Batboys x Reader

The Water Fountain (Tim Drake x Reader)

I pass by cracked windows and mouldy, browned wooden walls with water stains painting as scars upon skin. I walk through the narrow doorways, my eyes still searching for any sign of (Y/N). I stop at a collapsed doorway. The wooden planks stop me from entering, still there from when the side of the house had fallen on itself. The boards are cracked and splintery although upon further inspection I notice a disturbance in the dust...newly made footsteps.

"Batman, I've found something," I report.

"What do you have?" He asks.

"Fresh footprints," I reply.

"Check it out and report back to me, the others and I will search the rest of the gounds," He instructs.

"Got it," I reply.

(Y/N) Pov

There is no movement without pain. The bruises adorning my skin are long and thin like the bats they used. I scream out to the empty room unable to tell if the pain radiating throughout my body is just from the numerous beatings or from the broken bones. There is a cut above my left eye, the blood already brown and dried. My abdomen feels like my guts are on fire. I wipe the dried blood from my now pallid skin. From my left elbow to my wrist there is only raw flesh, varying in different shades of red and pink. I know that if I were to look in a mirror I'd barely recognized myself. I grit my teeth together and look up, rising unsteadily to my feet, stifling a pained scream with my scuffed palm and sink to the floor.

Tears flow down my cheeks as if they were water from a dam. There is static in my head once more, a side effect of the fear and stress. I hear my own sounds, like a distressed child, raw from the inside. It takes something out of me I didn't know I had left to give. This despair is a heady blackness; my numerous plans of escape which I had thought out have now vanished to black, not blocked, but like they were never there at all. The notion of hope feels meaningless no...if my mind lingers on such plans they start to feel like cruel tricks, as cruel as any desert mirage. The door bursts open, the Joker making another one of his grand entrances causing me to whimper. His black leather shoes click against the ground as he stalks towards me, a gun loosely hanging from his fingertips.

"Well, our playtime has been nothing less of fun but unfortunately we have to cut things short." He announces.

He grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking me to my feet. Sharp pain lances through my head and colourful spots move and merge in front of my eyes. The pain takes me deep inside myself to some primitive place that knows how to cope with the kind of pain. He drags me across the warehouse, tears pricking my eyes, my pale hands trembling with fear. When we finally come to a stop I realise Tim was only a few feet in front of us, holding Harley hostage with his collapsible bo-staff held tightly across her throat, choking her. I feel the cool metal of Joker's gun against my back as he tightly grips my arm.

"I'll kill her, I'll kill her if you don't give Batgirl back." Tim threatens.

"You know, there's a difference between you and me bat-brat," Joker begins.

"What's that?" Tim asks, his hold on Harley loosening.

In a matter of seconds, Harley breaks free of Tim's grip and bounds towards Joker's side.

"I'm not held back by those things called morals. When I want to kill someone, I actually do it." Joker laughs maniacally.

"No, no, no. You take me instead, do you hear me? Give her back and take me instead." Tim bargains desperately.

"Don't sacrifice yourself for me Robin. Batman needs you, not me." I beg.

"Glorious last words Batgirl." Joker laughs once more.

"I love--" Tim's words are cut off by a loud crack.

The pain that once burned like fire is now an icy numbness. Black fills the edges of my vision and the only thing I can hear is my own heartbeat. My breath comes in ragged, shallow gasps. My body is thrown to the ground carelessly, seconds pass as I lay there, then, I hear voices. I close my eyes, my fragile, human heart beating one last time.

Tim Drake Pov

Her natural (S/C) skin has sunken in tone to something so lifeless it scares me just to look at her. I drop to my knees, one hand pressing into the gunshot wound, the other clutching her hand. She's gone, dead. In that eternal second, I feel her presence, like the last kiss we never got to have. My mind struggling to stay in that moment, to keep her close. 

"Don't leave me!" I cry out.

I sob into her chest unceasingly, hands clutching at her jacket. A small lapse let me pull away, blinking lashes heavy with tears, before I collapse again, my howls of misery worsening. Bruce pulls me away from her body despite my struggles to hold her in my arms once more. through my tears, I watch Dick gently pick her limp body up.

"It's not your fault Tim," Bruce says, attempting to comfort me.

"I have nothing, no one, she's gone. He took her away from me, just like he did to you! I let down the people I love because I'm good enough. I could have saved her! If I just had more time, I could have saved her." I reply.

"Tim," Bruce begins.

"She deserved better than me." I interrupt him.

"She loved you Tim, she knew the consequences of living this life and she chose to anyway. I doubt she would have stayed if she believed that there was something better than this...than you," Jason reasons.

*A few days later*

Sitting here, I am surrounded by flowers, blossoming with the benevolence (Y/N) shared throughout her life. A reminder of the love and joy she brought to so many. Each petal symbolising her elegance and remarkable charm. The message engraved on her headstone is a simplistic reflection of her complete beauty. I wish I could chisel a stick to a point and engrave a message of truth, reflecting more strongly the passion she inspired on others. Oh, how she changed my world. How she made me realise what I need in my life. No other has a chance with me; she was my perfection, and now she is gone. 

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I should've built a home with a fountain for us
the moment that she told me that she was in love

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