No one needed Tim Drake, but Tim Drake still needed to be needed. And well, who better to choose than the one person who could never stop needing him?
So inherently broken that his job would never be finished. Yet so unfortunately resilient that he would never be left the sole survivor. And so desperate to serve that he would never be betrayed again.
In other words, no one else needed Tim Drake, but certainly, he knew there was someone who could make use of his particular skill set.
-
Tim Drake, 12-year-old independent adult, professional birdwatcher, is offered everything he's ever wanted…for the low, low price of his verbal agreement. All he has to do is say yes.
—
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
The noise from his window broke through his usual silence like gunfire. Flinching violently at each gentle tap, Tim turned slowly on his heel.
There, crouched menacingly in Tim's usual escape tree—Oh, that…was not a costume he recognized. But it was a costume nonetheless, and he was not prepared to fight or outrun anyone confident enough to prepare themselves a special crime suit. At least not in his own house. Shit.
Well, no point in delaying the inevitable.
Tim approached the window, and the costumed man offered a friendly wave, which he cautiously mirrored.
When Tim popped open the latch and slid his window open, he anticipated a new rogue's monologue or a request for information or a cease and desist—
"Don't worry, you're not in trouble!" a soft voice burst out.
—but certainly not that.
The man (young adult?) remained perched in the branches, making no move to intrude. His uncovered mouth curved into a warm smile, not fake and performative like a scheming kidnapper or gala socialite. Okay, not a villain. Probably.
Tim blinked a few times. "Uh. Good. Then…what do you want?
He inclined his head and asked, "Can I come in?" As if refusal was legitimately an option.
"I guess," Tim said, stepping sideways to give the hypothetical hero space—which turned out to be unnecessary, because he slipped inside like a shadow, standing from his roll before Tim's hand even left the wall.
He didn't take his eyes off the stranger for a second. Seeing the suit in full light, Tim searched the black and red costume for any bats or shiny Rs, but found nothing to put his mind at ease…until weapons and gadgets began dropping to the floor like confetti, and several batarangs shined from within that pile of metal and tech. Thank god. Tim closed his window and drew the blinds without turning away.
"I'm not going to kidnap or interrogate you," the Unnamed Bat assured while raising his empty hands, stepping back from his shed arsenal (not that he needed any tools to knock Tim out and carry him off into the night). "I just want to talk. Do you think you can trust me, Tim Drake?"
Oh, name time. This was by far the weirdest hostage situation he had ever experienced, and his guard began to lower against his better judgment. "If you tell me who you are, it'll be a start."
"For now…Red."
Wow, how unique. Can't wait to thoroughly investigate this name. Tim huffed. "Yeah, okay. Go on, Red."
A gloved finger raised in front of his eyes. "Right, first things first, this is not about your nighttime activities—" Shit. "—or your birdwatching portfolio." SHIT. "I'm not here to stop you from doing that, understand?"
Heart pounding in his ears, Tim momentarily contemplated throwing himself out the window, but he knew it wasn't high enough to achieve anything useful. He would just be in pain and still conscious enough for a talk. He swallowed his anxiety and felt himself nod. "Understand."
"Okay, good. Second thing," Red said, raising another finger, "I know how well you take care of yourself—even if you shouldn't have to do that." Oh no. "But I am not here to call CPS or ship you off to a new guardian. Still with me?"
Tim didn't care what this guy said, he was going to be in so much trouble. "I'm…with you," he repeated, averting his eyes.
"Great. And third…" And then Tim realized how close that hand had come, hardly a few feet away. While Tim still had his back facing the window, Red had casually made his way around him, until Tim was nearly positioned between him and the discarded weaponry.
"I am not Robin, but I was Robin. Third out of five in fact."
Was—five?!
This wasn't a prank, right? No one would waste so much time and money on pranking a random fanboy, right? But, what would be the purpose of telling him, Tim Drake, about…what, time travel? Another universe? If such a thing were real, certainly a lost Robin would go to Batman for help getting home, not visit a civilian and admit—
"Don't tell me anything!" Tim covered his ears. "Don't—what if—I don't—"
Worn gloves grasped his forearms to gently pry his hands away (Why are they so warm and soft? You catch criminals with these hands?), and he glanced up at a reassuring face. "Hey, it's okay," the third Robin soothed. "I already checked this world out. We don't need to worry about breaking anything."
Well, that was…good, but it still didn't explain what Tim had to do with any of this. And how far in the future was this Robin from? He sounded young, but if there were two more Robins after him, shouldn't he be at least Nightwing's age?
"I only have one objective, but I'll need your permission to pursue it."
My "permission"…What does that even mean? Who gave me any authority here?
"Why are you talking to me and not…" Even if he became friends affiliated with a hero (a Robin!) in the future, he would never be the one giving orders.
The third Robin's smile dimmed, just a little. "I don't want to talk to Batman. Actually, he doesn't even know I'm here." He shifted his grip up Tim's wrists, and Tim almost melted from the pressure of gentle thumbs stroking the back of his hands. "If I can help it, you're the only one who will know. We don't have to worry about anyone coming for me, and I have no intention of trying to return. There's no one left to miss me."
No one left? Okay, so they had to prevent a huge tragedy. Tim's brain ran on overdrive, still wondering what his involvement could possibly be. Maybe he needed to ruin a villain's social standing, or share some incriminating photos, or—
His hands burned ice cold when the third Robin released him and moved to peel off his mask. And if Tim slapped his own palms over those gloves a little too quickly, it was only because he needed to stop this identity reveal, not because he wanted to keep that physical contact.
"Even if you're from the future, you can't reveal yourself that easily!" Tim said. "Not that I would…do anything with it, but—"
A pleasant laugh rang in his ears. "Yes, I know. And if you wanted to find out my identity on your own, I'm sure you could, but you won't regret me speeding this up. Trust me."
"…Okay." This hero, this future Robin, knew much more about the situation than Tim. Why did Tim have to be so difficult? If they were on any sort of time limit, it was best to go along with whatever the vigilante wanted. "I can…trust you."
And then…oh.
Oh.
"Wh…" Why would I—I'm not even—but this—
After tucking the mask into a pocket somewhere, the Other Tim (Red/Robin/Timothy Jackson Drake) took Tim's hands again and he nearly collapsed at the warmth returning. A few reassuring squeezes grounded him too, probably the only thing keeping him from having an existential crisis.
"Hey, hey, remember what I said earlier? We won't break anything," Timothy promised. "We're okay. Us meeting is perfectly safe, and we're in no rush."
Okay, no rush. No rush.
"Ask for whatever you need to confirm my identity," Timothy suggested, "then ask me what I'm here for."
Right, proof, he needed that. "Uh, what, what did we eat with our parents on our eighth birthday?" Was that too easy?
The slightest grief crossed Timothy's eyes, but he replied without hesitation, "Nothing…They weren't home in time. But we did get our first camera in the mail to make up for it."
Yeah, definitely too easy. He needed something harder, something that didn't involve other people. "Get the box and show me the most important card." There, a task with several steps, proving he knew about the box, how to get it, where the hidden contents were, and how they were organized.
It earned him a pleased grin. "This'll be nostalgic," Timothy said, stepping toward the closet (leading Tim by a secure hand). "Crime photos are under the bed, but that's not what you're asking for."
Timothy's sheer confidence had convinced Tim already, but there was no harm in watching this play out.
-
With the box safely locked up and hidden away, Tim relented, "Okay. I believe you, so…what are you here for?"
Timothy gestured for him to perch at the edge of the bed, then moved to stand—wait, kneel in front of him, and it viscerally unsettled Tim to look down on someone. He spent his life surrounded by adults and high-school students, not one of which would bother lowering themselves to his level, let alone below.
Did everyone view him this way? He couldn't help but slouch in an attempt to lessen the distance. Their mother would have scolded both of them; Tim for his appalling posture, and Timothy for lowering himself willingly, even to another Drake.
(Maybe it was meant to symbolize giving him a choice, but—Refusing a vigilante? Not a choice. Refusing a future vigilante that was also himself? Not a choice.)
Timothy projected perfect composure, but Tim recognized traces of his own apprehension. This marked the real start of the mission, and Tim couldn't afford to react carelessly.
"I want to stay with you, if that's okay."
…Like, in the manor? As a base of operations? "For how long?" The more time expected, the more space they would likely need to set up, but luckily there were so many untouched rooms that Timothy could hide here—
"Well…forever."
What?
"Listen," Timothy began, removing his gloves, "you can take care of yourself, right?"
Tim furrowed his brows. "Obviously."
"And you can see that I've taken care of myself, as well," Timothy said, gesturing to his person with his now bare hand.
"It appears so." Because there's no one left no one left no one left no one—
"Then, would you trust me to take care of you, too?"
Oh.
"Do you think we could take care of each other?" Timothy cautiously extended a hand, and Tim could do nothing but appreciate the fingers brushing hair away from his forehead, staring with disbelieving eyes. "You have enough money to provide anything you could need, but I'm here to give you what you want."
Tim couldn't think of a single thing he wanted that didn't utterly mortify him.
"Which is…to make sure you're never left alone again."
Okay, okay, okay! What kind of nonsense was this?! Was there no greater mission? Why would any version of himself waste the limitless potential of time travel for his own benefit? For something so unnecessary? He survived in the future, so he obviously didn't need—
Then both hands cupped his cheeks, perhaps even rubbing startled tears from beneath his eyes. Had he lost it? Tim was almost convinced of the Future Robin Tim, speaking things he would never have imagined on his own; a hero condoning his photography, an adult unconcerned with his lack of caretaker, Tim Drake becoming a Robin. And then Timothy plagiarized words straight from his most pathetic fantasies, words he would never speak aloud.
But maybe…maybe that was also proof. That even in his imagination, he never spoke such wishes. And yet, here was another him, with unknown experiences, carrying an unknown tragedy. Perhaps that loss pushed Timothy to verbalize those forbidden thoughts.
No one left…no one but Him. Me. Us.
"I didn't want to meet as a civilian and pretend not to know you, nor did I want to meet as a stray vigilante and make up a Mission for us to bond over. You would've become rightfully suspicious, and it's so frustrating to see through a lie but not know the truth…" Timothy trailed off before any of that frustration could seep into his tone, sinking into something soft and painfully earnest. "Anyway, we always want to know what people actually think of us. So I'm telling you, right now, in direct words, that my priority is you. Only you. Above public appearances, above any missions, and even above health, your happiness comes first. And you cannot convince me to change that."
Tim couldn't find the will to reply, he simply sat still, leaning into comforting hands and listening to ruthless words. If this was a dream…he wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to remember when he woke up.
"I spent our whole life putting everyone else's needs before our own, tearing that world apart for the sake of family. I think we've earned the right to be selfish this time.
"And I would tear the world apart again…if ever you asked."
And when Tim met his eyes, he did not see a hint of exaggeration.
Something truly devastating must have happened to make Timothy so…intense. To turn all that devotion inward, instead of aiming to reclaim his future family. Maybe it was just too painful to be close to heroes living in the line of fire?
Wait, shit, will I go through that if he keeps up his vigilante life? But, he can't really expect to keep the cape while also keeping off Batman's radar, right?
"What if you die out there?" It fell out of his mouth before he finished the thought.
Timothy contemplated it for a moment, then tilted his head. He brought one of Tim's hands to the side of his neck, where a long, deep scar marred his throat. "Do you know what this is?" he asked, sending subtle vibrations through Tim's fingers.
Tim hesitated. "…Murder attempt?"
Leaning forward a bit, Timothy whispered, "It's proof that I'll come back to you."
Tim inhaled sharply.
Timothy lowered their hands and continued with a wry smile, "Honestly, I'm pretty sure we're unkillable. The universe won't allow it, despite the odds…Not that we should test it, of course. I plan to stay for a while."
One wretched secret spilled after another, leaving Tim shaken under the assault. But…he needed to absorb every moment of this absurd story while it lasted.
"We're…very good at it, you know. Caring. Helping. Staying. I—I don't know why we can't get others to do the same. Maybe we just…don't know how to express love correctly? I mean, our parents loved us, but were never the best at showing it, so…"
Loved. Were. Past tense. Gone.
No one left.
Timothy took a slow breath and steadied his voice. "The point is…we're quite reliable. So why not just do this for ourselves, like everything else? It makes sense, doesn't it?"
Tim's chest constricted at the confirmation that he simply wasn't meant to be loved by others, that even if he somehow managed to connect with people, he would inevitably end up alone. But if he never left first, if Timothy never left first, they would never abandon each other, right? If nothing else, that was indisputable…and a great relief. "Yeah," he agreed, voice raw and pitiful, "it makes sense."
But his emotional turmoil didn't build for too long, soaking into Timothy's sudden embrace like tears on a comforting shoulder. Huh. So this was what it felt like to share a burden. His worthlessness became much easier to bear if he got to enjoy this consolation.
Despite being crushed against rigid armor, it was the best hug he'd ever experienced, and lasted longer than he thought possible. Gentle fingers began to comb through his hair, nails occasionally scratching the base of his neck, and it took all his concentration to process the quiet words drifting past his ear.
"I know it's going to take a while for this all to sink in, so I'll say things as often and explicitly as I need to: I want to take care of you. I want you to be happy. I want to stay with you forever.
"Even if you push me away, or turn me in, or try to kill me, I'm going to come back to you. Even if it becomes dangerous to be near me, or I fail to protect you, and I feel like a burden, I won't leave your side; I won't take that choice from you.
"You're stuck with me for the rest of our lives, and I'm going to prove it to you, every single day. If you'll let me.
"After enough evidence, you won't need words anymore."
I'll need your permission. If that's okay. I won't take that choice from you. If you'll let me. Was refusal really an option? Not that he intended to, but…
Tim needed a few days minimum to be certain this wasn't an incredibly vivid hallucination or coma dream, a subconscious realization that no one in this whole wide world was as desperate as him to be wanted and loved. To be willing to give someone everything just for a promise to stay.
But assuming Timothy was real, assuming his circumstances were real, assuming his objective was real, Tim knew for a fact that those claims of forever were real too.
A Drake's devotion, with only one object of obsession. An object who mutually benefited from such attention…
Someone deeply aware of Tim's flaws and choosing him anyway, someone who already knew what Tim wanted and merely requested permission to give it, someone that Tim could take care of in the same ways without fear of overstepping.
Plus, Timothy was a Robin, he would always save Tim from being kidnapped, or escape if he was imprisoned. And according to the scar on his neck, he would take quite a bit of effort to kill. He also had the advantage of having no identity to target, no enemies in this world, able to start over if he so wished. Yet despite all that freedom, all he desired was to stay tied down to an untrained, inexperienced, civilian Tim Drake.
Tim still struggled to imagine what could've possibly made him fixate on himself over everyone else, but now that it happened, it would take an equally severe event to change things. If that ever occurred, Tim probably wouldn't be around to see it.
Timothy would be with him until one of them died, and apparently they survived like cockroaches.
Honestly, just the idea of having anyone stay with him greatly increased his life expectancy, but the alleged durability was a nice bonus. Neither would lose the other too easily, even in a city like Gotham.
But still, clinging to a version of himself with years more experience, constantly reminding him how useless he once was… "I'll make things difficult for you."
"Oh, I'm counting on that," Timothy said, pulling away to make eye contact.
His hands rested on Tim's shoulders, and Tim distantly noted that he had to look up again. When did they stand?
"I expect you to get into so much trouble. Because you're going to have someone to help you, both to get into it and out of it." Timothy almost sounded…eager…to deal with the inevitable complications Tim would cause him. "We're going to make a lot of mistakes, and face even more consequences, but it doesn't matter.
"Go ahead, make life difficult. There is nothing you can ever do to make me love you less. Unconditional."
Tim had to hide his face from the weight of that word, pressing his forehead to Timothy's chest. "Unconditional…" God, how he pined for it. Nothing in his world came with permanence, and everything carried conditions.
His grades, appearance, behavior, "attitude", performance, company…whether public or private, all subject to scrutiny. With much to punish and little to praise. Physical belongings could be broken or confiscated (Did it count if he could afford to replace things? Was he even permitted sentimentality?). Privileges could be revoked (not that they bothered to monitor him—but maybe he wouldn't mind being monitored if it meant someone was there). And his parents…
Seconds or minutes passed in silence, as they indulged in the pressure of a comfortable, untimed embrace. Until eventually, Timothy asked quietly, "Do you still want to go take photos tonight? I'll follow you."
Tim shook his head, burying his face into a steady shoulder. "No, I'm staying here." And I'm going to leave all the lights on, and watch your every move, and hope you don't disappear between blinks. I want to enjoy this for as long as possible.
Timothy nodded and unraveled himself from around Tim, reaching toward the window. "Okay, let me change into literally anything but this." A spike of panic shot up Tim's spine, but Timothy must have sensed it, because he immediately assured, "Don't worry, I'm not leaving!" He just leaned halfway outside—
And pulled back in with a duffle bag in hand. Several questions fought to be the first off Tim's tongue. "Has that been—Where did you—How—"
"Oh, I hung it under your window before knocking," Timothy explained, showing off a small piece of metal dangling from a strap. "It would've been rude to show up unannounced with a bag in hand, as if I'd already decided to stay, but best to be prepared.
"Because if you said yes, I figured you wouldn't let me out of your sight for a while."
If. If. If. Still pushing the idea that rejection was ever an option. But somehow, the more times Tim heard it, the nicer it sounded, even if Timothy knew that Tim would agree with any future self. After all, a Future Tim would have more experience, more information, and be better prepared to make the right decisions.
Besides, Tim would've accepted even a blood-soaked stranger offering their company. Which meant anything longer than "I want to stay with you" was just Timothy's…Exposition? Info dump? Demonstration?
The more thoroughly Tim analyzed this meeting, the more certain he became that Timothy never even entertained the possibility of being rejected (no matter how many ways he implied otherwise). But still, despite obtaining the desired end result before ever opening his mouth…
Asking permission was for Tim's benefit, as choices were often made for him without his input. Offering all that information and evidence was for Tim's benefit, as adults often brushed off his doubts with "because I said so" or "that's just how it is". Using painfully direct language was for Tim's benefit, as he was often denied a clear definition of his purpose or others' intentions, left to flounder until he learned. Even mentioning that vague "no one left" was for Tim's benefit, as he was never anyone's first choice, and yet…Timothy asserted, in a world where his lost family still lived, that Tim would be his only choice.
Timothy performed an entire uncomfortable unnecessary unrequested script…for Tim's benefit. And it was not unappreciated.
"…Thank you. For—"
For providing Tim with evidence to prove his identity, for clearly explaining his situation and expectations, for laying out the logic behind his objective, for allowing Tim to agree in his own time. And all the while, reiterating that he was given a choice, not a demand. Which was…everything.
Timothy dropped the duffle bag and pulled Tim back into their previous position, radiating warmth and comfort too much understanding. "Thank me once you know you're awake. Once you trust that I'm really here. Okay?"
"Okay…" He could wait for that.
Then, there was just one more thing Tim wanted to ask for now.
"Are we going to stop it? The thing that made you lose everyone?" Or will you watch it happen again?
Timothy squeezed him closer and shook his head. "Nah, it's already stopped, I set everything up before coming to meet you. The things I went through…will never happen now. Everyone will be just fine. And so will we."
"…Yeah, okay. So will we."
—
after Ra's kicked him out of the window, Timothy was so full of "I Don't Want To Be Saved" energy that the universe said "you know what. aight. okay. you deserve a little treat. have a one-way ticket to Not Being Saved" and he was gone before Dick could catch him.
he figures out where he landed, determines whether he's allowed to affect things, stops Jason from dying and fucks around with some other shit…and then cuts himself off from all things Bat/JL related. he gave them some information, but it's up to them to use it. he has narrowed his entire focus onto aiding the younger Tim Drake in whatever ways he may need.
he has no faith in anyone other than himself to not abandon or betray him, and he can't handle repeating the failures of his last universe, so he won't put himself in the place to risk it. from now on, he is just an extension of the younger Tim Drake's intentions.
he won't betray himself, he won't outlive himself, he won't push himself to the side for others…nothing will get in the way of him giving the younger Tim Drake the unconditional love/support/acceptance he craves and deserves.
been a hot minute since I posted here but anyway go read Hangman (slack your rope awhile) by AabH (@darkloire) Mike's dramatic as usual and can't just accept help
yall look at this shit ad*be is tryna pull now on ppl who have outdated software:
(note for context: i’m all for piracy, but in this case my copy of CS6 was downloaded years ago when they were giving it away to students. i got it totally legally.)
so here is what NOT to do if you’re a loyal fan of adobe who has the cash to shell out for a newer and shittier version of the product you already paid for.
1) DON’T use your search bar to find and open the Run app
2) DON’T type in services.msc
3) DON’T find Adobe Genuine Software Integrity Services and right-click to get a dropdown menu, and don’t select ‘properties’
4) if you happen to click properties, DON’T use the startup type dropdown to locate the option to disable the program. be sure you DON’T click apply to finalize that change.
5) DO NOT do the same thing in order to also disable Adobe Genuine Software Monitor
if you do all of these things, this WILL disable adobe’s ability to monitor the software, and you will be forced to continue using the same older software that you already paid for instead of having to sign up for a newer, shittier version and pay more for it. so if you have lots of cash to spare and are cool with putting it the pockets of racketeering capitalists, definitely don’t do any of these things.
however, you SHOULD reblog this to spread the word, as we certainly want to make sure lots of people know what NOT to do :)
I worked with @that-meiko-girl, we don't have a fic, but Shiro was a VA for erotic cds, and Keith was a script writer. Keith finally got to meet his favorite VA in a surprise meeting to start creating an original script for Shiro.
An artist : Aw man! I saw my arts were reposted on Instagram. I’ve asked them to take my arts down but they ignored me.
Me : Say no more! Click this link, then click ‘fill out this form’. Fill the form and wait for about 1-2 days, the staffs will remove the image you were reporting from the reposter’s account :^)
so, I haven’t wanted to chime in on the like vs reblog discourse because I’ve always kind of been “it’s your blog reblog what you want” but recently the ratio for me has been ridiculous, so I did some research.
this is what my notes look like currently:
this is what they looked like maybe 3-4 years ago:
and this is what they looked like around 6-7 years ago:
notice anything?
sure, it’s your blog. post what you want. but when gif makers stop making gifs, don’t say we didn’t warn you. we make gifs to be seen, and if it doesn’t get reblogged, it dies on our blog. it’s clear to me that this is a trend and I’m betting it has everything to do with this spike in “aesthetic” blogs.
if you like it, please reblog it. all we want is for our work to be seen.
Quick reminder: Yesterday on the 14th of february 2019 the european parliament decided to accept article 13. Article 13 will force every internet page to use upload filters for the people who live in europe so we can’t see what we want to see anymore.
The last chance to stop article 13 is between march and april where the EU parliament will decide if article 13 will be implimented or not.
On the 23rd of march 2019 everywhere in the europe people will go on the streets and protest against article 13. So I beg you if you have time and are for the free internet try to go to a protest to save your internet.
I finally made a proper commission form for discounted prices!! I have a lot going on personally, between being forced to quit my job, two weddings back to back, school, my grandma in the hospital, and my dad’s recent hip surgery, I won’t be able to look for another job until around January, so any and all commissions really would help me a loooooot!!!!
Any reblogs and shares would be greatly appreciated!!! ;_; These will be open indefinitely until I decide to close them.
If you’re also interested in commissioning me at full price, my prices are HERE !! But you don’t have to
