Who:Tim Drake, Dave Strider When: May 7th Where: The Dorm What: Superhero meets coolkid. Robin, Tim Drake, and Dave Strider all have a late-night chat. Warnings: Swearing Open or Closed: Closed Observable: No
*
Tim hovered in the doorway, hesitant and nose wrinkling a little at the smell. This room really needed to be cleaned.
“I don’t...” he started uneasily, trailing off as he watched Dave pull his iPhone more or less out of thin air. That was. Wow. He tilted his head curiously. “You’re a meta?”
“A whatta?” Dave asked, distractedly, setting his apple-juice on the desk and rooting through the bedcovers. Ah, there were his headphones. He strung them around his neck, bumped his shades and swore, rubbing at his nose. He plugged the heavy DJ headphones into his iPhone and flicked a finger across the screen.
“A metahuman,” Tim clarified. “Basically, a human with superpowers, but if you want a full explanation, I’d be happy to provide; my best friend is - was a clone, and I got very well versed in genetics after the first time his DNA tried breaking down. Just in case.”
He swallowed hard and leaned against the doorway, pretending that he was still unaffected and not berating himself for his failures again.
“Uh. Well, I did reach God Tier, and I am the Knight of Time, so maybe? If you can translate game terms to real life. I’m pretty sure I’m immortal, just not invincible,” Dave mused, as he poked at his iPhone. Ah, there was the song he wanted. He wandered back towards Tim, reaching up and pulling his headphones off as he did so.
He offered them out to Tim, along with the iPhone. “Here, just tap play.”
“I... have no idea what any of that means,” Tim admitted, accepting the headphones. He slipped them around his neck, then took the iPhone. “Game terms? God Tier?”
He shrugged a little, apologetic, and pulled the headphones up as he hit play. He paused it again after a verse or two and offered the headphones and iPhone back.
“Sounds like a good song,” he commented. It was too lighthearted for Tim’s mood lately, but that wasn’t really a bad thing. He didn’t really feel like listening to sad or angry music, either, though. Another thing he’d sort of lost interest in at some point.
Dave waited to answer until Tim took the headphones off again: they were good DJ headphones, and they’d block out any answer he gave. “Remember the computer game that destroyed and saved the world? Yeah. I got to God Tier level by fucking well-intentioned suicide bomb, but we were so fucked by that time it only made things worse. I’m the Knight of Time, sooo...basically I’m immortal now, I think, and I control time. Oh, and I can fly.”
He took the iPhone and the headphones back, and put them back in his sylladex with a careful mutter, counting the letters in the phrase he used so he’d remember it for later when he wanted them again.
How did you respond to something like that? That was. Well. That was kind of crazy, but Tim lived crazy, so whatever.
“Ah,” he hummed. “Alright. Any particular drawbacks I should be aware of? If something could possibly happen to you, I’d like to be prepared enough to at least attempt to counteract it.”
“Don’t think so. I don’t think I’m invincible, we’ve run across dead God Tiers before in the Dream Bubbles, but that could be just ‘cause they’re all from doomed timelines.” Dave shrugged, looked around, and spotted his apple juice on the desk. He headed that way again. “Rose would know, being the Seer and all that shit, but I sure as hell don’t.”
Tim made a face.
“Timelines and alternate universes collapsing in on themselves gets so messy,” he commented idly. “Keeping everything straight is such a nightmare, I swear.”
It was a lot more painful to have them separated all back out again, though. Oh, god, Kon. Bart. It’s not fair. I should’ve been there, done something. Anything. Tim closed his eyes for a long second. The same could be said for his dad and Stephanie. Darla he’d just failed completely; he’d been right there and - And he needed to stop now. Save it until he was alone and locked in his room. Right now he had to be functional and at least passingly normal. C’mon, Tim, do it.
“By the way, if I ever need the time and don’t have a watch? I’m asking you.”
Dave snorted. “No, see, doesn’t work like that. Can’t tell the fucking time here, but I know the flow.” He tipped his head. “Goes slower here than I’m used to.”
He shrugged.
“The days are longer here,” Tim reminded him. “Slower planetary rotation; it’s probably just your perception being affected. It’s kind of like that with the Speed Force, from what Kid Flash has told me - a minute is still a minute, but he experiences it as an hour. Perception driven reality versus scientific reality; the juxtaposition is fascinating.”
He frowned, doing some mental calculations.
“The year here is about 183 days, so... We’re probably somewhere between 90,000,000 and 95,000,000 kilometers from this solar system’s sun. Roughly, of course,” he mused. “I should start watching the moon; I could get a much closer estimate with that. I’d need... Hm. A protractor to measure for the radius of this planet and the distance between the moon and sun, and then I could just use the moon for a cosine and figure it out easy. If we’re really that close, though, I have to wonder how it is this planet’s so inhabitable - something about the planet’s make-up or its atmosphere, or maybe the system’s sun? Man. I really wish I could get into the scientific and technological databases.”
Tim crossed his arms, the deep frown on his face missing becoming a pout by just a hair. Would he even be allowed a protractor? Though he could always make a simple one of his own with a sheet of paper if not and get a rough idea of the measurements he needed. Hm.
“Ask Chuck. He gets stuff you can’t get from the QD in the commons.”
Dave bit his lip. “And it’s not that. It’s...damn.” He closed his eyes and tugged at his God Tier powers. His face faded blank, focus inward, and the warmth of his powers unfurled down every limb. He could feel the flow of time better now, and as he focused on that he absently drifted up, floating barely an inch off the floor, sneaker-toes still touching.
“It’s...I don’t have the numbers to count it off, it’s so fuckin’ small, but it’s like, a second of our time an’ then a little bitty tiny fraction of another, except it’s all one here. Like a...like a clock windin’ down,” he explained, eyes still closed, voice slipping off again into the faint Texan drawl once his focus was drawn away from not sounding like a redneck. “This planet is old as fuck...it’s all windin’ down ‘cause that’s what time does.”
He opened his eyes, looked down at the floor and blinked, and landed again. The warmth of his powers felt nice against the chill sneaking in through the open window - almost like running a fever, except he didn’t feel sick. He felt warm and alive and powerful, and it was a nice safe feeling. He liked it.
“Time can heal, but it also breaks,” he told Tim, simply. “This world is breaking, but it’ll take it a fuck of a long time to fall apart. We’ll be home by then, way before.” He shrugged a little.
“That’s a relief,” Tim responded wryly. “I’ve seen the end of the world too many times already. Do you think the scientists already know? If they’re going to save any of the population, they’ll need to begin work sooner rather than later.”
“I think they’re too busy with their toys. AKA us, the fuckers.” Dave shrugged, the words said without malice. At least the scientists were marginally more fair than a computer game, which probably said a hell of a lot about S’burb, Jack Noir, and Doc Scratch.
“And it’s not for, uh, decades. No, deca’s ten. Um. Deca, centi...a millennium at least.” It had been a while since he’d needed the number prefixes, okay? Too much time measuring in bytes and gigs, not enough in numbers. He shrugged, took a sip of his apple juice, and set it back on the desk. With a little kick off he floated across the room to hover nearer to Tim again. Easier to talk when closer, after all.
Tim arched a brow at Dave for a moment, then just shook his head and went with it. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to looking up, and a lot of the fliers he knew liked to hover anyway. Kon had.
“I’ll figure out a way to warn them before I head home, then,” he replied. “They may not be the best people, but that doesn’t mean they deserve to end up another Krypton or Tamaran. Also, have you considered cleaning up in here? It smells like stale Doritos.”
“Why? I don’t think I got any Doritos left.” Dave looked around the room. “That sounds good, though. You hungry? I think I got some oatmeal creme pies up in here somewhere.”
He landed, bounced on his toes as the hum of power faded, then turned and trotted to the bed. He dropped to his knees and rummaged underneath it. He came out with a slender cardboard box, and triumphantly up-ended this in his lap. Several small cookie-sandwiches cascaded out into his lap and some slithered to the floor in a rustle of plastic. Dave began piling them back in the box, all except for two. He shoved the box back under the bed, and offered out a cookie to Tim.
“I explained this, but I still haven’t got the idea of moon-pies across to the drone-robots yet. Or RC cola. But I think I got some cokes left...definitely got apple juice.”
Tim tried really hard not to twitch. That. Just. ...That. No. Dave’s room needed to be cleaned really badly.
“Don’t you have a fridge or something?” he asked warily. “Or. ...It’s completely possible to store food in here without... sticking it under your bed. And if you cleaned, you’d know if you had any Doritos left instead of just thinking you don’t, plus your room wouldn’t smell like them.”
There was a laundry room here, too, but Tim wasn’t going to mention that. Yet. But there was totally a reason he hadn’t ventured past the inside of the doorway.
Dave gave Tim a look that said he suspected Tim was a bit slow. “Dude, it’s non-perishables. And if it’s under the bed I don’t step on it. Drinks are in the closet if you want one.” He hefted the cookie, then flicked his wrist and spun it across the room to Tim like a shuriken.
“I’m pretty sure I ate the last of my chips last night,” he declared, before using his teeth to open the plastic wrap around his sugary treat.
Tim caught the cookie easily, looked at it for a moment, then looked back at Dave.
“If you stored your food in a single designated area - like a cabinet, or at the very least, a container - you’d be in no more danger of stepping on it than you are now, and much less likely to... Catch something.” He gave the cookie a toss, landing it at Dave’s feet. “And thank you, but I’m not hungry. I don’t eat many sweets, anyway.”
Dave chewed a moment. “Dude, I’ve never caught anything. Except food poisoning from the school’s taco day. Last time I made that fuckin’ mistake, man.” He shrugged, and nibbled leisurely at his treat, slouching back against the bed, kicking one leg out.
“If I did put it in a fridge I’d probably forget it was frickin’ in there. Our fridge never had any food in it. Bro kept some of his shitty swords in there. Hell, if our kitchen had food in it, either the social workers were coming or Bro was setting up a trap again. I stopped falling for that shit by the time I was five.”
“That. Sounds very unhealthy.” On multiple levels. “You should probably still clean your room at some point, though, or you’ll forget what the floor looks like.”
Tim also was not stepping inside. Either Dave’s room got cleaned, or they’d have to meet somewhere else - like Tim’s room (maybe), or out in the Commons or cafeteria.
“Nah. You sound like a TV mom. ‘Forget what the floor looks like.’ ” Dave snorted a little, and finished off the cookie. He examined the one Tim had thrown back, then poked it back under the bed. He wasn’t quite offended, yet. Tim had said he didn’t like sweets, which was pretty weird, but whatever.
“Besides. It’s camouflage.” Dave stretched out a leg and used the toe of his sneaker to flip a shirt back. The hilt of a sword showed, nestled in a mound of clothes. He covered it back up with a flick of his ankle. It wasn’t like anybody was going to ambush him from the airvents, anymore, but after Itachi and Dean, Dave had decided that he needed to defend his space a little better.
Thus, several weapons stashed around the room, mostly hidden under the clothes. It kept Dave on his toes, though, like his brother’s traps, which was an extra bonus.
Tim tried not look as pained as he felt. There were so many better ways to hide weapons. More convenient, readily accessible ways that didn’t involve piles of dirty clothing.
“Uh... huh. Alright.”
Dave eyed Tim, then grinned, and leaned back against the bed, crossing his arms behind his head. “Yeah, I get it, you’re jealous of my rad pad. You’re just wishin’ you had a room so cool. You’re just gonna have to accept it, man. Nobody’s cooler than I am. Like ice, baby. Check it. I’ve worked years to attain this superior level of cool. Fuckin’ wannabes know they can never reach the ultimate pinnacle of my cool. Most of the time I just accept grovelling, but I can tell you’re so damn overwhelmed by my awesome I’ll settle for stunned silence.”
Tim stared at Dave for a long, disbelieving minute. Good lord, he could almost see the old fade cut, the earring, the sunglasses and leather jacket that he still so associated with that kind of good-natured, over-the-top brand of arrogance - and suddenly he wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. He closed his eyes, face a studied blank as his shoulders shook a little. Tim didn’t know which emotion was causing it, whether laughter or tears had won out, and he lowered his chin just slightly, letting his bangs fall forward.
Dave considered that, and said with the gracelessness of a teenage boy: “Dude, I said stunned silence, not tears of despair.” He scrambled to his feet, and shoved his hands in his pockets, tipping his head to see Tim better, shades reflecting the light.
The wind stirred through the room from the open window, and blew crow feathers from the desk. Dave stooped to scoop a long wing primary from the floor, absently smoothing it between pale fingers; the contrast between his skin and the feather was nearly shocking.
Tim shook his head, and glanced up to give Dave a small, heartbreaking smile, his cheeks thankfully dry. He missed his best friend so much, and the pain of it was so sharp and fresh that it was almost like losing Kon all over again. But at the same time... He didn’t mind. It wasn’t as though Dave meant to do it, and as much as the reminders hurt, it was also like having some small part of Kon with him again. If it weren’t for the distinct differences between the two as well - between Dave and Kon - then maybe it Tim wouldn’t have appreciated the similarities as much as he did.
It probably would’ve just hurt too much.
“More like tears of laughter,” he retorted quietly. “I’ve seen hot air balloons with less hot air than your ego.”
Dave shrugged expansively. “Man, when you’re this awesomely cool, you just gotta accept it. There’s no sense in thinkin’ small when you’re me.”
He twisted the feather in his fingers. “I mean, you just - eep!”
The crow that had just ghosted silently in through the open window to land on his shoulder caused Dave to spring sideways with a high-pitched yelp. The crow flapped and bopped Dave in the head and he went rigidly still, one eye scrunched shut and heart pounding. “Jegus friggin’ Christ onna fucking pogo stick! You dipshits are s’posed to be asleep!” he managed, voice breaking and cracking.
The crow settled itself on his shoulder and muttered sleepily. Dave swore again, sounding less breathless, and settled into a more natural posture. “The fuck are you here anyway? Goddamn I hope it’s only one of you.” He turned - slowly - to examine the window, then looked down at the feather still in his hands. He looked back at the crow.
Tim clenched his jaw and put his fist to his mouth, smothering a laugh - a real one, this time.
“Oh, yeah,” he managed, his voice slightly strangled with his amusement. “You’re real smooth. Like sandpaper. Don’t know how I missed it.”
“Fuck you with a rusty spork,” Dave retorted, and winced when his voice broke again. Gogdammit. “You’d flip your shit too if you were plagued by these goddamn bastards. Always popping up - ow! Dammit!” The crow had nipped his ear. Dave scowled furiously. “Behave or I won’t get you guys any more bacon,” he threatened.
The crow chuckled - or made a noise very like that - and preened his hair. Dave snorted and looked away, not pouting just scowling.
This time, Tim couldn’t help it: he laughed. Just once. It was quiet and odd-sounding, almost like a huff of air mixed with a cough, but the fact that it had happened at all - Tim couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed. His brow furrowed slightly, an odd look flickering over his face at the realization before he shook it off. It wasn’t like it mattered.
“This happens often then?” he asked. “The crows, I mean, not the squeaking - though you’re welcome to continue doing that, too.”
Tim was so glad he was past that now. ...And that he hadn’t known Bart or Kon while his voice was changing.They’d have never let him hear the end of it.
“Fuck off and die,” Dave grumbled, with a glare shot past the edge of his shades - glimpse of odd-coloured irises. “The feathery assholes hang out here all the damn time. Can’t shut the window, they’ll break their damn stupid necks on it tryin’ to come in. They did that at home, too. Broke five windows.”
He shrugged, and the crow clacked its beak, settled warm and feathery on his shoulder. He didn’t try to pet it or anything - it was not a tame crow. It was a nuisance on wings.
“On the bright side,” Tim commented wryly, “they have impeckable comedic timing.”
“You? You suck balls.” Dave crossed his arms, the pointed with the feather still in his hand. “You’re just as bad as these assholes. You’re ruining all my angelic childhood ideals about superheroes. You doubly suck. Like one of those giant-ass straws from Mickey D’s and the very last sip of coke at the bottom of the cup, and the coke’s all watery and shit when you do get it.”
Tim smirked a little and shrugged, his cape shifting familiarly around him at the gesture.
“Well, birds of a feather and all that,” he drawled. “You know how it goes. And I would apologize for Robin you of your ‘ideals,’ but bad jokes are actually part of the job description.”
Dave groaned. “Holy fuck. Jegus. I mean Jesus. Oh fuck it. I forgot the corny dialogue and shit.” He looked around, and sat down on his bed. The crow pecked at his shades. “Ow. Fuck off, bird, or no Doritos.”
The crow croaked and fluttered down to sit on the bedspread. Dave watched it warily, then looked up at Tim. “Hey, I invited you in.” A belated realization, but....
Tim arched an eyebrow.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “You did. And Nightwing’s sense of humor is unbelievably corny. I’m just following tradition. ...Besides, Batman’s funny to watch when we get on a roll. He twitches and threatens to make us run suicides.”
Or at least, he used to. A lot of things had changed since then.
“Then why haven’t you come in, douchebag?” Dave wanted to know, kicking his legs against the side of the bed, heels thumping. He realized what he was doing after about four kicks and went abruptly still.
“There are several days’ worth of dirty dishes beginning to moulder in there, the entire room smells like a food you say you don’t have anymore, and you apparently have a habit of hiding weaponry in the mess currently obstructing your floor,” Tim answered flatly. “That’s why. My health is at less risk over here. But thank you for the offer.”
The gratitude was genuine and honest, not sarcastic - but so was Tim’s assessment of Dave’s room. The thanks, at least, were delivered a bit more warmly.
“There aren’t any dirty dishes,” Dave protested, then grimaced. Way to sound like a kid. “Fuck, man, my room at home was worse. You’re, like, a neat-freak or something aren’t you? Would figure.”
“I wouldn’t call myself a neat-freak, per se,” Tim replied, deliberately avoiding a more direct answer. It wasn’t like it was a compulsion, he just preferred clean spaces. Redirecting Dave’s attention, he gestured to a nearby plate and cup, both of which had been used and had certainly been around for more than a day. As in one of Pacis Urbs’ days. “And what are those, if they’re not dirty dishes?”
“Oh. Huh. I forgot those were there,” Dave confessed, with a slight frown. He eyed Tim again. “With that answer, I bet you are.”
He got up and wandered over to examine the dishes in question. The crow was sleeping now, head tucked under a wing, nesting on Dave’s pillow. Dave poked the plate in question. “Well, that’s where that one went.”
“I’m not,” Tim insisted. “I just don’t want anything growing in my room that I didn’t purposely bring in myself. I’ve had to study botany pretty extensively thanks to Poison Ivy; certain types of molds and funguses can be really dangerous - and that’s just on our world. Who knows what the plants here are like?” Also, he just really didn’t like messes, but admitting that would just spur Dave on in insisting Tim was a neat-freak. Tim wasn’t about to hand him that kind of ammo.
“I can’t even study and find out, either,” he continued, frowning. The expression missed being a flat-out pout by a hair, but it did miss. “I hate that; we should really be allowed to study this place. I want a library.”
“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Neat Freak. Too late. And there isn’t any mold, I bet.” Dave scooped up the plate, wandered over and dug out the cup, then wandered over and set them on the desk. He bent, rummaged under it, and came up with a bowl and spoon, both slightly sticky. He turned and tipped his head, lining his eyes back up with Tim again.
“Yeah, well, I want working internet, not this closed-loop system they’ve got. It’s a networking connection, pretty much, connecting all the CommLinks, and not an actual internet. Hell, you can’t even hack the damn thing, it really doesn’t like it, and then the whole thing fuckin’ resets. It’s like it’s being run but hell if I know by who or what. With our damn luck, probably what.”
He shrugged.
“That is annoying,” Tim agreed wryly. “I’m pretty sure what we’re tripping is a sort of looping security program; I’ve run into something similar hacking into CIA and MI5 databases. If I could get my hands on a good computer, I could probably get past it with just a synchronized algorithm and GUID, but I’d want something better than just ‘good’ when I know nothing about what’s sitting behind that initial security grid, you know? Something with a 7.5GHz processor, high clock speed, and a lot of RAM would be preferable.”
Like the computer back in the Cave, or some of the computers in Oracle’s clock tower.
“The CommLinks all operate wirelessly, obviously, so if we could ever get in far enough, we could definitely piggyback it onto the ‘net proper.” Tim shook his head a little. “I have a feeling that would be the easy part, though; this kind of security is usually last-line defense, not first. Your whatever is probably lurking behind it, and twice as tough. So until I get a computer worth making the attempt with? Library. It’s slower, maybe, but it trips less alarms and is nearly as useful.”
“Man, I’ve tried. My iPhone and my iShades and my Turntops aren’t picking up any ‘net proper. And I can hack just about any damn firewall you give me - though I haven’t tried to fuckin’ hack into the government shit...” Dave considered. “But the MollyNet shit, I tried hacking it. It responds to limited html and shit, but when I tried getting into the mainframe the whole thing went fuckin’ nuts. I mean, the whole thing did a fuckin’ acrobatic pirouette off the handle. The screen froze up, the typing program spazzed, and it all crashed. Flicked right back up with all settings normal.”
Dave shook his head, fidgeting as he talked in small gestures of his hands, rocking his weight back and forth. “What I had been typing pretty much exploded, all kinda font shit. Freakiest shit I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been hacking since I was eight.”
“Oh, hey,” Tim started, surprised, “that’s... about the same age I was, I think. Huh.”
Talk about coincidence. On the bright side: he had someone to talk tech with. Even if that started and stopped with computers, that was better than nothing.
“Um. I mostly started going into government databases in order to do my job better,” he added, tapping briefly at the stylized R on his chest. “Criminal records, dossiers, flight data, financial information, case files, that sort of thing. Nothing too exciting, for the most part, and that’s the most interesting reading in there for the most part. So you haven’t missed much.”
“Really? Damn. It’s like we’re brothers. Except, no, definitely not.” Dave looked around at his room, and back up at Tim, smirking. “Uh-uh, no. Yeah, mostly I was getting after Bro’s files, ‘cause he told me not to. And after that? Yeah.” Dave shrugged. “So you weren’t after high-profile personal info? Who’s been at the porn sites? Your middle-school teachers don’t like it when you announce that over the intercom, by the way. I got suspended.” Dave grinned. “Bro bought me a new sword and told me to be sneakier next time.”
Tim winced a little, amused despite himself.
“No, I wasn’t all that interested in that sort of thing,” he answered. “I actually started learning how to hack partially so I could crack security systems more easily. I was also trying to solve Batman’s cases even before I got Robin, so. Ah, I guess I wanted case files and the like even then, too?” He hesitated a moment, then admitted, “I’ve been told I’m a bit of a workaholic.”
“You’re also boring as hell, but not everyone can be as fuckin’ cool as I am.” Dave nodded. “Sorry man.”
He smirked a little at Tim, and crossed the room to sit down on the bed again, glancing warily at the crow. It stirred not. He sighed a little and looked back at Tim. “So what else do you do? Being a superhero doesn’t sound like a hella job, the way you’re putting it.”
Tim shrugged.
“I wasn’t really working when I left. I mean, not really. Batman, Nightwing, and I were travelling, training by retracing Batman’s original path to become Batman. We’ve done some pretty interesting stuff - I was training in a Himalayan temple right out of a movie before I got pulled here, and Batman made us climb the mountain side up to it more or less free hand. Before the trip, though...”
He stopped and looked away, jaw tightening. He didn’t need to talk about that. Any of that. Tim swallowed and continued, “Mob bosses, underworld kingpins, wannabes and total psychos: you name it, Gotham’s got it, and I’ve probably punched it in the face. The city has the highest crime rate in the country by nearly 98%, and that’s not even including the supervillains - everyone in the caped community hates our supervillains; apparently they’re a very particular kind of crazy.”
Though everyone in the superhero community thought the Batfamily was a very special kind of crazy, too. Oh, well.
“I work - worked - outside of Gotham, too, taking on much bigger threats with the Teen Titans. We’ve been to other planets, travelled through time, met and occasionally fought gods, quite literally saved the world a few half dozen times... It’s not a glamorous job, no. But it’s worthwhile.” Tim’s mouth twitched up into a small smile for a moment. “And it has its perks.”
Dave blinked. His mouth twitched. Then he dissolved in laughter. “The Teen Titans. Oh my fucking god that’s - don’t tell me that’s - oh jegus.”
He flopped over sideways on the bed and muffled his hilarity in the covers before he could sit up again, trying very hard to keep a straight face. His lips kept twitching. “If you mean that shitty cartoon with Robin, Raven, Starfire, Beast Boy, and Cyborg.... Then you have just ruined my mental image of you forever. For fuckin’ ever. Dear god.”
“...Cartoon?” Tim repeated. God, it was so weird, thinking that his life being a literal open book to people somewhere out in the multiverse. He didn’t like it much, either; he valued his privacy. “Um. No. Our line-up is - was. It was Cassie - Wonder Girl, the second Speedy, the second Kid Flash, Superboy, and me. Starfire, Cyborg, Raven, and Beast Boy are technically mentors, but Cyborg’s the only one who’s really... mentor-y.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, pained and annoyed with himself.
“Was,” he corrected on a sigh. “Past tense. Sorry, I - guess I’m not used to the team being gone yet.”
To both of his best friends being gone. Bart hadn’t technically been a Titan there at the end, since he’d left a few months before the shit had really hit the fan, but Tim still thought of him as a Titan. Always would.
“Sorry, man,” Dave managed and dissolved into another round of quiet snickers before he cleared his throat and sobered up. “Yeah, uh, sorry.”
He held his lower lip between his teeth a moment, then returned to his studied coolkid expression. “I can draw it for ya sometime. And glad to know you didn’t have the hots for Starfire. Raven was cooler.” The crow beside him squawked, and Dave looked at it. “No, not another bird. Heaven forbid I should fuckin’ cheat in the corvid family.” He paused, and looked back at Tim. “That’s crows, right? I think it is.”
“Family corvidae,” Tim nodded. “Genus corvus. That looks like it’s probably an American crow - Corvus brachyrhynchos. And Starfire didn’t just date my big brother, she was engaged to him. Attaching romantically-inclined inclinations of any sort to her is a) kind of really creepy, and b) would probably get me punched. Nightwing’s still friends with her.”
“Holy alien women, Batman,” Dave managed, and just barely kept from dissolving again. “Sorry. Dude, this is fuckin’ surreal as shit. And you’re as good as a damn encyclopedia, aren’t you? Next time I need something answered, you’re the man to go to, Tim.”
He gave Tim a thumbs up. And very carefully did not laugh. Maybe all that sugar hadn’t been a good idea. Too late now.
Tim frowned in confusion.
“Why do people keep telling me that?” he asked in bemusement. “I don’t get it; I don’t know that much. Or at least not more than anyone else who likes to read.”
Bart was the one who - had read the library. Seriously, it w- had been all right there, in his head, and yet most of the time, the Titans had looked to him for information. Yes, Tim had pretty much always been able to answer them, but they’d likely gotten clearer, more concise answers from Bart. He didn’t understand it.
“Either it’s true, or it’s a fuckin’ conspiracy and we’re all doomed,” Dave answered, promptly, kicking his feet. “We’re probably doomed. Man, and I don’t even get my superhero autograph. Wait, I have my own fuckin’ cape, I guess that makes me my own damn superhero.” Dave considered this a moment.
“Fuck. Yeah, we’re doomed. To the nth degree.”
“Well, at least people won’t call me an encyclopedia anymore,” Tim replied mildly. “That’s a plus.”
Dave snorted, lost his straight face and regained it with effort. “Damn, I can see how that sense of humor could get annoying. Don’t tell me you’re an optimist - I might haveta never talk to you again. Strict coolkid policy, you dig it?”
“Mmn.” Tim shrugged. “I’m... more of a realist, I think. But I don’t care much about being ‘cool.’ Never really have - higher priorities and all that. I hope that won’t be an issue.”
He didn’t think it would be, so he didn’t bother phrasing it as a question. Dave would come up with some sort of excuse about why it was okay if he had to, but he would ultimately say it was okay. He was a good kid.
“Man, I am so cool, there is not enough room for any more cool. We’d be frozen like Antarctica’s polar icecaps if there was more cool here than mine...which there can’t be, because I am the fuckin’ king of cool.”
Dave nodded. “Besides, someone’s got to be uncool, or else there’d be no one to fall down in prostrate worship of my epic cool.”
Bingo. Knew it. Tim hid a smirk and nodded.
“Uh-huh. Well, thanks so much for you magnanomy,” he deadpanned. “It means the world.” He lifted an eyebrow. “I’ll be skipping the worship, though; your ego does the job for me.”
“What ego? I am as humble as they come. The fuckin’ humblest guy I know, Tim.” Dave nodded. “And that’s a fact. I am nothing if not full of fact. Dave Strider, guy for facts.”
The crow muttered in its sleep. Dave shot it a suspicious look.
Tim widened his eyes innocently - and for a sixteen-year-old vigilante, he pulled it off scarily well.
“I thought you just said I’m the facts guy,” he protested, and his tone matched his expression perfectly. He didn’t drop the act, letting Dave get the full effect as he frowned just so. Overall reactions tended to vary, but Tim was well aware that it knocked people off balance one way or another, and Dave’s was going to be amusing no matter what.
Dave barked a laugh, and raised his hands for an appreciative slow-clap. “Damn, well done, Tim. Superhero, encyclopedia, hacker, and actor. I’m damn impressed, man, real damn impressed. Practically fuckin’ hornswaggled.”
“I have no idea what ‘hornswaggled’ means,” Tim informed Dave easily, all innocence and sweetness dissolving into a misty nothingness. “Also, I remember your friend there coming in; I recommend you wait until I forget before making such sweeping claims of ‘coolness’ again.”
He nodded to the sleeping crow.
“He’s asleep.” Dave shrugged. “Hornswaggled. The trolls use it. Somethin’ like somebody leading you on, and on, and fuckin’ on. The trolls use all kinda bullshit words. Especially the creepy-ass juggalo one.”
“Oh, well, ‘Jegus friggin’ Christ on a pogo stick,’ if he’s asleep,” Tim mocked, the friendly tilt of his mouth taking the sting out of it. “Also, do you mean gigolo?”
“No, I mean juggalo, like, the creepy psycho clown worshippers,” Dave explained. He had a vague idea as to what ‘gigolo’ meant and it wasn’t a good word. In fact he was pretty sure it was a dirty word to call someone you didn’t like. Hurrah for the sex-chats on his brother’s puppet porn website. It expanded a kid’s vocabulary in amazing fucking ways.
“I -” Have never heard that term before, but okay. Dave was using a lot of terms Tim had never heard. “...Alright. I’ll just add that to my lexicon somewhere after ‘hornswaggled’, then.”
“Lexicon. Listen to you and your damn fancy words. I guess if you’ve got the fuckin’ Joker then you don’t need juggalos,” Dave decided. “They’re pretty creepy people. Clownpaint, Faygo, the whole nine shitty yards.”
Emos and their ilk were less creepy, but hey, Dave had dealt with those before. The coolkid knew all social classes in the typical highschool and surpassed them.
“Which is amplified by about nine hundred when it’s a six-foot troll with horns and fuckin’ teeth straight out of a Jaws movie. Damn. I mean, Karkat’s a pretty tough little motherfucker, but I’m not sure I can trust him and the whole moirail thing to keep Gamzee from eating us all. I mean, they started with twelve trolls and now they’re down to fuckin’ four ‘cause the psycho clown went on a murdering rampage and is keeping the heads up in his hideyhole on the meteor. Yeah, Rose and I, we sleep real good at night, real fuckin’ good.”
Except he did because Terezi and Kanaya and Karkat all slept right on the other side of the room, and while he slept light they slept lighter. No biggie. And while Karkat was an asshole, he was pretty reliable when he finally got around to giving his word.
“Ah. Yeah, that sounds more than a little unsettling,” Tim agreed. He grimaced faintly in remembrance. “...You know, I think I might actually have a fairly good idea what your ‘juggalos’ might look like. About a year and a half ago, the Joker thought he was dying and wound up dosing and breaking out everyone in Belle Reve, Blackgate, and Arkham Asylum with this Joker gas. Really warped the inmates; they were still them - which would be bad enough since they’re all super villains to begin with - but they were... Jokerfied, for lack of a better term.”
He grimaced at the memories.
“I nearly got eaten by an insane Killer Croc,” he added absently. “And that’s not even including what happened during the clean up. ...I did get to work with my favorite superhero, though.”
“Dude, it’s like we are some kind of long lost brothers,” Dave deadpanned. “The natives of my planet in the game tried to cook me and eat me, but it was just their way of being fuckin’ friendly. Anthro crocodiles, see, makes perfect goddamn sense. Who’s your favorite superhero?”
He paused, and chuckled again. “Fuck, that sounds nerdy as hell.”
“Blue Beetle,” Tim answered immediately. “The second one, Ted Kord. He was... very cool. Crazy smart, incredibly nice, and - man, the guy could fight. Just really, really skilled. He was always perfectly happy to teach me whatever I wanted to know, too.”
Tim’s mouth thinned ruefully. He’d attended Ted’s funeral with Barbara and some of the other Birds of Prey. Bruce had been stuck in the middle of something, and hadn’t been able to attend.
“Anyway, it’s not that nerdy - at least, not to me.They’re kind of a way of life where I’m from, and besides, I know most everyone in one way or another.” He gestured to the stylized R on his chest in reminder. Couldn’t knock superheroes when you were one. “The caped community’s a pretty tight-knit one.”
“So by having a cape and a fancy uniform, do I get graduated into superhero status? Or is there a test I gotta take?” Dave wanted to know, actually idly curious. He kicked his feet a few times, then caught himself and went still.
Tim shook his head in faint amusement.
“There’s not a formalized test, no,” he replied. “But it’s... it’s not so simple as just putting on a costume, either - whether or not you have actual superpowers.”
He paused, searching for a way to explain, then realized he really couldn’t. Things were too different for everyone. Finally, Tim just shook his head and sighed.
“I think it’s less about what you’re wearing and what you can do that makes you a superhero,” Tim told Dave frankly. “Or a hero of any kind, really. It’s more about what you do with those skills and abilities, and your willingness to put yourself out there for those less capable of defending or protecting themselves than you are. Putting aside your own fear, and standing up to say, ‘this is wrong,’ and then doing something about it. Preferably without putting someone else at risk.”
“Well, damn. I was never a hero. Only the sidekick, and a shitty one at that,” Dave retorted, faint bitterness lacing the words. “Guess that puts me out of the running entirely.”
He nearly flopped down, then stopped and looked at the crow. It was sleeping, and Dave eyed it, and picked up a downy feather from the rumpled sheets. He smoothed the feather between his fingers, automatically, straightening the barbs.
“Sidekicks can do alright,” Tim replied gently, well aware that it had taken him a while to actually become the partner Batman had always called him. He was capable enough now, after two and a half years, to work completely on his own, but he still needed - wanted - Bruce to be his mentor. He was still debating if he was going to let Bruce to be his father, too, though; he wanted it so badly, had wanted it in the past, that it seemed... Disingenuous to his real dad, the one he’d had through blood. “It’s a learning curve, sometimes.”
“Nah. I got a best bro who’s a dead ringer for hero. Buck teeth and all. John’s a derp, but hero for sure. Y’know, the blindly-rush-in-and-miraculously-save-the-day kind. It’s disgusting, really, he’s so uncool.” Dave realized he was prattling, like some goddamned kid with nothing to say, and shut up for a moment, sorting his head back out. He...missed talking to all of them. No internet, no chats, no getting trolled, nothing. It made him feel so disconnected. But he was the coolkid. He’d roll with whatever life gave him and he’d fucking adapt. Take that, unfairness of life. Dave’s cool, unruffled. Fuck yeah.
“Yeah, well, some people are doomed to greatness. Others, AKA me, superior coolness. We both have our crosses to bear.”
He flicked the feather away and watched it spiral down, rather than look at Tim.
“I believe the saying actually goes, ‘some people are born to greatness. Others aspire to it’,” Tim mused, and quirked a tiny, awkward smile at Dave. He so totally failed at this kind of thing; he usually left it to someone else for that very reason. Sometimes, he didn’t get that choice, though. It kind of sucked: he was pretty sure he tended to only make things worse. “Maybe your... Uh. ‘Superior coolness’ is only supposed to be a stepping stone on your way there.”
But what buck teeth had to do with being a hero, Tim had no idea. Actually, pretty much all the superheroes he’d ever met were almost disgustingly attractive - all the exercise helped with that, maybe; running around after bad guys, aliens, giant robots, and giant animals (often in combination) did tend to keep people in shape.
“What, greatness? Nah. Being this cool is a kind of greatness all on its own,” Dave retorted, and suddenly had to smother a yawn. Whoops! What was up with that? He touched on his internal time-keeping, and was surprised to find some hours had passed in the talking. He blinked.
“Huh. It’s getting early.” He looked towards the window - still pitch black outside.
Tim looked up at the window at well, his eyebrow kicking up in surprise as he realized how long they’d been chatting.
“Ah. I should go - I should probably let you get some sleep. I need to go finish up my workout, anyway, and I have a shift in the infirmary in a few hours,” he mused. He was supposed to be participating in a Game today, too. His insomnia would probably hold more than long enough to get him through it all without issue, but he’d probably have to force himself to eat something to make sure. Tim’s mouth twisted a little at that; food was not an appealing thought.
He looked down as he pulled his domino mask out again.
“I... Thank you, Dave.”
“You’re welcome,” Dave said, automatically, then blinked. “Thank you for what?”
“Making me feel a little more... human again, for a while.” Masked once more, Robin let his cape fall closed around his shoulders, obscuring his form from the shoulders down. “It was nice.”
And very rare lately, especially with Dick’s scent fading so quickly from that one hoodie he had. Tim felt sometimes like he was drowning, no matter how hard he tried to stay afloat, and Dave had made it easier to keep his head above water. It was worth the thanks.
“I’ll get out of your hair now. Sleep well, alright?”
“Uh. You’re welcome,” Dave said again, somewhat puzzled. He tipped his head sideways, taking in the change of shape and shadow. “Anytime. Drop by the club sometime, mister super-hero, and I’ll introduce you to some truly sick beats.”
He smirked, sunglasses catching the lamplight as he shifted his head.
“I’ll do that,” Tim agreed. “Apparently it’s something I have to do as a participant in the Games anyway.”
“Well, it’s a good idea,” Dave mused. “Build a fanbase, get more money.” He shrugged. “But there’s what they call ‘Other’s night’ where it’s just us in the club.”
Though that made for a hell of a lot of really freakin’ wierd people...aliens....creatures....
Dave shrugged again. “See you around, Robin.” See, the mask was on. Dave was a smart cookie.
A small smile twitched Tim’s lips upwards for a second, approving. It was always good to know a leap of faith wasn’t going to backfire on you.
“See you around, Dave,” he replied, and nodded once in farewell before vanishing into the shadows of the empty hall.