The Second Coming
A/N: For Tim's costume, I'm imagining the same material/style, belt, and ears as Catwoman's from The Dark Knight Rises, but on the gauntlets/gloves there are claw-like attachments on the knuckles.
This story is inspired by two things. The first of which is The Dark Knight Rises. It's not the Dark Knight verse, but certain events parallel the movie. The second is The Night Circus, by Erin Morgenstern. If you haven't read it, I recommend you do. It's the best book I've read by far (Looking For Alaska coming in at a close second). The name the Night Circus (used in this fic) belongs to her, but the Crawlers are mine.
For the sake of the fic, let's just say that Jason stayed. It would actually kind of make sense anyway, since Tim wasn't there to step in as his replacement and fuel his anger towards Bruce. He's still Red Hood, though.
This is a Catlad!Tim x Conner story, but they're the secondary focus/relationship. The plot doesn't revolve entirely around them more than it does around Tim himself. He makes a good vantage point for Dick, Jason, Damian, Bruce, and several other characters that show up. Also, there's a lot of brotherly bonding in this, and fatherly.
Also; Gambit is mine. Red X refers to the one in Teen Titans, after the suit is stolen from Robin (Dick). Out of the mask he's mine; but his design/costume (Red X) isn't. And the Hoops refers to a section of Gotham I created for the pure use of giving a home to Red X.
Pleasepleaseplease R&R! :)
xxx,
Eve
Chapter One
Tim slipped out of the museum quietly, ignoring the loud noises behind him of security guards crunching over fallen glass. He threw down three smoke bombs behind him and exited as silent as a cat, creeping in the shadows.
In his hand, hidden by a black leather sack, were three items, the first of those being a batarang. The museums were keen on collecting items from any superhero they could, from Dove and Hawk's old uniforms to Wonder Woman's lasso. Of course, usually they just stocked up on fakes, but Tim knew for a fact that this batarang was real. He doubted Bruce ever bothered to get rid of them after a battle, but there was DNA on this—blood, Bruce's blood. He didn't want the dark knight to be discovered just because of a simple slip up, even though they each stood on opposite ends of the law.
The second was a small painting, no bigger than a passport, depicting a small city in Greece. It had been stolen from the original owners, who were going to be extremely grateful when they woke up the next morning to discover it had been returned.
The third was a necklace—a thick, gold chain with sapphires, emeralds, rubies, and diamonds hanging off of it like charms on a charm bracelet. He'd nabbed it spontaneously after attaining the painting, but was still debating between selling it for cash or giving it to Selina as a gift.
Along with those items, there were also several wallets full of cash stuffed hastily into his utility belt. There was only enough room for four of them, considering the size and number of pockets he had, but that was a price worth paying when it came to being able to squeeze into small places. Unlike the Bat Clan, who had heavy belts created for durability, Catwoman and her accomplice kept lightweight and lithe, never doing more than endurance training and acrobatics.
He leaped easily onto a roof, away from the sounds of police sirens and yelling, and stopped several blocks away to observe the city. Gotham was dull in the sunlight, never truly showing it's gruesome face to the unlucky tourists who explored it. No, it was at night that it came alive. It was at night that he came alive, growing out of his boring, average life as Tim Drake and becoming the mysterious and unheard-of Catlad, apprentice of Catwoman.
He distinctly heard a strange, whooshing sort of noise, and then found himself airborn.
His training kept him from struggling from Superboy's hard grip as the meta flew them up, up, and away into the night sky. However, it was only when the air pressure began to make him lightheaded and faint that Tim was able to gasp out, "Stop!"
Superboy looked down at him with an eyebrow raised, hands circled around Tim's legs and back in a bridal-hold. Tim himself was, despite being dizzy, exhilarated by the height. He didn't have to pretend to look down at it as he slipped the mouth of his bag under his belt, away from sight.
"Sorry." Superboy apologized, still looking at him curiously. "I guess I kind of got carried away. I forget that it's harder for people to breathe when I go too high."
Tim shrugged. "If I was superhuman, I would probably forget sometimes, too." He didn't ask if picking strangers up was something the guy did every day, figuring that sarcasm wouldn't get him anywhere.
Superboy grinned. "So, are you a new hero? I haven't seen you around." He looked Tim up and down. "You kind of dress like Catwoman. She's okay with that?"
Tim thought very quickly. If he thinks I'm his friend, he'll let me go. Hell, he'd probably fly me home if I asked. "Not that new. Just not…social." He wrinkled his nose, thinking of the only other heroes he'd met. Spoiler—was frustrating, because she didn't bother trying hard enough to keep her identity a secret. And then there was the whole, 'I'm-attracted-to-you' thing she had for him. She was probably a nice girl, but as a hero? Not so much.
Jason Todd, Red Hood, thought he was a joke. Every few days Tim would find himself pressed between the vigilante and a wall, as Hood smirked and violated "his favorite little kitty". They both respected each other, but in a twisted sort of way.
Nightwing—also known as Dick Grayson—acted like his older brother or something. Said things like, "I'm disappointed in you, Timmy." Every time they crossed paths and tried to convert him to being a hero. Which was annoying, because Tim still didn't know how his secret identity had become not-so-secret.
Batman and Robin, though, were worse. With Bruce, Tim never really knew where he stood, so it was awkward. Robin…Robin always did everything in his power to piss Tim off. Every time they saw each other they ended up in a hardcore battle, a survival of the fittest. At first, Tim had held back; only used moves he knew would temporarily take Damian off of the battlefield. But then Robin had beaten him so badly he'd nearly died, and that restraint had ended. It was blood and bones between them.
"Well, maybe you just haven't met the right people." Superboy said. Tim raised an eyebrow and wrapped his arms around Superboy's neck, swinging so that he was no longer in the superhuman grip and was dangling of his own accord. Their bodies were pressed together, and he smirked when Superboy blushed.
"What?" He purred, when the meta didn't say anything. "Cat got your tongue?" He held himself up by wrapping his arm around the hero's shoulder, allowing his other arm to trail onto a strong, muscled bicep. He felt hands loop his waist in a hesitant response.
"You don't really act like a hero, do you?" Superboy commented lightly, but Tim could see the blush growing over beige cheeks.
"I don't act like a lot of things, Conner." Tim replied flippantly. Conner's eyes widened, and the pale boy smirked. "Oh, please. Of course I know your name. I know all about you."
"Well isn't that a bit rude?" Conner asked, turning the tables and lessening the distance between them. Tim had to duck his head to the side a bit to deflect and keep their lips from brushing. "You know all about me, but I know nothing about you."
"I'm sure we can make it work." This was bad. Down below, Tim could see sirens going off; if Conner heard the police talking about a mysterious Catlad, he'd put two and two together and turn him in. And that couldn't happen.
He did the only thing he knew would completely shock the hero, and closed the distance between them quickly, pushing his tongue into the other's mouth fiercely. He gripped Conner's shoulders with both of his hands hard enough to bruise and surged forward, making sure that every part of them that could touch was.
Conner stiffened, his hold tightening to a bruising power, before letting go completely. Tim chose that moment to push off, slipping through the air like a bird. He heard Superboy shout and begin to fly after him, and pulled his cat-ear goggles over his eyes so he could bullet himself down towards Gotham. The wind screamed in his ears, and he had to remind himself not to let the sack slip out from underneath his belt.
He scanned the ground calmly for any sort of item to help him not fall to his death, and found himself ricocheted off a particularly strong gust of wind towards a construction site. It was only a few blocks from his apartment. With a burst of speed he dove past a crane, grabbing onto a thick metal cord hanging from it and swinging back into the air.
Narrowly missing being recaptured by Superboy, he twisted midair to avoid the arms attempting to nab him. His shoulder made a popping noise under the pressure, but adrenaline kept it from hurting.
"I'm trying to help you!" Conner shouted, but to empty air. Tim was gone, having grabbed a rope hanging from the construction to swing into the shadows. He was now perched on a windowsill, Conner's back to him, one leg swinging in the air and the other bent so he could rest his chin on his knee.
He watched Superboy try and listen for him, but that wouldn't work either; Tim was quiet. Quiet enough that his suit actually masked his heartbeat. He wouldn't be discovered again. Conner looked for him for another few minutes before flying away. Tim watched him leave, before looking down at his iPhone. He'd swiped it from a random passerby a few days ago. It was addicting.
He went to the page everyone—everyone being the other criminals who went bump in the night—had been talking about, whispering about. The page that Tim knew for a fact not Robin, not Nightwing, not even Batman could hack. Across the screen, white font on black background, were the words The Night Circus. Underneath, in crooked handwriting, was: The world is Our Stage. Gotham is our opening act.
He typed in a username and password and began scrolling through the message board. Most of it had planned targets for mercenaries, but there were also random addresses or names that people wanted hit. At the top left was a meeting place and a time. At the top right was a countdown clock.
That's what all the hype was about—no one knew what it was counting down to. It was supposed to be discussed at the next meeting. Tim had only been to three of them. Most of the attending were members of the administration of the site, also known as Crawlers. The remaining few were people like Tim, with no money and little help, and zero faith that they had good things headed their way; people who were smarter than the average criminal. Selina had been invited, and sent him in her stead.
The next meeting was in less than twenty minutes. It was nearby, underground in the gruesome, muddy depths of Gotham. Tim shut off the phone and dropped it from the window, listening to it crash against the ground and break before sliding down a drainpipe to the ground. He walked until he found a gutter grate and carefully popped it up from the ground, slipping down into the murky darkness.
Muddy water rushed a couple inches past his ankles, making his feet wet and cold. Grime stuck to his hands as he felt the dirty brick wall for balance. The only light in the tunnel was coming in through the various storm drains.
Something cold and round pressed into the back of his skull. Instinctively he stepped aside and found himself once again between Red Hood and a hard place. His back scraped uncomfortably against the grimy bricks as he flattened himself against the wall.
"Looks like my favorite kitty finally came out to play. I was beginning to wonder if you were dead." Jason leaned in and cupped Tim's jaw, pressing his fingers against the neck of the leather suit firmly.
"Leave me alone, Red." Tim tried to sidestep the criminal, but a hand slammed next to his head and prevented him from moving. Mud sprayed from the contact onto his cheek, and the water sloshed at their feet.
"Don't be so eager to brush me off, kid." Jason leaned in to Tim's ear. Tim expected some sort of vulgar comment, but instead the man whispered, "I have a feeling we're both here for the same reason."
No. No no. Jason was not a part of the Night Circus. No. Just…no.
"Oh? And what would that reason be?" Tim smiled coyly and brushed Jason's hand off of his cheek. In a sudden move of aggression, his wrists were pinned against the bricks above his head.
"Don't play with me, Kitty. I'm not in the mood."
"Oh," Tim made his voice bored sounding, "Wow, Jay. Never thought I'd see the day you didn't want to play with me. You dying?" He asked it jokingly, but when Jason's expression didn't change, he began to worry. He slid his leg up and down the man's and pressed their bodies together. To anyone passing them to get to the meeting, they'd look like two vigilantes getting it on. But with Tim's hands pinned above him, and unable to move side to side, it was the only way he could check for injuries.
His thigh brushed against a slick spot, and he pulled it back to see blood soaking Jason's hipbone. Said vigilante gritted his teeth in pain.
"You got shot." Tim said bluntly. "Thought you said Bats couldn't get shot?"
"Yeah, well. It's kind of in the job description." Jason released Tim's leather-wrapped wrists to lean heavily on the wall. "I'm. Fine."
"No. You're not." Tim shot back. He reached down and pushed his thumb into the wound, both to increase the level of pain it caused and to staunch the bleeding. "Why do you want to go to the Circus anyway?"
"Because," Jason grunted. "You give them your address today. And then they send the new meeting information by hand." He eyed Tim wearily. "You are in the Circus aren't you, kitty?"
"Of course I am." Tim replies. He's never been fond of giving straight answers, but he respected Jason. Hated him, but respected him. Given the circumstances, they would protect each other if one of them got hurt. Sometimes Tim would even back him up in different gun rallies, if asked. And in return, Jason never got in his way after a robbery.
He pushed Jason up and supported him, walking him away from the meeting. He still had fifteen minutes to get there, give or take a few.
"Where're you taking me?" Jason slurred as blood began to soak the jeans to down to his knee. He more weight on Tim, who struggled slightly. He'd been trained for leaping in the air and landing without fault, for contortion of the limbs and flexibility and balance. None of the Batkids, save Dick, would be able to sprint across a telephone wire if they had to; Tim could do it in his sleep (given if he wore the right shoes). But he was not muscle trained, not prepared to carry a six foot, two hundred plus pound man up a ladder and to said man's compact apartment.
"I'll put down your address myself. You look like you're ready to pass out." He suddenly wished that he hadn't dropped his phone to its untimely demise, and then remembered that Jason carried a communicator with him. It was the only reason why Bruce was okay with letting the ex-Robin run around without visiting the cave.
Tim reached into Jason's back pocket without hesitation and grabbed the comm., pulling it out. It was black and gray, with a button at the top. Tim pressed it and it began to blink red.
"Jay?" Dick's voice was barely discernible over the static. Jason really needed to update his gear, ASAP.
"Guess again, circus boy." Tim spoke in a sultry voice only he and Selina could pull off.
"T-Tim? Where's Jason? Is he hurt?"
"Calm a little, Nightwing. Pick up Red on the corner of Madison and 5th." It was nearby, only a few blocks away. Safe and far enough that Dick wouldn't find out about the Circus.
Jason muttered a few curses under his breath Tim's way. There was also quite a few 'dick's but whether it was a reference to a name or an insult was unclear. He was nearly passed out from his bullet wound, and sweat dripped from his forehead. Catlad hissed in exertion as he pulled Red Hood over his shoulder and began to make his way up the metal rungs to the gutter grate he'd entered through.
Carrying Jason while making sure his leather bag didn't snag on anything and fall out was brutal grunt work. Tim's muscles felt like they were being torn apart, and he closed his eyes and prayed that no one saw them.
"Better start working out more, kitty." Jason mumbled, half-conscious as his head lolled around freely. Tim felt a hand on his ass and stiffened, forcing himself not to react.
"You're heavy." Tim gasped out, finally making it to the last rung. He pushed up on the grate and managed to haul Jason out first before climbing out after him. He stood up and stretched a little, raindrops beginning to fall from the dark, stormy night sky.
"You made it." Jason said, from his face-down position on the pavement.
"You sound surprised." Tim replied, pulling Jason's weight back onto himself again and lifting them both. He began the small trek back to Madison St.
By the time Dick showed up, Tim was late for the meeting by ten minutes. Jason was delirious, non-stop talking about the Night Circus and the meeting they both had to get to. Half of what he said couldn't be understood because of how unclearly he spoke and how slurred his words were. Rain pelted down on them both and the Catlad suit, while leather, did not do much in terms of warmth and comfort. The fabric stuck uncomfortably to Tim's legs, rubbing his skin raw in all the wrong places.
"Wow. You look like you've had a long night." That was the only reason why Tim knew Dick was there before seeing him. A hand fell down on his soaked back, sliding up to ruffle wet locks of black hair. Then Nightwing approached his long-lost brother, picking Hood up by slinging the man's arm over his shoulders, and waited while staring at Tim. "Aren't you going to help?" He asked, when Tim didn't move.
"No." Tim said, backing away slightly as Dick took a step forward. "I have better places to be than with you and Hood." Plus, if he visited the mansion, Damian would be there. And he just didn't have it in him to fight hardcore at the moment.
"C'mon, Tim." Dick said, looking at the younger teen through a worried expression. "Let us take care of you, just for one night. You're too thin. And being out here with Jay proves that you haven't been getting enough sleep."
"I'm not welcome—" Tim began, remembering his first—and last—visit. He'd been stabbed, and Dick had carried him 'home' without permission. Tim had tried to slip out the moment he'd woken up and was promptly attacked by Robin, who was unaware of the sustained injuries.
"Bull." Dick said. "I'm not asking you to stop being Catlad, I'm just asking you to give us the peace of mind of your safety. Please, Tim. It's killing me to see you like this."
"You don't care about me." Tim replied harshly. "So stop acting like you do." He slipped into the shadows before Dick could protest, determined to make it to the meeting before it ended. Faster than even he could process he was lowering himself back down the gutter grate and through the square tunnel. It took him three minutes to get to the meeting, and he had to clench his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering.
Red X, a fellow crook, nodded in Tim's direction as he walked into the cave-like arena. Only one of the thirteen Crawlers was present, a boy with dark brown hair and olive skin. His thick mask was like that of a porcelain doll, save for one fact: it was shattered. The eyes were covered with reflective black glass and the mouth was closed, yet it was obvious the boy could speak and see as if they weren't there.
His unnatural gaze followed Tim's every move, but he didn't pause or otherwise recognize the new arrival. "We may be few," His voice rang out across the crowd of thirty-something men and women. "But we are strong. This is our city, and while he may have been raised in darkness, we were born in it." He spoke fiercely, with such a fire in his tone that everyone became captivated with it. Suddenly, the volume of his voice dropped to a near whisper. "We can defeat him. But he has allies. And they make him strong."
Heads were bobbing up and down, nodding as the Crawler spoke. Murmurs of "Robin", "Batgirl", and even a few, "Red Hood"s were heard, and the Crawler spoke up to be heard once more.
"We hit them hard. We hit them home. We will take each pillar upon which the Dark Knight stands, and we will break it in our fists like sand. But you must dedicate yourself. If you want our city to be free, you have to do as we say." The Crawler brushed dirty fingers against his mask. "We must have your complete and utter trust, and you must have ours. Because we cannot outthink him, and so we must kill him before he has the chance to with no room for error. All our guns, in one night."
"What night?!" A girl with long, silver hair called from Tim's left. She had on a completely black body suit, with gold lines running down her back. In her hands were gold nunchucks. He'd only met her once; she was called Gambit.
"Soon." The Crawler called out. "Soon, this city will be ours!" He raised a fist in the air and roared, and the crowd soon followed. Many looked excited, and as a clipboard went around with names and addresses, Tim found himself writing down two locations. One was an alley with loose bricks, and then the construction site was the second. He scrawled down Jason's name next to the first location, and his own below it.
Passing on the clipboard and slipping into the darkness, he tried to get the nerve-wracking sounds of the shouting crowd out of his mind. They'd acted like animals back there, entranced and ravenous, full of rage and anger that couldn't be controlled. He wanted to take back his city, of course, but…could that really be done if Batman wasn't there too? If there was nothing keeping people in check, they could and would do cruel, unimaginable things.
Yes, he told himself. Batman wasn't ever there to help you. The so-called Knight of Gotham failed, and the thieves and criminals took me in like their son and gave me life. No one here is evil. They deserve this city. Even so, he wasn't so sure.
He ran down the tunnel, the water running up mid-calf and slapping in waves against his knees. The rungs of the built-in ladder were slippery from algae and rainwater. His fingers gripped them tightly, but he had to be careful not to misstep his feet and end up dangling from them.
He pushed hard against the grate, and began to reach for the edge of the hole when his feet slid out from the rung beneath him. His hand struggled to find something above surface to grab hold of, and his gloves became rugged as he did so. The hand still on the last rung jolted out at an awkward angle and he cried out while falling back, hearing a distinct snap! as pain shot through his shoulder and arm. Forcing himself not to scream, he continued to put weight on the arm now trapped and mangled in the rungs to put his feet back on the ladder.
He didn't care if he slipped any more. Freeing his arm and cradling it to his chest, he used the rest of his energy to jump out of the grate and onto the cold hard ground. The grate was moved back into place by his foot, which he used to push himself into the shadows.
The leather glove was stripped off, revealing angry bruised skin that had just begun to swell. Tim prodded his other hand's fingers against it gently, trying to feel for a break. He heaved a sigh of relief when he found none. It was just twisted or sprained, then.
Rain pelted down, and the sky was so dark it felt like the entire city was coated in a thick layer of ink. Tim slunk along the side of the alley to avoid running into any thugs, glad that at least he'd remembered to bring the waterproof bag this time: otherwise, the painting would be ruined.
"Found you!" Tim was shoved up against the alley wall, his head contacting with the bricks in a loud crack! He kicked and struggled, but a forearm pinned itself to his chest and kept him from moving too much. He ended up kicking what must have been a leg, but felt like a steel pole.
"What the hell?!" He cried, his good arm grappling at the one at his chest and his bad arm hanging lifelessly from his body.
"Not so calm now that you're caught, huh?" The stranger held up a flashlight, revealing Superboy's unimpressed face. He watched Tim through steady blue eyes, rainwater dripping from black hair to a pale face. "You must think you're so clever, tricking me. Running around Gotham like you're all that."
Jesus. He'd found out about the robbery, then. Tim closed his eyes when his vision began to swim, wondering how he'd been caught. Suddenly, he remembered: he'd taken off his glove: Conner probably heard a heartbeat pop up out of nowhere and assumed who it was. I'm wet, my arm hurts, and now my head hurts too. I don't think I'm 'all that'. I just want to go home. Tim whined in the back of his throat and fell limp, realizing he was fighting a losing battle. Rain made his body slick and freezing, His teeth began to chatter, and he purposely made himself look smaller, less like Catlad and more like Tim Drake.
"Please. You think you can just chatter your teeth and I'll take pity on you?" Conner laughed sarcastically. "I'm tired. You're tired. Just give me what you stole and we can go our separate ways."
"Ever heard of finders keepers?" Tim murmured weakly in reply. Mud clung to his lithe frame, masking the black leather with a mucky brown. "What's mine is mine, Kent." The Flashlight hit the ground and flipped off.
Hands of steel drew him away from the wall, lifting him several inches from the ground. Conner began to walk towards the construction site, towards the light. Tim struggled, knowing that he probably didn't look his best and not wanting pity from the hero.
"Jeez," Conner frowned, moving Tim around in his arms like a doll to observe him. "What meat grinder have you been through?"
"Nice to know you care." Tim wiggled a little. "Now, mind putting me down?"
Conner set him down on the ground, but didn't let him go. He pulled them both underneath the construction, trying to get them out of the rain. "You didn't act like a criminal when I caught you. Why?"
"Maybe I'm not a criminal." Tim stopped wiggling, and when he didn't make any other attempts at escape Conner released him. "Maybe I'm not a bad guy, ever think about that?"
"But you're—" Superboy stopped momentarily, eyes drifting beneath Tim's face. "You're injured." He said flatly.
Tim moved his bad arm behind his back and growled. "No. I'm not. What do you want?"
"What you stole." Conner said, and held out his hand. "Give me the necklace."
The necklace? That's all he's after? Maybe he doesn't know about everything else that was stolen. That wouldn't be a problem at all. Tim could just nab something for Selina later. Besides, she liked pearls better anyway. "Sure." Tim reached behind him and felt the bag being pulled out before he could get it.
"Oh, you wanted this?" Tim rolled his eyes and turned around. Damian held the bag up with narrow eyes. "Nice try, thief. I'll beat you to a pulp!"
"Yeah." Tim pulled his glove on behind his back to hide the injury before crossing his arms. "You do that." He backed up as Robin snarled.
"At least I don't run like a coward!"
"From someone trying to kill me?" Tim snorted. "That doesn't make me a coward. It makes me smart." He backed up past Superboy, until he was halfway into the shadows. His leather suit was an uncomfortable mix between wet and dry, and he just wanted to go home at this point.
"Who are you?" Damian demanded, glaring at Conner. Tim slipped into the shadows completely, running underneath the wooden panel that he'd left the two on and flipping back up and behind the latest Robin. "You don't look like Superman."
"I'm not anything like him!" Conner exclaimed angrily, putting his hands on his hips. "Why are you after Catlad?!" Oh, so now Superboy knew his name? Great. Tim groaned inwardly. Why did he always have the worst luck when it came to running into people?
He exchanged the leather sack Damian clutched for an empty one before the little demon could realize the switch had even occurred. Retrieving the necklace, he tossed it to Conner before facing the Boy Wonder.
Once upon a time, Tim had dreamed about becoming Batman's partner. Fighting for the law, not being treated like trash, but most of all, being able to rely in someone he knew would never betray him sounded more appealing than all the money in the world.
And then he'd been put in the foster system, and that dream went down the drain faster than Tim could blink. There was no true justice, only suppressed chaos. And Gotham? Gotham was the worst of all. It was practically bursting at the seams with crime, and only Batman and Robin, and later, Nightwing, Batgirl, and Red Hood could ever instill fear into the dark-hearted community.
He remembered Selina helping Batman sometimes. Maybe…maybe, just this once, he could do the same. He pulled out the bloody batarang and tossed it to Damian meaningfully.
"What is this?" The boy asked, scowling as he pocketed the weapon. "Why do you have it?"
"Tell Bruce the Circus is in town." Tim replied. His voice was coy and sly, and dripped with the sound of a secret. "And that he better get ready. Because it's a one night act, and the show's coming to him."
With that, he flipped into the darkness.
"Dude, seriously, how does he keep doing that?!" Conner exclaimed in the background. Damian swore and stomped on the ground a little.
But Tim didn't care. He ran into the night, now only carrying the wallets and the painting. He wired a sleek black motorcycle and hesitated before deciding to steer one-handed, the other cradled in his lap. Just get as far away from them as you can. The machine hummed underneath him, vibrating as it came to life.
He drove for fifteen minutes and stopped in front of a dark little house. It had robin's egg paint recently coated, and a white-wood porch. Tim stepped up and gently set the bag with the painting on the doorstep. He blinked down at the beautiful artwork before walking back to the motorcycle. Rain dripped down from the sky in a light drizzle now, as fog rolled into the city.
He heard a gentle flapping behind him, and turned with a knowing smile. "How long have you been following me?"
Batman walked up to him, footsteps making no noise. Tim threw one leg over his stolen ride, and the Dark Knight paused to speak. "You should get that wrist looked at."
"You should really learn to control Robin more." Tim sighed. "I figured I'd see you when he popped up. Didn't know you'd follow me, though. I assume you heard my warning?"
Bruce didn't say anything, just growled. Tim rolled his eyes.
"Well, heed it." He got ready to leave.
"You're better than them." Bruce said finally. He was talking about the Crawlers. Stop saying that, Bruce. You know that I stopped believing in you long ago; don't make me start again. Stop treating me like I'm worth something.
"I know." Tim replied. "Sometimes I wish I wasn't."
With that, he drove away.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO XOXOXOXO
It was three in the morning, and Catlad was sitting on the top of a skyscraper. The soles of his boots were made of a special sticky material that clung to the glass and kept him from falling. A black cat lounged sleepily in his lap, rubbed dry using a thin blanket that now served as a means to shield the rain. Two weeks had passed since the last Crawlers meeting. Two weeks since he'd had his first face-to-face with Conner, and his unfortunate run-in with the demon.
In his hand, he held up a sapphire. It was large, the size of an egg, and cut perfectly so that when lightning struck it illuminated beautifully. He'd already dropped off its twin at Selina's, deciding to keep one for himself.
The sound of shoes hitting glass made him turn.
"You never really took me as a cat person. Guess I was wrong." Conner sat down next to him. "That jewel's really pretty. Too bad you won't get to keep it."
Well, if he only knew about the sapphire, then maybe Tim could get away with the rubies and emeralds…
"Yeah. And neither will you." He looked up at the precious gem one last time before letting it go. It hit the slanting glass of the building and bounced once, letting out a shrill, bell-like ring before ricocheting into the air. "Fetch."
Conner swore. Tim smirked, expecting the teen to vault after it, and was surprised when a muscled arm wrapped around his waist and brought him along for the ride. He shouted when Superboy launched them both off of the building into a dead drop.
He tried to push against the well-toned chest, but found himself pinned to it with his hands trapped between them. "Let me go!" He ordered, wriggling.
"Keep struggling and I'll drop you." Conner threatened, his other arm reaching out to grab the sapphire, which was hurtling towards the ground. With a burst of speed he caught it, and Tim felt the arm digging into his chest bruise his ribs as Superboy flew back up without pausing.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Tim yelled, wheezing slightly, when Conner flew them to a rooftop. He backed away with an arm holding his aching stomach. Damn, my ribs feel like they're on fire! "Are you trying to kill me or something?!"
"What are you even talking about?" Conner shouted back, scowling. "I couldn't just let you get away!"
"That's not what I'm talking about!" Tim exclaimed, his hostility moving him to step up to Conner and poke him in the chest with his pointer finger. His eyes narrowed angrily. "You didn't slow down at all when you grabbed the sapphire! You went straight fucking up! It feels like I got hit by a fucking truck!" Tim was mad, and that didn't happen often. But something about the Titan grated on his nerves.
"Oh, I'm so sorry I didn't put your needs first!" Conner snarled. "Oh. Wait. I'm not. You're a criminal! And in case you didn't notice, it was either go straight up or hit the ground. So maybe you should be thanking me, because I just saved your life!"
"You were the one who dragged me down with you in the first place!" Tim hissed. "And that's so easy for you to say, calling me a criminal. Maybe I am, but at least I earn what I eat! Everything's paid for you by your friends!"
"And that makes it okay for you to steal?" Conner threw his hands up angrily. "I don't even know why I'm arguing with you! I should just knock you out and take you to the police!"
Tim's eyes widened and he took a step back fearfully. "You wouldn't."
"Oh?" Conner fulminated. "And what's stopping me? You?"
A dead silence fell between them. Tim was shaking slightly; never had it occurred to him that he would be put in jail. Selina told him that as long as he didn't hurt anyone, as long as he didn't kill, Batman wouldn't turn him in. She told him that as long as he followed a strict, albeit skewed, moral code…but Superboy wasn't a Bat. There was nothing stopping him. Why is he even in Gotham? That's what I'd like to know. And why the hell hasn't Bruce done anything to kick him out?
"That's what I thought." Conner said bitterly, and turned away. "I better not catch you again, Drake." He flew off of the roof.
Tim shook visibly, stumbling into the corner and sitting down. "Oh my god." He whispered. How does he—x-ray. He used his x-ray vision! He hated it when people with powers did that. Used their abilities to invade other peoples' privacy, find out their identities without asking for any sort of permission. It was like they were reminding Tim how much stronger they were, reminding Tim how weak he was compared to them, how defenseless when he didn't have the money nor time to create defenses against them.
He snarled and punched the brick floor. "DAMN IT!" He roared. He didn't need this right now! His stomach growled, reminding him that the last thing he'd eaten was a power bar more than ten hours ago.
He fingered the jewels in his pocket and stood up. Screw Conner, because Tim wasn't going to let a meta tell him what to do. So, determined to make enough to actually go grocery shopping, enough to actually need a cart for all the food, he flipped his way down to the ground and ran to the meeting point the new jeweler in town gave.
"You're late." The jeweler turned to him, but his voice wasn't harsh. Tim smirked and forced the adrenaline to stop pumping through his body, acting as if nothing had happened.
"I had a little…business to attend to." He said, pressing himself up against the man's chest and leaning into him. "So, what brings you to this neck of the woods?"
A blush spread over the man's pale, freckled complexion. "I-I heard from a friend that you sell goods for cheap."
"Depends on the goods I'm selling," Tim whispered voluptuously. Reaching around his back, he pulled out the jewels and placed them in the man's hand, curling the skinny fingers around them. "Lucky for you, I'm feeling generous."
The man's eyes widened to a comical proportion, his mouth opening and closing in a way that reminded Tim of a goldfish. "W-Where did you get these?"
"You like them?" Tim stepped back a little. "I picked out only the best for you, Mr. Business Man."
"But I don't have enough—"
"Consider it paid." Tim lifted his hand, revealing several fifties. You're lucky I'm not hungrier. He was an expert pickpocket, otherwise he'd never get paid in full. The man's hand flew to his pocket.
"You didn't take all of it!" The jeweler sounded surprised.
"As long as you stay a returning customer." Tim said, taking another few steps back. "Take my advice—don't open up shop 'til you get a few guns. Not everyone's as benevolent as I am." He flipped into the darkness more than a few bucks richer.
Now I just have to find out how Conner knows my name. He thought, running along the network of narrow streets before picking a roof and climbing up to it. He stood on the edge, watching the city below.
Hopefully, the Jeweler would take his advice. Tim had done some research on the guy before confronting him—came from a middle class family, but his wife got cancer and they lost their money paying for the medical bills. She died, and he was left completely broke. The man needed the money, and needed a business that could make him that money. So Tim…helped.
"Jason's fine, if you're wondering."
The anger Conner had instilled returned. "Why the hell are you letting a meta run around Gotham?! What is Bruce thinking!" Tim fumed, whipping around. The rain slowly let up, leaving a cold silence in it's wake. Nightwing was leaning against the door to the roof, frowning for once.
"You must have met Superboy, then." He deducted. "Look, B isn't happy about it either. Actually, I don't think anyone's happy about it. But you know how metas are—not knowing how to use their full potential and whatnot."
"So you're saying…you're training him? Isn't he already with the Titans?" Tim snarled. "You know what? Whatever. Just tell him to stay the hell away from me!" He winced as his chest began to hurt. Conner had most definitely bruised a few of his ribs.
"Are you okay?" Dick asked, watching the thief wobble slightly and stepping forward. Tim raised his hand to ward him off.
I'm fine. Go away. "Ask Conner." Around them, the distant sound of police sirens echoed in the alleyways. Nightwing frowned.
"I thought he was back at the cave." The distance between them became nonexistent as Dick lowered Tim into a sitting position and began palming his ribs. "What happened?"
"Ask. Conner." Tim repeated, slapping the hands away. As thunder and lighting clapped the sky, he tucked his legs up to his chest to keep Dick from trying to feel out the injury.
"Fine." Dick relented. Just—" He sighed, before digging into the pocket of his Nightwing suit and pulling out a power bar. He tossed it into Tim's lap. "Eat this. You're too skinny for a kid your age. I'll talk to Conner about leaving you alone, okay?"
Tim stared at the power bar for a split second before nodding and peeling away the wrapper. "Thanks." He mumbled and took a bite of the food. Quiet steps told him of Nightwing's departure.
It was only when he confirmed that no one was nearby that he proceeded to shove the entire power bar into his mouth. His stomach growled loudly as he wolfed it down. Maybe I should get something quick before calling it a night… He balled up the wrapper and put it in one of his utility belt pockets and made his way off of the roof. Padding down the alleyway, he made his way out of the slums and into the more populated part of Gotham.
This was more of Batman and Robin's territory, but Tim didn't have to worry about them; there was a planned robbery more than twenty blocks away that Red X was involved in that was going to take place in fifteen minutes. They were going to be gone for more than a little while dealing with that.
Tim also didn't have to worry about the policemen. He was in the lower middle class area, which was nice enough not to be the slums but quiet enough since there were no places to effectively steal from.
So, not without a few strange looks, he walked into the closest restaurant. It was a small space, hot and humid as cooking fumes blew in through the kitchen from behind the register. Everything was in Chinese—lucky for Tim, who had learned enough of it from the public library to make out what the menu said.
"I'll have number 27," He told the nonplussed Asian at the counter. When the kid didn't do anything, just gaped, Tim snapped, "Sometime before next week, if that's possible."
The kid blinked and tapped in the order. "I'm assuming it's, uh, take out?"
Tim smirked. "Oh? You want me gone so soon?" He trailed his hands along the edge of the counter, hiding a giggle as the kid blushed and tried not to look directly at him.
"S-so then for here?" He stammered.
"Nah, I'm just playing with you. To go, please." Tim pulled out a fifty and received the change from trembling hands.
"I'll be back with your order in a sec." The kid told him, before darting into the kitchen. Tim rolled his eyes, just glad to be out of the rain. Even if it was so moist in the room that sweat rolled down the side of his face.
"And I'm telling you, they're screwed." He turned to listen to the conversation nearby. Three men in leather jackets and sunglasses were laughing over a couple of beers and noodles. "The Bats little demon is finished."
Every muscle in Tim's body tensed, and he leaned forward to hear better. When it did nothing, he sighed and walked with a practiced hip-wave to the table and slid in next to one of the men. "Oh? I would love to hear about that."
"Why?" The man next to him asked wearily. "You a bat?" He eyed Tim's getup with a critical, menacing eyebrow.
"Do I look like a Bat? No." Tim shrugged nonchalantly and leaned back in his seat. "You might say we have clashing moral codes."
"Well…"
"I could also kick your ass if I need to." Tim pulled out and began flicking a butterfly knife through his fingers without looking at it, as if it were a toy. He relished in the sweat that beaded at their foreheads. Like I would actually hurt you.
"A few of the guys from what'sit—some sort of underground vendetta against the bats—they got impatient." The men grinned as their friend spoke. "So they got this guy to be at this robbery that knows how to kill—"
"I know him." Tim muttered. Deathstroke. It had to be Deathstroke. No other man would take on a member of the Batclan and make it out unscathed.
"—Yeah, well, they'll be there. One of the guys checkin' out the place says Bats let the kid go solo tonight."
Tim's blood turned to ice. He left the table without a word, abandoning his order and the men yelling after him and rushed out of the shop. I have ten minutes tops. God…Damian so owes me for this. He glanced around the street. The rain had stopped, leaving the pavement glittery and bad smelling.
He spotted a moped across the way. It wasn't his usual ride, but he didn't have time to be picky…especially with Gotham's random traffic—even in the middle of the night. He jogged over to it and hotwired it, then zipped away.
He got six blocks away when the traffic jam started. Swearing loudly, adrenaline rushed through his system as he mounted the sidewalk with a bump and went even faster. Four minutes… He hoped he got there in time.
Wait. Shit. Robin would be on the roof, above the bank, not walking up to it. He'd have to find some way to get to the roofs without being seen. Well, I guess that's what my training's for. He jumped off of the moped a block away from the bank and began climbing the nearest drainpipe, ignoring the pain emanating from his bruised ribs. His fingers felt ice-cold and crushed, and his wrist still hurt a little. Hunger made him dizzy, but he would be damned if he let Robin get killed tonight.
He got to the roof just in time to see what was happening. Robin was jumping onto the glass roof of the bank. Deathstroke, two rooftops away, had a gun in hand, and it was aimed directly at the jumping boy.
His body moved before his mind could. Legs pumping underneath him, he shot through the air like a bullet, grabbing onto Damian midair and covering him as best he could. He felt Damian swear and wriggle, green cape flapping loudly in the wind, but didn't let go.
Heat pooled into his shoulder, which was blocking Robin's head. It felt more like a bad bug bite than a piece of metal puncturing his skin. If Tim had moved one second later, Robin would be dead. He took most of the impact as they hit the glass and literally bounced off of it, rolling. Damian pushed him away, obviously unaware of what happened, and Tim didn't have the stamina to do anything other than feel the strange experience of falling without being able to do anything about it.
He closed his eyes and let darkness overtake him.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
"—to the Cave—"
"—before he bleeds out—"
"—could've died—"
Tim was mildly aware of the fact that he was being carried. Strong arms held him like he was some sort of fragile creature, afraid to damage him. Pain coursed through his shoulder in waves. He tried to say something, but it came out as more of an elegant "Aghhrghfuck."
"Catlad?"
No. Tim opened his eyes just a sliver. Conner blinked down at him, expression worried.
"Catlad?" The Titan asked again, and Tim didn't say anything. Just stared back up, enthralled with how flawless the person holding him was. Conner had smooth, cream-colored skin and soft black hair that reminded him of Eric from The Little Mermaid, if not a little shorter. His eyes were a dazzling sapphire blue, framed by thick eyelashes.
God, how had he not seen that the first time they'd met? He opened his mouth to say that and then realized that the meta probably hated him, and closed it again.
Wait. No. This is Conner Kent. The guy basically trying to ruin my life. Tim tried to struggle, but nothing happened. His entire body felt numb.
"Uh, hey, I'm gonna take you back to the cave now. Okay?"
No. Not back to the cave. Not okay. "No—" Tim was cut off when Superboy flew at superspeed into the air, talking all the while.
"Robin's okay. Nightwing found me before it all happened and was talking to me about leaving the cave and I heard the gunshot. You also have a dislocated shoulder, but I caught you before you could hit the ground." He didn't pause for a breath as he spoke, eyes looking out at the cloudy sky. "Red Hood's pissed, though. At you, of course, but also at Batman for letting Robin go out alone. Nightwing's just really worried. He's helping Robin and Hood with Deathstroke and Red X. He wanted to take you, but I could take you faster."
Wait, so Conner had volunteered to take Tim back? Why?
"We're here." Well that was fast. Tim tried to make out the blurs around Conner's head and failed, but the inky blackness suggested the cave. He heard Alfred in the background instructing Conner to set him down.
"You have been through quite a night, Master Timothy." I'm not your master, Alfred. Stop talking to me like I am. Alfred was probably the only adult besides Selina that Tim trusted. Yes, the man worked with Bruce and the rest of the Bats, but there was just no way he could ever be anything less than kind and helpful. And god, his cookies were to die for. At least the ones Jason snagged him were.
"Yeah." Tim muttered as Conner grabbed him by the ribcage and put him into a sitting position.
"Hold on, man. This might hurt a—" He popped Tim's shoulder back into place quickly and effectively. Said Cat gave a sharp cry of pain and jolted, moving instinctively to escape, but was stopped by Conner pinning him down. "—Little."
"Please turn Master Timothy to his back." Alfred commanded, taking over. Tim felt his body being rolled so his chest was pressed against the smooth metal cot. Feather-light touches grazed his shoulder, sending flares of pain down his spine.
"Wow. That looks—" Conner was suddenly aware of the two pairs of eyes, one annoyed and one disapproving, staring him down. "—uh, not that bad."
"Yeah." Tim muttered. "Sure." He watched Conner blush in shame and look the other direction. "Just get it out. Please." The last word came out a whimper as he squeezed his eyes shut in pain. He felt scissors begin to cut around his shoulder at the leather of his costume, peeling it back like it was a second skin.
"Please bear with me, Young Sir." Alfred said as he began to use a thin surgical knife and tongs to dislodge the bullet.
"Tell me what's going on." Tim spoke through gritted teeth.
"I would not advise—"
"Tell me." Tims fingers gripped the cool edge of the cot. "Please."
Alfred made a noise of discontent in the back of his throat, but did as he was asked. "The bullet appears to have been stopped partly by your suit, sir, and remained in one piece. However, it has entered itself into your shoulder just enough so to become lodged quite well."
"Which muscles?"
"Trapezius, I'm afraid."
Tim sagged in relief, despite the throbbing pain in his shoulder. There were very few parts of his suit lined Kevlar, and one of those parts was by his Trapezius. He'd gotten grazed by a bullet there one of his first days out as Catlad, spurring the new protection.
"Woah, are you okay? You look ready to pass out—"
"I'm getting a bullet pulled out of my shoulder. Not all of us are superhuman." Tim ground out as Alfred succeeded in removing the bullet, a burning, wet sensation taking its place. He felt a cold cloth rub away the blood, and then Alfred as he began to stitch the hole shut. In comparison to how it felt getting the bullet taken out, it barely hurt at all.
"There is a spare set of cloths on the chair nearby, Master Timothy. I will be in the kitchen, if you need me." Alfred finished up the procedure and walked calmly out of the cave, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.
"So." Tim turned and saw Conner speaking, eyes back on the thief. "Why'd you do it?" He grinned, like he already knew what the answer was.
"Because." Tim replied stubbornly, forcing himself not to wince as he sat back up and swung his legs over the side of the cot. He eyed the spare cloths and decided better than to put them on. What if they had a tracker on them? "If he died, Batman would go after me." Or Nightwing. Or Red Hood. Or maybe even Alfred. Tim shuddered at the thought.
"No," Conner walked over and crossed his arms, looking down at Tim with an equal, if not greater stubbornness. "You could've died—actually, if I hadn't been there you would've died. You risked your life for a hero. Why?"
"I don't have to explain myself to you!" Tim snapped, looking the other direction with a thick blush. He frowned, eyes tracing the counter where the bloody bullet had been placed. "Why do you want to know, anyway?"
"Because," Conner leaned in so he could force Tim to look him in the eyes. "I think I can see why Nightwing and Hood care about you so much."
Care…? They don't care about me! They just act like they do because they feel guilty. Dick pities me, and Jason sees himself in me, that's all. "Yeah right. I'm a criminal." Tim narrowed his eyes and glared at the Titan. "Shouldn't you just knock me out and take me to jail?"
Conner frowned. "I…I didn't know you then."
"You don't know me now!" Tim yelled. "And why the hell would knowing me make any difference?!"
Conner failed to come up with a response. He looked down at Tim sadly. "Sorry, sorry. I'll give you some space. Just don't…leave. They really do care about you, and they just want to make sure you're okay." Before Tim could stop him, he flew out of the cave.
Tim groaned. Could this night get any worse?
"Where is he?!" Damian could be heard shouting from beyond the cave walls. "I don't care if he wants to see me or not! Tell me where he is!"
Yes. Yes it could.
He reached over to the counter, unable to stand without trembling, and groped for any sort of weapon. A pair of bloody scissors made its way into his hand, and he wielded it like a dagger as Robin entered the Batcave, Jason and Dick hot on his trail.
"What the hell were you thinking?" Jason barked out, pointing at Tim and ripping off his helmet. It clattered against the floor loudly. "Fuck, kid!" He rushed at Tim, who dropped the scissors in alarm and expected a blow to the head or something of the like. Jason looked ready to rip something apart—and that something was obviously Tim.
Instead, he felt arms wrap around him tightly. His face was pressed into the neck of a worn leather jacket, and a chin tucked itself over his head. He tried to move, but it was like being strapped to a boulder. Unmovable. Hands brushed over his stitches, and he twitched.
He could hear Dick telling Damian to stay back, before Jason pulled away. Dick dropped in front of Tim and, without asking, began to inspect every bit of the teen. He lifted arms and legs, and moved Tim's head side to side, fingers brushing over any places Tim couldn't stop him from reaching.
"He's fine." The vigilante breathed, backing up a little. His eyes were watery. "He's…He's okay." He seemed to be consoling himself more than his brothers. Damian pushed past the eldest, eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed.
"You saved my life." He said shortly. Tim stared at him, unsure of how to respond. "Thank you."
"You're welc—" Tim stopped talking as the boy reached up and hugged him tightly. It was so uncharacteristic of the kid that he stopped moving entirely, frozen even after Damian pulled away.
"You're still a criminal idiot."
"You're still a demon brat." Tim replied evenly. He began to stand up. "I'm leaving now. I shouldn't be here."
"Bullshit." Jason pushed him back down onto the cot. Out of all of the brothers, Tim had least expected it out of him. He glared.
"Let me leave." He said. "I don't want to be here." He attempted to stand again.
"Bullshit." Jason repeated, pushing him back down again. It was an awkward movement, since he was still getting over being shot in the hip. "We're not asking you to move in, kitty. But you need to take a second and see that there are three of us, and one of you. And you had a bullet stuck in your fucking shoulder. So if we say you're staying, you're staying."
Tim didn't know what to say. Part of his mind told him that they were just doing this because they felt responsible for what happened. A part of him—a small part—thought that maybe…maybe they just wanted to make sure he was okay.
"…Fine." He muttered, and Dick's mouth became a blinding grin.
"Awesome." He said. "Alfred's making cookies. So unless you need help changing, we'll be upstairs." When Damian made no move to leave, Dick leaned over and threw him over his shoulder.
"I'll follow in a sec. Gotta have a word with the kid." Jason said to his brothers. Tim watched the technically-criminal with distrust. As soon as Dick and Damian were gone, they turned to face each other.
"Look," Jason began. "I get why you saved the demon brat. They won't, but I do. I grew up on the streets, too; I know what it's like out there. And in Gotham? I'm surprised a pretty boy like you wasn't killed already. You don't trust adults—again, I've been there. But they—" He gestured to where Alfred, Dick, and Damian were. "They aren't just anyone. You can trust them. I mean, I've killed hundreds of people and they still took me back. So take it from me." Tim bit his lip.
"I—"
"Oh, and Conner's completely into you." Jason smirked at his blush. "Since the day you met, he won't shut up about you. He keeps asking me about you. Probably doesn't realize it yet, but he's head over heels." A pause. "It's fucking annoying." He moved to leave and Tim stopped him.
"Jason?" He said. The man turned his direction. "Thanks."
"Any time, kiddo." Jason grinned. "Any time."
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
For the first time in his life, Tim was full. Stuffed, even.
He sat at a real table, not a cardboard box and stacked books, with steaming mugs of real tea and honey. A massive pile of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies sat less than a foot away from him, filling the air with a delicious smell.
Dick sat to his right, trying to get him to eat another cookie. Damian sat to his left, not saying anything but watching for any signs of pain like a hawk. Jason sat directly across from him, leaning back and smirking as he watched his brothers fuss.
"I can't." He mumbled as Conner came in with another plateful of treats.
"You've had like three cookies!" Dick was astounded. "I eat at least ten in one sitting!"
"Yeah, well, I don't usually eat this much." Tim snapped, and the vigilante's eyes softened.
"I know, just…one more? Please?" Dick pushed the plate closer.
"I don't—" Tim sighed. "Fine." He took a bite from another one, stomach aching almost as much as his shoulder.
"I do not see how filling him with cookies will make him want to—" Jason covered Damian's mouth before he could finish his sentence. Tim stiffened. Make me want to…what? Is this—
Anger flooded through him. He stood up abruptly, his chair clattering to the floor. "Wait," He exclaimed, "You think you can just take me in and give me food and convert me? Make me into something I'm not? I thought you said that that wasn't why you helped me!" He glared at all of them, but it lingered on Jason. "And you! I expected this from them, but from you? I can't believe I trusted you!" He began to back up, ready to take his leave, when two hands clamped down on his shoulders.
"I'm sure this is some kind of misunderstanding. Right, boys?" Bruce said sharply, and Damian and Dick nodded. Jason tutted and stared out the window at the dark sky.
"Let me go." Tim struggled, and Bruce released him but didn't get out of the doorway.
"If it's okay with you, I'd like to thank the man who saved my son's life."
Tim hesitated before relenting, putting his chair back on its legs and sitting down. "Sorry." He apologized quietly, eyes boring holes into the table. He felt like a kid again—or at least, what he assumed a kid would've felt like. He didn't exactly get the average upbringing.
"Alfred tells me you have bruised ribs." Wow, Bruce. Way to start up the conversation. Tim rolled his eyes and grabbed another cookie despite himself.
"I got them a while ago. I'm surprised it's still noticeable." He took a bite of the cookie and chewed slowly. "Things have been quiet lately?"
"What did you mean by 'the Circus is coming'?" Damian interjected, ignoring his father's quiet grunt of warning.
Tim raised an eyebrow and took another bite, swallowing before he answered. Bruce's calm, collected atmosphere was doing wonders to dampen his bitter anger. "I meant it literally…Sort of. The Circus is coming." He caught eyes with Jason for a split second. They both turned away quickly, but not before Bruce caught on and rounded on his middle son.
"Jason?" He prompted. "You know something about this?"
"Not a lot." Jason scowled at Tim, but there was no real anger behind it. "I got shot the night I was going to start investigating…Tim found me and called Dick before I could. You know the rest."
"Where did he find you?" Bruce questioned.
"On Madison and—"
"No," Dick interrupted, sensing more to the answer than was told. "That's where I picked you up. Where did you and Tim actually meet?"
Conner hovered near the doorway, having delivered the plate of cookies and snagged a few as well. He looked like he didn't want to leave, but also felt severely uncomfortable with staying.
Tim waited with bated breath for Jason's answer.
"Like I said, on Madison and 5th." He replied stubbornly, and half the room relaxed instantly. His dark blue eyes stayed pinned on Tim, unflinching and strong.
"So…I'm going to leave now." Tim was slowly edging out of his chair for the second time that night. Bruce gazed at him, looking unsure of himself.
"Thank you for saving my son, Tim. I mean it. Thank you."
"And take these with you," Dick said, ziplocking the platefulls of cookies in one giant bag and not taking no for an answer. He still looked guilty about their 'misunderstanding', but not enough to say anything about it. Damian looked like he wanted to tackle Tim to keep him from leaving, but didn't follow through.
Tim already knew where he was going as he walked out of the dining room, heading through the massive clock to the Batcave, strolling around to the garage. As he'd suspected, there was a motorcycle with the keys already inserted waiting for him. A bag was strapped to the back of it, and he checked it carefully for tracking devices before swinging a leg over the bike and driving off. He had a feeling there was a long day ahead of him.
After all, he had a lot to think about.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
"Maybe there is something different about us." Tim said blandly, lying on his back as he stared up at the cloudy sky. He was on the roof of his apartment, an abandoned building with boarded windows. A dirty red t-shirt and torn jeans covered his legs and chest, and cracked sunglasses shielded his eyes.
"Yeah right." David Jones, the only other person inhabiting the apartments, said. He glanced over at Tim warningly. "Don't you dare ever think that you're better than anyone else."
David was, for his age, skinny and small but not fragile looking. His skin was unmarked, but had lost its innocent glow. He looked like a fifteen year old, but held himself like a man. He had dark blue eyes and black hair—there were a suspicious amount of people with those features in Gotham—and skin a few shades darker than Tim's.
Sitting in a small locked box an unknown location on his side of the building there was a compact Red X suit.
"I won't." Tim said. "And I don't. But…I mean, we don't kill. We don't even get close to it."
"We're thieves." David retaliated. "We don't need to. That doesn't make us different than any other criminals." He rubbed patterns in the dirt crusted onto the roof.
"Maybe that's not it then." Tim admitted. "But still, you have to admit. There's something different about us. Something that just doesn't let us…fit in."
"I always did like flying solo." David smirked.
"That's not what I heard last night."
Tim watched his friend's muscles tense through the corner of his narrowed eye.
"I don't know what happened last night." David confessed. "I didn't even tell anyone I was going to hit the bank, besides you. And you sure as hell didn't tell anyone."
"Well that didn't stop Deathstroke."
"Man, that guy is fucked up." They laughed. "Seriously, what drugs do they have him hopped up on that he'll go after the freaking Batman? Can I have some?" When Tim didn't respond, he kicked the ground loudly. "I'm sick of waiting for the Circus. They're messed up. You don't even know; at one of the meetings, they beat up some guy who got tracked by Nightwing. Beat him until he screamed."
Tim frowned. "I thought they were just trying to take back the city?"
"Yeah, well, what's stopping them from becoming the city? I hate the cops just as much as the next guy, and our government's as useless as a brick, but without them…there's no us. You get me?"
"Like Yin and Yang?" Tim asked sarcastically.
"Well, yeah. If you wanna get all philosophical on my ass, then sure. Whatever floats your boat." David said. "What I'm trying to say is, I don't think they're just gonna stop with 'taking back Gotham'. They're gonna try and dish out justice to whoever they think deserves it. Starting," He pointed lazily to the Wayne Mansion, a tiny speck of black against green in the distance, "With him."
"Like Batman would even let that happen." Tim said.
"Not like he'll have much of a choice, if the Circus' plan works out. If it does, there won't be a Batman. There won't be any heroes." David raised his hands up above his head, trying to block out the sun. Unlike Tim, he didn't have any sunglasses. "I just…It's not right. I want to take back the city same as the next guy, but what they're planning is a whole 'nother level."
"Better to be with them than without them." Tim shrugged. "Just keep to the background."
David frowned. "That's not what it looks like you've been doing." He said pointedly. Tim sat up.
"What do you mean?" He asked stiffly. He cracked his toes and reached behind his head in a long, easy-going stretch in an attempt to soothe his muscles.
"What I mean is that you just took a bullet for a Bat. You're lucky no one besides them, me and 'Stroke saw it. And you're lucky that 'Stroke doesn't associate with the circus. Cause if he did, you'd be screwed."
"You're right." Tim admitted.
"I know I am." David replied. "Just try not to talk to them for a while, y'know? Stay under their radar."
"Like you've been doing." Tim pointed out.
"Like I've been doing." David confirmed.
"So…you and Gambit?" Tim asked, watching as his friend choked on his own spit.
"Dude, she has silver hair. It freaks me out."
"Never knew you were one to base someone on their looks." Tim said.
"I'm not judging her, man. But if you start a relationship with someone, you've gotta be attracted to them, you know? Mentally and physically. Doesn't make me shallow, just makes me honest."
"That makes sense." Tim agreed.
"So who are you into?" David stopped and thought for a minute before his mouth dropped open. "No." He said. "No. No. Tim, that'll never work out. I mean, you'd make a good couple, but—"
"D, who are you even talking about?" Tim interrupted.
"Superboy." David said, eyeing Tim's shocked expression. "Please, I can sneak under the Batman's nose and he doesn't even notice. I double-crossed Slade and Robin, and I broke into the Titans Tower undetected. I can figure out who you're into, Kit, and it's not Supergirl, that's for sure."
"I'm going to my room." Tim stood up, blushing fiercely. His skin was getting hot from being out in the sun too long anyway. There's no way I like Kon. Yeah, he's good looking, but he's a jerk who hates my guts.
"Aw, c'mon Tim, you know I didn't mean anything by it." David grabbed onto his ankle before he could leave and refused to let go. "Please come sit back down? I'll tell you something interesting."
Tim considered it. Along with being a notorious Titans villain and world-renowned thief, Red X was, all in all, an information broker. He knew everything about everyone, literally. He knew all of the Bat Clan's names, had been inside the cave without them noticing, and most likely knew all of the Crawlers identities to boot.
"About…?" He asked carefully.
"The Circus." David let go of his ankle.
"Fine." Tim said. "But I'm actually getting hot, so I'm not going to stay out much longer anyway."
"Okay." David shrugged. "The Circus is made up of us, the Crawlers, and the leader-slash-mastermind Wraak, which means vengeance in Dutch. Wraak is actually from Norway. He has nothing to do with Gotham—but a long time ago, his family's company in America was beaten out by Wayne Industries and it left them with literally nothing. He came to Gotham so he could turn the city against itself. He wants to destroy Bruce Wayne's home, make him watch it crumble, and then he wants to bring Bruce to justice. Including all of his sons."
"And what about the Crawlers? What role do they play in all of this?" Tim asked. He felt like he was walking into some sort of mystery novel.
"Ah-ah." David wagged his finger back and forth. "Most people would be paying buckets of cash for this information. I just told you a lot. No more."
"I have cookies. Alfred's cookies."
"The Crawlers are smart," David put in quickly. "But they don't know about Wraak's background because they don't know his real name. They follow him 'cause he's shown each of them 'utter devotion' to helping give them justice. He chose each of them personally, found the kids with the worst backgrounds and the worst childhoods. The ones that were the most broken. He found them, he killed whoever was hurting them, and all he asked for in return was that they would follow him and help him get his own vengeance. He promised them that he would help them take back Gotham if they bring him Bruce Wayne and his children."
"That's all there is to it?" It seemed oddly simple and easy to understand, if Tim thought about it.
"Oh no." David said petulantly, and held out his hand. "You promised me a cookie." Tim rolled his eyes.
"C'mon, then." He said, and opened up the door leading to the apartments. They walked down rickety steps until they reached Tim's side of the complex. The cookies were sitting invitingly on the counter of 344C in a ziplock bag. David's eyes widened to the size of saucers.
"Man, maybe I should try and play goody two shoes." He said as he picked up the bag with an astonished look. "If this is what it'll get me, I'll take a bullet for the demon brat."
"It wasn't like that!" Tim exclaimed, watching his friend devour the cookies.
"You think I'm stupid enough to believe that!" David whipped around, eyes narrowed. His pale finger poked into Tim's chest aggressively. "Face it, Tim! You're one of them! You don't kill, you only take what you absolutely need, and now you've taken a bullet for Robin of all people, the person we used to pretend to maim in training!"
"Like you even know what you're—"
"Don't finish that sentence." David growled. "The only person who isn't a hero that you even talk to is me, and half the time I feel like you don't even do that!"
"If you don't understand that I'm on your side, maybe I shouldn't be!" Tim exclaimed. They stared at each other, hurt and confused but too stubborn and angry to do anything about it.
"Fine." David said softly. "I'll leave. But I'm warning you, you need me."
"I don't need you." Tim protested.
"No one thinks they do." Came the calm reply. "Until they've actually lost someone."
David snagged a couple cookies from the bag in both hands and left the room. Tim groaned. Like I actually need more to worry about. He rolled his eyes and ate a cookie. God, they were addicting.
I don't need him. I don't need anyone. I just need to believe in myself. He found himself walking over to the kitchen drawers, opening up the one closest to the ground and popping up the fake bottom. The leathery Catlad suit shone in the sunlight that strayed past the boarded windows. He grazed his fingers against the material, and it felt like home. He couldn't tell quite when it had happened, but was more than certain that he now felt more comfortable in the mask than out of it.
He wasn't sure how he felt about that.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
"I thought I told you to stop stealing." Catlad whipped around, coming chest to chest with Superboy.
"And when have I ever been known to follow the rules?" He asked stealthily. Jason's words of He's completely into you, echoed in his mind, and made him take a step back. He felt Kon's eyes on him, trying to figure him out. "What is it?"
"Nothing, I just—"
"If it's nothing, then why are you still talking?" Tim asked, invading the meta's personal space once more. Anger manipulated Conner's face, turning it sour.
"I just don't get why you have to steal!" He yelled, "Especially since you aren't a bad person and you know it's wrong!"
"You don't get it!" Tim yelled back. "I don't have a choice! It's this or starve, Conner, I wouldn't expect you to understand—"
Lips pressed against his own forcefully, commanding him to be quiet. Tim gasped in surprise and a tongue slipped into his mouth, and he found himself melting into strong arms as his thoughts faltered and failed to arise.
Just as quickly as it'd come, the mouth was gone. Without Conner holding him up, Tim stumbled back and fell onto the ground. His hand brushed against his lips, shocked.
"He…" He likes me. He likes me. And the distant thought that, huh, Jason was right.
…This is bad. Tim stood up and fled, darting over rooftops and swinging through buildings and windows to put more distance between him and that rooftop. Between him and Conner.
How was he going to deal with this? If he really wanted to, he could seek Conner out and dissuade him—after all, there was no way this was anything more than a crush. The Titan was probably just unused to being so close to someone on the other side of the law. Tim was just a passing fancy, just a curiosity that needed to be satisfied.
He found himself staring out at the construction near his building. He scanned it, bright blue eyes catching on a stray envelope.
It was face down, made of perfectly white paper. Thick black wax sealed it, with a white ribbon underneath it looped delicately. Emblazoned on the front in swooping letters was Timothy Drake. He carefully pulled out a knife and slipped the envelope open curiously.
There were only three words on the paper, written directly in the middle. You are chosen.
A shiver crept up Tim's spine. He glanced around the dark construction place, feeling a sudden chill to the air. For once, the darkness seemed less safe than being in the light.
A hand with a cloth came out of nowhere, and Tim dropped to his knees to avoid it clapping over his mouth.
"You're fast." An approving voice hissed from the shadows. A cracked porcelain face caught in the corner of Tim's eye. Crawlers; at least four of them, by the looks of it. "Wraak will be pleased."
"Thanks." Tim dodged another hand, hissing. "But I'm not aiming to please." He slipped to the ground once more and kicked up his feet, launching the Crawler that tripped over him into the air and off of the side of the construction site.
Three to go.
He rolled over to the edge of the wooden planks, looking down at the muddy ground. Waiting until the other Crawler tried to grab him, he leaped to the side and twisted into a stand, pushing the dark figure off of the edge.
A metal-booted leg slammed into his rib cage, and he reflexively moved with the kick, bending his body so he took the least damage. He grabbed the boot with leather-covered fingers and yanked as hard as he could, rewarded with the sound of a body slamming into the construction.
With a heavy thud something landed on Tim's stomach, winding him. He fought to turn around and push off of the ground, backbone screaming in protest, but hands clamped over his wrists as someone straddled him. Their weight pinned him. Then, everything went black.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
A/N: Sooo….there it is! I don't know how long until the second part will be up, but I'll try to write it quickly! Please R&R Reviews make my day.
Thanks for reading!