For the 1 word prompts, can I ask for #16 daybreak with Tim? Thank you :)
i’m sorry it’s so late! thank you for requesting ma boi timmy!!!! lots of love, sis ^^ 💙
Tim kicked his legs as they dangled over the edge of the building, hands on either side of him as he leaned forward a bit. A small cup of coffee rested beside him, untouched for the past three minutes, and Tim picked it up then to take a drink of it as his comm unit beeped.
He swallowed what was in his mouth and tapped the device in his ear.
“Yellow,” he answered, looking out over the horizon.
It reminded him of his time by Bruce’s side, when he was fourteen, of when Bruce was finally starting to return to himself. It reminded him of a time of hair ruffles, silent pride, hesitant care, falling asleep in front of the Batcomputer and waking up with Bruce’s cape over his shoulders, laugher, and genuine smiles.
A warmth filled his body at the memories as Bruce’s voice was the one on the other side of the line.
“Red Robin, you haven’t moved from your position for ten minutes. Do you require any assistance?”
Tim snorted, taking another sip of his coffee.
“Nah,” he answered, smiling a little as he closed his eyes to feel and appreciate the warmth of the rising sun on his face and in his body. “Just admiring the view, B.”
In his ear, Bruce hummed in understanding.
“Alright.” There was a short pause before he asked, “Would you mind company?”
“Knock yourself out,” he answered with a huffed laugh.
“ETA three minutes.”
“See you here, boss.”
And three minutes later, when Bruce touched down beside him with nary a flutter of his cape and took a seat beside him, Tim leaned against his father-figure for all intents and purposes, the warmth in his chest a comforting and contented sensation that he held close.
They stayed there for a while; Batman and his third Robin…
Father, and son.
“You know… I missed you, B.”
“I missed you too, Tim.”
Requests: Open (please no reader inserts! thank you! 💙)
This is some hurt/comfort and fluff for my Tumblr sis @rosevered who requested this prompt with Damian. 💕
(If you would like to be tagged, feel free to send an Ask or reply to a fic.)
A/N: No angst here, just hurt/comfort. And from personal experience, Damian’s condition really does suck. Just sayin’.
Enjoy!
#39. “It just… hurts.”
The front passenger seat of the Batmobile was traditionally reserved for Robin. And that’s exactly where Damian sat each night on patrol with Dick in the driver’s seat. The first night Tim patrolled with them, he’d instinctively tried to get in the front when Damian’s sword sliced through the humid night air, stopping dangerously close to the side of Tim’s neck. Tim easily disarmed him, tossed the sword toward Dick and disappeared into the darkness. When asked why he’d reacted that way, Damian simply replied the only place Tim was welcome to sit was in the back.
A few discussions took place after that and Damian was forced to apologize. And despite multiple invitations, Tim patrolled alone from then on, ignoring Dick’s demands to the contrary. Since he wasn’t Robin, Batman no longer had any right to dictate what he did each night.
It stung, but Dick could admit he kind of had it coming.
So when Damian climbed into the back seat, he knew something was up.
“Are you okay, Damian?”
There was a groan and rustling of fabric against leather.
“Turn the lights down,” he whispered. “They’re too bright.”
Dick frowned and dimmed the cabin lights to the lowest setting.
“Talk to me.”
“Tt. It’s just a headache, Grayson.” Dick watched him tug his hood over his eyes. “So please keep your voice down.”
Dick remained silent until they were in the bunker and he had to wake him to get him out of the car. He allowed himself to be carried upstairs, his hood still pulled tightly over his eyes, and he made Dick leave the room while he got ready for bed.
When he checked half an hour later, Damian was tucked into bed and covered with three extra blankets, only a shock of damp, black hair fanning out over his pillow.
If he wasn’t better in the morning, he would call Leslie.
The next morning, Dick wandered into the kitchen and saw Alfred preparing breakfast as usual.
But what wasn’t usual was the empty chair where Damian could normally be found sketching as he waited for breakfast. Alfred turned and smiled.
“Master Dick- good morning.”
Dick’s face twisted into a frown, noticing for the first time how quiet it was.
“Morning, Alfred. Have you seen Damian?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing. If he’s not out of bed soon, he’ll be late for school.”
Turning on his heel, Dick rushed to Damian’s room and opened the door, breaking his number one rule about knocking first. There was a small lump beneath a mountain of blankets and the room was stuffy, stale and overwhelmingly warm. Dick kneeled on the bed, searching with both hands until he found the lump’s foot.
“Damian?”
When there was no answer, he carefully squeezed Damian’s foot.
“Come on, Damian.”
“Go away,” came a pained whisper.
Dick inhaled and let out the breath slowly.
“I can’t and won’t do that,” he said, keeping his voice calm and quiet. “There’s something wrong and I’d like to help. And that means I need you to talk to me.”
The lump shifted and blankets were shoved back as Damian rolled over to face him. He moved stiffly and slowly, as if any movement whatsoever took monumental effort.
“It just… hurts,” he said. His hands were tangled in his hair and his eyes were squeezed shut. Dick reached a hand out, brushing the backs of his fingers across Damian’s forehead. He fought the urge to swear at how warm Damian was.
That wasn’t good.
“What hurts?”
Damian tried to open his eyes but slammed them shut once he noticed the bright morning sunlight. He tugged a pillow over his face as Dick got up to draw the heavy curtains closed. Damian relaxed as the room darkened, and Dick watched him stare at the ceiling. When he sat down, Damian turned his head, wincing at the movement, and the tired, confused look on his face was more worrisome than the fever.
“What hurts, Little D?”
He brushed a sweaty lock of hair from Damian’s forehead as he waited for an answer. Several seconds later Damian managed a groggy reply.
“My head. My neck. Everything.”
Dick’s eyes traveled down his small frame, looking for any sign of injury. Last night was a quiet night of patrol and they’d even finished early after Damian admitted he wasn’t feeling well. It was during the few minutes it took them to get back to the car that he’d developed the headache. And then he’d piled the extra blankets on at home, Dick missing the fairly obvious signs of a fever until now.
He chastised himself as he pulled his phone from his pocket to do a quick search of Damian’s symptoms, all the while keeping his hand on the side of Damian’s neck. One look at the search results and his eyes widened. He shook Damian, who managed to pry his eyes open.
“We need to go, D.”
Damian frowned, having no clue as to what was going on and staring at Dick with glassy eyes.
“What?” he mumbled.
Dick grabbed Damian’s bathrobe and helped him put it on, wincing to himself at how much pain Damian was in, judging by his whimpers whenever he moved his head. Next he wrapped him in one of the blankets, picked him up and carried him toward the garage. Alfred caught up with them along the way.
“Master Dick?”
“I’m taking him to the E.R.”
“Should I come with you?”
Dick’s first instinct was to agree. Alfred always knew what to do. Whenever Dick was sick as a child, Alfred knew how to make him feel better, and Bruce eventually learned how to do the same. But Dick wasn’t a child anymore. Bruce was gone. And he now had someone he swore he’d look after. So, despite how badly he wanted Alfred there, he knew he had to try this on his own.
“I’ll call from the hospital as soon as I know more.”
Alfred nodded.
“I’ll wait for your call.”
Hours later, Dick returned to the penthouse with a sleeping Damian in his arms. Alfred was waiting in the kitchen, staring out at the afternoon with a cold cup of tea in front of him. He smiled in relief and followed Dick down the hall to Damian’s room. He turned down the freshly-washed sheets and blankets as Dick set Damian on the edge of the bed.
“Hey. We’re home. Let’s take your robe off so you can get back in bed.”
Damian barely managed to raise his arms, and Alfred propped him up so Dick could help him change into clean pajamas.
“Poor child,” Alfred whispered. “What did the doctors say?”
Dick laid Damian back and they watched as he curled onto his side, clutching a pillow to his chest. Dick covered him and sat down next to him, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
“Viral meningitis. They gave him some anti-inflammatory medication for the swelling and a small dose of a painkiller until the other stuff kicks in.” He scrubbed his hands over his face, his body finally letting go of the tension knotted in his neck and shoulders. “The pain should subside as the swelling does. But he’s still pretty nauseated.”
Alfred stood and collected Damian’s clothes.
“And treatment?”
Dick shook his head and laughed quietly.
“Alfred Pennyworth’s usual prescription,” he answered. “Bed rest and fluids, with over-the-counter pain medication as needed.”
Alfred nodded and smiled.
“Right. Now that Master Damian is resting more comfortably, let’s take care of you.”
Dick opened his mouth to protest and his stomach growled.
“I should stay here in case he wakes up.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Alfred scolded, a hint of a smile on his face. “I’ll sit with him while you go help yourself to the soup that’s on the stove. Only after you’ve eaten and had something to drink should you come back.”
Dick tore his eyes from Damian and looked up at Alfred.
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s better,” Alfred teased, pulling Dick into a hug. “Now run along.”
Dick leaned into his embrace, allowing his eyes to close and several tears to fall.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, my child. It’s what family does.”
Prompts still open? If so, then 104 or 115 with Batboys please?
104: “I don’t kidnap, I just temporarily borrow a person.”
Dick’s eyes snap open the moment he realizes there are ropes binding his hands behind his back. His left wrist is definitely broken, and he has no idea where he is or how he got here. The only clue he has to go on is the high ceiling of a warehouse that’s miles above him, and the fact that he feels like he’d just been in a fight.
Had he been in a fight? He can’t remember. The last memory he can recall is of eating at the dinner table with Bruce, Tim, and Damian.
But he’s in his Nightwing suit. He has to have been on patrol. Which means he’s missing hours. At the very least.
He needs to figure this out. He needs to—needs to—
Sleep. He needs to sleep. Just for a moment. And then he’ll figure out what’s going on.
His eyelids grow heavier and heavier, and then they’re slipping shut. The next thing he knows, someone’s rolling Dick over, onto his side, and tugging at the ropes that are binding his arms together. Dick isn’t really coherent enough to register anything past the oh hell, I fell asleep and let someone get near me I’m so stupid phase in his mind.
So, he starts struggling.
Only to try and roll over and cry when he hears familiar colorful cursing above him. “Would you stop, you Dickhead?” Jason’s voice hisses into the darkness. Dick doesn’t really succeed with the rolling over part, since Jason’s still working at his ropes, but he does succeed at the crying part, especially when Jason says, “I’m actually trying to help you, here.”
“Jason,” Dick says, his voice thick with tears.”Jason.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jason says, tone low and somewhat gentle. “It’s me. And you have a concussion.”
“You’re not trying to kidnap me?”
“Damn you,” Jason snaps. “Why the hell would I be trying to get you free if I was kidnapping you?”
“You kidnapped Damian,” Dick tells him, just because it’s a thought in his head and not because he actually remembers what had happened. He doesn’t really remember much of anything at the moment.
“Yeah, and I gave him right back a couple hours later,” Jason says, and there’s a sharp tug on Dick’s wrists that makes him hiss in pain. “Sorry. Just, I only snatched him because you told me to.”
“You kidnapped him,” Dick says, stuck on the phrase. “But you’re not kidnapping me?”
“Oh—you moron, we just went through this.” Dick can feel the eyeroll, even if he can’t see it in the gloom of the warehouse. “I’m rescuing your damsel in distress ass, and I only borrowed Damian because you said that you were setting up a surprise for him.”
Dick scrunches up his eyes, trying to make that make sense. “You tried to kill Tim.”
“Really, Dickface,” Jason says, tone completely flat. “You’re gonna bring that up now?”
“I love you, Jay,” Dick whispers. “Don’t kill or kidnap anybody, please. I gotta bring you home.”
“Hey, hey,” Jason is saying, and then he’s right in Dick’s face, rolling Dick onto his back. Dick’s wrists are free, so he grabs onto Jason’s jacket with his good hand, desperately clinging to his little brother. Jason’s tone is gentle as he continues, “No one’s killing or kidnapping anyone, okay? Remember, I’m rescuing you. Yeah, Dick?”
Dick nods.
Jason nods, too. “Okay. Batman already dealt with the asshole who took you out, so let’s get you out of here, alright?”
“‘Kay,” Dick says, and he clings onto Jason as Jason pulls him into an upright position.
At some point, Bruce had swooped in and helped Jason get Dick onto his feet, and Dick just let him hang there, between the two. They were whispering between themselves, and Dick just let them be as they ushered Dick out of the warehouse and into the batmobile. Dick had just laid his head against the window when suddenly he was being shaken awake.
They’re in the Cave. And Dick blinks over at Bruce, who’s got the cowl down, and he’s staring at Dick’s face with a slightly guilty look. Dick’s a little too far gone to decipher it, though.
“Where’s Jason?” Dick asks, because he remembers Jason. Jason who need to come home to him and Bruce. “He was here.”
The door to the passenger side of the batmobile opens and then Jason’s helping him out of the car, slinging Dick’s arm around his neck, and Dick’s crying again as he’s led to the infirmary, where Alfred and Tim are waiting. Damian’s nowhere to be found, though.
Jason, though, is big and strong, and he helps Dick lie down onto one of the cots.
“What’s wrong with him?” Tim asks, looking alarmed, and Dick bites back a sob.
His shoulders shake, though, and when Jason goes to pull back, Dick holds on with both good and bad hands, even through the trembling, because—because—
“When did you get so big?” Dick sobs.
Jason’s eyes go big, and he takes a step back from Dick, mouth open. Bruce steps forward, though, into Dick’s space, and he’s prying Dick’s fingers from Jason’s jacket, and then peeling the mask from Dick’s face. The tears run freely down Dick’s face, and he just feels so confused.
“Bruce,” he says. Doesn’t know what he wants. Just repeats, “Bruce.”
“You’re okay, Dick,” Bruce says, brushing the hair from Dick’s forehead. “Everyone’s okay. Everyone’s home.”
5 words prompts: don't even think about it, propably with Jason and Damian? Pls and thank you :)
“Don’t even think about it.”
Jason slowly lowered his hand, which had been less than an inch from poking Dick in the cheek. Said boy was snoring lightly on the couch, surrounded by a pile of blankets and hugging Zitka. Damian was sat in the armchair beside the couch, a book covering his face.
Jason pouted and looked at Damian, whispering so that he wouldn’t wake Dick up. Now that Damian was aware he was there, he wasn’t going to try and wake Dick up. “I thought I was quiet enough that you wouldn’t hear me.”
Damian scoffed and lowered his book. “You could never sneak past me.”
“Could too!” Dick snuffled and turned over, causing Damian to glare and Jason to lower his voice. “I’m a Bat too, you know. I can be sneaky.”
Damian quirked an eyebrow. “Not enough to fool me. I’ve been training since before you were born. The day you can sneak past me is the day Drake becomes Batman before I do.”
“Is that a challenge?” Jason asked, smirking.
Damian rolled his eyes. “If you want. I would not call it a challenge since you could not possible succeed.”
“I will! You’ll see!”
Dick whined and turned over, pulling the blankets over his head. Zitka fell from his arms and onto the floor. They both held their breath, waiting to see if Dick would wake up, but he stayed asleep. Damian looked at Jason.
“That reminds me. Why were you trying to wake Richard?”
“Oh, Tim, Steph, and I were gonna play basketball, but we needed one more to play, and everyone thought it’d be more fair if we had Dick instead of you or Cass.” Well, that and they were pretty sure Damian wouldn’t have wanted to play anyway.
Damian hummed. “Let him sleep. He had a nightmare last night.”
“Ohh. Falling?”
“No. Joker.”
“Ohh.” Jason glanced at Dick. He picked Zitka off the floor and gently lowered the blankets from Dick’s head. He placed the stuffed elephant in Dick’s arms and tucked the blanket around the boy. Jason stepped away and sighed. It looked like Dick wouldn’t be playing basketball with them. He looked at Damian. “So do you wanna play with us?”
Damian quirked an eyebrow as if to ask ‘really?’. “No.”
Jason pouted. “Please? We need one more person to make it fair.”
Damian raised his book back to his face. “No. Find Cassandra.”
Jason’s pout fell into a frown. “Fine.”
Damian listened for Jason’s footsteps to fade and went back to reading War and Peace. He made to turn the page before pausing and narrowing his eyes.
“Don’t even think about it.”
“Damn it!” Jason snatched his hand away from Dick’s face and left the room, grumbling the whole way. He’d be able to sneak by Damian eventually. Just he wait.
“Hm.” Damian allowed a smirk to appear before setting his mouth back into a neutral line.
rosevered replied to your post “DC overall in May is confusing. No Titans or Supergirl. Nightwing...”
What the...? They've canceled Super sons?!
They did. But Tomasi on his twitter is basically saying ‘if you really think I’m going to let these boys go you’re crazy’ which is really giving me hope for something better (or equally good at least) coming.
Hi sis 😊 In case the prompts are still open: Could I please get scars+Jason? Thank you 😊
Jason sat there, in front of the mirror, staring at himself, gauze and bandage roll in each hand. Blood dripped off his chin, landing on his chest and tracing one of the innumerable scars that marred his skin. More blood oozed from a long cut in his shoulder to join the small drop in its race down his chest.
If he were to be honest, Jason didn’t know what to think of his scars.
Many people were ashamed of theirs, hesitant to ever let them show, but Jason didn’t care if people saw them. Others displayed theirs like trophies, walking around without shirts for the world to see; constantly flaunting them every chance they got. But Jason didn’t do that.
His scars just were. He wasn’t proud of them, he wasn’t embarrassed by them, he wasn’t ashamed of them.
Congrats, you survived whatever the fuck caused that, there’s your trophy, it’s permanent.
Some he could recognize as crowbar-inflicted, others Crime Alley induced, and yet others as Robin garnered. Lighter, more recent ones were Red Hood earned.
None of them held any personal, psychological, haunting meaning, though.
It depended on the day.
Some days he’d wake up, crowbar scars burning and screaming, and other days it’d be the Crime Alley ones that wanted to be recognized.
Then there were days that he woke up numbed out; days he woke up that felt…
Not bleak, but not happy. The day just was, same as his scars, and so was he. Jason went through his everyday dead man’s routine.
He had happy days, too. Ones where he didn’t notice his scars in a different way than the blank days; where everything was the same, but he still felt the undercurrent of contentedness in his veins; some days he felt a spark of something when he saw his scars because they meant he was alive.
Not today, though. Today he felt nothing as he stared at them.
Jason’s eyes were scars in their own right, just the same way the stark of white in his hair was; scars Lazarus-pit foisted.
But he felt nothing looking at them. He shook his head, moving to finish patching himself up, and didn’t care if the cut scarred over.
