“See?” said Damian. “I told you I heard footsteps. He didn’t go to sleep.” Which was impressive enough, honestly, given the amount of pain medication that Jason had literally seen Tim take— he should have been out for hours. But what was even more impressive was the mess he’d made of his room. Tim’s walls were papered with pictures and notes. There was barely any blank wall left, but extra pages were still spilling out of Tim’s printer. He’d run a spool of yarn through a set of thumbtacks, movie style, until it crisscrossed around the entire space in a spiderweb of connections— Jason had to duck underneath it to fit inside the door. Tim was sitting at his desk, surrounded by stacks of paper and rolls of tape. He didn’t seem to notice either one of them until Jason tapped on his corner. “Hey. Everything okay in here?” “Shut up,” Tim told him. “I’m working.” “Oh, that’s what this is,” said Jason, gesturing to the walls, “Work. You sure about that?” “Obviously.” Tim pulled a sheet of text from one of his piles and moved over to the wall, searching for a place to hang it. He settled on an empty bit of space and tacked it on— Jason was pretty sure he was leaving tiny holes in the paint. Alfred wouldn’t be happy. “I’m making a network.” Jason pointed to the center of the mess. “This is a picture of a slice of pizza.” “I was hungry.” “It’s connected to a drawing of me.” At least, Jason assumed it was a drawing of him— in reality it was a stick figure wearing an oversized red helmet, complete with tiny guns and “pew pew” written out beneath it, but Jason was willing to be generous. “I was asking you to bring me pizza.” Tim said, like it was obvious, and he looked around his room like he was hoping Jason had actually brought him one. “Oh, okay. So instead of texting me like a normal person…” Jason trailed off, waving a hand in Tim’s direction— Tim frowned at him for a few seconds, clearly concentrating, before he sighed and walked back to his desk. “You’re right. I can do that now, if I can find my phone. Where did I put my—” He started digging through his piles of notes, knocking stacks of them off the desk. After twenty seconds of silence, Damian tapped out a text on his own phone and followed the tone to Tim’s mini-fridge. He pulled open the door: an alarming selection of Red Bull products and Tim’s cell phone, laying across the shelf. He passed it over to Jason with his text still on the screen (Just when I thought you could sink no lower). “I can’t believe he’s the one that survived,” Jason told him. He was pretty sure it violated natural law. “This is embarrassing. Hey, Tim? You don’t have to text me. I’m standing right here.” Tim was busy straightening out his yarn, so he didn’t answer. “Just out of curiosity, how many of these things do you drink every day?” Jason pulled an empty can from the carpet and tossed it at Tim— it bounced off his chest and fell back to the ground. “More than one?” “One. Five. I don’t know.” “You skipped a couple of numbers there.” “Hm.” Tim dropped his voice into an imitation of a GPS. “Recalculating.” “Oh my god.” Really, Bruce? Jason thought. You replaced me with this? Whatever. Didn’t matter. “Pass me the post-it notes.” “Fine.” Jason grabbed the stack off Tim’s desk, read the top, and handed them over. “What is ‘Theseus’ supposed to mean?” “The Court of Owls has a labyrinth beneath the city.” “Why didn’t you just write that?” “Because it’s a code.” Tim stuck his post-it to the corner of the pizza slice and wandered back towards his desk. “I don’t want Damian to read my stuff.” “Okay, Damian is also standing right here.” Jason pointed behind him. “See? Try to focus. I really don’t think you want to start a fight right now.” Damian didn’t look mad— more amused than anything— but who knew how long that would last? Jason was surprised Tim could walk at this point. He definitely couldn’t defend himself. “Damian?” Tim asked. He looked shocked, like he really hadn’t seen Damian before Jason pointed him out. “Yes?” “You’re alive?” “Yes.” Damian raised an eyebrow in Jason’s direction. “Really, Drake, try to— No. Drake no do NOT—” He tried to duck away, but he was too late; Tim grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him into a hug. For the first few seconds, Damian stood frozen in shock— mouth open, arms at his sides— and Jason was frozen too. Then he remembered that he was still holding Tim’s phone, so he snapped a picture and ran, out the door and down the hall, as fast as he could. He was halfway down the staircase when he heard a thud behind him (presumably Tim hitting the floor) and Damian’s steps on the landing. “TODD!” But really, with that kind of lead, there was no way he could catch up.
for the anon that requested another round of Tim (very high) on pain meds
(A/N: I’m back from the dead! I apologize for my hiatus, but now I should be able to get back to updating this blog more frequently.)
“What do you mean you can’t go there? He has Y/N! Nothing matters except getting her back. Come on, we’re wasting time!” Damian shouted. Bruce shook his head.
“I’m sorry, Damian, I really am. I know how much Y/N means to you, but you have to wait for your brother. I cannot go there, which is the reason Joker took her to that location,” he said calmly. Damian wanted to scream.
“Why? What the hell is so special about the Monarch Theater? She could be dying and you’re making me wait? I’ll just go alone!” he raged. Bruce put out a hand to catch him, but Damian evaded his father’s grasp. He stormed out of the cave, somehow managing to avoid Bruce on his way out.
“Damian, stop.” The older man’s orders fell upon deaf ears.
Robin couldn’t even recall most of the fight. His recollection was blurred by the rage coursing through his veins. The clown himself hadn’t even been there, a fact that made Damian even angrier. I would have made him suffer for this… the boy thought to himself. He was pulled from his musing by Dick.
“What the hell were you thinking? Robin, you would have died if I didn’t come in when I did,” he scolded. Damian ignored him.
“Belittle me when she’s safe,” he said, continuing to search for Y/N. Dick sighed but gave in. It wasn’t long before they found the girl. As Damian took in her appearance, he let out a sharp breath. She was barely conscious, decorated with bruises and dried blood. A rag gagged her mouth, and her leg was bent grotesquely out of shape. A bloody crowbar lay near her.
“Y/N!” Damian called to her. “Dick, get help, she’s here!” Y/N raised her head slightly, clearly exhausted by the effort. Damian ran to her, untying her bindings. When he pulled the gag out of her mouth, she coughed.
“Robin…” she whispered in a croaky voice. Tears mingled with the blood on her face. Damian took the mask off, letting it slip to the floor.
“It’s me, Y/N. Damian. I’m here,” he said softly, gingerly taking her into his arms. It was then he realized how bad her condition was. Several of her ribs were broken and her heartbeat was incredibly faint. His heart, however, slammed harder against his chest with each wheezing breath that escaped Y/N’s lungs.
“I knew you would come for me…” she said, wincing when Damian strengthened his hold on her. There were so many things Damian wanted to tell her he was sorry for. Letting the Joker get her, not realizing what had happened sooner, taking so long in coming for her… words started spilling from his mouth, but his apology was interrupted by her coughs.
“You’ll be okay, Y/N. The ambulance is coming, you’ll be okay,” he said shakily. She shook her head slightly.
“Everything hurts so badly,” Y/N murmured.
“I know, I know, but everything will heal… Just stay awake, keep going…” he tried his best to comfort her. More tears fell from Y/N’s eyes.
“I don’t… Damian, I don’t know how much longer I can… I think I’m dying, Damian,” she whimpered. He shook his head, almost able to hear his heart shattering.
“Don’t say that. Don’t. Y/N, I love you more than anything in this world… which is why you have to stay here. Stay with me,” he begged, voice cracking as he spoke. Hot tears ran down his face. A broken smile graced Y/N’s lips. Sirens could be heard outside.
“Just hold on for a little while longer,” he said desperately.
“Your mask,” she responded weakly. Damian nodded, quickly fastening it over his eyes just before several EMTs flooded into the room and lifted Y/N from his arms. A haze descended over Damian. Dick appeared at his side, guiding him out of the building.
“It’s probably not the best idea going to the hospital in costume, but I’ll drive you as soon as you change…” Everything Damian heard sounded like it was echoing through water.
“You can’t die,” he whispered, watching the ambulance drive away. “Please don’t die.”
Oh! What if in retaliation for not being allowed to join the Dead Robins Club, Dick forms a Fake Dead Robin Club with Steph but then Tim feels left out so they all merge to just become the Robins Club.
Jason: “Sorry, we have already recruited Tim and Stephanie. Dick is still not allowed.”
Dick: “Oh come on, Little Wing. There wouldn’t even be a ‘Dead’ Robin Club without the original Robin.”
Tim: “He has a point, Jason.”
Jason: “Hush up, Replacement. We are here to make a point. You don’t fake your own death and then lie about it to your own family. You don’t do that to another Robin.”
“Please don’t cry, I can’t stand to see you cry.” Damian (2)
I really wasn’t sure where to take this and I still don’t know why the cat’s name is Taxi but it is.
“Dami? Where’s the cat food?” You yell, from the kitchen of your apartment. As you pull out of the low cupboard, you narrowly miss knocking your head on the corner. Usually, you keep a large bag of cat food in said cupboard but, clearly, it’s no longer there.
“Did you check the cupboard beloved?”
“Yeah? But it’s not there.”
You sit back on the cold floor, legs crossed and head in hands. The pitter-patter of tiny footsteps approach you and your baby tabby cat bumps his head against your leg.
“I’m sorry babe, mama forgot to get more food. It’s going to be a while.” You coo, scratching behind his little ears. With resolve, you stand, after pressing a kiss to his soft head.
“Dami, I’m going to the store for cat food, is there anything you need?” You shout towards the study where he is no doubt finishing up paperwork.
“I do not believe so.” He responds, drifting out to see you off with a kiss to the cheek.
Of course, the moment you step outside the rain comes pouring down, but there’s no way you’re walking back up the twelve flights of stairs to your apartment to get a measly umbrella. So you trudge through the rain to the grocery store down the block, and try not to grow irritated with the way your clothes stick to your body’s every move.
And when you finally arrive? The store’s closed for the night. Which means you have to trudge back home in the rain and feed your cat peanut butter or something because you don’t eat meat and neither does Damian, but you’ve got to feed Taxi something.
You dread arriving home, and as you climb up the stairs you can’t stop the overwhelming feeling of failure that’s overwhelmed you.
When you finally overcome the seemingly endless stairs you slump into your apartment, setting the keys atop the key rack.
“I’m sorry.” You say to Taxi when he greets you. taking off your squishy shoes, and hanging your jacket over the vent to dry, you can’t bring yourself to look into his sad eyes.
Your socks come off next and fall beside your shoes, before you move into the kitchen to try and find something to feed your baby. But all you want to do is cry, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to hold back tears.
You barely notice Damian slipping into the kitchen behind you, until he moves to wrap his arms around you. He quickly pulls away, no doubt surprised by how cold you are.
“You’re soaked to the bone beloved. You need to change.” He comments, turning you to face him, his warm hands penetrating the numbness that’s enveloped you. You avoid his eyes, staring at your feet in shame.
“I can’t. Store was closed and Taxi needs food. More important.” You mumble, ignoring the tears pooling in your eyes. It’s so fucking embarrassing and you feel so bad.
“Love, you have to change, you’re shivering.” He mutters, trying to drag you towards your room. You follow obediently, not wanting to fight.
You’re staring into the void when a towel is draped around your shoulders, and Damian gently lifts your face up. And he’s just being so nice and understanding and so different from the harshness he can sometimes display that you feel so loved and suddenly you can’t stop crying.
His thumb brushes away some of the tears, and he readjusts the towel so that it is wrapped more securely around you, and all you want to do is fall into his embrace.