The Real Reason Joker Hates The Robins

This fic is super sweet and hilarious, highly recommend!

Distracted

Chapters: 6/6

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: M/M

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Superboy (Comics), Robin (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Teen Titans - All Media Types, Young Justice - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types

Relationship: Tim Drake/Kon-El | Connor Kent

Characters: Tim Drake (DCU), Kon-El | Connor Kent, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Clark Kent

Additional Tags (truncated): Mutual Pining, First Kiss, Identity Porn, Friends to Lovers, Flirting, Getting Together, Identity Reveal, Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily Shenanigans (DCU), The Boys Bully Bruce, Bruce Wayne is So Done, Jason Todd is a Menace, Fluff and Smut, Protective Older Brothers, Meet the Family, Family Dinner, Minor Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent, Minor Dick Grayson/Wally West, Oral Sex, Hand jobs, Frottage, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Surprise Wally West Appearance

Summary:

“Because it’s all your fault!” Kon snapped.

Robin bristled, eyes narrowing. “Oh, it’s my fault, is it?”

“Yes!” Kon tugged at his hair in frustration.

Robin stepped forward, closing the gap between them, getting in Kon’s face. “Enlighten me. How exactly is any of this my fault?”

“What color are your eyes?”

“I-” Robin took a step back in bewilderment. “What?”

~

Kon has been distracted and Robin finally confronts him.

Anyway if you guys get pissy at Jason for being a drug dealer in utrh, I know you have no genuine working knowledge of addiction and I think you should die and I am not joking.

People die from quitting cold turkey. Lots of addicts are self medicating because the healthcare system has failed them. Stopping the drug trade completely would be not only completely ineffectual (Jason's entire philosophy is that crime can't be ended only controlled and he is completely right) but it would also cause so many more problems than it would fix. Especially because in a place like Gotham there is little to no support for these people, except maybe Leslie's clinic, which is already understaffed and overfilled and is still only a hospital. It's not a rehab, and it's not a pharmacy. They can't give you prescriptions for free, especially painkillers, stimulants, and antidepressants.

Please take 10 seconds to actually think about the issues you're talking about before you post an incorrect quotes or "gotcha!" Where you say that Jason actually doesn't care about his community and is just as bad as Black Mask or whatever because *checks notes* he's realistic about crime reduction.

Ahhhhh it’s heartbreaking and it’s beautiful!!!!

✮phone call✮ (~3k words) ao3

“This is the voicemail of Timothy Drake-Wayne. If this is an emergency, please contact my secretary, Tamara Fox. Otherwise, leave a message…” “Hey Timmy, it’s Dick! I just wanted to let you know that since like 15 religious holidays are around the corner, we would love it if you could join us for dinner. Uhm, yeah, and we were joking about baking cookies together with Alfred now that we’re all finally in New Jersey. He wants to get all his boys- rustling of clothes is audible OW, CASS- no, no, NO, no tickling- AND GIRLS- Dick laughing Alfie wants all of us together to bake cookies! Please send me a message when you hear this!Buh-Bye.”

Tim knew he had been avoidant toward his older brother ever since he returned. Well, it wasn’t just Tim’s return; it was his and Bruce’s.

Tim also knew that everyone had noticed something was wrong.

He hadn’t been able to rely on anyone from the caped community after he came back. All his former friends and allies were either dead, or worse: acted like he was. Nobody wanted to take the risk of working with a basically exiled, supposedly unstable vigilante.

Another big issue was their fear. Being from Gotham didn’t help his reputation when trying to build new connections. Maybe it was that, or maybe it was his semi-public battle with Ra’s al Ghul that scared them off. The only thing certain was that the ones who’d seen him since had noticed his avoidant behavior toward Nightwing and decided to stick to their more trusted friend's side.

Even at the Manor. Cass, who was barely there anyway, knew he stiffened whenever Dick entered the same room. And Damian? While he’d slowly started to respect Tim, he sensed the tension between the two and clearly chose the eldest brother’s side. It really did seem like everyone noticed.

Everyone but Dick.

It was like they were stuck in limbo. While Dick kept reaching out and inviting Tim, Tim kept trying to dodge and skip whatever new plan Dick had come up with.

He wished everything could go back to how it was before all the bullshit that tore them apart, but having Dick act like nothing ever happened? Expecting the same from Tim? Not even acknowledging the fact that he’d burned all the bridges Tim had left after losing almost all his friends and family- and then also Robin? Nah. Tim wasn’t about to let that go.

He knew better than to repeat mistakes. He was trained to do better. Under Bruce, he learned there was no space for errors. Under Lady Shiva, he learned mistakes could result in death. Under Ra’s, he learned to be better than to make any. He loved his siblings, but feeling that sense of abandonment again wasn’t something Tim could handle. A mistake he wouldn’t make again, he was sure of it.

He needed the hurt and fear, even if it haunted him like an itchy scab that refused to heal. At least, that’s what he told himself.

“A reminder that next time, I might not be lucky enough to get away alive.”

He could stretch and squeeze and keep going through his day, it wouldn’t rip open, it wouldn’t bleed, but he could always feel it. His skin pulling at a weird angle when he moved. The constant urge to scratch at it more but needing it to heal, so that finally all the annoying itching and pulling would stop. He was torn, between the dull ache of betrayal and the yearning for peace. For a hug from his brother.

He couldn’t even remember that sensation anymore. Hadn’t felt it in what felt like years.

Even so, Tim wasn’t angry. Hell, he didn’t even need an apology. At some point, he’d figured he needed one to heal. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Maybe they needed a therapist. Or a lawyer. He didn’t know. What was he actually supposed to do? How was he supposed to act, to fix this? Opening up to Dick like that felt wrong.

He remembered a time when he and Dick were constantly talking. Together on patrol, on comms, in person, on the phone, during Dick’s lunch breaks or during Tim’s free periods at school. There was nothing one didn’t know about the other.

Before Dick gave Robin to Damian.Before he told Dick that Bruce was still alive; and was met with disbelief.

Tim knew that making this mistake wouldn’t kill him. But it would hurt—hurt in a way that most people only felt when watching a dog get abandoned by its owners. Hurt in a way that left him hollow, ripped apart and scraped clean. Afraid he had nothing left to give.

He wasn’t sure how he’d ended up on a rooftop with a Bat-Burger bag in his lap, and Dick sitting next to him. The relentless wind of Gotham whipped at them. The icy rain had just eased enough to let them eat without their food getting soaked.

They’d been eating in silence for a few minutes when Tim finally spoke up.

“Can I ask you a weird question?”

“Of course. What’s up?”

“I have this friend…” Tim shivered, finishing his burger.

“Uh-huh.” Dick raised a single eyebrow, his mask quirking up.

“Well, listen-okay, so my friend kind of feels stuck right now.”

A loud sigh from Dick. “Don’t we all…” he added.

“Look, I wouldn’t come to you if I thought you wouldn’t understand. Maybe this is a bad time for this, but it’s kind of important to me, y’know? It’s just that-”

Suddenly the comms burst to life. Barbara’s voice crackled through.

“Nightwing and Red Robin, Batman is requesting backup for a possible Scarecrow attack. The Batmobile is en route, ETA 30 seconds.”

Tim sighed into the comm. “Affirmative, Oracle.”

The moment was already gone. Forgotten. He stood and began to prepare to scale down the building with his grapple.

Then he felt a hand on his ankle. He looked down. Dick was still sitting at the edge of the roof, looking up at him. Knowing his brother, Tim knew that behind the mask, Dick’s eyes were filled with worry.

“I really appreciate you coming to me for advice, you know. I missed our patrols together,” Dick said, tightening his grip on Tim’s ankle briefly. A small huff of laughter. “Want to talk about it later? I’ll even buy breakfast. From that diner we used to go to.”

Pure relief washed over Tim. This was the chance he’d been waiting for.

“Please,” Tim nodded at the masked man in front of him.

“Of course,” Dick answered earnestly, smiling as he let go of Tim’s ankle. Below them, the Batmobile pulled into the alley.

“This is Dick Grayson’s phone, you know the drill! Message after the beep!” “Hey Dick,uhm- I just wanted to know where you are? See you soon!”

“This is Dick Grayson’s phone, you know the drill! Message after the beep!” Caller did not leave a voicemail.

“This is the voicemail of Timothy Drake-Wayne. If this is an emergency, please contact my secretary, Tamara Fox. Otherwise, leave a message…” “Hey Timmy, just wanted to let you know that Jason said he’s coming to Easter breakfast at Wayne Manor, so Bruce is planning a get-together for the 20th and wants everyone to stay overnight. Alfred assured me that attendance is mandatory, just so you know. Dick chuckles audibly You can bring a plus one if you wish to, maybe Conner has time or something. I was seriously considering calling Kori, but Jason said he really needed a break from both her and Roy since things were a tad bit crazy the last time they talked. Maybe Wally isn’t busy yet actually… OKAY anyway, see youuu.”

“This is Dick Grayson’s phone, you know the drill! Message after the beep!” “Hey… I don’t think I’ll make it to Easter, actually. I have a Wayne Enterprises gala in Paris that day. Yeah… sorry… a shaking breath is audible You know, we never made it to breakfast last week. And actually- I’m kinda sick of this whole thing we keep doing, so let me just say this and let’s be done with it, alright? Honestly, it’s kind of hard to believe you haven’t noticed this before, but- we’re not okay. I get that Jason is back, and that Damian needed you when Bruce was gone, but you-Tim audibly clears his throat -you have to understand that I can’t just forget everything that happened. I know I seem grown and responsible and strong, but I also needed someone. It didn’t have to be you, but I was left with no one on my side. Doing this- the whole ‘asking-my-brother-for-advice’ thing; was me extending an olive branch. Can you believe I made up an entire elaborate story just to talk to you about something? This, all this, I don’t think I’m ready for it at all. I know you didn’t forget me on purpose, but I was there, y’know? The other morning. I sat at that stupid diner for four hours, just waiting for you to show up or to call me or to send me a stupid message. a sigh is audible I love you, man. And I respect the hell out of you, you know that. We’re busy people. We have busy lives. I know this isn’t some elaborate plot to hurt my feelings. I know you’re someone I can trust. But I think, as long as accidents like this make me feel like I have nowhere left to go and no one left to go to, we can’t keep doing this. I can’t let myself trust you like this only to fall on my ass again and again and again. We- I-I’m sick of this. Best option for me is to wait it out, I think. Until this, us meeting and things being weird and different and you forgetting me, doesn’t feel like a punch to the gut every fucking time. I appreciate you trying to invite me. Really, I do.Love you. Say happy holidays to everyone for me. Happy Easter, Dick.”

<Missed call from Dick>

<(2) missed calls from Dick>

“This is the voicemail of Timothy Drake-Wayne. If this is an emergency, please contact my secretary, Tamara Fox. Otherwise, leave a message…” “Tim- uhm, could you call me back when you get a second? I know you’re busy with WE business, but I think we have to try and talk about this… Please, Tim.”

Tim had avoided Gotham for months now.

He didn’t want to leave Gotham. Not the States. Not indefinitely. But once he sat down in the jet, wearing his stupidly expensive suit, on that windy April morning, he had to swallow down the bile rising up his throat.

He saw the missed calls and listened to Dick’s voicemail and wanted to respond, he really did. But then he opened Instagram and immediately felt a pit settle in his stomach.

It was stupid to feel hurt about this, but looking at the Instagram post Dick had uploaded not three hours ago, he couldn’t help it. It was a nice family photo- Duke and Steph smiling brightly next to each other, and all the other Waynes entangled in some kind of a fight-hug with Bruce standing behind everyone, looking at them with quiet awe.

It was a nice family picture. But the caption, “Waynes reunited again”-that stung.

Rationally, Tim knew feeling like shit about this was dumb. But the sirens in his head were blaring. He had withstood so much- but this? This was his breaking point?

He’d stood tall and waited for months on end, enduring the twisting ache in his chest, convincing himself that if he just held on, it would settle on its own.

But something had to give.

And this time, it was Tim.

This was over.

He put his phone down, asked to exit the jet, and he left.

And maybe he did heal at first. He was sure he did.

He missed everyone at home, especially Young Justice; but he didn’t dare call out to Kon, or try to reach Bart from a payphone. Cassie was probably still pissed at him for leaving the first time, so she wasn’t an option either.

And somewhere in between passing out in a small French forest thirty miles from the Parisian suburbs, and seeing the Mediterranean Sea for the first time, he started to forget. About the people he’d left behind- like they’d left him.

But then he woke up one night somewhere along the Côte d’Azur and felt like he was in his childhood bedroom. Thick clouds hung over the moon, barely letting it peek out for a few seconds before swallowing it in silver mist again.

He just laid there, lost in the memory of a life he lived a decade ago.

When he first opened his eyes, he swore he smelled his mother’s perfume lingering in the air. It was strangely comforting. He wondered if an old bottle still stood somewhere in Drake Manor.

He remembered the times she would wake him in the middle of the night and press a kiss to his forehead, that same scent surrounding her like a cloud. Whispering softly, “We have arrived home, Timothy. Sleep well.”

He thought about the time when Bruce and Dick were living down the street from him, and he would sneak out on icy nights to watch them run across the rooftops. They didn’t know him. And he didn’t really know them.

Their only interactions ever were polite handshakes at galas or parties the Drakes attended.

There were no negative emotions between them. No sense of abandonment.No heavy years of pain and suffering.No kidnappings. No Scarecrow attacks.No drug-ring busts.No fighting.

Just… nothing.

A simple, polite neutrality.

And yet, somehow, neutrality left him with less than nothing. He knew he couldn’t come home yet.

And yet.

One night Tim quietly slipped out of his small, temporary apartment in nothing but a sweat shirt and shorts. He was a mess, almost dizzy with too many thoughts swirling through his head in an endless loop. The wind picked up and within a minute a heavy summer rain engulfed him completely, soaking through his clothing. To his luck he found shelter in an old dimly lit phone booth, completely overgrown with vines on a hidden side street. He was cold, wet, exhausted and wanted to clear his head, or just to stop worrying.

It probably was a stupid idea but he threw the change in his pocket into the old machine and typed in an all too familiar number, one he hadn’t dialled in months.

The rusted display began to glow and to his surprise he heard it ring two times before someone picked up.

“Hello?” Dick’s voice was gruff; probably half asleep and confused. It felt weird to catch Dick in a moment of vulnerability and made Tim want to throw the receiver back at the pay phone and disappear.

“Hey…It’s me.” He instead said softly.

A beat of silence then-

“Tim?”

“Yeah. I’m not- I don’t have reason to call. I just-“ Tim sighed heavily “I don’t know.”

Tim could hear Dick drawing in a breath.

“You can always call me, you don’t have to have a reason.”

Tim couldn’t help but pull a grimace and close his eyes, the words felt like they went from his ear directly to the pit in his stomach. The distance, the guilt, the hurt were still waiting there, ready to be unearthed. Then he told Dick, voice curt to try and hide the hurt, “It wasn’t always like that.”

A heavy silence followed and the static in Tim’s ear crackled as he waited for Dick to say something- anything.

“That’s fair, I probably deserved that.” Dick answered, and Tim couldn’t help but wince at the hurt he heard in the others voice.

“This- I couldn’t sleep. Too many thoughts, I feel like I am struggling under this heavy burden even though all of it’s over. Bruce is back- everyone’s back. It’s just me who’s gone.” His voice was tight and he knew he sounded exhausted, he leaned against the cool glass of the phone booth and bumped the back of his head against the wall repeatedly.

“Are you save?” Dick asked him after another silent pause that felt like years.

Tims voice broke, “Yeah, just trying to be… better? I don’t know…” he breathed out heavily.

“I’m sorry, Tim. For everything, I never wanted to hurt you like this.” Dick said with a raw voice. “You never should have gone through all that alone, and I just-“ his voice broke and Tim’s throat tightened. He didn’t want to cry, not here, not on the phone to Dick, thousands of miles away from Gotham.

“I feel like I lost you, Tim. I never wanted that, I never thought I could screw us up like this…” Tim could almost hear Dick fraying at the edges. And the only growing summer storm, pounded against the phone booth, drowning out the static that rang through the speaker as they both sat in silence again.

Dick spoke up again first, “I’m sorry, Tim.”

And Tim didn’t know what to say, in his ideal world, he’d give his brother a hug and tell him that all was forgotten- but in that world, none of the heavy and soul crushing shit would have happened to him in the first place.

“I- I’m not coming back. Not yet.” Was the only thing he managed to wring out himself to say in fear of breaking down.

“I know,” Dick said softly.

Another pause.

Tim knew what to say, but his tongue felt heavy in his mouth, every word felt like it fought it's way out.

“I might call again.”

“I’ll be here. I’ll pick up.”

Tim swore he could feel something move in his chest like a weight falling off him.

“Goodbye, Dick.” He whispered into the receiver.

“Goodnight, Tim. Love you.” Dick said and for the first time in a long time, Tim believed him.

The soft tone of a disconnected call buzzed in the receiver and Tim stood still listening to it for a moment before he placed it back on the hook.

And the rain outside kept pouring.

PROMPT OF THE WEEK: phone call

its almost 1 am if u find any grammar/vocab mistakes you can keep em. ya no entiendo nada

thank you! @anyknot for the wonderful promt <3

divider by @cafekitsune

don’t forget to like and reblog if you you enjoyed this post!

I know Jason was dead-set on revenge and sticking it to Batman in UTRH but now I’m making myself sad thinking about a Jason who finally sees Bruce as Batman again after so many years, and he sees Nightwing and another Robin but he can’t hear them. For the first time ever, he’s not on their comm frequency. He’s locked out of Bruce’s quiet field orders and status checks. He can see Bruce but he can’t hear him. All he gets is the mask.

hope is a skill

writers are creatures that feed on comments by the way. if you want more of your blorbo from them, give them lovely comments. they love that and will most likely give you more fics about your blorbo

Ooooh ideas

I’ve had this wild headcanon circling in my head for a few days now. Just something quick before I head to bed: civilians working at the Watchtower.

Not just one or two, but a small team—maybe under a hundred people—hired to handle the kinds of jobs superheroes don’t always have the time, training, or bandwidth for. Doctors, nurses, administrative staff, financial analysts, tech support, even custodians and social media managers. And here’s the catch: not a single one of them ever reveals the heroes’ identities.

Why do they stay? Because the job is good. The environment is excellent. The pay? Amazing. Benefits? Better than anything you'd get working a normal nine-to-five on Earth. Sure, the occasional intergalactic invasion or magical mishap might make for a stressful Tuesday, but in general, it’s a surprisingly stable, fulfilling job.

Need help in the medbay? There’s a small, dedicated medical team. Parental leave for anyone? HR’s already got the paperwork ready. A hero injured on a League mission? Don’t worry—the League covers the medical expenses and provides recovery support.

I like to think Batman used to manage all of this himself. For a while, he tried to juggle it—because of course he did—but no matter how much people think he's superhuman, he's still one man with a full-time company to run. Eventually, he started recruiting a reliable team. People handpicked, vetted, and trusted. Civilians who could handle the loose ends most heroes wouldn’t even think about—basic logistics, liability, disaster response, benefits.

And it’s not just medicine. Sure, they’ve got alien tech that can heal broken bones in a flash, but they still need people. Nurses, therapists, surgeons. Heroes with those skill sets exist, but they have lives outside of those roles. They can’t do everything.

And then there’s social media. Bruce Wayne knows better than anyone how important public image is these days. The League needs PR experts—someone to coordinate interviews, run official Instagram accounts, post educational content on what to do if you find a magical artifact on your morning jog, or what civilians should avoid after a city-leveling alien fight. Maybe Superman and Wonder Woman are featured in the press, doing goodwill interviews. Batman? He stays behind the curtain, but someone still needs to manage his presence.

Every four weeks, someone’s getting brainwashed. Someone’s getting cloned. Someone’s going rogue. There needs to be a team that can step in, clean up, and carry on. People who understand that their work matters, even if it’s behind the scenes.

That’s why the Watchtower needs civilians. Trained, committed people doing honest, often thankless work. Heroes are heroes, sure—but they’re also people. They need lives, rest, and support. And sometimes, the best way to keep the world safe is by letting someone else carry part of the weight.

Oh Kal, you're such a troll

The "Sassy" Core 4 are my babies. WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY ARE WELL BEHAVED?

Nah, these 4 are little shits 🐛

When ur mutuals w/ some cool ass people rb if u agree