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WIP theater

aww yeah WIP theater—-aka, Seriously Kitty Your Number of Steph Ships Is Getting Ridiculous, Seek Help. Today’s selection includes NDND!Tim/Kon, 9 Crimes!Jason and Arthur Brown having a ~heart to heart~, when 9 Crimes!Jay met Little D, Tim/Steph fluff, Tim/Steph/and-90s!Kon-if-you-squint, some Jason/Damian/Steph from Firsts, NDND!Damian worrying about his babybat, and a piece of that gen Christmas fic that I’ll probably end up finishing by July.

These posts are kind of like the equivalent of fanfiction movie trailers. COMING SOON, TO A BATBLOG NEAR YOU: FEELINGS.

Tim was really awful at taking vacations. Conner knew this better than anyone, since he had the privilege of knowing him (arguably) better than anyone else. He (also arguably) should have known that he wasn’t going to change anytime soon, but he still seemed to hold out some faint, futile hope that Tim would learn how to relax.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to relax. Cognitively, realistically, he knew how to wind down. He just had a nasty habit of putting it off for later. Tim had a close relationship with ‘later’. Later, he’d catch that second shift of sleep—-though, he ended up going on a second shift of work, instead. Later, he’d reserve a weekend for alone time with his best friend-partner-boyfriend—-though, he ended up going on universe-saving, very much not alone adventures, instead. Later, later, later. Tim approached relaxation with all of the right intentions, but he couldn’t turn down a problem when it surfaced.

Maybe that was his problem, right there. Tim was bad at saying no, especially when it was a universe full of innocents asking for his time. Tim multitasked like a pro, but there were too many problems to solve and too few hours in a day. Balancing his personal problems with everyone else’s was a lifetime process of trial and error, and he tended to short his personal life when it was an either-or situation.

He knew that he shorted the people he loved. He knew they understood, knew they forgave him for it—-they’d forgiven Bruce, and Bruce had been worse about it than Tim would ever allow himself to be—-but still knew that it wasn’t right.

So, every once in a while, Tim tried to make good on his personal relationships. They were worth it. His family and friends deserved his very best attempts at relaxation. The key to success was addressing the idea of vacationing very aggressively.

*

“So, here’s the deal,” the Red Hood drawled, pacing a slow circuit around Arthur Brown. His ruined face was shiny with sweat—-in the places where his pores hadn’t been burned away and replaced by mottled scar tissue, at least. Brown Luck had caught up to Arthur since the last he’d seen him, but it wasn’t enough. Arthur couldn’t possibly hurt enough to make up for what he’d done.

Jason hadn’t been able to keep his promise to Steph. He’d come back, but not soon enough. He’d let Talia send him on all kinds of homicidal bunny trails, and the Brown Luck had claimed his girl before he’d finished saddling up his white stallion. But the way he saw it, Steph would still want to see him protect her interests. Her mother. This was for her, and for her mother.

“What deal?” Arthur snapped, his lips pulled back to bare his teeth.

“You know, I was going back and forth over whether or not I wanted to take the time to give you all the backstory,” the Hood said silkily, squeezing the meaty round of Arthur’s shoulder with one hand. “I’ve been batting that one around for most of the day—-it’s a big question. You’ve gotta be asking yourself, who is this devilishly handsome fellow, and why has he trussed little ol’ me up like this? What did I do to deserve this? Is that a real Sig P220 Combat TB that he’s carrying? Oh heavens, is that a silencer?” He twirled his pistol over his finger, smirking beneath his mask. He pushed the muzzle into the hollow of Arthur’s throat, hard enough to make swallowing a struggle. “Why, so it is. Some girls have ‘special occasion’ panties, but I have ‘special occasion’ firearms. And this is a special occasion.”

“I have money,” he said, which was probably a lie. It didn’t really matter either way.

“And so do I. I have so much money, I’m kind of at this point where I don’t give a fuck about it anymore. So no, Artie. I don’t want your money. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to look at you. I don’t even care if you know why I’m punishing you, because there is nothing about you even remotely worth the effort. You’re a bad man. You’ve done some very, very bad things. That’s all you get to know.”

*

Jason’s nostrils flared, hard. Had to breathe. Had to force himself to breathe, because all he wanted to do was scream. He wanted to pick up the little prince, shake him, and just roar until he understood that there were rules.

“What. Are. You. Wearing,” he snarled, each word whipcrack-sharp.

The boy fingered one of the hanging strips, shredded and peeling away. His lip curled. “A costume. My father insists upon them, as you well know.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I know,” Jason said, and he could feel his anger bubble and seethe. He felt buoyant, so displaced from himself by the sheer size of his rage that he might as well have been floating. “‘Cause that’s mine. My suit. My fucking suit!”

“It’d hardly fit you now,” he said airily. “It was in storage. In a glass case. A relic for something long-dead.”

*

The boy at the door had a big bouquet of lilacs, the spill of foamy purple blossoms filling his arms. He’d known better than to bring her roses. She wasn’t a roses kind of girl.

He had black hair and some of the bluest blue eyes she’d ever seen—-she’d never gotten to see them in good light before. It hit her that the baby might have his blue eyes, and that tugged hard at her hormones.

He offered her a shy smile. She’d be okay if the baby got that, too.

“Hi,” he said, holding out the flowers. “I’m Timothy Jackson Drake. And I’m a ginormous idiot.”

“Hiya, handsome,” Steph managed to say. Her voice was reedy and thin from how hard she was trying not to cry. “You wouldn’t happen to be my boyfriend, would you?”

His smile grew and wobbled, like he didn’t know what to do with it. “I heard you and Alvin were a thing.”

“What?” Steph said in mock surprise, bracing her hands against the small of her back. “No way. Alvin is so not my type.”

“Oh.” And Timothy Jackson Drake didn’t look like he was positive if she meant that she was through with his terrible alias, or with him. He was much twitchier when he didn’t have a mask to hide behind. “That’s—-that’s good to hear?”

“Yep.” She took a breath. This all felt so surreal. “So…can I call you Tim, or are you one of those ‘full name’ guys?”

“Tim’s fine.”

“What about Timmy?”

“…Timmy’s okay. I guess,” he said begrudgingly, itching behind his ear. “Once in a while.”

“Timmers?” She pressed, loving his sigh of exasperation. “Timbo? T-bone? Mr. T? The Timinator?”

“Steph.”

“Tim it is,” Steph said, smiling. She fidgeted, then stepped down to meet him on the stoop. She loved that he was about the same height as she was, always eye to eye with her. “Can I get a kiss, boyfriend?”

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, hard. He lifted her a little off her feet. Robin—-no, Tim—-was much stronger than he looked, so he could pick her up despite the extra weight she’d put on.

God, she had the best boyfriend.

*

“Where the hell’ve you been?” Kon demanded, jaw set stubbornly. “I’m not buying this ‘fired’ malarkey, my man. No way would Bats can you.”

“He did. Kind of. It’s complicated,” Tim said, a firm hand on his back. He tried to guide Kon away from the hallway, but he wouldn’t budge. Without a utility belt, he was no match for TTK. “Could you please keep it down?”

The bedroom door opened with a creak, and Steph leaned sleepily against the doorjamb.

“Tim? I heard voices,” she mumbled around a wide yawn. “What’s going on?”

“Great,” he sighed, before he could stop himself. This was exactly what he hadn’t wanted to happen. Kon had no volume control, and Steph was a light sleeper. Now she was up and awake, her rounded middle a dead giveaway as to why he’d resigned from the team. With that evidence on display, even Kon would be able to solve this mystery.

“Whoa,” Superboy said, giving her a thorough look-over that made Tim’s skin prickle weirdly. “You did not tell me you had a hot sister. How could you hold out on me like this?”

Since he saw Steph every day, he’d gotten used to her. The Nest was an isolated bubble for them both, removed from the rest of the world. For the first time, Tim was hyper aware of how other people saw her—-what they saw when they looked at her. Steph’s hair was teased into a sleep-rumpled mess over her shoulders, she was in her nightie, and hot was probably not a word she’d use to describe herself. But that whole pregnant glow thing? That was a real thing. Steph’s breasts were swollen and heavy and very much without a bra, and her belly lifted the hem of her nightgown to brush at mid-thigh. Tim had always been of the opinion that she was pretty, but he’d never had outside confirmation of that as fact. Being together as Stephanie and Tim instead of Robin and Spoiler was a new development, so they hadn’t been seen publicly—-he’d never had to introduce her to anyone before.

But Kon was looking at her—-really looking at her, his smirk impish and satisfied. He liked what he was seeing. Tim didn’t know what to make of the strange surge of emotion that chased that realization. Was it jealousy? Protectiveness? Was there a word out there to effectively define the panicky relief and tightness in his chest?   

“She isn’t my sister.”

“But I will take that compliment regardless, thank you very much,” Steph said gamely. She was checking out Superboy right back—-which didn’t surprise Tim, because Kon shamelessly presented himself to be admired by anyone he considered attractive.  

“You earn it, babe,” he said with a wink.

“I have a poster of you on my wall,” Steph laughed, padding out into the hall. She tucked a long hank of hair behind her ear. “This is so weird.”

“And now you’ve got the real deal,” Kon grinned, flexing. “Bam.”

He liked her—-and that was good, because Tim liked her, and he wanted the people he liked to like her. But he was flirting. He was flirting with her. And a part of him just kind of wanted to watch it play out between them, but he knew that wasn’t a Good Boyfriend Reaction.

Tim’s brain didn’t even know what to do with that. It just put up a distress flare and shut down.  

“This is Stephanie,” Tim said, loudly. “My girlfriend.”

His teammate sort of goggled at him stupidly. He jerked a thumb at Steph.

“Uh. She is pregnant, right?”

“Yes. Yes, she is,” Steph said, patting her stomach.

Kon gasped. “You’re having a baby?” Kon gasped a little more, higher. “You’ve had sex?”

Tim could feel a migraine coming on.

*

Damian knew they’d drugged him—-either of them, both of them, in tandem or individually—-and instead of fighting it, he let himself sink into the numbness. If he’d been in his mother’s compound still, he would have kept on alert. But even drugged, he was aware of the familiarity of the sounds trickling in from the other room. As long as he could hear obnoxiously loud female laughter and the low, husky rumble of a man’s voice, he knew he was safe. It was late, so they were no longer talking, but he’d heard them every time he slogged up through the narcotic murk.

The door opened, and he stilled his breathing instinctively. Stephanie crawled under the covers with him, kissing the corner of his mouth. The other side of the mattress dipped, and Jason’s warm bulk pressed against his back. The double bed wasn’t nearly big enough to hold the three of them, but the morons were giving it their best shot. Damian could barely breathe between them, but he had no intention of pushing them away.

“I don’t believe that Grandfather intended me to survive,” Damian mumbled, burying his nose in Stephanie’s thick, messy hair. The smell of her was comforting in its familiarity.

“Probably not,” Jason agreed, rubbing his back. “You’ve got a killer resistance to toxins. I’ve been poisoning your food for years. You’re welcome.”

Stephanie kissed the bridge of his nose. “Good thing that you’re a stubborn jerk.”

“I’ll recover,” he said, since he was now convinced of the fact.

*

Jason plucked a cigarette out of the package, lit it, and inhaled without preamble. He held it for a moment, then exhaled slowly, tendrils curling from his nostrils. Steph shot him a worried look. She knew him—-had known him for most of her life, in all of his before-and-after glory—-so she knew that no matter how collected and nonchalant he seemed, the cigarette was for his nerves. He only smoked in bed when his fingers and mouth itched in a way that only nicotine could soothe.

“So,” he said, calm and diplomatic. “You’re skipping straight to the advanced chapter of sexual relations. I mean, I’m not surprised, since you don’t waste time and energy with the small stuff. You’re not a training wheels kind of guy. But you’ve gotta admit, horning in on a relationship’s kinda presumptuous. Who’s to say I like cock?”  

Damian fidgeted. He tried to sneer, but it fell short. His mouth just kind of pulled into a couple directions before crumbling into a frown.

“If you’re going to say no, say no,” he said quietly. “I’ll accept that.”

Steph sighed explosively, breaking the silence.  

“You,” she said, shoving Jason’s shoulder. “Stop jerking his chain. He knows better. You’ll put anything in your mouth. And you,” she pointed to Damian, who tucked his chin to his chest. “Answer something for me. Are you serious about wanting both of us, or is this just a ploy to get into his pants? Be honest.”

Damian stared at her. “You’re stupid. Completely idiotic. I cannot believe that you’re even asking me that.”

“Not winning points, D.”

“I don’t know what more I need to say or do to prove my feelings. Together, apart, whichever—-I want you both.” The last bit came out as a low growl. It’d been a long, long time since Jason had heard that growl, and he’d never heard it come out of Damian before. Like father, like son. “I don’t see why you easily accept Todd’s bisexuality, but you disbelieve mine.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you. I—-”

“I didn’t suck him off because I want a chance at you!” Damian snarled, embarrassment licked up by the heat of his temper. Horny, upset, and frustrated, he’d reached the limit of his composure. “I wouldn’t tolerate you so that I could be with him. I don’t know how to make you believe that!”

Jason stretched out, catching Damian’s wrist. He tugged gently. He balked, initially resisting, but Jason wasn’t against jerking hard enough to unbalance him. Damian’s knees hit the bed and he caught himself with his free hand, looking up at Jason reproachfully from the fringe of his very dark lashes.

*

“So, is my partner coming to bed anytime this week, or should I just give up on having premarital sex?”

Damian gave one of his usual gruff, throaty grumbles. Something was bothering him, she knew. That was a sure sign that he was struggling with something that he didn’t have words for.

Steph sighed, sitting down next to him by the cradle. She waited for him, patient while he gathered his difficult thoughts and translated them through a couple different languages.

“Are you familiar with SIDS?”

“Sudden infant dea—-” Steph’s breath caught, squeezed by the swell of realization. “Oh, D.”

“The studies are inconclusive,” he mumbled, looking at the tiny hand wrapped around his finger. “It may be due to an inability for the infant’s body to detect a build-up of carbon dioxide in the blood, or a problem with sleep arousal. There are factors that increase the likelihood of it, but at times it is seemingly random and unavoidable. Sometimes, infants go to sleep and don’t wake up. I keep—-keep thinking about it.”

That was Damian-speak for ‘I read somewhere that babies can die for no reason at all, and I’m so terrified, I can’t sleep.’

And so he was camped out in the nursery, still in his Batman suit, because maybe his baby wouldn’t die if he kept watch. The paranoia was Wayne through and through, obsessive and desperate and more than a little bit heartbreaking.

Steph slipped her hand into his free one. Her fingers were softer and more sensitive than they’d been in years—-softened by the year she had been out of the field. Instead of throwing Batarangs, she’d been changing diapers. His hand felt weirdly rough, but in a way that she liked.

“You’re a good dad. You know that, right?”

“I am trying,” he said quietly, looking down at their hands. “I know that much.”

“Hey, I know what bad dads look and act like. I decided a long time ago that I wasn’t going to put any daughter of mine through a bad dad. If I thought that you were anything less than the kind of guy I trusted with my whole heart, I’d drop your candy ass in a heartbeat, biological father and billionaire or not. You know that.”

“Yes.” He smirked, very faintly. “I do.”

“Tell me. What are you doing in here, Batman? What does this—-” and she made it clear that this was in sarcastic air quotations, saying it in a terrible British accent. “—-egregious display of useless emotion accomplish?”

“Just…on the off chance…” His brow knit further. He sighed. “…and it’s a small chance, I know…”

“You’re in here because you love this kid,” Steph said, her voice low and warm and very serious. “You love her crazy stupid amounts. And that scares the crap out of you, because you’re only used to loving people capable of taking care of themselves. So you’re in here because you want to protect her from everything, even invisible things that might get her in her sleep. Am I right?”

Damian swallowed visibly. He nodded.  

“So let me reiterate myself. You’re a good dad, D. This whole baby thing? It’s scary. But I think that between the two of us, maybe we can manage not to screw her up too much.”

*

“Hey! Nightwing, requesting backup! I’ve got my arms full of non-alcoholic bubblies and mistletoe—-someone’d better be around to enjoy this!”

Damian lit up. It was brief, just a slight widening of his eyes and a twitch at the corners of his mouth, but Steph caught it. Tim untied his apron strings and moved to go help Dick, but he was a half second too slow. Damian shoved him aside, muttered, “You belong in the apron, Timothy,” and deliberately sauntered away to intercept his former partner.

“Remember the season, Timmers,” Steph said with an indulgent smirk. Tim’s feathers were still ruffled—-Damian was really, really good at getting him to puff up indignantly—-but squeezing his shoulder made him relax a little. “Holiday cheer means not strangling him.”

“What about shoving cookies down his throat until he—-“

“Rein in the rage. Funnel it into decorating. We’ve got to get this place festive, and we’ve only got three hours until it’s officially Christmas.”

“Still could use a little help here,” Dick laughed, opening the door with his hip. Damian was clinging to his back like a monkey, arms wrapped around his neck. If she hadn’t seen it herself, she would never have believed it. Damian Wayne, agreeing to a piggyback ride? Now, that was a Christmas miracle.  

Damian looked embarrassed and sulky and pleased all at once. He let go of Dick’s neck and slid to his feet, taking the bottles from his arms.

“You’re hopeless, Grayson,” he said airily, somehow managing to look down his nose at his much taller brother. “I don’t know how you manage to survive on your own.”

“You know what?” Dick said, smiling hugely at everyone assembled. “Me either.”