#[ like the wisps. like the caretaker. i think there's something else there that is either ]

[blightoath]

when i was replaying some of the beginning of veilguard the other day, i realized something in that first conversation between rook and solas. rook's monologuing and talking about how solas' big ritual is what tore down the veil and how he's the one who let the evanuris free, all he and varric were trying to do was stop him. varric just wanted to talk, and now varric is hurt.

and solas is about to blurt out varric is dead.

but solas can tell, in that moment, that rook fully believes that varric is just hurt. that something in the fade or in rook's own psyche has made them believe it. maybe he can even feel that rook feels it's true through the fade or their blood magic connection. and you can literally see him pivot in real time to take this as an advantage. he goes from wanting to say varric is dead to varric is... quite practiced at shading the truth himself.

he was being fully honest previously when he said he hated blood magic. doesn't mean he won't use it if it's already done to get himself out of prison.

[flowersforthemachines]

Some facts about Neve (and Tevinter) gathered from the banters

I went through all companion banters on DanaDuchy's channel after playing the game to write down all facts about companions/the world that I haven't seen brought up anywhere in the game as a writing reference (and for funsies).

Note: This list may not be exhaustive. I might have missed some something or didn't write it down because I considered it common knowledge. If you have anything to add, please DM me or send an ask! (do specify what banter the information is coming from, though)

Note 2: Posts from this series (mostly) don't include information from banters specific to quests or between companions and faction members. I plan to do another playthrough to capture more of those and will add any relevant info to the character posts.

Other characters' posts: Bellara, Davrin, Harding, Lucanis, Emmrich, Taash. I'm also planning a post about just the Lighthouse some time later

About Neve:

General:

Neve isn’t rich, and her best coat is a gift from a grateful tailor after she saved his warehouse from an arsonist

Neve’s coat is woven with enchantments to resist fire and lighting 

Neve has never done blood magic. She is against it on principle and judges those who use it 

Neve doesn’t seem to like entertaining extreme hypotheticals since she reacts to Harding’s questions like “What would you take with you to a deserted island?” with asking why she would end up in such situations in the first place 

Neve wouldn’t want gems on her leg, because she thinks they would get stolen within a day of working in Minrathous, and she generally prefers to keep a low profile while on the job

However, she still considers saving up for a new, fancier leg to have more fashion choices. She likes Taash’s idea of getting a ruby inlay for it

Neve never visited Rivain before joining the Veilguard, though she now finds its beaches charming

Ever since she was a baby, Neve was stubborn and asked too many questions (and hated unanswered questions as well)

Neve likes Qunari food but thinks it’s very spicy

Neve likes seafood 

Neve doesn't drink tea

Neve isn’t really close with her family

Neve once tried to use a wisp-repelling artefact the Veil Jumpers found to get rid of the wisps in her room, but it only attracted wisps from the entire Lighthouse

Neve isn’t interested in exploring the mysteries of the Lighthouse because she has enough mysteries on this side of the Veil

(If Rook chooses to save Minrathous) Neve sends civil engineers to assist in Treviso 

On work: 

Neve didn’t want to be a detective when she was a child (not as if in she didn’t like the idea, she just didn’t consider it), though she didn’t have any dream career either 

Neve got into detective work by picking up odd jobs and building a reputation of being good at finding things. Eventually, she was hired to find someone’s brother, a case nobody else wanted to pick up, and her career took off 

Neve agrees that she is cynical and married to her job, but doesn’t consider herself ‘serious’  

Neve allegedly has a system for sorting her papers (Emmrich and Rana are sceptical about its existence) 

(If Neve becomes Dock Town's protector) Elek is implied to visit the Lighthouse again multiple times. Taash mentions seeing him poking around the library. Neve explained that he thought he could grab some fade-touched items to sell, and told him to run the plan by the Caretaker (one would think they did not approve)

On life in Minrathous: 

Neve was born and raised in Minrathous

Neve has never been inside the Archon’s Palace

(If Neve chooses to become Dock Town’s inspiration) Neve doesn’t regret letting Aelia live because she got information on Venatori out of her, and her death wouldn’t change the past

(If Neve chooses to become Dock Town’s inspiration) Neve gets to take a break for once in her life because Rana keeping an eye on the Dock Town actually helps

(If Neve chooses to become Dock Town’s inspiration) People gossip about Neve and Rana after they start their agency :)

Neve describes the rain of Minrathous as "cold fingers down your neck", but she misses it now that she's away from the city. The sound helps her fall asleep 

Neve’s entire apartment could fit inside villa Dellamorte’s dining room 

One of Tevinter papers referred to Neve as "Dock Town dirt-chaser," and to Emmrich as "sinister foreign necromancer”

A Tevinter paper called The Minrathous Herald once wrote that Neve should be exiled. The same paper called Shadow Dragons “traitors to the Empire” 

Neve never runs out of ink because she's on good terms with Minrathous ink sellers 

There is however one banter where she runs out of ink (I think it was with Davrin). Make of that what you will. 

On the Shadow Dragons: 

Neve didn't know Dorian personally until she joined the Shadow Dragons

Neve figured out the Viper's identity even before joining the Dragons. Her not revealing it to the public is one of the reasons he recruited her

Tarquin calls Neve a pain in the ass 

Relationships with companions: 

Neve calls Manfred ‘Fred’ (he seems to like that)

Manfred learns to say Neve's name (likely only happens if you revive him at the Necropolis, though I am not sure)

Neve introduces Lucanis to a spice shop in Dock Town

Harding describes Neve’s tastes in coffee as “made of gutter water filtered through an old sock”

Lucanis once showed Neve’s coffee to Viago. He found it “unsettling” 

Davrin thinks drinking Neve's coffee is worse than the Joining

Neve spoils Assan (but denies that accusation)

Neve is rather quick to consider questioning corpses with Emmrich’s help for her cases 

Neve is very apprehensive about lichdom and the perspective of Emmrich eventually turning evil (just like Emmrich isn't thrilled about her taking over the Threads for similar reasons)

Lucanis is concerned about Neve taking over the Threads. Mainly, about how much they are paying her

Neve has multiple banters with Taash discussing her relationship with Lucanis. Taash initially thinks of it as some sort of predator-prey dynamic, but Neve says she is not into that and explains that they are taking it slow and cautious. They both went through a lot of pain in their lines, which they tend not to show for different reasons

Neve's relationship with Lucanis is also more than she usually looks for with people

Neve takes Taash to Hal’s fish fry stand. Taash loved it :)

Taash offers Neve help on ladders in case she may need it/it gets stuck on steps due to being hook-shaped, mentioning they knew a Lord of Fortune who lost a hand and whose shoulders hurt while climbing because of it. Neve seems to appreciate the gesture, even though she can handle herself

Neve thinks Taash is nice to work with, offering help without being overbearing like some people are

Neve asks Taash to teach her Gold Thief (a Lord of Fortune dice game), so she can play it with the Shadow Dragons, and then subsequently gets beaten by the Viper

On Tevinter: 

Fashion is important in Tevinter because a good outfit lets people know you are under the protection of someone powerful

There aren’t many mages in Docktown, which is one of the reasons the government doesn’t care about it 

The big red cat near Halos’s stand is named Ferdinand

Stains on clothes can be cleaned with magic

You can get pineapples anywhere in Minrathous 

Neve calls the magic used for the lights in Minrathous a party trick, but Emmrich considers it a high-level enchantment because of its quality and duration

Tevinter doesn’t regulate the charms sold in the market (which is why there are a lot of scammers who sell fakes) 

[talesofsonicasura]

Dancer of Destiny

Yup! Another Trollhunters AU but with a rather delightful twist when it comes to Jim. There are gonna be two flavors: one human and one full troll! I can forget the dash of Monster Hunter inspiration either. Don't need to know about MH for this as I'm keeping it simple and limited.

Trolldancer

A seven year old Jim begins having very strange yet very real dreams of another world. One where monsters and people unlike anything he ever seen tend to collide. Jim is taken in by a Monster Hunter by the name of Val'tah Choso alongside his monster ward Buena, a Will o' Wisp Magnamalo. (Old drawing)

In the waking world, he lives a normal life with his mother and friend completely unaware about what happens when he sleeps. Jim learns to dance under Val'tah's tutelage upon discovering his caretaker's personal hobby but also former dream. Although the lessons of monster hunting doesn't fail to sink its claws when the young boy turns 13.

Nor the domino effect when Jim soon learns about the world underneath his feet but also his dreams hold more influence than he thought. Sometimes a dance can change destiny just like any blade.

Jim isn't the Trollhunter but he will assist them whether it be Kanijar or someone else. Young Lake bears magic that is tied to not only the dances he was taught but also his experiences in the Monster Hunter world. I will tell you at least two parts of Jim's magic.

Offensive Style which is summoning weapons and armor he acquired to apparitions based on monsters he fought to his aid. When it comes to his apparitions, think of Bending from ATLA mixed with ROTTMNT Raphael's magic in how they operate. If the monster has an element or specific nature such as being venomous, then his apparition shall have that same ability.

Wild Style can cause various effects such as empower allies, debuff enemies, healing or even change the weather. It just depends on what he performs especially if it encompasses a monster.

Example: Scarlet Feast, Malzeno

-Every successful attack drains bits of the victims' strength and heal Jim. Any beneficial boosts can also be stolen. Once a certain amount of damage is done, "Bloodening" mode triggers boosting Jim's power and speed for a short time.

Jim's unique magic definitely put him in the line of fire during one earlier clash between the Kanijar and Bular(not the canon battle.) Something that leads to him being called 'Trolldancer' as his current clothing made him look like a troll from a distance. Trust me when I say both sides are looking for Jim and it drags the dancer's companions into the madness too.

Protector of Dancing Souls

A mysterious crystal gives life to a troll whelp immune to sunlight. He is raised by a mysterious tribe of Felynes and given the name Avalon. (I couldn't resist a Troll Jim being raised by cats, well, cat based monsters).

He learned not only from his tribe but also the people he tends to spy on, especially hunters. Avalon took the role of a protector, at first leading others to safety until an encounter with a dangerous monster gave him reason to fight. This earned him the Monster name 'Petronion, Dancer of Souls' and the Fanged Beast classification amongst the hunting world.

On one fateful day, a teenage Avalon crashes into Arcadia, badly injured from a fight with a dangerous unknown monster. (10 years before the events of the show.) He is found by Barbara and nursed back to health while given the name Jim. Ends up meeting Toby two weeks after his arrival as the child had a scheduled visit the nurse accidentally forgot.

Over the years, both help the misplaced troll become accustom to this new world and he shares his knowledge in return. It isn't much longer before one midnight run goes wrong as Jim encounters a battle between two certain trolls. Remember that our troll boy has no knowledge about what he is nor if there are more like him.

Jim only interferes when Bular's temperament marks him as a major threat and chases him off. He flees before Kanijar could stop the young troll who is facing an existential crisis. Everything Jim knows about himself has been flipped on its head and now he struggles to understand his origins.

It doesn't help when certain Trollmarket denizens seek out the clearly young troll before the Gumm Gumm Prince with his forces find him first. Or for Jim's new family to get dragged into the crossfire.

Now the young troll doesn't have a human disguise and it'll probably take halfway through the first maybe second season before he gets one. Jim uses the Dance of the Ancient Phantom, Chameleos, to wander Arcadia without being seen. Like his human counterpart, his magic functions the same way.

-Makes the wielder invisible for long periods of time unless hit. Jim can create thick mist to shroud his form and even forge poison clouds.

He often uses this to spy on people, wander around, observe Barbara at her job or follow Toby in school. Jim may have tripped his human friend's bullies and mother's harsh coworkers. He is quite protective of people he sees as kin. A lean yet firm body type, similar to Angor Rot albeit with more muscle, makes stealth stupid easy.

Also I can't resist imagining this particular Troll Jim being horrified to learn that trolls like to eat cats. He was essentially raised by cat people so the idea would probably make him hurl. Jim definitely bonded with Toby over the whole feline topic in general.

That's it for now! Until next time folks, I'll see you back in Arcadia!

[chimswae]

BTS Caretaker CH8

Summary: She may think she has Bangtan Sonyeondan wrapped around her fingers. She may think it is easy to love the members equally without hurting any soul. She may think the boys wont fall head over heels for her. She assumes it is okay to show a little love and affection towards the boys, what if she gets it all wrong? What if it only brings more complication to her already complicated life? Can she survive their charms? Will she be able to resist them? What if they just wont let her go?

- Pairing: BTS x Oc ( Yoongi x OC, Jungkook x OC)

- Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst, Romance, Idol!au

- Word Count: 2,008

- Author Note: Finally update on time! i appreciate your feedback and comment, just drop in my ASK BOX :)

Previous | Next

Chapter 8

“Why are you in rush?” the older guy blinks confusedly at the sight before him. Seul was struggling with her aprons as a frustrated sigh escaped her mouth “I have another work to catch on” untangling the dangling knots around her, Wongeun shook his head in amusement.

He took a few steps closer to Seul, grabbing her shoulders while leaning down to her level “Let me help you with that” Seul froze at the close proximity. A wisp of Wongeun scent reminded her of the supposed-to-be-forgotten-Min-Yoongi, and it was horrible to have him in her mind again.

“Don’t overwork yourself Seul-ah. You are still young” his fingers were fidgeting with the knots around her waist. He carefully untangled it as he smiles bashfully. God, Seul really hated this kind of gesture by a guy like Wongeun. It is troublesome for her heart.

Seul felt a heavy lump on her throat, as she forced out the words coming out from her mouth without sounding like she’s screeching. “Thank you oppa for your concern but I will be fine. I am doing this for my mother after all” she was grateful of the attention that he showed her. Sometimes her colleagues mistaken his kind gesture as a flirt when she tried to push that thoughts far away from her. Just because it was ethically wrong to have a feeling for her employer.

He removed the pink apron gracefully and took few steps back with a soft smile that could melt many hearts “I know you are a good daughter but don’t forget people around you. They care for you. I am sure your mother doesn’t want to see you like this either” Wongeun tucked strand of hair behind her ears.

“Alright alright, what is with this super serious talk. That doesn’t fit you” she chortled, jabbing his arm playfully.

“I am being serious. Okay, I am still worried that your workplace has no female but bunch of hormonal teenagers” his brow flinched together with a hint of concern.

Seul snorted “They are young adults. It is totally different from teenagers. Man, this is so unnecessary. I got to go, I don’t want to bump into any of those babytans” she slipped her phone inside her sling bag, taking all her stuffs in the locker.

“You even have a nickname for them” he pointed out shooting a sly smile.

“WHAT?!” Seul flustered causing her cheeks to reddened turning her into a ripe tomato. She just disliked the mention of their names being associated with her, god knows how she hated herself for letting this thing affect her brain.

“See you tomorrow” she scurried off putting a stop to Wongeun teasing. What a trickster.

 ------------------

Jimin rolled off from his bed and went straight to the bathroom. He was taking a short nap and like a flash all the members disappeared in thin air. Yoongi, Hoseok and Namjoon went to the company few hours ago like they usually did whilst Jimin chose to stay at home since he already spent 18 hours in the studio yesterday.

Taehyung was not at home either since afternoon, as soon as their Busan’s schedule got cancelled earlier this morning, he went to watch his friend’s musical show. He offered to take Jimin along, but he was dead tired to even get off from his comfortable bed. Taking a nap supposed to help rejuvenating his body and mind a little until he noticed no one was at home but him.

He took a quick shower before coming out shirtless feeling refresh and alive. Not long after, his ears caught the sound of the door being opened, it made him skipped a little in his stance “They are here already? THAT WAS FAST!” he grabbed random shirts from his closet.

“ugh they wont leave me alone right?” Jimin turned into a real klutz as he grabbed his phone and wallet before making his way outside his room. “You said eight minutes” said Jimin who had been busy forcing himself into the grey shirt.

Seul’s eyes widened at the sight in front of her. It made her mind fuzzy, blood rushing in her system and to her astonishment the figure in front of her got Seul losing her ability to talk. To be frank, her knees weakened, and she was screaming mentality.

Jimin noticed the heavy atmosphere making him uneasy for no reason and with that he quickly slipped the shirt over his head. “OH SHIT” his eyes shot opened. He gasped in sheer horror scanning Seul from head to toes.

“WHO THE HELL ARE YOU” he breathed deeply, taking a step back. Seul could see him blushing deeply mainly due to the way him welcoming her with his toned body. Why must she have a weird encounter with this babytan? Crazy much.

Seul averted her eyes from meeting his shy gaze and cleared her throat in process “Why no one inform me that you will be around at this time?” she mumbled in frustration. This should not be happening since her last encounter with Yoongi was not that good either.

“ARE YOU A…SASAENG PERHAPS?” Jimin clutches onto his phone tight, staring at her way with a bewildered look. His mind was plotting something nasty and cruel, yet he didn’t know if he could execute it. Before things turned bad, he must save himself first and contacted anyone like Kim Seokjin because after all he was on his way there.  

“Were you the girl that Yoongi hyung mentioned before?”

“The one who pretended to be the caretaker ahjumma? When you are not?”

“OH MY GOD. YOU ARE REAL! HYUNG WAS NOT LYING AFTER ALL” his voice croaked at the end indicating his fear and nervousness. The words coming out from his mouth was distorted but sounded cute to Seul. Even though it was not the time to mentally squeal over his cuteness, Jimin is undeniably cute indeed.

“Don’t bore me with your false assumptions. That guy has been getting it all wrong” Seul rummaged through her bag finding her mother’s staff id as a proof so it could shut this tiny guy instantly. However, as a self-defence Jimin took few steps back afraid Seul pulled out guns or blades from her bags.

Rolling her eyes, Seul flashed the card “There you go.. it is my mother’s staff id. Can you trust me now?” she pressed.

He glanced at the staff id in Seul’s hand “Are you sure that is your mother?”

“Duh, yes? People said I take after her. Can’t you see the obvious?” Seul shot him a disapproval look. Maybe, Jimin is cute but he aint anymore when he inquired her like a legit policeman.

Jimin then took the chance to scrutinize Seul’s face start from her eyebrows along her crescent moon eyes that practically shoots dagger at his way making him flustered immediately. Coughing away to ease the awkwardness, Jimin eyes land on his pink lips that purses up showing off her annoyance.

“Are you seriously creeping on me right now?” her voice brought him out from his trance when the reality finally hits him hard. Shit, what am I doing. Jimin bit his lower lips surpassing the urge to cuss out loud.

Seul grew quiet for few seconds gathering the sense of humanity in her before beating the crap out of him “I am here to work, and I don’t have time to explain to someone who refuse to believe what I am saying at first place. I am sure that hyung of yours have already told you what I said to him weeks ago. So, can you just digest it and embrace the reality that I am here to work not to stare at you” distressed Jimin had no idea how to react to this. Should he just run off and find help or should he just let her do the works and wait until Jin and Jungkook came to the rescue?

“I am beginning to be vexed with you, gosh” she stared boringly at his way.

He pressed his lips together trying to steady his breathing “That doesn’t prove anything… mmm…i.. think you are dangerous. I will just…” Jimin strutted to his room and locked the door behind him. Seul grunted under her breath, it was an unexpected meeting again. If this kept going, she would end up embarrassing herself in front of the whole population of babytans.

She felt a small smile crept up at the corner of her lips ‘Except for him. He doesn’t look that baby after all’ she blushed madly upon the image of shirtless Jimin creeping in. Considering Jimin is around, Seul decided to settle things quick and leave as soon as possible. She didn’t know who else would come in few minutes, every second is precious. On top of all, she didn’t want to meet Min Yoongi again. Worst case of scenario.

 --------------

Pacing back and forth anxiously was Park Jimin. He blamed himself for turning himself into a real fool. What was he thinking? Showing off his skin in front of stranger who could possibly hurt him or even sexually harassed him? Was there any case whereby man got raped by a woman? Negativity only to bring unnecessary panic.

Think rational.

Calm down.

Inhaling a deep breath, Jimin took his phone and his fingers clumsily typed a quick message to Jin asking his whereabouts. He clearly said it was only eight minutes, but this took forever.

Releasing a sigh of relief, Jimin finally felt less helpless at the moment. He did not even dare to go beyond the door. No one knew what she could possibly plan in that brain of hers. Another thing was that she looked pretty decent to be referred as a murderer or kidnapper however anything could happen in one night.

He sunk on his bed, squeezing his eyes together ‘Why is she here. Is she real’ he raked fingers in his damp hair angrily.

--------------

Drumming his fingers against the glass table, Yoongi concentrated on mixing the tunes that came into his mind earlier with the new verse that Hoseok suggested. He had been busy producing new songs for their upcoming comeback and this was just beginning. Out of all time that he had in this world, he loved those days when he could spend all day in his studio making music, getting new inspirations and let the idea flow beautifully.

Staring blankly at the cold ceiling, his mind drifted off to the kisses that he had with Seul few weeks ago. His brows clenched together, protesting the dull ache that was beginning to grow in his temple “Screw that woman” he scowled.

The beep coming from his phone diverted his attention from thinking of Seul again, thankfully. A message from Jimin was unusual unless it was really important.

He arose from his seat, shutting down all the equipment. His determination to catch Seul again today doubled “I will make sure to catch you this time” he grinded his teeth together. As he was about to exit his room, he bumped into clueless Hoseok right in front of his studio “Are you heading back already?” the younger guy blinked at his hyung unusual behaviour.

Min PD won’t be back home not until he was summoned by Jin. When this happened, it simply means Jin was annoyed of Yoongi overwork himself to the extent of neglecting his meals and rest.

“I will be back later.. I have something important to do” said Yoongi flatly avoiding Hoseok judgemental round eyes.

“And? Why you look irritated? Did something bothering you” Hoseok used his luck to pry answers from him.

“Later. Tell Namjoon, the song demo is on his desk” giving Hoseok a light pat on the back, he brushed pass him without looking back. This was it, he had no time to waste or else he would be losing her again. It was already hard to predict her shift every day, he was not planning to waste the chances.

Hoseok watched his small figure disappeared “Is hyung dating someone? Not that I remember”

  This work belongs to  Chimswae © 2020. All Rights Reserved.

[sparklybaubles]

The Garden

*Author’s Note: I have shared this on my blog, so I thought I would share it to my Tumblr blog as well. This is a short story was developed during the Wasatch Range Writing Project. It has been published in the literary journal “iteration.” Comments are most welcome and appreciated.* 

          The soft giggles floated just ahead of me like chimes. The bluebells that brushed my hand danced at the sounds floating through the English garden. The laughter had been too light and child-like to be that of the caretakers. I wondered if there could be children in the garden. I paused on the soft dirt and gravel walk. The laughter had stopped.

          I strained my ears for another sound, but was met only with the sound of leaves and grass dancing in the light breeze and the occasional twittering of chiffchaffs.

          “Hello?” I called. The breeze stirred the flowers in response; the poppies bobbed their heads as if nodding an answer.

          Had the children been laughing at me? Was I only imagining sounds because this place brought back happy memories?

          I craned my neck to see over the hydrangea and shrubbery. I could see nothing. The garden was too tall for me. It was immense and went on for a good many miles—kilometers—as Gran would say.

          This was her garden. We were visiting her country estate from America. Being in the English countryside, I thought it even stranger that I heard little voices and laughter. We were so far removed from any neighbors. I again thought of the caretakers. Gran employed quite a few to help upkeep her “little Eden,” as she put it.

          The last time I had been here, I was a child. I would wander down the golden-dirt paths for hours. I would always come back to Gran’s with an array of plucked flowers from her garden in my chubby, little hands. Mom and dad were always mortified I had taken the liberty of picking out a bouquet on a whim, but Gran never minded. She would sweep the flowers up in her arms and drop them in one of her various blue and white vases, crooning over how pretty my selection was. “You have such an eye for flowers!” She would tell me in her wisp of a sing-song voice. “You always find the most magical ones.”

          The garden still held magic for me, but I had grown beyond the impulse of plucking up the blossoms that caught my eye. In my wandering, I had reached one of my favorite spots from my childhood. In the middle of her garden, Gran had a little fountain with an archway next to it covered in climbing roses—spun candy made my senses heady as I inhaled. I used to sit by the fountain for hours watching rainbows dance across the water. I would invariably drench about half of me by splashing, the other half of me would get wet because Gran would eventually come along and insist we dip our toes in the cool water. She would tell me stories about mermaids and princesses and fairies.

          I smiled to myself at the memories and at how gullible I was to believe her stories. She had always made the tales feel so real. That emotion quickly turned heavy. I fingered the velvet petals of one of the climbing roses and bit my lip. Gran wouldn’t be able to tell stories much longer. She already had to employ help to upkeep her garden. I thought about the tension back at the house, weighty and drooping, like a thundercloud trying to keep in all its rain without success. Dad was trying to put Gran’s affairs in order. A bit of magic was leaving the world.

           We may have only been able to visit Gran once every few years or so, but I still felt close to her. She would always call, especially on birthdays or holidays, and I loved hearing from her. I was going to miss the sound of her voice and feeling like I could tell her anything. Being half a world away, she had been the best secret-keeper. Each time we flew over to England, Gran had enchanted us with stories and the magic of her garden. Nowhere else in the world held me captive the way her garden did. And here I didn’t know if I would ever see it again after this trip. I didn’t know how to cope with the loss, and how would I cope when we had to go back home? That distance separated us from everything Gran. I choked on the tears I refused to shed and gasped for a breath of summer-ripened air.

           Giggles sounded past the splashing fountain. My eyes darted in the direction of the sound. Someone was there; I knew it! And the worst part was they had been watching me and apparently thought my crying was something of amusement. I couldn’t see anything. They had to be hiding behind the flowerbeds and bushes. I scowled. Even if they were just kids out playing, they shouldn’t be here. This was Gran’s place, not a park. And having them laugh at me was going to be either my or their undoing.

           I marched in the direction of the sound and rounded the bend. I was met with more flowers bashfully smiling up at me and reaching for the sun’s rays. My brow furrowed as I poked around the area. Nothing was here.

           “Alright,” I called, “Enough games. Come on out. It is time to get home.”

           Silence.

           “I know you can hear me, so why don’t you stop? I heard you.”

           A faint whisper carried on the breeze from my right. I rounded and headed down the path, the dirt snapping under my sandals. “I don’t want to play games.” A soft giggle just ahead, but I couldn’t see anything. Where were they hiding if they were just ahead of me? I sighed in exasperation and kept walking. More giggles and whispers. The poppies gently waved forward in the breeze, marking the path to follow.

           Strangely enough, as I walked, the garden started to sooth my stress. I breathed out and tried to let go. I was no longer as angry over the little invaders, but curious. I kept wondering where they could be hiding as I turned down path after path. I was reaching the edge of Gran’s garden where the flowers stopped at a little white fence and then the English countryside laced out beyond the horizon.

           Gazing out over the field oddly left a part of my heart open. It was peaceful how the garden kept this part of my little world secure but let me look out into the distance. I shrugged away the feeling and looked around for any sign of the suspected children. I was baffled. There was nowhere else they could hide.

           A flash of gold and a clear peal of joyous laughter just past the fence made me dart forward. I stopped short and looked down. My long shadow had caught my attention as well as something else.

           My foot was just outside a circle of petite, white mushrooms in the grass. I smiled to myself. Gran had once nearly had me convinced that fairies lived in her garden. I knelt down and let my knuckles brush across the velvet grass. I noticed my shadow again. It really was long. I had been out here for hours. I stood up quickly, remembering what I was initially pursuing.

           I was met with late afternoon shadows and the silence only nature can bring. It was strange, but the only thing I could think was that the kids had darted under the fence and left. I sighed, ambivalent over how I felt at not having seen my little tormenters that somehow managed to cheer me up by helping me think about the good times with Gran in her garden, unbeknownst to them. But if they had made their leave, it was definitely time to make mine.

           I wasn’t fully at peace with what was happening, but I didn’t want to forget or regret anything. It was time to go be with Gran. I hesitated just outside of the fairy ring before turning back.

[damijon-supersons]

Finding a Dream - A Super Sons Story

Synopsis: Jon has to support and comfort Damian, who’s begun to have recurring dreams of a friend he was supposed to have…a friend that doesn’t exist in this timeline…a boy named Colin Wilkes.

This is my first serious Damijon fic, so I hope you guys enjoy :D

“Damian, slow down!”

“Ironic, considering you’re the one with super speed. I’m leaving you behind if you don’t keep up!”

Jon sighed in resignation as Damian ran ahead of him. They were at an abandoned warehouse this time, another late night out in Damian’s frenzied search for someone who seemed to never actually be there. Damian leaped atop a stack of container vans, meticulously searching for any clues. Jon trudged behind him, trying his best to pretend he didn’t want to go home. Not that Damian was stopping him, but he was too worried about his friend to even consider leaving.

“What are we looking for?” Jon asked.

“Containers that have Santa Priscan labels. Crates designed to hold vials of chemicals. This is supposed to be where Scarecrow performed his Venom experiments on him.” Damian didn’t bother to check up on Jon as he jumped onto another crate.

“Right…”

Jon didn’t understand everything that Damian had said, but he didn’t feel very compelled to have Damian explain it all over again. He also didn’t want to point out that if this place had indeed been used as a villain’s lair in the past, Damian, his father, the Gotham Police Department, and even the entire Justice League would have had a record on it.

But there weren’t any records of it at all—Damian had rushed here based solely on a vague recollection from the night before.

Damian was chasing the wisp of a dream, and Jon—for better or worse—was there to watch him.

I’m not making this up! He’s real, he has a name, and we fought crime side-by-side!

That was what Damian had told Jon when the dreams had started. Jon shook his head—at first, he’d been very supportive when Damian had set out on his search, enthusiastically helping the Boy Wonder comb through alleys and rooftops for any sign of the friend that he’d dreamt about. But even a ten-year-old like Jon knew when something was pointless. Fragments of a half-forgotten dream weren’t much to go on.

It had all begun when Wally West had visited them together with their fathers. As a Flash, Wally had experienced…a lot of weird things, to say the least, the most recent of which was how he’d just returned from getting lost in the Speed Force. He’d said that the world—and time—that he’d come back to was extremely different. A lot of things had changed.  

The world that Wally had remembered hadn’t had Jon in it, the members of the Justice League had been much older, and a lot of the major events, villains and battles that had been fought had either happened differently or had never happened at all.

Jon’s father had said the same thing—that his family, like Wally, currently live in a time that was different from the one that they’d come from. It was an extremely confusing concept for Jon to grasp.

After a while of listening to the adults discuss the matter, Damian had excused himself, complaining of a headache. The next day, Damian was already telling Jon about a dream that he’d had—one that he’d adamantly claimed had been too vivid to possibly be anything imaginary.

At first, Damian had spoken of a lonely orphan clutching a teddy bear. The next day, the orphan gained strikingly red hair. And as the nights went on, the red-haired boy in Damian’s dreams gained a freckled face, a soothing voice, and then a name.

“Do you know him?” Jon had asked.

“His name…his name is…Colin,” Damian said carefully as his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Who’s Colin?”

“He was my…friend.”

So the mystery had begun. Damian had records of the time that he’d spent in Gotham ever since he’d become Robin. After the dreams, he’d had vague recollections of meeting, rescuing, and befriending this boy called Colin Wilkes…but there was nothing on the Bat Computer’s database—or any computer’s database—that held records of any orphan by that name who’d ever been rescued by Batman and Robin.

Adding to the mystery was the fact that Damian remembered meeting Colin back when he was still ten years old, but now he was thirteen—and Colin seemed to have vanished for those three years. Damian now had no other recollection of Colin ever since then, or any idea of how and why he’d even forgotten him in the first place. Not even Batman or Alfred remembered, and they’d certainly be aware if Damian had made a new friend, considering how rare an event that was.

As Jon understood the matter, Damian was remembering having a friend who’d never existed.

It was almost Jon’s bedtime and he’d just gotten into his pajamas. The crickets were chirping outside their house in Hamilton County, adding a subtly relaxing hum to the quiet evening. He was just about to close his eyes when a shrill ring pierced his tired ears—a call from Damian.

“I have a new location,” Damian’s voice buzzed in Jon’s phone.

“What makes you so sure?” Jon asked skeptically. He yawned and hoped that Damian would drop the issue altogether. “The warehouse was a dud, searching all those hospital files last week turned up nothing, and all those times we searched random alleys and buildings didn’t help, either. Dad’s starting to ask me what we’re up to…”

“You don’t get it,” Damian replied scathingly. “There’s a pattern. The things I remember are marking a path. They’re all places that I remember where we went together. This next one will be significantly important. If we keep at it, I can triangulate his possible location. I don’t care if you’re not coming.”

Jon sighed in irritation. “What’s the point of you calling me, then? You know I can’t leave you alone now that you’ve told me!”

“Be here at ten.”

Jon rolled his eyes—he could imagine Damian smirking at him. It wasn’t very easy being friends with the son of Batman.

A few hours later, Damian was already leading Jon to the outskirts of Gotham. The dirt roads and the lack of buildings that weren’t run-down gave Jon a sense of unease, but he held his misgivings in light of Damian’s mood. The older boy seemed more serious than usual today, or at the very least, more certain.

“So…what are we looking at?” Jon asked as they stopped in front of a derelict two-story building. From what Jon could tell, it was quite old, and constructed with mostly wood and bricks rather than concrete. Of course, he conceded that he might have been wrong, considering that the wreck in front of them was a barely-standing charred husk of whatever it used to be.

“An orphanage. I dreamt that—no, I remember—this was where he lived before we met,” Damian answered confidently.

“But Damian,” Jon carefully ventured, hoping that Damian wouldn’t get upset, “we already checked the registers of all the orphanages in the entire state on the Bat Computer, remember? There wasn’t a Colin Wilkes in any of them.”

Damian resolutely walked ahead, forcing Jon to trot after him.

“Damian, wait up!”

Damian ignored Jon’s plea as he went inside. “When I saw this place in my dreams, I immediately looked through old news reports—it burned down three years ago, and since they lacked funds, the caretakers never digitized their records. Before that, it was also the center of a trafficking scandal. Children disappearing, never to be found. Police thought that the arson was a cover-up.”

“Weren’t you supposed to have met Colin three years ago?” Jon asked, the doubt in his voice quite evident.

“More or less,” Damian replied as he carefully shoved aside some burnt wooden beams. “I know what you’re thinking. This couldn’t have been where Colin was if it burned down the same time we’d met. But it stands to reason that he could still have a connection to this place. There must be a clue here that leads to him somehow.”

Whatever burned the orphanage wasn’t exactly thorough. Some rooms were barely damaged and still had the scattered possessions of its former inhabitants intact. Damian had guessed that whoever had committed the arson wasn’t trying to erase evidence so much as trying to scare anyone from actually poking around.

The boys came across a room that was littered with debris. Jon thought that it was rather unremarkable, but Damian seemed to have found something. He returned with a dusty brown teddy bear clutched in his hands.

“Damian, I don’t want to judge your taste in toys…but I don’t think now’s the best time to bring that around,” Jon hesitantly said.

Damian held the toy up to his face and explained, “When Colin still couldn’t control his powers, only the sight of his teddy bear would calm his rampage. This was his totem, in a way. His teddy bear was the only thing that tethered him to his true self.”

“Are you saying there’s a chance Colin might go crazy on us?”

“I’m just taking precautions,” Damian said as he tried to pat the bear clean.

Just then, they heard a creaking noise from the roof. It sounded like the bow of a huge ship bending beyond its limits, and they could hear wood splintering and bursting apart. A loud crash erupted from the second floor, prompting both boys to duck for cover.

“I don’t know about this—this place looks like it could collapse at any second,” Jon said worriedly.

Damian didn’t immediately reply. Instead, he approached a bureau and pulled out its cabinets. The contents seemed mostly unburnt.

Then he asked, “Do you want to leave?”

Jon blinked. He couldn’t tell what Damian was thinking with his back turned. Nevertheless, his response was brimming with confidence.

“Of course not.”

“Thanks…”

Jon smiled. Damian’s voice was faint, but even without his super hearing, Jon could hear the gratitude behind it. Damian almost never expressed gratitude, so when he did, it was a huge deal. Right then, there was nowhere else that Jon would rather be.

“It stinks down here,” Jon hissed as each step he took echoed across the hall.

“Your super smelling doesn’t seem so useful.”

“I don’t have super smelling!”

“Then can you at least be super quiet?”

Jon simply snorted in reply.

When they had searched the ruined orphanage, Damian and Jon hadn’t found anything significant—no clues that might have pointed them to Colin. But Damian had been undeterred and had insisted upon searching the surrounding area. It was then that he’d found an uneven patch of dirt that suspiciously continued some distance away.

Using Jon’s still-developing X-ray vision, they’d confirmed that the indentation was a trail of sorts made by people and vehicles. It was likely that whoever was using that exact route had done it so many times that when the dirt, snow, and mud began to cover it up after some time, the path had accumulated much less dirt than the surrounding area.

The boys had followed the path until it led them to a sewer entrance that was relatively hidden from the rest of Gotham—one that Damian had inexplicably become familiar with only after they’d gotten there.

“Why do we have to wade in a sewer, Damian? I don’t think Colin would live here!”

“I saw this place in my dreams,” Damian replied warily, as if trying to reassure himself.

“Somehow, that doesn’t fill me with confidence,” Jon sarcastically replied. Each step that he took made a disgustingly wet squelch against the thin film of muck that covered the floor. He began thinking of ways to explain to his mother why he definitely needed new sneakers after this.

“No, this is…different,” Damian replied. He stopped in his tracks and fished out a couple of birdarangs from his utility belt, prompting Jon to be on guard as well. “This place isn’t where Colin could be. This place…it’s where we took down a dangerous criminal.”

“But that was years ago, right? No one could possibly be here now, so why are you getting all nervous? You’re putting me on edge here…”

Damian carefully observed the concrete walls around them. The area that they were traversing was a wide cavernous hall, with several smaller passages branching off to the sides. The only light sources were small utility lamps placed high in the ceiling, spread few and far between. This appeared to be Gotham’s main floodway, used for diverting floodwater during extremely heavy rains. But it hadn’t rained enough to cause a flood in Gotham for nearly a decade, meaning that this part of the sewer was mostly unused. It would make a good hideout for criminal elements.

“You’re still carrying that bear around,” Jon remarked.

“I told you that it could be useful if we find Colin.”

“I think you just want to keep it—”

“Shhh! Stay close. They’re everywhere,” Damian whispered.

“Who’s ‘they’?” Jon asked apprehensively. He looked around but saw nothing, making him even more nervous.

Damian lowered his stance and took a few cautious steps before answering. “I’ve been thoroughly trained to conduct stealthy surveillance. I know amateurs when I see them. They’ve been following us for a few minutes now.”

“I—I never noticed.” Jon gulped anxiously.

“It doesn’t matter. You never grew up with the League of Assassins.”

They eventually emerged from the large tunnel into an even more massive cistern, which Damian guessed was where all the city’s drained rainwater would have been collected. A multitude of makeshift lamps lined the whole circular area, casting an eerie but bright glow on the lifeless gray concrete. The dome ceiling extended almost thirty feet high, but the atmosphere still felt heavy, oppressive and suffocating.

The most noticeable feature of the cistern, however, was what appeared to be a small arena in the very middle, surrounded by several cages. Jon could clearly hear mewling, sniffling and crying coming from within them.

“Damian, those cages! Those are…!”

“Children—forced to fight to the death in some macabre game, all for the entertainment of wealthy patrons,” Damian spat through gritted teeth.

Suddenly, a disturbingly jovial voice echoed throughout the whole area.

“How very smart of you to figure that out, little boy!”

From a tunnel to the southwest came out a tall, shirtless bald man, his entire upper body covered with gruesome scars and stitches that looked like tally marks. All around him, several other burly men came out of hiding from the other tunnels, all wielding guns and knives of different kinds.

The man continued: “But I really have to ask you, how is it that two random young boys in an unfortunate misadventure happen to accurately guess my thriving little business model?”

“Business?” Jon seethed. “You’re sick! These kids are in pain! They’re hurt! And you…you…!”

“Victor Zsasz.” Damian’s voice was dripping with vitriol.

Zsasz cocked his head. “Have we…met?”

“I believe we have,” Damian replied, his tone unwavering despite the obvious hatred coursing through him. “I seem to remember cutting your stomach open and you lying on the floor in a pool of your own blood. I’m glad to see you’re looking well—I’ll have the pleasure of doing it again.”

“Damian!” Jon gasped. He’d never seen Damian this…deadly before. He was projecting a cold and calm fury that threatened to lash out at any moment.

A shiver ran through Zsasz’s men as they murmured among themselves. Zsasz himself seemed unperturbed and walked toward the two boys until he was only a foot away. He regarded them intently for a few seconds, before laughing heartily.

“Hahahaha!”

His laugh rang hollow in the cavernous cistern, and his men gripped their weapons even tighter. Jon was beginning to get scared—what exactly had Damian gotten him into?

“Kid, you’ve got guts saying that to me,” Zsasz said after catching his breath. “I think I might just like to see them for myself, even. So, that outfit…Robin, huh? Has the Bat finally found me out after all these years? But if he has, where is he? Did he really think his errand boy was enough? Or did you not tell him about this trip?”

“No, we’re alone,” Damian replied, somehow sounding almost happy with the fact.

“Naughty little Robin, aren’t you? I might have to carve some respect into your skin…” Zsasz sighed as he licked his lips. He relished looking down at the two shorter boys as he casually played with a sharp dagger in his hands.

“Like I said, I already beat you to the ground once before. We put you away in Arkham.”

“Odd,” Zsasz replied. “I think I’d remember being incarcerated or being grievously injured by such a petulant child. I’ve never been caught by Batman all these years. Are you sure you aren’t daydreaming?”

Jon saw Damian’s arm twitch. His recollection of this man, just like all the others, must have indeed been from one of his dreams again.

“And you—dressed up like Superman are we, boy?” Zsasz continued, turning to Jon. “What are you, some kind of fan who can’t get enough of the Blue Boyscout? Did Robin trick you into some make-believe game?”

“Why I oughtta—!”

“Don’t encourage him,” Damian chided Jon as he grabbed the younger boy’s shoulder.

“Well, well…” Zsasz’s men surrounded them, all sporting sickening looks. Zsasz gave them a toothy grin as he pointed the dagger at the boys.

“I’ve made a fun little show here with kids like you beating each other to a pulp. It pays us good money from certain clients. But don’t get me wrong, it’s not just the money—I also love it. You two will make fine additions to our little stable…unless you want to bleed to death where you stand.”

“Before we start this,” Damian began, his fury giving him an air of extreme emotionless focus, “I wanted to ask if you’ve ever kidnapped a boy with red hair. He goes by Colin Wilkes, an orphan. He used to live in the orphanage near here where you frequently abducted kids. He almost always carries a teddy bear like this with him.”

Damian held up the bear with one hand. Zsasz then reached out and grabbed the teddy bear, causing Jon to step back in surprise. For Jon, it was quite unnerving how Damian had let Zsasz take it, but it was even more disturbing that Damian didn’t even flinch.

“Hmm, you’re a sharp one, Robin,” Zsasz replied inquisitively. “I’d thought that burning the place down would cover our tracks. But to answer your question, no—I remember every kid that we collect. I’ve even made a mark on my skin for each one that died. None of them have—or had—red hair…unless you count the ones with blood coming out of their heads.”

With a grin and deftness that could only come from experience, Zsasz slashed the teddy bear across the throat, decapitating it. He let the rest of the body drop to the floor, the wet splash it made in the muck creating a menacing echo across the entire cistern.

Damian stared at the mutilated toy as if he could see something that no one else could. He didn’t even pay attention to Zsasz, who was waiting for and expecting a violent reaction. To everyone that was there, Damian looked like he’d momentarily spaced out as he stared intently at the soiled bear.

However, Jon knew better. His enhanced senses could definitely hear how Damian’s pulse had quickened, how the fabric of Damian’s gauntlets squeezed against itself as Damian’s hand balled up into an extremely tight fist. Damian’s face had looked calm, but Jon knew the truth—something vicious had awakened inside his friend.

Finally, after some seconds of incredibly tense silence, Damian calmly answered. “I appreciate the honesty, Zsasz.”

He then turned to Jon and commanded: “Rescue the children.”

Jon had barely nodded when three lethally sharp birdarangs zipped past his head and embedded themselves into the faces of the three nearest henchmen.

“Yaaaagh!”

Masked by the commotion and screams of pain, Jon leaped out of the fray with his superhuman strength and ran toward the cages. He looked back just in time to see two of the henchmen running after him, one brandishing a gun, and the other, a knife. Back near the entrance, Damian was performing a deadly dance, weaving through and around the rest of the grunts together with Zsasz, splatters of blood flying every which way almost every other second.

When Jon had stopped to face his assailants, one of them immediately tried to slash his face, so he’d rolled to the side. Just as he’d gotten to his feet, a gunshot rang out and he’d had to leap backward with a bit of his super speed—there was a bullet hole in the floor where he’d been just moments before.

They’re really trying to kill me, Jon thought. He was in a precarious situation. He may be the son of the invincible Superman, but his own invincibility had not yet fully developed and it seemingly manifested at random. But the stakes were too high now. If he failed, he’d die, the children would die, Damian would…probably also die. Now he had to focus. He needed to be a hero, invincibility be damned.

Jon breathed in, and with renewed determination, lunged at the grunt with a gun. He dodged a wide jab and then threw a punch of his own at the man’s torso. The man was knocked off his feet and lay sprawled a few yards away. Even with his super strength, Jon was always practicing control, just as his father had taught him—especially against other humans.

Before Jon could turn to look, the knife-wielding man suddenly threw a fierce kick to his ribs, knocking him over and forcing him to bend over in pain. Still clutching his side, Jon got up just in time to dodge a wild swing with the knife, then another, and another. He’d lost his concentration, and the throbbing pain in his ribs made it difficult to think. He managed to parry one of the man’s attacks and throw a punch of his own, but his power had left him in his flustered state and he did little to harm the man.

Jon and the man traded a few more blows before he got caught in a particularly nasty punch to his shoulder. He fell to the floor again, and just as he looked up, he heard the sound of a gun being cocked. The other man had recovered and was pressing the barrel of his gun squarely against his forehead.

Bang!

Jon blinked. Well, I’m not dead, He assured himself with extreme relief.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

More gunshots, and more squashed bullets falling to the floor. Jon could feel something inconsequentially soft flicking his forehead as if someone was repeatedly poking it with their finger.

“W-what are you?” shouted the flustered henchman, his eyes quivering in fear.

With equal parts relief and unchecked anger, Jon replied by forcefully throwing a punch to the man’s chest and sending him flying across the cistern. The wall he’d crashed into audibly cracked.

Behind him, he felt a dull thud on his shoulder. He turned around to see the other henchman staring in disbelief at his knife, which had bent at an odd angle after failing to pierce Jon’s skin.

I’m lucky. Jon thought. I have my invulnerability, but the other kids here don’t. And these men just kill and torture them for fun…

With his eyes glowing crimson, he glared furiously at the whimpering grunt.

“I won’t forgive you!”

Faster than the eye could see, he grabbed the man by the arm and threw him back across one of the tunnels with inhuman strength. The unfortunate grunt disappeared into the darkness after a particularly loud clatter of metal and concrete.

Jon exhaled to compose himself and ran back toward the cages. With his heat vision, he melted the locks and ushered the captive children to hide in one of the access tunnels. Then he ran back to help Damian.

“Damian! Are you oka—?”

The scene in front of Jon made his throat run dry. The floor was littered with the broken bodies of Zsasz’s men. Many of them had their faces horribly beaten. A couple had birdarangs lodged into their eyes. One had three knives piercing his shoulder. The sludge had mixed with all the blood, turning it into a garish hue of red. Jon rushed to them and confirmed that they were breathing—they all seemed alive, if barely. Finally, Jon looked back at Damian.

The young hero was standing as calmly as he’d had before he and Jon had separated. Damian had barely a scratch on him, and his face was spattered with blood—none of which was his own, it seemed—while sporting a perfectly impassive look. Directly across him was Zsasz, who was clutching an arm dripping with blood. He looked quite the worse for wear, with more than a dozen cuts across his whole body, and limping on one foot. More disturbingly, Damian held Zsasz’s long dagger in his hand.

“Heh, you’re a riot, boy,” Zsasz wheezed. “You would have made a great show here, gutting all the other kids…”

Before Zsasz could say another word, Damian pounced.

Jon could see it, he could hear it—Damian’s sure but steady heartbeat, his increased breathing—this was dangerous. Jon was certain that Damian was out to kill.  

“Damian, don’t!”

But before Jon could stop him, Zsasz let out a shrill scream in agony.

“Yaaaaagh!”

Jon rushed as fast as he could, using his super speed to tackle Damian to the floor. But he knew that he was too late.

“Damian…what have you done?” Jon asked in disbelief.

“Ask him yourself,” Damian replied wearily.

Confused, Jon got off Damian and carefully walked over to Zsasz, who was slumped against the wall. The man had his hands over his head, both of which had been pierced—one on top of the other—held together by his own dagger. Damian’s stab had been so forceful that the blade even penetrated the mortar between two blocks of the wall’s concrete, effectively pinning Zsasz in place.

“Hah…even after all that, you still don’t have what it takes to finish the job,” Zsasz huffed. He was finding it difficult to breathe.

Damian casually walked up to him and nonchalantly kicked him in the face. Zsasz passed out.

“Damian!” Jon chided.

“He’ll live,” Damian said. “I’ve signaled my father. He’ll be here with the Gotham PD in a while. We’re leaving.”

“Just like that?” Jon asked cautiously. He sensed that Damian was very…out of sorts, to say the least. “What about finding clues or…”

“It’s pointless,” Damian muttered. He sat back down on the cold floor and leaned against the wall. “I’m tired. I’m tired of all this. Tired of being proven wrong by my dreams, tired of thinking they were ever memories.

“My dreams showed me that we’d already dealt with Zsasz before, both Colin and I, and later with my father. It didn’t make sense that he was still at large here, and having no memories of all the times that we’d caught him. Him not remembering ever facing me or Colin made no sense at all. Colin never being in any records or anything else made no sense either.”

Jon listened silently as Damian went on.

“The only way that any of this makes sense is if none of it ever happened—defeating Zsasz, meeting Colin, being…friends with Colin.”

“Damian…” Jon reached out with his arm but stopped midway. He didn’t know if Damian would appreciate a hand on his shoulder in the middle of such an awkwardly miserable situation.

“None of what I remembered had ever happened. And Colin…Colin never existed,” Damian stood up and turned his back on Jon. “I’m tired, Jon. I’m going home. I just wasted your time.”

“Damian, I…I’m sorry…” Jon’s voice trailed off—Damian had already run ahead and completely missed his reply. He balled up his fists in frustration—why was it so hard to say anything comforting to Damian?

“I don’t see the ‘important reason’ you talked about on the phone,” Damian complained out of boredom.

“It’s important enough that I skipped school today just for it…for you,” Jon replied cheerfully.

“Tt.”

“You’ll see,” Jon assured Damian by patting him on the shoulder. He cringed, but didn’t retaliate, which Jon took for a good sign.

The boys were standing outside a hallway in Gotham Academy, just before the final bell had rung that day. It had been a couple of weeks since their encounter with Zsasz, and Damian hadn’t talked to Jon at all since then. But a few days ago, something incredible had happened at Jon’s school, and he’d called Damian, urgently asking his friend to come with him to Gotham Academy.

Rrrrring!

With the final bell, the students began milling out of their classrooms, filling the air with a hundred excited chattering voices.

“If this is your way of trying to get me into a classroom instead of homeschool, then you’re failing miserably—”

“Damian,” Jon interrupted and placed his hands on each side of Damian’s head to point him in the right direction. “I think I’ve found your friend.”

And just as Jon had said it, Damian saw a tall, lanky boy come out of one of the classrooms, his head crowned by wavy red hair. Freckles peppered his face and he had bright eyes that radiated warmth and kindness.

Damian could only say a single word.

“Colin…”

With both boys focused on Colin, they were able to hear the redhead’s conversation with some of his peers.

“Yeah, I’ll meet you guys tomorrow in the council room. Bring the drafts, okay?”

“Sure, Colin! Are you going to bring the sixth-graders again?”

“Of course! Please be patient with them—we’ll need to have new members eventually anyway, and this is the best way to expose them early.”

Damian turned away from the scene, his face an unfathomable mask of confusion.

“I don’t get it, Jon. How…? How did you find out? Why here?”

“A couple of days ago, some eighth-graders from Gotham Academy showed up at our school. Turns out they’d won some sort of environment contest or something, and as part of that, they have to tell other schools in the country about how to protect nature and stuff.

“Colin was their leader. He was on stage the longest. He introduced himself—Colin Wilkes, he said, and he looked exactly like how you said he did.”

“He looks a lot taller than I remembered,” Damian muttered as he chose to stare at an unremarkable spot on the floor.

“Well, he’s thirteen now, just like you, and you’re not exactly on the tall side—oww!” Jon rubbed the spot on his arm where Damian had just hit him.

“Why couldn’t we find him before?” Damian persisted. “We searched all the records…”

“Damian, what we searched were orphanage records, police reports, and hospital lists. We never searched schools,” Jon said as calmly as he could. He could clearly see that Damian was upset. “We were searching for Colin the kidnapped orphan. But all this time, he was Colin, the normal boy.”

“I’d already asked one of the teachers here,” he continued. “Colin was never orphaned. He was always a smart student who went out of his way to help people. He’s the president of the school’s Nature Society and a lot of the younger students really look up to him. Well, I think he’s really cool, too…you should’ve seen him when he went to our school…”

Damian gave no indication that he was listening as he watched one of the younger students approach Colin and happily talk to him about some mundane matter that Damian didn’t care about. All that he saw was that Colin was smiling, laughing, and completely at peace. Damian shook his head—he’d made up his mind.

“He looks happy here,” Damian said finally.

“Yeah, want me to call him over?” Jon asked with childlike enthusiasm.

“No, we’re leaving, and we’re never coming back.”

“What?” Jon replied sharply. “We’ve come all this way! We finally found him! Why can’t you just talk to him? Why are we leaving?”

Damian walked back out the school’s main doors with Jon in tow. He breathed in deeply without answering, as if he was also trying to convince himself.

The Colin that I’d met was an orphan. He’d been kidnapped and tortured and experimented on. He’d been injected with chemicals and forced to fight against his will. He’d seen his friends die at the hands of Zsasz, and had afterwards felt that he needed to sacrifice having the normal life of a child in order to fight crime. To be like me.

We’d met because of his suffering. If never meeting me in the first place means he gets spared all that, I’d gladly walk away. It’s just as Wally said—somehow, some way, time changed. The Colin I’d known was from a different time. This Colin right now is different, too—he’s happy. I won’t ruin that for him.

“Damian, this is important to you. He’s important to you. Don’t just waste this chance to start over!” Jon pleaded once more.

“He’s better off not having me for a friend, Jon. With the kind of friendship we’ve had before, and with the kind of life I lead now, it’s safer that way,” Damian concluded. Without waiting for Jon’s rebuttal, he walked away.

Jon fumed as he crossed his arms, staring angrily at Damian’s silhouette.

“Idiot. It’s not better for you.”

“Master Damian, there’s someone you should probably see.”

“Do I have a choice, Alfred?” Damian asked cynically. He’d been stewing in his room for a few days. For once, he’d actually kept his promise to his father to focus on his homeschooling—if only to distract himself—and Alfred’s unwelcome interruption was quite vexing.

“He was asking for Mr. Wayne, but since your father is away, I’d thought that you could entertain our guest. Perhaps you could even make a new friend.”

“A friend…?” Damian looked up at the old butler. “What do you mean?”

“He’s a young man that looks to be around your age, if only slightly taller…”

Damian’s curiosity got the better of him as he purposefully marched toward the foyer. There, seated on one of the sofas, was a tall lanky boy with wavy red hair, his freckles standing out against the shade of pink on his cheeks. He looked quite unused to the Wayne Manor’s extravagant trappings. When he saw Damian, he bowed.

“Uhm, Mr. Wayne, sir…? I’m sorry to barge in like this but I was told that—”

“Colin…?” Damian sputtered. “What are you doing here?”

Colin stared quizzically at Damian. “You know my name….?”

Jon Kent, what have you done this time? Damian immediately thought. This was definitely his young friend’s doing. Damian’s incredulity at Jon’s scheme left him speechless, which Colin mistook for a sign to continue.

“Uh, funny story, actually. One of the kids we’d met in our awareness tours called me up and said that the Wayne Foundation was looking for student partners with environmental advocacies for scholarships and such. He told me to go to this address and—sorry, is this a bad time, Mr. Wayne?”

Colin was wearing a semi-formal outfit with a neatly-pressed long-sleeved shirt and a matching tie. He had a smile that belied a hint of nerves, but his expression was radiant and full of hope. Damian thought to himself that Colin looked better that way.

“Mr. Wayne is my father. He’s currently out at work. But…I could keep you company in the meantime, I suppose. If you don’t mind, that is.”

“Not at all, uh, uhm….”

“I’m Damian,” Damian said with a half-smirk that passed for a smile.

He offered his hand and Colin gladly shook it. Damian mused that Colin��s hands were warm and friendly, and briefly wondered if it had always been that way. It was a calming sense of touch that he could get used to.

Colin serenely met Damian’s eyes, and beamed.

“Damian, huh? That’s a cool name.”

 Author’s notes:

Here’s a little background on this story. Jon Kent as we know him today is meant to be Damian’s sole almost-same-aged friend (boyfriend). But before Jon, we had Colin Wilkes.

Colin first appeared in the late 2000s before the new 52. His story was pretty dark—while Jon was cheerful, sunny and innocently carefree, Colin was an orphan who was kidnapped and experimented on by Scarecrow. He was injected with a version of Bane’s Venom, turning him into a mindless fighting machine before being subdued and rescued by Batman. After learning to control his Venom-induced powers, He later teamed up with Robin to defeat Victor Zsasz, who at the time was running a deadly child gladiator arena.

Despite his brief appearance in the comics, there’s a consensus among a lot of fans that Colin was one of Damian’s more significant first friends outside of the Batfamily. For my friends and many others, Colin would be the natural team up for Damian, both as friends and potential partners (both in and out of bed)

But when the New 52 reboot in 2011 came, many of DC’s heroes’ histories were reset, and Damian’s adventures with Colin were written out of continuity, as was Colin himself. When the DC Rebirth reboot happened in 2016, DC reinstated some old elements from before the New 52 continuity into the main timeline and mixing the two to create a balance of what fans wanted. This was most notable with Superman (who has been established as the classic Superman from the 80’s 90’s), whose history was restored but had the new addition of Jon as his son and the element of fatherhood and family in his character. Another was Wally West, who had all but disappeared during the New 52. He was reinstated in Rebirth as one of the only people who was aware that the timeline had changed (signified by the reboots). His earliest Rebirth stories involve him informing other heroes of the change in their timeline.

Even with Rebirth however, Colin was still missing from continuity, and is unlikely to make a return. Some fans of the Damian x Colin ship are still hoping, though, and I do believe that if Colin is ever going to return, it would be perfect in the just-released series of Super Sons featuring Damian and Jon.

Tl;dr

Colin was Damian’s first real friend two reboots ago, meaning they were friends from another previous timeline. With the latest reboot of DC Rebirth returning some old beloved concepts from before the reboots, I just thought that it was a bit plausible to have Colin return to Damian’s life, and I just imagined it in the most realistic and character-building scenario that I could.

[wiseabsol]

Excerpts from a Prompts Project

For those of you who read my Pokemon fanfic “The Phoenix Rose Saga” back in the day, here is the first of three excerpts showing what a re-imagined version of it would look like.

Prompt #1: Creation, featuring Aaron from “TPRS”

Creation:

As far as creations went, the second of their mew clones (or the third, if he decided to count the prototype, which he generally didn’t) wasn’t much of a success.

Perhaps Aaron shouldn’t say that. The clone, who his assistants had named “Neva” for her snowy white pelt, was alive and healthy. That was more than most of their early clones could boast. They had died while they were growing in their gestation tanks or shortly after their births. Still, there wasn’t much else that could be said in Neva’s favor. Her albinism, while unusual among pokémon, wasn’t as rare or valuable as the “shiny” coloration. The vulnerability of her eyes and skin to sunlight, thanks to her condition, didn’t help either. If they weren’t careful, she might eventually go blind or develop skin cancer (which was another reason why confining her to the lab was for the best).

Yet compared to her other flaws, her albinism could be overlooked. Her being deaf and psychically disabled were much more serious problems.

The deafness could be worked around. Neva’s primary caretaker, Dr. Rosenberg, knew several languages, including the local version of sign language. In addition to her other duties, Dr. Rosenberg was adapting that version into a three-fingered one that Neva could use. She’d given Aaron reports on how Neva was progressing, along with the growing list of signs that Neva had learned, but he’d only managed to skim through them. Neva’s “sister,” Morgan, interested him more than her less capable sibling. Most of his time was spent going over her medical reports and her battle analyses instead. As long as Dr. Rosenberg was confident that her pet project was going well, he felt safe entrusting her with the second clone. Until he found a use for Neva, her time could be spent in language lessons.

What else was he supposed to do with her? She didn’t have a wisp of psychic power, nor any hint of the others, despite the lineage she boasted. Mew was said to be able to learn every move a pokémon could learn, he thought, rubbing his temples as he waited for his coffee to brew. And this creature can barely use Scratch.

Cloning pokémon was always a gamble, of course. His colleagues back on Cinnabar had stressed that time and again as they’d sifted through fossilized remains, looking for the most promising samples. Even the best-preserved ones, though, captured in ice and amber, would have holes somewhere in their genetic codes. Using stem cells from dittos could fill in only so much of what had been lost. For the rest of the gaps, they had to splice in genes from other pokémon and people, which threw all sort of variables into the mix. No doubt that had been what had brought about Morgan’s blue coloration (due to the vaporeon genes in her genetic cocktail) and Neva’s disabilities. That or her mew fossil had been from a flawed specimen, which was entirely possible. Aaron had hardly expected to find one set of mew remains, let alone two, so of course he had made clones from them both. That was more than Dr. Fuji had accomplished!

It niggled at Aaron, though, that Dr. Fuji’s prototype had been practically perfect. Its psychic powers alone could have leveled mountains. Such a shame, really, that its temperament had been so foul….

Even if Aaron’s creations weren’t as strong as their predecessor, at least they were under his control. Certainly, Morgan was a handful. She was eager to test herself in battle—she was rather like the prototype that way (if only, if only he could capture Mewtwo as well and use it as a stud. The offspring would no doubt be priceless). But she still obeyed them and adhered to the rules and restrictions they’d laid out for her, and all because he’d taken the time to sit down with her and answer her questions. He’d be careful to treat her like a person, even though she wasn’t one, and that had made the difference. His lab was still standing and he and his people were still alive. That put him well ahead of Dr. Fuji, as far as Aaron was concerned.

But the question remained: what was he supposed to do with Neva?

Euthanizing and dissecting her was out of the question (unless her body started breaking down like some of the others had, in which case his intervention would be a mercy). They’d sunk too much money, too much time, too much labor and energy into making her. He couldn’t waste the investment. He hadn’t been able to back when she was gestating, when her pure white fur and her biopsies had told him of her condition. Mew samples were too hard to come by, and even a flawed sample couldn’t be discarded because the result was imperfect. But if she couldn’t be used for battle or for contests—or for activities that the League didn’t sanction, but his financers pursued—what else was left?

Breeding, the answer came to him. She can be used for breeding. If nothing else, she could act as a surrogate for her sister’s offspring. That way, Morgan can remain in the arena and won’t be injured by any pregnancy complications. The mew clones, after all, were essentially chimeras. Delivering might be harder for them than for their purer ancestors. Especially if they had litters.

It would have to be carefully done. They had gambled with the genetic cocktails that had brought the sisters into being, but they could not take the same risks with the offspring (if the sisters were even fertile. They might not be. Most pokémon were and could breed across species lines, but there were a select few who were more restrictive. The mews could have been one of those, regardless of their supposed “ancestor of all” designation). Fortunately, both sisters had a readier supply of gametes than Aaron had of fossilized remains, so he could do more with the genes he’d be mixing. Maybe he could increase the claw length in the offspring…maybe tweak their coloration…definitely expand their move sets if he could…yes, there was a lot he could experiment with.  

After mixing a tooth-aching amount of sugar and a dollop of cream into his coffee, he left his office and went to the training center for the clones. Morgan was making good progress on converting her psychic energies into electric attacks and was making short work of her opponents. She seemed restless, but he supposed that was to be expected when none of her challengers were putting up a good fight. They would have to increase the level tier again and see how she fared then.

Neva, in contrast, was practicing signs with Dr. Rosenberg. They were in the botanical lab today. Dr. Rosenberg was teaching Neva the names and medicinal uses of the plants there, as if she would have any use for that knowledge. But he supposed they had to improve Neva’s communication skills somehow, and keeping her in a stagnant environment like her pen would hinder her in that. If only she had half of her sister’s innate empathic abilities. Then she would be fluent in their language already….

“Dr. Rosenberg,” he called through the doorway, feeling the moist, sticky heat of the lab against his face. “A word?”

She nodded and made some quick signs to Neva, who nodded and started working clumsily on a project. She was getting dirt everywhere on the floor. Dr. Rosenberg removed her gardening gloves and joined him. “Yes?”

“I wanted to run something by you.” He explained the breeding idea to her. To his surprise, she looked uncertain about it. “Is something the matter?”

“Sir, it’s just…the sisters might be physically mature, but psychologically, they’re far from it. They need more time to learn and develop before—I’m not saying that we shouldn’t consider it,” she added hastily, seeing his annoyance, “but maybe we should wait a year or two for their minds to catch up to their bodies.”

“That would be fine, if we didn’t have Ms. Stoneson breathing down our necks. But we do, and while she’s pleased with Morgan’s progress, she’s starting to see Neva as a waste of resources.” That had come up repeatedly in their last meeting. “I’m not sure how much more she is willing to spend on a failed investment.”

“Neva is not a failure!”

Gods protect him from scientists who grew too attached to their experiments. “She is in the eyes of our employer,” he explained, with rather more patience than Dr. Rosenberg deserved. “But that could change if we find a use for her. I’m open to alternative suggestions.” When the now red-faced Dr. Rosenberg seemed at a loss, he added, “If you think of any, let me know. Otherwise, inform Neva that this is where things are heading. We might start her on a hormone regime as soon as next month.”

As he was turning away, Dr. Rosenberg reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Aaron, she’s a child, you can’t—”

“Would you rather she be a dead child? Because that’s another option our dear employer has mentioned. Using Neva for samples and spare parts certainly would put an end to the drain she’s being, even if it wouldn’t give us back a fraction of the fortune we spent on making her.”

Dr. Rosenberg paled at that. Aaron nodded. “I don’t want that either, but I might not have a choice if Neva doesn’t prove her value somehow.” He looked past her, at the creation, who had buried her muzzle into the roses. “Take a day to think about it,” he told Dr. Rosenberg, then left.

They had to find a use for the clone somehow. This was the only way he could think of.

Better this than the dissection table, he thought. I’m sure even Neva would agree.

But he would never ask her that. He would become like Dr. Rosenberg if he did—too involved, too close to keep perspective like he should, when they were working for people who had no patience for such softheartedness. He had to keep his distance and keep in mind what the sisters were: creations. Products. Property. Not pokémon. Not even people.

No matter what Dr. Rosenberg might say, Aaron couldn’t allow himself to lose sight of that.