iphoenixrising:

Yes. I am broken as fuck.
In some way, we all are. Maybe that’s
why the Tim Drake fandom sticks together.  Maybe that’s why we can all move, why we support
each other. Maybe that’s why you guys in the fandom stay with me when
I write this crazy shit.

And the awesome Asks in my box that had to do with that
stupid post? Those are mine, I’m keeping them there so I can look at them again
when I get weak. You anons that wrote them? You’re in my fucking heart, okay.
You lend to my strength and I’m not going to forget that shit. I’m going to go
back and read those messages when I need you to remind me I’m not worthless.
So, just know that. Know that you have my thanks.

You others with messages and loves and encouragement: you are my redemption.  And, I’m still going to stand. I’m still going to write. I’m
not going to lay down. Fuck. That. Shit.

**

He spits a mouthful of blood and smiles.

They’ve worked him over and there’s a helluva lot of owfuck going down right here since,
well, torture and shit.

Too bad they don’t have any inkling what Red can realistically take. It’s going to be a hard lessons.
Here’s hoping they’re bad guys with endurance. At this rate, someone’s going to
pull a muscle and it sure as hell isn’t going to be him.

“We know you made the device,” Smart Masked Thug Number 1 is trying to
be the voice of reason. The good cop in the whole good cop/bad cop scenario. “So
you might as well tell us what we want to know.”

Red huffs a noise, something close to a laugh because, you know, bad guys that never learn.

“I also make banging smoothies,” he deadpans, “I’m not giving that shit
up either.”

Stupid Thug Number 1 in the corner with the brass knuckles and
propensity for jabs right in the joint actually chokes on a laugh. He remembers
himself only when Smart Masked Thug glares over at him.

“We were really trying to do
this the easy way,” Smart Thug continues (and easy way? It’s not like he’s new
to the game or anything), “so no one else would get hurt.”

The damaged screens on the opposite wall light up at the press of a
button and—

Fuck

“Did you know rock can be condensed? Purified?”

From behind the whiteouts, Red watches Kon falter in the plastic cage.
The metas strength sapped by the glowing green rock in the corner of the cell.

“It can be. Especially
kryptonite. Fascinating substance. You should study it sometime.”

Red’s jaw firms, his brow furrows. He was totally fine taking a back
seat, seeing where this little song
and dance was going to lead— until ten seconds ago. Now, well, now he’s going
to bring the fucking beat down. A
small, frightening smile starts to cut across his face, his shoulder and arms
tightening for the inevitable.

“It can cleaned to 99.9%,” Smart Thug just keeps talking, digging
himself deeper. “And I think your teammate is really reaping the benefit of our
efforts.”

Red’s eyes slide to Stupid Thug (who may have picked up on the something bad emanating) when the muscle
straightens, cracks his already bruised knuckles again. You know, just for good
measure.

“How long do you think he’s going to last in there?” Smart Thug wonders
idly, also looking at the screen. “I mean, Superman could probably last about
six minutes before he goes comatose. Eleven would kill him outright.”

“You aren’t as smart as you think you are,” Red interrupts just as his
thumbs do what needs to be done.

Smart Thug laughs loudly, “really? You’re trapped here and he’s trapped
there. What do you think you could really do now, Red Robin?”

And that scary smiles widens, shows some teeth.

“I’m a Bat. We’re full of surprises.”

And his hands dive out of the cuffs easily with the dislocated thumbs,
and Red is a whirl of movement; jump kick to take down Smart Thug long enough
for him to deal with Stupid Thugs 1-3 in the room with them. He and Smart Thug
are going to have a little conversation
about strategy, but at the moment, he moves like water, a flow of jabs,
punches, kicks, and maneuvers. He’s more harsh than usual, intending to make
sure there’s more than enough owfuck to
go around.

Stupid Thug 1 is going to be missing those molars later; Stupid Thugs 2
and 3 aren’t going to need surgery, but physical therapy might be in their futures.

Red works the control panel, one eye on Superboy’s waning form; his
teammate held up only by the restraints around his wrists. He gets the location
of that cell in a heartbeat as Smart Thug is finally coming to, trying to get
his feet under him.

Red looms right in his line of sight, appearing like a ghost. He has no
issues palming the back of the guy’s head, “you picked the wrong vigilante and his team to fuck
with,” is a simply statement, growled low and dangerous, “I suggest you get
into a new line of work.”

Smart Thug takes a dive right into the computer bank, breaking his nose
and cheekbone under the pressure; the security cameras go black as does the
rest of the installation. It’s fine. Some things are better in the dark.

**

Superboy is kinda, mostly, somewhat aware
when Red frees him and pretty much carries him the hell out of the plastic
cell. The guy is like a limp noodle, arms and legs flopping around until Red
just heaves a sigh and manages to get the deadweight slung over one shoulder,
free hand holding the meta in place while he takes off through the blackout.

A trembling signals one of the explosive charges has already gone off,
so the bad guys are probably feeling the panic right about now.

Good. That makes him feel
better about not getting the intel he’d come here to find.

“H—how did—“ slurred from over his shoulder as he takes the corridors
from the blueprints in his memory, “…find me?”

Welp, this is one of those moments in which he can make Kon believe he
has some kind of superpower of his own. Really, the guy makes it too easy
sometimes.

“I had a feeling you might be here.” Red replies, taking a moment in
the shadows to let the bad guys run right past them. “Call it vigilante
intuition.”

A noise could be calling him on his bullshit or a request for burgers
on their way back to the Tower when they get out of this. Either way, all good.

Red takes less than a few seconds to assess the noise versus the
emergency ways out; in less than a few seconds, they’re moving again, Red’s
mental clock counting down until they would need a nice, easy distraction.

“R—Rob,” Kon slurs, and it almost makes Red take a pause, even so, his
feet stutter a second before he catches himself (it had been a long time since
he was that Robin, and isn’t it just
a fucking bitch how much hearing that
old endearment, those old, good memories, just make him want to—), “never told
you…’m sorry.”

“What are you on about?” Red ducks down the next section of corridor, but
his tone is slightly hoarse because whatever Kon might be thinking isn’t
something he’s going to want to hear. Nope.
This has bad written all over it.

“…Dick took your cape,” Kon fills in, “…didn’t…I didn’t even ask—“

“You didn’t need to,” Red fills in quickly, “you were thrown right into
the old life. There wasn’t time, right?”

“Bullshit,” the meta wheezes, “…’m a shitty best friend. Let you go…alone for a year…no back-up—“

“Shut-up, man. Seriously. None of that was your fault.”

And right around the corner? Bingo.

This is the control panel you’re
looking for.

Red hurries, bends to slide Kon off his shoulder to sit on the floor
and recover while the vigilante works the panel lose and plugs in his wrist
computer, hacking to get access to the compound’s mainframe. Slack against the wall,
Kon is looking up at him blearily, eyes glassy with the effects of being close
to kryptonite. He needed the sun and stat.

“Don’t fucking say that. You—you always have everyone’s back, and that time, no one had yours.”

Red glances down, frowning, and back up to the code he’s working like a boss.

“We…the team talked about it once,” Kon fills in. “About how shitty
that was.”

Red’s hands stop, and he’s blinking behind the whiteouts because no, he hadn’t expected anyone to give a
shit that he was alone and without a net because he’d been a vigilante for
years at that point, had gotten used to solving his own problems, had been—

Even though he hates talking
about this shit, Red takes a quick knee to put him right in front of Kon,
raises the lenses even though he really doesn’t have to. “Look,” and it’s the
voice of the man under the mask, the real
person, “I had moments. Bad ones when I just wanted to lay the fuck down and
not get up. When I started to think everyone else was right and maybe…maybe I
was just losing my mind because I was grieving.”

And Kon blinks hard, almost pinches himself since it usually takes a
massive amount of a) blood loss b) Joker venom c) sleep deprivation or d) magic
for Red to talk about his real feelings. It had been easier back when he was Robin. Back when that guy had still been
a Bat but could talk to them about anything. Had trusted them with the man
behind the mask.

It had been a minute since that had been the case. Becoming Red had made the wall around the guy
that much harder to penetrate—had made him pull back from showing them his
humanity.

Kon makes sure he’s paying attention.

“I thought losing my cape broke me.” The admission is stark, quiet, and
Kon is secretly horrified that he never knew.
“I thought Hood was right from the beginning. I was just some stand-in for him,
just a kid pretending to be the real thing.”

Red’s chest hitches with the words and old pain welling up from
somewhere deep, somewhere he’d buried all these things when it became
obvious he had no choice but to keep moving.
“I thought it meant that I was doing everything wrong, that they gave me up because I just wasn’t worth it. That I
was never worth it, Kon.”

And even through the darkness, Kon can see those eyes get darker with
old recriminations.

“T—Red, man, that’s—“

“Where I was for a while. For a long while,” Red admits, “I still have
my moments where all I can see is the darkness.” Because there is no light anymore.

Even though it’s hard, Kon is able to grip Red’s wrist, shuts himself
up so it can spill out of the vigilante, this terrible truth.

“And just when I’m ready to throw in the towel, when I think it’s time
to hang up the cape and try out the normal life, one of you guys gets me back
into the right headspace, where I need
to be.” Red breathes out slowly, “it’s always one of you that reminds me who I am and why I do what I do, why I
chose this. Why I still choose it. I…
Kon, I wouldn’t be able to keep moving without
all of you having my back.”

And Kon doesn’t think twice about it, forces his body to move so he can pull a Dick Grayson and
throw his weak arms around Red Robin’s beaten form. His jaw tightens while he
holds on, thinking about how the team wanted to put more protocols in place
since Red has a bad tendency to vanish
on his solo missions and come back half-dead. He’s more reckless with himself
now as Red Robin, less careful about himself.

Maybe they were right to worry.

“So now you know,” Red breathes out hoarsely over Kon’s shoulder. “I’m
good. At this point, much better than I was during that year. I have this
loveable group of assholes to keep me
moving.”

“We have no intention of stopping.” Kon assures, blinking back the
slight tinges of fear when he realizes how badly that year could have gone if
Red hadn’t been searching desperately for signs the original Batman was still
alive. Without a purpose, what would have happened to the guy?

“Good. Now, let me hack this panel so we can get the fuck out of here
before our group of mother hens comes
looking for—“

The massive noise to the right, followed promptly by loud sounds
answers that.

“I may have forgotten to mention BB planted sensors in your suit,” Kon
smirks as Red takes to his feet in the ready
to kick ass stance toward the commotion. “You know, for just in case.”

“Please tell me you’re joking,” Red deadpans, hurrying back to the
control panel.

“Something tells me it’s a really good idea. You have a bad habit of
getting your ass kick just enough not to die.”

Red cracks the firewall and—

“Aw, hey! I totally win this
round,” BB flaps his wings once and shifts seamlessly, flipping over to his
human form. He grins at his two teammates, taking in Kon’s lax form and Red’s
torn suit. “I said I’d find you guys first
and that means I get the pick for movie night. Totally righteous.”

Red’s gaze slowly goes back to Kon, who is grinning like an asshole.

“Told ‘ya.”

“We’re going to have a talk
about sensors in my suits.”

BB laughs, right at his face.
“We sure can, but do you seriously think you’re going to win? I mean, you’ve
met Rave and Wonder Girl, right?”

Red makes a final adjustment and unhooks his wrist computer with a
sigh. Together, he and BB get Kon on his feet, moving to where the rest of the
team is waiting. And just like he told Kon, it’s all of them that keep him on his feet, give him the strength to stand.