater. It looks very warm and cozy!! Like Dami’s sweatshirts!!

“I love it, Tim!! Can I put it on??”

There’s a lot of cookie shapes too. He can bake even more cookies with this!