3. Chapter 3 (1/2)

soaring free

a young justice fanfiction

heya! i was surprised with how many people responded to my question.

there will not be any major ocs!

i have thought it through, and now have a mid-length plot lined out. any ocs will not play a major part and will simply be to move plot around a little faster.

and i'm well aware that i'm screwing with characters, their story, personality, and such, but, you know, fanfiction.

sorry it's short!

without any more adieu...

disclaimer: i do not own young justice.

"i... i understand, sir. i'll collect my belongings in the morning. of course, commisioner."

i sigh and hang up the phone. turns out richard grayson was gone a little too long to keep his job.

i plop down on my bed. my elbows find their way to my knees, and my head meets my hands. no straight answer from the team, no job, no apartment (dami and i had had to move out after three months; no landlord likes an empty lot for long, no matter if people are paying. maintenance needs to be done, after all). i guess i'm starting again from the ground up.

again.

at least i still have the league?

my eyes start to water. it's been a stressful year, and my body is feeling the strain. distantly, i hear the soft padding of feet and feel a weight next to me. i smile shaking as damian burrows his way onto my lap. my arms close around him and i laugh uneasily, kissing the top of his head.

"what's wrong, dad?"

at the title, tears start to stream down my face. names have always held a special place in my heart. i guess it started with my mother, calling me her little robin. then, the line snapped, and i took on a new name: orphan. not long after that, i became wayne's ward. at the time, i frowned at the title, but now, it's something i secretly love; it's a gift from my second father.

but then i started school.

and the names never stopped coming. circus freak. charity case. gypsy trash. that last one always hurts the most; in it, they defile my entire family, my whole history. the first time someone said it, i practically went into shock.

over the course of my life, significant events have always been marked by another name.

other. hero. genius. officer.

but none so important as dad.

the tears start for real, and i hear damain let out a little grunt as my hug tightens. "i... i lost my job at the precinct."

a voice sounds from the doorway. "well, why don't you apply to the gotham pd?"

my head shoots up to see tim leaning against my doorway. he pushes off and enters the room. in an instant, a disgruntled dami is off my lap and my arms are around my youngest

other. "timmy!"

he chuckles and returns my hug. "hey, dick."

i pull back, keeping my hand on his shoulders and glance over him. too long hair falling in his eyes, slim but defined muscles, sparkling blue eyes. all in all, my baby

other. "when did you get here?"

he smirks. "about ten minutes ago." he jerks his head towards damian. "little d over there was supposed to tell you."

i turn towards my son and raise an eye

ow. he shrugs. "uncle tim is here."

"thank you," i respond dryly. "very helpful."

he only raises an eye

ow back. "of course."

my tears gone, i wrap one arm around tim and another around dami. "so, why did you come? not that you're not welcome," i hastily add on.

he shrugs. "wanted to check on you." he pauses, but then looks a little embarrassed. "also, i needed a

eak from the titans. as much as i love the guys..." he trails off.

damian slips out the door, mumbling an obviously made up excuse about having a dickens book to finish. i appreciate the sentiment none the less, and lead tim over to the bed, where we both sit down and length against the headboard. we sit in silence for a few moments before he speaks again. "how are you handling everything?"

i sigh and drop my head down on his shoulder; it's a position we've adopted many times over, with one

other flopping his head down and the other leaning on top. it's become a source of comfort for both of us.

i've discovered that that's the best thing about

others. you might annoy each other to hell and back, but then moments like this come along. no matter how much biting, scratching and punching goes on, you just fit right back into place in moments like these. no matter the distance between you, your

others always have your back.

i force myself mind to consider the question seriously. how am i handling this? "i..." my voice cracks. "i... not very well."

crap. the tears are back.

tim, wonderful, amazing, quiet tim just puts his arm around me, letting me choose whether to continue or not.

i sit there sniffling pathetically for a few moments, before continuing. "i mean... it's like this whole thing was designed to highlight my shortcomings. yes, it was a difficult trial, but... it didn't make me ignore my son. i did that. it didn't make me lie to dozens of people. i did that. the only thing it made me do was turn young. i did the rest!"

i sigh, but relax slightly when tim starts running his hands through my hair. i smile as i remember doing the same when he had trouble sleeping when he first came to the manor. what goes around comes around, i think randomly.

when it becomes apparent that i'm not going to say anymore, tim clears his throat. i hold back a chuckle. tim inherited the normal wayne inability to discuss feelings. i'm the only one immune, oddly enough. even my son didn't escape it.

"listen, dick..." his head grows heavier on mine and he sighs as well. if i wasn't a 26 year old man, i'd label this a prime example of teenaged angst. but, i am a man, so...it's perfectly okay, right?

right?

i redirect my mind again. "nothing really excuses the way that you acted," tim says.

i shoot upright and turn to glare at him. "and that's supposed to help how exactly?" i demand.

he sits up as well and shrugs. "it's the truth. but you know what? that doesn't matter any more."

i turn my whole body to face him and sit criss cross apple sauce (okay, maybe i'm not quite an adult yet...). "what do you mean?"

he only shrugs helplessly again. "the past exists for a reason, you know? it's there to guide us, to help us learn and progress." his voice grows more certain as he continues speaking. "so let history do its job, okay?! learn from it! listen to it! don't repeat it, but utilize it!"

he sighs and cards his hand through his ebony hair. "just... just let history do it job."

huh. that...

let history do its job...

i shake my head. "you're right, like always."

he smirks. "of course i am."

i laugh as he stands up and smooths down his clothes.