“Robin! I told you to stay where you were. You could have been hurt!” Batman glared down at his apprentice, who was still basking in the glow of their victory.
“But I remembered what the code was! And everything turned out ok, and we got Riddler. So it’s alright.” Robin protested.
“No! It is not alright!” Batman snarled. “Either you follow my instructions, or you will no longer be Robin. I have no need for unruly, disobedient apprentices.” Batman launched his grapple, and was gone.
Tim slumped against the brick wall. “I still got it right though.” He muttered to himself before following Bruce.
Back in his room, Tim kicked off his Robin identity and stretched out on the bed. Bruce’s response shouldn’t be getting to him as much as it was. He knew it. Bruce was just worried about him. Didn’t want to lose him like his last Robin. It just never felt like Bruce actually cared when he did it. All Tim felt was that he wasn’t as good. Jason was better. Jason would always be better. Because Jason was dead.
Tim sighed. There was nothing like trying to compete with an immortalized dead Robin.
Author: Phyrebird
Disclaimer: Characters belong to DC
Verse: We're All Stories in the End
Rating: G
Characters: Red Robin Tim, mostly.
A/N: Written for Rosaliathegreat in this year's DCU fic hunt. At some point, there will be a version 2 of this, as I would like to flesh it out and make it longer.
Tim yawned as he looked around the quiet coffee shop. It was only 6AM, but the shop was slowly filling with people who, like himself, had discovered this corner hideaway held Gotham’s finest coffee. It had been a long night, and Tim had gotten precious little sleep. He would have liked to have slept in, but since Bruce had an important meeting this morning, Tim was holding down the fort at Wayne Enterprises. He smiled at the barista, who rang up his usual, and then moved along the counter to wait until it was done. He was just about to grab his caffeine when someone screamed outside. Coffee momentarily forgotten, Tim sprinted out the door.
“Well, that was fun,” Tim muttered to himself on his way out of Wayne Tower. He tugged at his too-confining collar as he glided down the front steps. After interrupting the mugging at the coffee shop, he had scrambled to make it to work on time, barely managing to clock in without a stern look from one of the board members. From there, it was a matter of copious amounts of paperwork, a board meeting, and signing off on some inventory for Lucius. But now it was lunchtime. Tim nearly purred as he ordered his burger. The cashier gave him an odd look for ordering coffee at noon instead of a coke with his meal, but Tim was determined to have his coffee, even several hours late.
Tim was just grabbing his to-go bag as his pager went off. He quickly called Dick back, wondering why he would have called him so early on a work day. “Timmy? We have a problem at Arkham. I’m going to need some backup.”
Tim sighed. “I have a lot of work to do, Dick, can you ask Jason?” There was a loud crash in the background, enough to make Tim wince just hearing it.
“Yeah uh, I really need that backup, Timmy.” Dick hung up the phone without waiting for a reply.
Tim grabbed his lunch and ran out the door. The cashier tried to call him back, but he was already gone, his forgotten coffee left steaming on the counter.
Late that afternoon, Tim was standing next to a cart on the streetside, trying to buy a cup of coffee. “Look kid, I sell hot dogs, not coffee.”
Tim’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at the prices on the board. “Nice try. Says here a cup of coffee is a dollar fifty. I would like. My coffee. Please.” The man shrugged. However, something behind Tim made his eyes widen slightly as he hastily poured the coffee. Tim smiled and handed him a five. “Thank you.” He turned and walked a few paces, smelling the aroma of cheap coffee. He closed his eyes and was about to take a sip just as an ivy vine wrapped itself around his ankles and yanked him away from his precious caffeine.
Tired and bruised, the boys dragged themselves back to the manor late that night. They filled Bruce in on what had happened, and one by one trickled out of the cave. Bruce turned and looked at Tim, who was nearly asleep at his desk, somehow not only sitting up, but still typing away. “Tim? It’s all right you know. Your work is more than done. You should go sleep.” Bruce nudged his shoulder. Tim grumbled about how he hadn’t had his morning coffee. He couldn’t sleep without his morning coffee.
Bruce was about to ask further, but Alfred came in with a tray just then. “Master Bruce, your tea. Master Timothy, your morning coffee.”
Tim’s eyes lit up as he pounced on the small mug and settled into his chair. “Thank you, Alfred...” Tim took a sip of what he would bet anything on earth was the best coffee ever consumed by man.
Bruce turned and raised a brow in Alfred’s direction. “Ah yes. Master Richard had mentioned something about Timothy needing some caffeine before bed. It would appear he was right.” Alfred nodded toward the lightly dozing boy.
Bruce smiled as he carefully gathered Tim up and turned off the cave lights. “Alright, Timmy. Bedtime.”
Disclaimer: All characters belong to DC, quite obviously, I hope.
Rating: PG13
Verse: Batfam
Characters/Pairings: Gen, Batboys, Alfred
A/N: A very belated birthday fic for TigrisLupa. I am so very sorry it is so late my dear.
Jason frowned, taking a suspicious sniff at the greenish brown goo in the tupperware. Was leftover macaroni supposed to look like this? Maybe it was like apples, and changed color with time. No wait, air contact. Or something. He looked at it again, this time noting the bits of grey fuzz clinging to the sides of a few elbows. He was pretty sure only peaches had fuzz. Sighing, he tossed yet another container into the trash bin just as Tim rounded the corner.
“Hey have you seen an- Jay? Why are you throwing all this out?” Tim looked down at the nearly full garbage, slowly starting to fish the containers out.
“Alfred is still feeling a bit ill, so I figured I would go through the fridge and see what food I could find... But...” Jason frowned again as his stomach informed the room of his hunger.
Tim sighed. “Jason, Alfred has only been sick for two days. Cooking isn’t that hard. Besides, you only throw out what's IN the boxes, not the boxes themselves. You wash those.” Tim started emptying the tupperware and stacking them by the sink as Jason went back to rummaging in the fridge.
The dishes were nearly done when Dick burst through the kitchen door. “Hey Alfred, what’s for din-” He screeched to a halt and stared at the two bats in the kitchen “-ner”.
Tim was wearing an apron, his arms buried to the elbows in dish suds, and more than slightly wet. Jason was sitting cross legged in front of the pantry, covered in flour and slowly taking inventory of things he could barely pronounce, such as gelatin and fettuccine. After several moments, Dick found his tongue again. “Um, what exactly is going on?” He squeaked out, trying hard not to laugh.
“Well. Alfred is still sick. So Jason and I are making dinner tonight. Once I finish the dishes and he figures out which one of those boxes is spaghetti.” Tim said evenly, trying to keep his face devoid of any amusement at Jason’s plight. “Jason hasn’t had much practice cooking. So tonight he gets his first official lesson.”
Dick snorted, but turned serious at a growl from Jason. “Ok. But is there any cereal while I wait for dinner?”
Jason rolled his eyes. “Can’t you ever think of anything but food? Maybe, I dunno, helping?” he glanced at Tim, who had finished the last dish and was moving on to the drying. “C’mon Replacement, isn’t there something Dickie-bird here can do?”
Frowning, Tim pursed his lips in thought for a moment before answering. “Well, we definitely don’t need you here in the kitchen.” Dick looked immensely relieved, and let out a quiet sigh that made Jason snicker. “But, Alfred hates it when things don’t get dusted. You don’t mind dusting, do you Dick?”
Dick choked quietly. “N-no. Of course not.” He stammered. “Anything for Alfred...” He turned and walked out of the kitchen, muttering about getting stuck with something like dusting picture frames.
------------------------------------------------
Bruce sighed. When Tim had asked him to get some tea for Alfred, he had jumped at the chance. Anything was better than trying to explain to Jason that fettuccine and spaghetti were comparable, just looked a little different. What he hadn’t realized was just how complicated tea shopping could be. He knew Alfred drank black tea. He thought that was all the more detail he would need. Apparently he was wrong. He juggled the Earl Grey and Darjeeling, still eyeing the English Breakfast on the shelf. Any of them seemed like good options. All of them sounded equally unfamiliar.
He set the Darjeeling down and picked up the breakfast blend. Did Alfred even get his tea from the store? What if he mail ordered it straight from London? Bruce squinted at the small print. It looked like this came from England. Perhaps. Was it supposed to come in bags?
Nearly throwing his hands up in frustration, Bruce decided to cover all his bases and just get them all. That was the mature, adult way to handle this. And he would never tell Dick, otherwise next shopping trip there would be 3 carts of nothing but cereal.
Bruce winced as he opened the front door. He could only hope the house hadn’t exploded. By house he meant the kitchen, but better to have all bases covered when hoping things involving his family. And, given that this was his family, Bruce was prepared for a great many things when he opened the front door. He would even be willing to wager that he was prepared for anything.
He was wrong.
“...We like boys in caaaaaaars!”
Bruce couldn’t even blink in shock as Dick swung past on the chandelier, feather duster in hand acting as microphone.
“Boys boys boys buy us drinks in baaaaaaaars!”
On the return swing, Dick hooked his knees around the fixture and swung upside down, hands out to catch the nearby banister, and neatly vaulted to it, still holding the duster proudly as he bowed to his [almost] invisible fans. “Thank you! Thank you!” He straightened and raised both arms in a wave before backflipping onto the carpeted hallway by the stairs.
Bruce finally managed to clear his throat as he stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him. “Bravo, bravo!” He clapped slowly, watching the color drain from Dick’s face, only to return in a flush of bright red.
“I, I uh, was only doing some dusting. And, err, I mean...” Dick’s voice trailed off as he stared sheepishly at the floor and started to back up.
And straight into Alfred, who was standing near the wall in his bathrobe. “Do you think, Master Dick, that perhaps you were incorrect in choosing your life’s true calling?” Alfred looked down over the rim of his glasses and tried to hide a smile before completely losing all composure in a giant sneeze.
“Alfred? Is that you? I thought I told you to stay in bed!” Tim popped his head around the corner, Jason close behind and covered in what appeared to be flour and tomatoes.
“I was planning to, Master Timothy, but I just couldn’t miss the show being put on in the front room, now could I?” Alfred wheezed as he folded up his handkerchief and put it in his pocket. Dick looked properly ashamed of himself as he scuffed his shoe on the floor.
Tim sighed as Bruce tried to hide a chuckle from the door. “Wait... has anyone seen Damian? He should have been done with the laundry by now.”
All the color drained from Dick’s face, and even Alfred looked mildly stunned. “Y-you asked Little D to do laundry?” Dick choked.
Tim raised a brow. “It’s a simple enough chore. What’s the problem?” Dick didn’t reply as he sprinted down the hall, Jason on his heels.
“You are a stubborn, insolent piece of machinery!” Damian snarled as he kicked the washer. Tim skidded to a halt at the doorway behind the boys and stared at what was once a laundry room, but was now completely covered in suds.
“Little D? What happened?” Dick asked, carefully stepping into the room to turn off the washer.
Damian growled and kicked a pile of suds. “I put in detergent. The machine did not like it. The rest you can easily see for yourself, Richard.”
“Um.. Damian? You put in the whole box.” Jason said, holding the now empty economy size container.
“Of course I did!” Damian spat. “They were very filthy uniforms. They needed more cleaning. I decided extra soap would help.”
At this point Dick could no longer control his laughter, and ducked out of the room to hide the giggling, Jason close behind him. Tim tried to explain that when it came to soap, ‘if a little does good, a lot does better’ is not the motto to go by.
“Master Damian.” Alfred cleared his throat from the doorway. “I greatly appreciate your helpfulness. Now how about helping me get some tea before I retire, hmmm?”
Damian grumbled, but complied and followed Alfred to the kitchen, only to find the entirety of dinner laid out on the table. Tim and Jason looked quite pleased with themselves by the door. “There’s also chicken soup on the stove if you were rather that, Alfred, but we were in the mood for pasta.” Tim practically beamed.
“Well then, thank you Master Timothy. Thank you all for your efforts today.” Alfred looked around at the destroyed kitchen and then focused back on the table.
“But in the future, may I request that the cleaning be left for when I recover?”
Disclaimer: All characters belong to DC, quite obviously, I hope.
Rating: T
Verse: Batfam
Characters/Pairings: BruJay
Bee I finally finished it! [dies]
He woke up choking on dust and blood. The air was thick, and he couldn't remember why he was there. He coughed again, sending a jolt of pain through his beaten body. Pulling his head up, he tried to look around and see what was holding him down, but it was too dark to see anything.
Tic
Tic
Toc
What was that sound? He couldn't remember. It was important, he knew. So why couldn't he remember what it was?
Tic
TicTic
TicToc
He tried again to sit up, and failed. If only he could remember. But it would be ok. Bruce- no, Batman -would be here soon. Because he always came. Bru- Batman was always there when someone needed him. It would be ok. And then they would go home, together. They would always be together. They were meant to be together, forever.
He never heard the bomb go off. Never heard Bruce screaming for him amidst the rubble. Never felt Bruce gently carry him out. Never knew that Bruce visited his grave to apologize for failing him. His last thought through the searing flash of pain was that Batman hadn't come to save him. That Bruce wasn't there. That Bruce didn't care about him, and left him to die. Because he wasn't Dick. And because he wasn't Dick, would never be worth saving.
I'm sorry, Bruce...
------------------------------------------------
Alfred sighed. Bruce's dinner tray was still untouched on his desk. He cleared his throat to alert Bruce to is presence yet again. "Master Bruce, your dinner is getting a bit icy, I'm afraid. Would you like me to heat it up for you?"
Bruce shook his head, his eyes never leaving the case in front of him. "No, thank you, Alfred, but I'm not hungry." He spared a glance at the tray, but made no motion toward it. Alfred nodded quietly.
"The chicken will grow mold before he touches it, at this rate." Alfred muttered as he left the room.
As the door quietly shut behind the butler, Bruce turned back to the tattered suit in front of him. Months had passed, but it still felt like yesterday. He had failed to save Robin. No. He hadn't failed Robin. He had failed Jason.
He brushed a finger over the mostly intact badge. Failing Jason was far worse. Dick had been a son to him, but Jason.. Jason he had loved. Not that he had told the boy. The late Robin had enough to deal with, he hadn't needed the pressure of that love too.
As he sat back down at his desk, Bruce figured it was better that he hadn't told the boy. Batman would live with the guilt of knowing he hadn't saved Jason, but at least Jason died thinking Batman wasn't fast enough. Not that Bruce didn't care.
He sighed. Not knowing was better, wasn't it?
-----------------------------------
The air around him was close and stuffy, even breathing shallowly was laborious. He tried to roll over, but was greeted by a wall. Slowly he felt around his cell, trying to find a way out. He grunted when he realized his cell, if it could be called that, was only slightly larger than he was, and felt to be made of wood.
His breathing hitched slightly as he realized where he was.
A coffin.
I died?
Buried.
Am I still dead? No. I'm awake. I'm not dead.
"I'm not dead," He murmured, brushing fingertips across the upper surface of the coffin.
"Bruce?"
There was no reply in the darkness.
"BRUCE!"
He shouldn't have expected a reply. He knew that. Bruce had left him for dead. Buried him even. Buried the Robin that wasn't good enough.
The Robin he didn't love.
--------------------------------------
Dick sighed as he stood on his little patch of autumn leaves. He had followed Bruce out today, wondering what took him to this particular cemetery. Bruce didn't frequent such places, unless it was to place flowers on his parents' grave.
...Ah yes. Jason's grave. Perhaps he should have assumed as much. Of course Bruce would mourn the Robin he lost. They all knew how much Bruce had loved him. It would seem that only Bruce wouldn't admit it. Not that anything could be done now, but Dick wished Bruce would forgive himself.
No one could live with the guilt Bruce forced upon himself.
------------------------------------------
It was one of the rare sunny days in Gotham. Bruce didn't notice the cold wind blowing, nor did he appreciate the sunlight as he knelt by Jason's grave.
"I'm sorry I haven't been here in a while. Things have been busy around here. Dick is still Nightwing, and Tim..." Bruce paused, and looked at the headstone. "Tim is Robin now. Not that you weren't a good Robin. You were. But.. you aren't here."
A twig to his left snapped, and Bruce jumped to his feet before realizing it was just a rabbit running past.
He looked back to the grave, his fingers curled tight. "Jason... I'm sorry. I'm sorry I failed you. I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me. I'm sorry I wasn't the father you needed me to be..."
"Bruuuuuuuuuuuce!"
His head jerked up. "Jason?" He looked around the cemetery, but didn't see anyone or anything out of place.
..He was imagining it. Jason was dead. Because of him. Because he had failed.
That's all his brain could register right now. The metallic smell and pretty shade of red. It was everywhere. It made him happy. Tim nudged one of the bodies with the toe of his boot. There was a soft groan, but no movement. For now, Tim was satiated. They had paid for what they had done. And with luck, they would think twice about mugging anyone again.
Or maybe not. It didn't matter.
He would enjoy beating them up again.
=====================================
"Tim? Is that you? You're home early." Jason looked up from the newspaper he was reading. Tim slipped in the back door and peeled his uniform off, hoping his boyfriend wouldn't notice the blood spatters. "I was thinking about subs for dinner, how's that sound?"
Tim only vaguely registered the question. "Yeah, sure. Sounds great, Jason." He mumbled on his way to the shower. The hot water pouring over him was strangely freeing as it washed off what remained of the blood smell. Part of him was sad. He had enjoyed the smell of blood and sweat and fear, so thick he could almost taste it. But Jason wouldn't like it. So he would wash it off. Anything for Jason.
The next evening he went on patrol, leaving Jason to do research with Damian. Tim snorted as he remembered the looks on their faces when they realized they were being left as study buddies.
"I refuse to be caught dead working with the likes of Todd," Damian had sniffed, while Jason just made grotesque faces in the corner. Tim had just waved a hand and given a look that they both knew meant his decision was final, and walked out the door. He could only assume what chaos he would find when he got back.
But it didn't matter.
He was going out to play.
====================================
Tim stood slowly, surveying the damage. The bodies around him were motionless, and the only sound was the rattle of a beaten body trying to breathe. Tim smiled to himself. A small smile that carefully crept over his face, filling it with raw pleasure. Tim had to suppress a soft purr as he brought a gloved hand to his lips and carefully licked the blood off. The metallic bite was like a drug to him, the smell intoxicating. This, this was his payment. The payment he extracted from these offenders.
He frowned. Jason would never understand. Would never appreciate Tim's justice. Would never approve, just like Bruce. But Bruce was often gone now, and with Damian so young and Jason's reaction to blood, that left Tim on his own mostly. Dick was off playing Batman elsewhere in the city, leaving Tim to mete out justice as he saw fit. And he often saw blood. Such a fitting payment for oh so many crimes.
This one was a robbery and attempted gang rape. Tim figured they would think twice about doing it again. The smile crept back onto his face as he leaned over one of the bodies. They would be thinking twice about a great many things from now on.
====================================
He didn't go straight to the cave when he got home; instead he went to the room he shared with Jason. Peeling off his blood-caked suit, he wondered what he would find downstairs. Hopefully two living bodies, even if they were unconscious. Distracted, Tim tossed his suit in the hamper instead of his bag as he hopped into the hot shower.
"Get off me, you little demon!" Jason yelled as Tim came down the hall. Tim quirked a brow and paused to listen.
"I am nowhere near you, Todd. You do not need to assault me in such a vocal manner." Damian's voice was far too calm after Jason's outburst.
There was a loud crash that made Tim jump, even in the safety of the hallway. Presumably Jason had thrown something. Hopefully something non-breakable. Bruce would not be pleased if Jason had broken yet another piece of equipment.
"Stop telling me what to do!" He bellowed, hurling something at the floor near Damian's feet.
Damian didn't' even blink. "Todd. This estate belongs to my father, as does this cave and all the equipment. Thus someday it will be mine. Therefore, Todd, as heir to the family business, I am your superior and can give you orders. Now, again, will you hand me that pencil?"
Jason's face was beet red. "Why you little-!"
"Hello boys!" Tim smiled as he strode through the doors, startling Damian and cutting off Jason's outburst. "How about some pizza, hmmm?" He ruffled Damian's hair as he handed him the aforementioned pencil. The youngest bat growled, but said nothing. Jason sulked in the corner, but agreed to pizza. He was happy Tim was home, and safe and happy. He was happy, wasn't he? Of course he was. He was with family.
Tim looked over the room full of bats. Damian looked annoyed as ever, although Tim knew he was secretly enjoying pizza and movie night. Jason and Dick were bickering over whether a radioactive spider could really give one super powers. Life was good, wasn't it? Everyone he cared for was safe.
But the city wasn't safe. Technically, the world wasn't safe either, but he couldn't think about that. He had to start with the city. People were hurting. People were dying. Damn humans. Always having to needlessly hurt each other. But it would be ok. They would learn to stop.
Tim would make sure of it.
==================================
The next afternoon Tim came home as Jason was starting laundry. "Jace! I have groceries!" He set the bags down on the counter and wandered off to find Jason in the laundry room. He realized a moment too late that his suit was in the basket. "Wait! I can get the-"
But it was too late. Jason had already pulled it out and was now staring at the dried blood, his face having turned mildly ashen. "Tim? You never said you .. got.. hurt.." He stammered weakly.
Tim grabbed Jason by the shoulders to make sure he didn't keel over and tossed the suit in the wash. "I didn't. I'm fine, see? It was just... job stuff. It's fine. I'm ok. "
Jason nodded vaguely with a glazed expression. "H'ok. Good to know. Glad you're ok, Babybird."
Sighing, Tim gently led Jason back to the livingroom and sat him down on the couch with the remote. "Here, you find something good to watch, I'll go finish the laundry and make sandwiches." Jason mumbled a reply, and Tim turned to go.
He shook his head as he loaded the washer. Jason wasn't always like this. Tim could even remember back when Jason could go out on patrol with him. But that was before it happened. Before Jason had walked into a room full of carnage left by Bane. Before he had seen firsthand that some people really will stop at nothing to get what they want. And when what they want is to inflict pain, well...
Jason had never really recovered.
Tim had never forgotten.
More importantly, Tim would never forgive. He could understand why it had affected Jason. He hated it, but he could understand it. But he would never forgive what was done to that family. There had been no need for the slaughter. But it had happened anyway. And all that happened to the people that did it was a short trip to Arkham. No one had paid.
Well that was ending now. Because Tim was going to make sure they paid. Make them all pay. For Jason's sake. For that family's sake. For the sake of anyone who had been brutalized. Tim would make sure of it.
=======================================
Tim was starting to enjoy the screaming. It meant it was fair payment. But sometimes they didn't scream. Those were the fun ones. They would stand there and silently take it all, with no visible anger or fear, even if they were fighting back. Almost as if they were accepting the punishment he gave them. Tim enjoyed their blood best. It was always darker, slower. It didn't hold the vibrant red blood is supposed to have. It was sluggish, and would always drip slowly, making the payment ever so much more fun to collect. Tim never had to worry about killing those ones.
He was just finishing one when Dick found him. Tim knew the moment Nightwing entered, but said nothing as he silently stood in front of the unconscious form hanging from the ceiling. His finger slid up a crimson trail trickling down the arm, soaking up the blood.
Dick stared in horror for a few moments before exploding. "Tim! What the hell is going on here?!" He bounded over to the body and checked for a pulse.
Tim didn't blink as he finished sucking the blood off his gloved finger. "Hello, Nightwing. So nice of you to join us."
His reply was almost too calm as his eyes met Dick's, holding his gaze. "Nice!? Tim, you're a Robin! We don't do this!" Dick moved to cut the man down, but Tim stopped him.
"No. I'm doing what we should always have done. Making them pay." Dick stared at Tim. "You see, Bruce had a good start. He could catch the criminals Gordon could not. He struck fear into the hearts of those who would do wrong. And then you became Robin, and became an unstoppable force. No one wanted to do anything to incur the wrath of the Bats."
Dick nodded, uncertain of where this line was going. He just hoped Tim hadn't completely lost it. Which, given the body hanging in front of him, was entirely too likely at the moment. Dick had already lost one brother when Jason died, and even though he was now alive the pain was still there. He had already lost one entire family, he didn't want to lose part of this one.
Tim continued, seemingly unaware of Dick's thoughts. "The problem, you see, is that over time the criminals -both petty and mastermind- have learned that if they play the cards right, all they get is some roughing up by the Bats followed by a short stay in Arkham. Then they either get out on good behavior or escape. By that point, why not continue the raping and pillaging?" Tim was growing visibly more upset as he continued. "They have no reason to stop being criminals." His eyes narrowed. "So I'm giving them a reason, Dick. This is something we should have done from the beginning."
"No. That's not the way we do things. You know this Tim. We have to be better than them, have a better standard. We don't stoop to their level of enjoying the pain." Dick tried to be calm, to not look like he was breaking. Tim didn't used to be like this. What had happened to change him so?
"Tim.. You can't do this. I don't like the system any more than you do. But all we can do is uphold our part of it. We catch them and turn them in, the rest is up to the Gotham City cops."
"The system, Dick, is flawed beyond repair." Tim spat. "No we can't change the system, as such. But we can be better. And that's what I have become. The better part of the system." His eyes narrowed as he looked at Dick, taking in his stance, weighing whether he would be willing to accept the proposal. "Dick, we can change Gotham. We can make it better. The criminals will remember what they did, and why they won't do it again." His voice softened as he looked at the doorway. "Innocent people will no longer have to suffer. They will no longer need to die."
Dick looked at his brother, almost mournfully. "No Tim. We can't punish them. We just can't. We are not the law here." He looked up at the body still swaying lightly in the air. "And if you decide to continue down this path..." He bit his lip before he choked on the words. "If you continue, you will no longer be a Robin."
Tim stared at him in shock. "But you can't do that! We fight for a common goal. Dick, please understand.. We could do so much more.. So much good for the city."
Shaking his head, Dick cut the man down. "No. Either come home with me as a brother, or hand me your badge. I will not tolerate anyone acting like this, and neither will Bruce."
Tim's pleading look turned black in an instant as he ripped off his Red Robin badge and hurled it a Dick. "Fine then, Nightwing. If you refuse to see what is right in front of you, I will do it myself. But I'm warning you, whatever your intentions, stay out of my way, Bat." In an instant, he was gone.
Dick sighed and looked around the empty warehouse. "That's right, Tim. Go hide like the crow you are. Hide in the darkness and exact your revenge. But the day may come when we are the ones locking you up. You can't do this forever, Tim... That's not how the system works."
He wondered if Tim heard him. Not that it mattered. He lost a brother... He didn't look forward to telling the others.
He was old. So very, very old. He had seen so very much, and lost even more. But for all of that, everything seen and lost, gained and destroyed, it was a good life. He had to admit that it was. However, all life must someday come to an end. He knew this better than anyone.
He didn't want to die on a battlefield, he had seen enough of those. No, this time, he wanted to decide how he died. He had never been given the option before. But this time, it would be different. This time he would not be coming back. This time, he would be dead for good.
He closed the door softly behind him. "Well, it's just you and me now, Sexy," he murmured softly. Just him and the ship that had been his most faithful companion throughout all of his travels. But it was not her time to go yet, only his. She could still travel, still see more of the universe. After all, that's why she had stolen him in the first place, right? Steal a Time Lord and see the universe? How could he abandon her now?
But he's not abandoning her. His time is up. That's not the same as abandoning... Is it? When you can no longer stay, you don't need to feel guilty. Or so he tells himself repeatedly. In quiet mutters that she can oh so barely hear. In soft undertones to his whispers to her about how wonderful she has always been to him. How she has always taken him where he needed to be. It's in his apologies for ever yelling at her for not taking him where he wanted to be. She hears his quiet crying sometimes, the muffled gasp of 'I don't want to go', repeated over and over as a mantra. But this time, it's not because he wants to do more. This time it's for her. All for her. She should feel flattered. Or loved. She isn't sure which. But then again, she never was good with those confusing emotions.
Instead, she feels pain. Sadness. Her thief is suffering, and she doesn't know what to do for him. She can't hold him, or touch him, or even talk to him. But she wants so badly to do something for him. Anything to comfort him.
He does not want comfort. He seemingly does not want anything from her. She wonders briefly if he no longer has a use for him. And then she realizes part of him has already died. And that now he needs her more than ever. He is forever and always her thief. She has always been there for him before. She will not fail him now, not when he needs her.
"What do you think, Old Girl, blaze across the planet Midnight or see how Olympus has been doing in the last 1200 years?" He leaned against the console, looking worn and beaten down. She can't stand to see him this defeated. Then she has an idea. One that just might work. It's too crazy to not work.
He suddenly shifted at the control panel and started flipping switches. "Midnight it is!" He said with forced excitement. She let him plot the course; waited silently, patiently. And then, as she had done so often before, took him where he needed to be.
=====================================
As he stepped out into London's crisp night air, he felt a twitch of irritation at his TARDIS. He had wanted to see something beautiful before he left, not fight another war. He turned and walked a few blocks to a nearby park. Looking up to the sky, he was once again mesmerized by what humanity saw each night, what they were limited to. Everything else they had to imagine. All the planets he had been to an all the things he had seen were just a dream to this short-lived race.
"Oy! Old man!" The shrill voice punctured the otherwise silent air. He turned toward the woman, a sharp retort on his tongue. It never made it out. "Are you lost?" Donna asked as she walked toward him. "You're standing in the middle of the street gawking at the stars. You're worse than Gramps was." She sighed fondly, shaking her head.
He stared at her for a second before blinking. "I'm sorry, I'm just a little confused. Where am I? And what year is it?" He couldn't stay. She could not- no, must not -remember him. But she didn't know him. And he was so very tired. And lonely. Ever since his last companion- No. No he was not going to think about that. And he refused to think about the loneliness. He needed to leave.
"You don't know what year it is? Did you hit your head on a rock or something? It's 2018, in Chiswick." She walked over to a nearby park bench and sat down. "Get over here and sit down before you fall over." He smiled softly at the order and did as he was told. "Do you have any family over here? I can call someone to pick you up." Donna rummaged around in her purse and pulled out a phone before looking at him and tapping her foot expectantly.
He looked away and pulled absently at a coat button. "I don't have any. They're all gone now," he whispered.
She didn't blink. "Well what about friends then?"
"They are all gone too. I'm the only one left..." He was going to add more, but Donna interrupted him.
"Well then what are you doing wandering the streets at midnight?!" She screeched.
He winced, but still had to smile. After all these years she was still his Donna Noble. "Oh, just wanted to go for a walk is all. Look at the stars... They're so pretty on a clear night, you know."
Her face softened into a sad smile. "Just like Gramps, you are. He was always looking at the stars. He was convinced there were aliens. Anytime something a little odd happened he'd start running around the house yelling that the aliens were here." She laughed softly and look up at the night sky. "He died still believing there was life out there."
Wilfred was dead? He wondered briefly if it was a good death, or if he had failed the grandfather as well. "I.. I should be going now." He said softly, "I'm so sorry for your loss." He stood slowly and took a step.
"Not so fast, Gramps." Donna grabbed his sleeve and handed him a scrap of paper. "No one ever loses everyone. You still have family. Ring me up if you ever need anything, you hear?"
He looked down at the number in his hand. "Thank you," he whispered as he walked away.
"Hey Gramps!" She called after him. He turned and looked back at his former companion. "Take care of yourself, ok? And never stop looking at the stars. Who knows, maybe Gramps was on to something."
===================================
She smiled to herself. Her thief had a spark of life again. Maybe this would work after all.
===================================
He grumbled. This was not Barcelona. This was most definitely not where he wanted to be. He wanted to be in Barcelona. But no. He was in London. Outside a fish and chip shop. Admittedly, the chips smelled wonderful. Perhaps he would go in and try some. Yes, that sounded like a good idea. Since he was herewith nothing to do anyway. Then he would go to Barcelona.
As he snagged his order from the counter and turned to find a table, a movement on his left caught his attention.
"Excuse me, Doctor?"
He turned further to see who was addressing him. "I'm sorry, I think you've mistaken me fo-"
"My Doctor. No, I have not mistaken you. I would know you no matter whose skin you showed up in." Martha grinned up at him from her table with Mickey. Two young children were bouncing up and down next to them, asking who this new person was.
Mickey tried to explain to the bouncing bits of popcorn that this was an old friend of theirs as Martha convinced him to sit down. He didn't want to. He shouldn't stay here. Donna was a fluke, a mistake. He didn't know why he had run in to her, and why there was no abnormality or invasion. But he couldn't be that lucky twice. It was just impossible.
=================================
Time.
She just needed a little more time. The transmission (or such as it was) was almost finished.
Just a little more time, and everything would be ok.
Her thief would never need to worry again.
And there would be no more pain.
==================================
He leaned against the console, thinking about his fish and chip run. He hadn't expected to run into Martha. Not that he had expected to run into Donna. Or Sarah Jane, for that matter. And each time, he had expected the world to need saving. But... it hadn't. Everything had been fine. Sarah Jane and her son were living an almost normal life. Well, normal for them, anyways. Martha and Mickey were happily married, and were still in U.N.I.T.'s reserve squad. Jack was still with Torchwood. Everyone was... fine. They shouldn't be fine... Should they? He's always had to save them in the past... Do they no longer need him? He wondered if his hearts should feel so tight and heavy just at that thought.
She hoped this would work. It had to work. He had to let go just enough. She had to time this just right, because if he let too much go, he would never be happy... and she wanted her thief to be happy. To be able to rest for once in his life. To have the life he had never been able to have, but had so often dreamed of. Not that he would ever admit to dreaming. But she knew. She had heard his whispers, had seen how he watched others longingly. Had felt his dreaming after he lost someone.
She was so close.
=================================
"John, have you been having any strange dreams lately?" Rose asked one morning at the breakfast table.
He looked up from his cup of coffee and raised a brow. "I'm half Time Lord. When do I not have strange dreams?"
She huffed at him. "Not those kinds. The important kinds. The kind that mean we should be doing things. Now."
"You mean Bad Wolf ones?" He asked, now completely serious.
"Sort of. But not the world-coming-to-an-end ones. It's like... " She chewed her lip, trying to find the right word. "It's like the TARDIS is trying to talk to me. Like it needs something. It's almost like that time I looked into it and saw the time vortex. There was a pull, more like a mental tug, that there was something wrong with her Doctor. It wasn't just me trying to save him. She was too." Rose looked down at her tea.
"So... You think the TARDIS is asking for your help?" John asked softly.
"I think... I think she is asking for OUR help. For the sake of the Doctor. But they are in the other universe, and-"
"And you crossed there once before. So we can do it again. Now then, to Bad Wolf Bay for further instructions!" Rose laughed and followed him up the stairs to pack a bag.
==================================
She smiled. It was working. They were coming, and soon everything would be alright. Her thief would be taken care of, with no guilt, and no regrets.
"Now then, Old Girl, I say we should go visit Ood Sigma. He always said there was room in the song for me... perhaps it's time I try." He sighed, and fiddled with the switches.
Just one more stop. That's all the more she needed.
====================================
Vwoit
Vwoit
Vwoit
"Ahhh." The Doctor breathed as he stepped out of the TARDIS. "I love the smell of snow in... the... morn..."
John held up a hand and waggled his fingers. "Hello!" Rose stepped toward him warily, turning him around and checking his coat. "Are you in one piece?" She asked. He swallowed and nodded, unable to force his throat to work. "Are you sure about that. No Sontaran bar brawls that Jack didn't inform us of?"
He shook his head. "No.. No I'm fine. Really. How... How did you get here? On the.. No.. In the library..?" His head spun a little. He was in the library. The library owned by the Vashta Narada.
The library he had failed to save River in.
"Why.. How..?"
Rose turned from her inspection of the TARDIS door. "She called us."
He shook his head. "But you are supposed to be in the parallel universe. You can't be here. He shouldn't be either. You'll tear a hole in the-"
"Doctor, you once burnt up an entire star just to tell me goodbye. The universe can deal with being scratched while I do the same for you."
He stared at her. "What do you mean, 'she called'?"
"The TARDIS. She called us. You can ask her yourself, if you want." Rose nodded toward the console. "John figured out a way for her to better control the voice interface." She steered him inside. "Well, go on. Talk to her." She motioned to John, and they both silently stepped out.
"Sexy?" He whispered. The voice interface flickered, and then shifted to an image of Idris. He grinned, and then turned somber. "why did you call them? Do you... do you not want an old time traveler anymore?" He looked at the floor, almost afraid of the answer.
She tilted her head, trying to process the correct emotion. Her eyes grew wide. "No! I mean yes! I mean- oh bother." She put her hands on her hips and huffed. "You are my Thief. My thief that I have loved so dearly and had so many adventures with. But all adventures must come to an end, and travelers grow weary."
She was hurting him. She could feel it. But it had to be done, she just had to find the right words.
"You don't want to leave. But you aren't leaving me. I will be fine. You-"
"No! I am not leaving you!" He shouted. "And I don't know why you want me gone! Am I just too old? Haven't brought in enough pretty boys lately?"
Rose slipped back in and took his arm. "That's not what she's saying at all. You have always done so much for everyone else, at the expense of your own life. She doesn't want you to burn out like all the other Time Lords. She brought you here. She didn't tell me why this place was important. All that matters to me is that there is something here you need."
"And what will happen to her?!" He bellowed. "She gets to sit here and collect dust and slowly die while I go live?" He slammed a fist on the console. "No. I'm not doing that to her. I don't know why you're here, but I'm not letting her die."
John stepped forward. "You aren't leaving her to die. You're leaving her with us. We will take care of her, travel with her. We still run that Earth's version of Torchwood, remember? She won't e alone."
He was silent for a moment, processing what they were offering him. He didn't have to fade away. He didn't need to abandon his girl.
He could be with River.
Forever.
He still had a data chip. Just in case it was ever needed again. He could save himself to CAL's library.
...He didn't have to die.
She watched him anxiously. She had worked so hard for this. He couldn't reject it. Her thief needed his wife. He had lost her so very long ago.
He looked at all of them, and then focused on Rose. "Are you sure this is what you want to do?" He asked softly. She nodded and squeezed his hand. He took one last look at the inside console, and ran a hand fondly over all the knicks in the door before turning and walking out.
