#This is the second time ive drawn him crying- that alone is too many times. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whirlybirdwhat · 4 years ago

Note

If you still do promts? How about Law getting a minor (big scare) relapse of His Amber lead problem?

I do!!!! Hope you enjoy <333

a mark of (not-quite) death

read on ao3!

Law wakes up aching.

There is a throbbing in his back, a drum of pain running up his fingers, a blurriness in the back of his head that he can’t quite name, and a weakness that shakes in his limbs as he pushes himself upward.

He doesn’t want to open his eyes. The dull light of his sub – the soft humming of the machines – it’s all already too much. He wants to go back to sleep.

Instinct tells him doing so will be his death –

Wait.

Law’s eyes flash open as his entire body starts shaking.

He hasn’t… hasn’t felt this way since he was 13 and running with Cora. He –

God.

No.

(Litanies of prayers flash through his mind, the same the nuns like to whisper over the children as they laid dying in bed. The lights of the hospital, the screams of agony, the white creeping up up up – his father shaking as he attached IV lines to his sister, the blood pooling on the streets –

No-)

It can’t be. Law got rid of it. He was the survivor. The only survivor, because of his thrice damned fruit.

His eyes look down, to where his hands are clenching the bunk he collapsed in late last night (after feeling off all day god he was a fool-), to where –

White splotches against tanned skin, spreading and rising in irregular shapes.

A relapse.

A relapse of Amber Lead Disease.

Law wants to laugh.

(Laugh, in the kind of laugh those who are about to die have. Laugh, not in the way of the indomitable D, but in the kind of way a sailor laughs in the face of a raging storm that he will not survive. Laugh, in the way that fools cry.)

Who knew it was possible?

Tears well up in his eyes as laughter chokes out past the tightening in his chest. He couldn’t die. Not yet.

Not when Doflamingo still lived.

His chest is getting tighter as he raises a shaky white splotched hand to his face, feeling the wetness there. His skin is rough, raised, god it already spread to his face?

He is going to die.

(Everything hurts.)

The world is going blurry at the edges, darkness creeping in, every limb aching and �� Oh.

A sliver of thought breaks through the memories of pain and death and terror.

He needs to breathe.

Law takes a shuddering breath, pressing against his chest as if that would make his lungs work past the blinding panic in his mind.

It helps.

He takes another.

It helps more.

Another, and another, and another, until he is lying back in his too small bunk and looking up at the flickering lights.

Fuck, he thinks.

Fuck.

His eyes slip shut past the instinct ingrained in him from his days with Cora, and finally, finally, he falls back to a restless sleep.

Untellable time has passed when he finally drags himself out of bed, legs shaking beneath his weight. Kikoku is a helpful walking stick, his jeans an unhelpful hindrance, and his feet barefoot against the deck.

Bending down had hurt too much to put them on.

He makes his way, slowly, to the kitchen where most of the off-duty crew is, their chatter rising above the hum of engines and the lurching power of the sea.

Bepo –

Bepo is there.

Thank fuck.

He stumbles in and makes a bee-line towards his first mate, ignoring the cries of his crew (idiots – who told them they could care so much about him?) as he finally arrives in front of Bepo, shaking.

Bepo stares. “Captain?” His voice is soft.

Worried.

(The way it is after nightmares shake Law awake and all he can hear is the laughter of a mad tyrant echoing in his mind.)

Law stares back and carefully, carefully, slumps into Bepo’s arms.

(By the shouts of his crew, it’s not so carefully. It’s more the last legs of a starving man giving out.)

“Captain!” Bepo says, less questioning and more panicked and worried this time.

Law just shoves his face into his jacket and mumbles “I’m fine Bepo.” Half the words don’t make it out but it’s fine.

He’s fine.

Law is… Law is fine.

Shachi echoes from his right. “You don’t look fine captain.”

“Yeah!” Penguin chimes in. “You look like death warmed over.”

(He’s not fine)

Law shudders, and shakes his head. “I feel it,” He mutters, uncharacteristically open, and then moves on as Bepo lowers them bother down to the bench. “It’ll… It’ll pass. Just need to operate, that’s all.”

He can’t see it with his face shoved into Bepo’s warmth but he just knows everyone is sharing glances over his head. Especially Shachi and Penguin and Bepo. They knew him… they knew him when he just got over Amber Lead, operating out of his skin with cries of pain and little control over his devil fruit….

And little choice to not do it.

It’s always like this out at sea – out on open waters with a black flag overhead, or the intention to be one. Life or death.

Life or death.

(For so long, Law has intended to die.)

He sighs, further, as they finally sit down, the ache in his legs easing as Bepo allows him to slump into his side. A hot mug is shoved into his hands and lifted to his lips, shakily.

Coffee.

Sweet, just how he secretly likes it. Ikkaku then, the only person who knows how to get it just right, helping him drink.

(His eyes feel so heavy.)

There’s murmuring around him. Law closes it out, to focus on how the jumpsuit is soft on his raised and rash-ridden skin.

Someone moves Kikoku away from him, and he doesn’t move an inch. The worried voices pick up again.

Soon, someone shakes him.

“Captain.”

He’s so tired.

“Captain.”

This is, essentially, the second worst thing that could possibly happen to him. The first being Doflamingo dies before Law can spit in his face and say Fuck You.

“Captain!”

He should have just operated in his room. Why didn’t he do that?

“Law!”

Oh.

He’s a captain now.

That’s him.

He pushes himself off Bepo, and blinks wearily at his crew.

“Yeah – Yes?” He tries to pour irritation into his voice, but honestly – they are a crew, no matter how often he holds them at arms lengths. They know he’s not as prickly as he seems. They have seen him half drowned, drunk out of his mind, and on fifteen to many cups of Shachi’s special coffee.

They can see him sick.

(He’s so tired.)

Penguin peers into his face, his hat tipped up so that he can meet Law’s eyes clearly with his own. “What operation?”

The words come out of him slurred and tired.

“Amber Lead,” He says, and doesn’t miss how Clione in the corner takes a step back. “It’s… not contagious…” He slumps further into Bepo. “That was all a government ruse.”

Most of them are from the North Blue. Most of them have heard the stories – of Flevance, and how it burned to the ground, how its people were exterminated, how its people were contagious and it was good for the world that their disease wasn’t spread.

Most of his crew, however, don’t know that he’s the last survivor.

A hand drifts over his cheek, tapping gently on the raised, white skin, and Law is drawn back into reality.

“’M from Flevance. Last survivor. My fruit… my fruit cured me. Had to operate.” He says, dimly remembering it. “Now its back. Gotta….” His mother would be ashamed of how his voice was drooping. Slurring. There was a patient he had to tend to. Wait. He was the patient. He was so tired and even the coffee wasn’t helping. “Operate again.”

Dimly, he remembers how he wasn’t allowed to see the adults who had Amber Lead. They were always worse off than the children once the disease reached its peak. The body, too old to defend itself. The mind, old enough to understand eminent death. To understand that you were leaving everyone behind, because of an unavoidable fate, because you were born of Flevance and its greed.

Now, Law is aching as he did when he was a child in the last stages of the disease, and he feels… distant and all too close to the fact all at once. He’s tired, but he has survived this before.

Before, he was alone.

Now, he has a crew.

(And a dream, as horrible and revenge driven as it is, to kill the one who took everything else from him.)

A crew that is slowly pulling him out of his despair and into open arms.

Bepo is muttering with Shachi and Penguin, something about how did it set in so fast? And Island conditions? And large concentrations of ore and ocean depths and battles? But all of it is fading distantly.

A hand taps his cheek and pulls the cup from his hands. He tries to follow it, but he is quickly trapped by a large, fluffy orange arm.

“Sleep, Captain.” That’s Clione, stepping closer now. “You can operate when you’re coherent.”

He wants to snap at them, snap at all of them, that he’s a man and doesn’t need to be babied, he’s done this before and he’ll do it again, and he’s a trained doctor –

(Who trained all of them-)

-so he can decide when he needs to sleep but –

Bepo’s arm is soft. Comforting. Familiar.

(He tried to find Cora’s coat after he was killed. He couldn’t. He missed the warmth of smoky black faux feathers. He had no comfort then, when he was digging into his skin with shaky powers and a stolen knife.)

Law falls to sleep, surrounded by crew, and hopes he’ll wake to see morning light.

There is none when he wakes. Instead, there is a heavy pressure on his right, crushing him, almost gently, against a large, soft, bodily shaped lump.

For a moment, with the shaking in his limbs, Law thinks he is in Flevance again, hiding amongst the bodies of his dead neighbors and friends to get a chance at life.

His heart races, before Bepo lets out a familiar snore and Shachi slaps at his cheeks.

Ah.

He’s not in Flevance.

He’s home.

(Usually, he would correct himself and say The Polar Tang. Not today. Today he is tired.)

He looks across the room. They are still in the kitchen, the crew merely moving around him instead of moving him, the idiots. The lights are dimmed, and it seems to be only Bepo and Shachi in the room. A blanket is pulled around him, and his sword leaned against the wall.

He gives a sigh. Someone had even grabbed his hat for him.

(He wants his hat. His father had given it to him. He wants his hat.)

His eyes drift, still tired, but the aching in his limbs has abated for now. It’s time to move, before he’s lost again in pain and memories.

Law pushes at Bepo and Shachi, shoving both off of him in a spur of strength, before standing up.

“Captain!” Bepo cries happily, undeterred from his harsh wake up. On the ground, Shachi rubs his head but doesn’t complain. “You’re awake! Is your head better? Is your body better? Are you okay? Do you need water? Food? Wait maybe don’t’- “

The world spins as Law stands up, but he still manages to grit out a “Bepo!” that shuts the bear up quick. He feels bad for it, but at least the questions are stopped.

“Help me to the operating room.”

Shachi gives him a look even as Law refuses to wait for them to help him across the room to grab his sword. “Are you sure you’re ready to operate?”

Law gives him a look as he grips Kikoku, Bepo helping up his other arm. “If I don’t operate now, I won’t be able to later. If I don’t operate later, I’m going to fucking die.” The clarity in this threat and his voice seems to stir Shachi into opening the doors for them to go through, Law’s feet getting heavier with every step.

“Amber Lead, huh?” Shachi questions quietly.

Law lets out a breath. “Yeah.”

“That’s what you were recovering from when we first met, right? With the white splotches?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re back now.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought they were gone forever.”

Law sighs again. “Me too,” he says, and that’s the end of the conversation. It’s silent then, as they pad through the ship to the operating room. The rest of the crew must know by now, because they don’t question it when Law limps quietly throughout the sub. They only nod, and give him worried looks.

His crew is a crew of fools.

(He wouldn’t trade them for the world.)

The operating room is already open when Law arrives.

(He can barely stand. His legs ache. He bets if he rolled up his pants, his legs would be near entirely white, the disease setting in quick. He hates this. He hates this.)

“Captain!” Penguin cheers from the corner where he is cleaning Law’s favorite sets of scalpels and has a chair set up. “Everything’s ready for when you need it! Didn’t know what exactly you needed, so I got everything that seemed reasonable.”

A part of Law softens at that, though his face hurts to twitch into smile. “Thank you, Peng,” He says, quiet, and with Bepo’s help eases himself into a chair. He sighs and gestures for the tray scalpels Penguin rolls over.

He’s practiced this kind of removal before, on albeit unwilling patients. They were thankful after, but never quite liked it when Law opened them up.

They felt no pain, thanks to the Ope-Ope fruits natural anesthetics, but removing things buried into your skin by what appears to be magical scalpels is never fun.

(It was funny to Law. He was always sadistic like that.)

He picks up a scalpel, gestures for his crew to back away, and then says, very carefully, “Room.”

His crew stares, but then the pieces come together when his eyes lock on Bepo and he says “Shambles.”

In an instant, his head is switched with the air above Bepo’s palms.

Bepo screams, only a bit, but it gives Law the perspective he needs to make this surgery.

His body is trembling before him, Law already feeling the strain from using his devil fruit. Splotches run up his arms from where his sleeves are rolled up, the hoodie dipping just a bit to reveal the splotches on his neck as well. When Law glances into the mirror on the tray, he pauses, for just a moment.

The spots make him seem… hollow. As if he were only a frame of the person he wanted to be. They fill his cheeks and nose, distorting over his forehead, like a skeleton made of flesh and empty spaces.

He looks tired.

(He always looks tired.)

He looks like death.

(A part of him laughs at that. The Surgeon of Death, looking like death warmed over? Irony at its finest.)

He blinks his eyes closed and opens them quickly. If he doesn’t act soon, he’ll be death.

He watches his arms lift in front of him, and mutters “Scan.”

His body lights up in shades of vibrant blue, making his spots glow where they are raised above the skin. Law looks closer, his fingers twirling in the air, till it is as if he can see the innermost parts of his body.

There.

The core of all his trouble, nestled right next to his lungs. A part of the Amber Lead he missed when he didn’t know that Scan was an ability he had with his fruit. A part that grew and grew and grew, and seemed to have been suddenly exacerbated by the climate of the Grand Line.

The only surprising part is that it took till now for it happen.

“Peng. Shach.” He says, straining, speaking odd when your mouth is in one area of the room and your voice box in another. “Get the infectious substance containers.”

Penguin looks alarmed. “Thought you said it wasn’t contagious?”

“Yes.” He responds. “It isn’t. But it is toxic, and this is the closest containment system we have. Get it.”

Penguin gives a snappy salute, and then he and Shachi are running out the door, leaving Bepo and Law’s disembodied head, and his body in the room.

Law sighs, neck leaning back so his head rests on Bepo’s chest. To Bepo’s merit, he only shifts his hold on Law.

A moment, and Bepo shifts his grip again so that one paw is patting Law’s head. IF his body were not so weak he would have strangled Bepo.

(It feels nice. He won’t let him know that.)

“Bepo.” He growls.

“Sorry!” Bepo yelps, but doesn’t stop dragging his fingers through Law’s hair, gentle and calm.

Law doesn’t scold him again, and instead fights the urge to sink into sleep by examining his body further.

His chest tightens when he realizes how much it had spread – all because Law didn’t bother to check up his body earlier. God.

He would have died if he didn’t have his fruit.

If Cora hadn’t…

The operating room door slamming open distracts him from his thoughts.

“We got it!” Shachi and Penguin cheer, rolling over two large glass and plastic and metal containers.

(Law new the destructions of diseases. He filched the best containment for his own ship.

Like hell he would let Flevance happen again.)

Law nods the best he can without a body, and across the room, his body raises its arms.

“Scan,” He says, one more time to be sure. When it all lights up again, he closes his eyes and breathes out.

One second.

Two.

He breathes in, and opens his eyes.

“Room,” He says, and the operating room becomes his. His eyes flash to the air inside the empty cases and –

“Shambles.”

The blue disappears from his eyes, from his body, from his face, the aches disappearing, in a snap from his skin, and into the containers already sealed shut. His fingers twitch, another muttered Shambles, and his head is securely on his body.

The world blurs in front of him.

Fuck.

He’s so tired.

So, so tired.

He lays back, melting against the chair, and doesn’t protest as Bepo lifts him up.

“You’re alright captain. You’re alright.”

As his hat is placed on his head, white splotches slowly fading from his hands in itchy waves, he honestly thinks he might be.

His eyes shut and to worried murmurs, he falls unconscious, operation over.

(His parents would be ashamed of how he didn’t check to make sure the patient was recovering right.

Wait.

He’s the patient.

Fuck.)

Law wakes without aching, without wanting to laugh, Bepo wrapped around him again and his favorite food on a tray beside him. When he looks in the mirror, only two splotches of white remain near his eyes, fading as he watches. Someone has washed his hair and scrubbed the other flakes of white on cheeks away with tender care, and a blanket is wrapped carefully around him. This time, Law doesn’t panic. This time, Law goes to goes back to sleep on purpose, smile gracing his features.

His crew is a crew of fools but fuck, if Law doesn’t love them. They keep him alive.

Law won’t die now.

Not yet.

And not from his past.

#whirlyanswers #Anonymous #trafalgar law #trafalgar d. water law #law #corazon #donquixote rocinante #rocinante #bepo #shachi #penguin one piece #op #one piece #whirlywrites #whirlywhat #opfic #sickfic #uhhh enjoy!!!!#disappears again

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anobscurename · 4 years ago

Text

ocean eyes – chris evans

PART I | PART II | PART III | PART IV

concept: after having the house to yourself for little over a month, you are surprised by chris’ return home. awkward encounters ensue. the slowest of slow burns, the fifth part of many.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: shirtless evans, an almost assault with a baseball bat

author’s note: not me dropping a third part in one day… this one goes out to @tonystankschild for being so overwhelmingly supportive. thank you, and i hope you enjoy :)

You should’ve known he was home.

All the signs were there, but you’d gotten so used to living alone in the spacious L.A. residence by yourself – aside from Dodger – that it seemed almost absurd now to think of it as a shared space.

You had been watching something – one of those home invasion slashers – when Dodger had sudden perked his head, ears erect and alert. He had heard something you hadn’t just yet, and suddenly, he was leaping off the couch and headed straight for the front door, whining and howling. That was the first sign.

The second sign came after you had paused the film to better hear what was transpiring in the foyer. Dodger was pawing frantically at the base of the door, crying out. In the sudden hush of the apartment, you could hear the scrape of something metallic in the keyhole. The doorknob jostled, and a muffled slew of profanities reached your ears, even through the thick door.

You didn’t stick around for the third sign – you had already bounded to your room and retrieved the hefty wooden baseball bat you had bought when you first moved into that dingy flat by yourself downtown in one of the more seedier areas. You held it aloft with as much confidence as you could muster – poised and ready. You would later admit to maybe being a bit paranoid, given the film you had selected that night. But not right now. Right now you were in full attack mode, fight or flight.

“Who’s that, Dodge?” You whispered, heart rate spiking and forcing adrenaline through your veins. You didn’t expect a reply from the overexcited pup, but you got one in a long drawn out yowl. “Who’s that?”

The bat was beginning to feel slippery in your sweat slicked hands, but you merely adjusted your grip and clutched it tighter. Then, a click – the door opening.

With a shrieking wail of a battle cry, you swung wildly in the dark, the shadowed silhouette easily evading your clumsy attack and grabbing the bat before its inevitable collision with his face.

Suddenly, at the click of a switch, light flooded the foyer, briefly blinding you.

“What the hell?!” A Boston accent, the musky scent of something indescribable. Your heart flipped.

Allowing your eyes to adjust, you found yourself staring into the stunning – if not wide in mild panic – blue eyes of Chris Evans. He was fresh off his flight, dishevelled slightly from his drive home. His dirty blonde hair was tousled and messy, his shirt rumpled but clinging effortlessly to his muscular frame. He still held the one side of the bat in a large and rather beautiful hand, his lips twisted in a small but no less beautiful – and also incredibly confused – smile.

“Oh, thank God it’s you,” you sighed in relief when your senses returned to you, slackening your death grip on the handle. He gently – if not a bit quickly – took the bat and placed it on a tabletop nearby, before bending down and greeting a frenzied Dodger who immediately pounced on Chris and slathered him in kisses, tail wagging at a mile a minute. “I honestly thought you were a burglar.”

“Did you–” Chris was cut off by a wet lick to the face, and he struggled to reign his laughter in to complete his thought. “Did you not hear my key in the door?”

He rose to his feet, grinning, just as happy to see Dodger again as the pup did his owner.

“I heard someone fucking up a key in the door. Figured it was a lock pick in the end and decided that if I was going to die, I was gonna go down swingin’.”

You were feeling somewhat defensive – even if you almost attacked the poor man.

“Remind me to text next time, then,” Chris chuckled.

And as if the confirmation of your safety spurred it, you fell into his arms, clinging to him in a bone crushing bear hug. You deeply inhaled his scent – a scent that still sometimes lingered in the house but had overall faded into just a ghostly reminder. “You have no idea how happy I am it’s you and not Hannibal Lecter.”

Your voice was muffled in the fabric of his t-shirt clad chest as he patted you on the back reassuringly. “I think I have some idea…”

——————

The thing about having lived by yourself for so long is that you grow accustomed to a certain level of naturally granted – and overall assumed – privacy. And although it was beginning to become the case for you, it was and already had been the case for Chris.

So that was why, when morning came, you, in all your drowsiness, found yourself in the position you currently were in.

See, the mistake was almost entirely forgivable. It was an honest one. Just people being human and forgetting specific things – like the fact that other people had use of certain communal amenities, and that locking doors was the ultimate guarantee of privacy.

When you would both tell the tale – having found the humour in it not long later – you would both admit to entirely forgetting the other lived there too.

In Chris’ case, he had been a little jetlagged. In your case, it had just slipped your mind.

For this to make sense, we would have to take a close look at the layout of the house. See, both yours and Chris’ rooms were connected by one specific point in the house: an en suite conjoining bathroom that both of you had access to.

Chris, having been a bachelor for most of his time living on that property, had never really dwelled much on the second door.

And you, having moved in a month prior, never once gave much thought to where the other door – his door – led. In all honesty, you had never even bothered to check.

And so, in the late hours of the morning, you found your eyes dragging open and your sleep ridden body stumbling out of bed.

How you hadn’t heard him was baffling – because, as you would later discover, Chris Evans did not merely sing in the shower, no. He goddamn performed; held a live concert for all the toiletries that were simply too inanimate to escape – but as you sluggishly hauled yourself to your bathroom door (always shut, thanks to the numerous horror films you had consumed during your lazy days), the last thing you were expecting was–

“OH MY GOD!”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Both of you simultaneously leapt at the shock of finding someone you wouldn’t expect.

“Fuck, holy shit, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry–”

“{Your name},” he chuckled, glistening shoulders bouncing with mirth. “It’s okay.”

You had walked in on Chris fucking Evans, mercifully (for your part) clad in a white towel wrapped snugly around his waist. If the steam thick air was an indication, he had stepped out of the shower moments before your intrusion, and had been in the midst of combing the wet hair away from his face when you’d come in.

“I’m sorry, I thought the bathroom would be free, I…” you trailed off as you finally looked at him.

You had seen him shirtless before, obviously. Everyone had if they had seen almost any film he’d been in. But this was somehow… different.

You were mesmerised by the water droplets running down and getting caught on the ridges of his rippling muscles. And the tattoos…

You never would’ve guessed he had so many, some obscured by the damp hair that covered his chest, others in stark contrast of black on tan, smooth skin.

This was what he looked like, no makeup, no special effects, no airbrush. 100% him, real, in front of you, and a little naked.

“My eyes are up here.” He grinned teasingly. “See something you like?”

You swallowed thickly and finally looked him in his ocean eyes. “We never speak of this again.”

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans fanfic #chris evans/you #chris evans/reader #chris evans fluff #dina writes #ocean eyes #part 5

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hale-13 · 3 years ago

Text

Ulcerated

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 8 - Force Feeding

It’s only been a week since Tony last saw the kid but the weight he’s lost is clear in the way his shirt is just a little baggier than normal, the paleness of his face, the gauntness of his cheeks and Tony has to hold in his sympathetic wince. May Parker was never one to exaggerate but Tony had kind of been hoping that she was this time.

Words: 2720, Chapters: 1/1 (Completed), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & May Parker

Characters: Peter Parker, May Parker, Tony Stark, Helen Cho

TW: Vomiting, Medical Procedures

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“Hey Pete,” he says, trying to keep his tone light and his voice gentle, Peter looks like he’s one stiff breeze from passing out or crying – it’s a toss up – and Tony doesn’t want to find out which is more likely. Peter raises one hand just above waist level in a half-assed wave and Tony bites the inside of his cheek sharply. “May said you’d been feeling pretty crummy kiddo.”

Peter shrugs and hums noncommittally, eyes a little unfocused from, what Tony guesses is, low blood sugar. He purses his lips and weighs his options before crossing the room to pull Peter into a careful hug. Peter goes nearly boneless in his arms but doesn’t raise his own to return the embrace which worries Tony even more; Peter is more tactile than just about anyone Tony’s ever met and is always eager for any physical affection. His stomach turns and he looks up to make eye contact with May where she’s wringing her hands in stress and looking guilty in her navy scrubs.

“Thanks for this Tony,” she says, approaching them and running her fingers through the rat’s nest of Peter’s curls. He’s still leaning up against Tony either for emotional or physical support, he’s not sure which. “I was worried about leaving him alone.”

“It’s no problem at all,” he assured and it wasn’t. When May had first called him about Peter’s supposed stomach flu earlier in the week he had sent all of the kid’s medical information to Cho who had told them, based on his symptoms and history, that they just needed to fill him up with as many fluids as possible and start a bland diet. They couldn’t afford not to with Peter’s wicked fast metabolism. May had taken most of the week off work to cram electrolytes and soup down Peter’s throat but her PTO had run out and she was on shift for the next three days. When she had called Tony for their daily update he had insisted that Peter come stay with him in the Tower – the penthouse a convenient few floors above the MedBay if they needed it.

“Okay Petey,” May said, pulling Peter into her own arms to fold him into a soft hug that Peter at least attempted to return. “You get some rest and try to eat something for Tony okay? I’ll call you in the morning when I get home but I’ll have my phone on if you need me and the hospital can always page me if I’m not able to answer okay?”

“Sure,” Peter rasped and Tony winced at how rough his voice sounded but, he supposed, non-stop vomiting for the majority of the week would do that to you.

“Alright,” May said, looking torn and a little devastated and Tony empathized. Peter was the closest thing he had to a son and he couldn’t imagine leaving him like this now that they were together. She made eye contact with him and Tony could read the clear ‘you’re going to have to take him from me or I won’t let go’ expression on her face and pulled Peter gently back to him.

“I’ve got him May,” Tony promised. “The chefs at the Tower have prepared a ton of bland foods for us to try and Cho’s on call if we need her. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“I know,” she said, eyes a little damp. She cleared her throat and pressed her lips to Peter’s forehead. “I love you Pete.”

“Love you too,” Peter mumbled back and Tony slipped his arm a little lower down the kid’s back to support him when he swayed a little unsteadily, dazed. He needed to get Peter off his feet fast before he passed out. They rode down the janky elevator together but went their separate ways at the curb – May toward the subway and Tony maneuvering Peter to lay half in his lap in the back seat of the town car Happy had been idling in the fire lane in front of the apartment.

“Step on it Hap,” Tony said once he had Peter settled, ignoring the concerned look his friend was giving them both in the rear view mirror. “Make it a smooth ride yeah?”

“No problem Boss,” Happy promised, pulling away from the curb with the utmost care and merging them into the Queens traffic.

——————————————

“I know you don’t want to,” Tony began, apologetic as he nearly shoved a bite of unsalted, unbuttered white rice into Peter’s unwilling mouth, trying not to feel overly guilty about the look of pure betrayal on Peter’s face. “But you’ve already lost over eight pounds and its hard enough to keep up with your metabolism as it is. I know you don’t want to end up in the MedBay.”

Peter sighed around the mouthful of rice but chewed it and swallowed it, begrudgingly accepting the next bite Tony forced into his mouth. They got through about half the bowl before Peter abruptly turned pale and then green, barely managing to grab the empty bucket Tony had placed next to him, vomiting up a mixture of bile and undigested rice. Tony squeezed his eyes shut a second in commiseration before rubbing the kid’s back to help him through it. “It was a good attempt buddy,” he said quietly as Peter retched painfully into the bucket until he was dry heaving only.

The episode only lasted for a couple minutes but Peter looked completely exhausted when he collapsed back to rest against the headboard of his bed, letting Tony pull the bucket from his limp grasp. “No thanks,” he said, voice sounding even worse now, throatier and deeper than normal with the wear and tear on his vocal cords, and pushing away the bottle of Pedialyte Tony had tried to force into his hand.

“Not optional kiddo,” Tony told him sympathetically, pressing the straw between Peter’s unwilling lips and staring until he finally gave in and took a few swallows, his Adam’s apple spasming.

“Can I just sleep?” He asked pathetically, eyes red rimmed and skin both pale and flushed, skin drooping with how tired he clearly was.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Tony offered. “You eat another five bites and drink a quarter of the Pedialyte and I’ll let you have a four hour nap before we repeat. Do we have an accord?”

Peter looked at him with sad eyes, the bags under them dark and deep. “I don’t really get a choice huh?”

“Not if you want to avoid the MedBay,” Tony agreed. “The only reason I haven’t taken you already is because you asked me not to but, if this gets any worse, you’ll have to go.”

“Give me the rice,” Peter said, defeated and Tony passed it to his shaking grip, steadying the bowl while Peter forced down five bites of the rice, washing it down with the drink before lying back and cuddling up to Tony’s side, eyes already half-lidded with sleep.

“Put on some Brooklyn 99 would you FRI? Volume at twenty percent.”

“On it Boss,” FRIDAY’s voice responded quietly, pulling the show up on the flat screen in Peter’s room as Tony started massaging Peter’s scalp.

At some point he must have fallen asleep as well because, the next thing he knew, he was waking up to Peter gagging out his name and lurching for the trash can next to the bed. Tony hastened to grab it and thrust it under Peter’s chin – just in time for the poor kid to retch weakly into it. “Let it all out Webs,” Tony said, rubbing Peter’s sweaty back and brushing his lank bangs out of his face. It wasn’t until Peter was done and panting against Tony’s chest that Tony noticed that the bucket contained a concerning amount of blood and material that looked like coffee grounds. “FRI tell Cho to meet me in the MedBay.”

“No,” Peter whined, curling closer to Tony and tucking his legs into his stomach – balling himself up tight.

“Sorry buddy,” Tony told him, crawling out of the bed as carefully as possible to not jostle Peter too much. “You’re vomiting blood so we have to.”

“What?” Peter asked, confused, craning his neck to look into the trash can and then paling further. “Oh.”

“Yep,” Tony agreed, dragging him up to stand before finally just scooping Peter up into a bridal carry when it became obvious that Peter’s knees weren’t going to support him the whole way downstairs. Tellingly, Peter didn’t protest; he just curled into Tony’s shoulder, one hand tangling into his sweatshirt.

Helen wasn’t present when Tony burst into the MedBay a few minutes later but her nursing staff were quick to get Peter settled into a bed and get his vitals and an updated history from Tony. By the time Helen had swept into the room, looking put together and not at all like Tony had woken her up in the middle on the night, the nurses had already drawn blood and placed an IV catheter to start fluids.

“I was hoping I wouldn’t be seeing you in here Peter,” she said, taking his chart and flicking through it.

“Same,” the kid agreed with a weak smile, not letting go of Tony’s hand or the basin he had been given shortly after they got him in a bed.

“So you still have the nausea but it says here that you been having some issues with acid reflux and that you had a fair bit of blood mixed with the bile you just threw up?” She asked, using her stethoscope to listen to Peter’s heart and lungs before moving on to feeling his lymph nodes. “How much blood?” She directed to Tony.

“All of it was blood,” Tony answered, trying to stay calm. He needed to text May ASAP but he was hesitant to do so until he knew what was wrong. “Maybe half a cup? Some of it looked like coffee grounds.”

Helen hummed as she moved on to palpating Peter’s abdomen, apologizing when he flinched. “Have you been on any medications recently Peter? Aspirin, Advil, Aleve? Any stress?”

“Midterms were last week,” Peter answered slowly. “I had a pretty bad headache the whole week and I did take some Advil a few times a day.”

“How much and how often?”

“Uh…,” Peter said, face scrunching as he tried to think. “Maybe like eight to ten pills three or four times a day? I’ve done that before though, Dr. Banner told me I would need that many because of my metabolism.”

“Very true,” Helen agreed. “But not that often. Based on your symptoms and history I’m tentatively diagnosing you with a stomach ulcer that has likely perforated based on the blood in your vomit.”

“An ulcer?” Peter asked, looking like he was having a hard time tracking, Tony gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“So what do we do next?” He asked, running his hand through Peter’s hair quickly in solidarity. An ulcer. Of course his kid would end up with a bleeding ulcer.

“Well we’ve already drawn blood to check for infection or anemia,” Cho answered. “Depending on the results I’ll start him on fluids and maybe a blood transfusion. Since this has been affecting him for a while and because we need to get some calories in his as soon as we can, I’ll stop the bleed and remove the ulcer via an endoscopy. You won’t even have to be fully under for it, just sedated.”

“Okay,” Peter agreed blandly – a sure tell that the kid felt like shit. Cho made steady eye contact with Tony for just a second before reaching out to squeeze Peter’s bicep.

“Tony can I speak to you in the hall? I need to get you to sign some releases while the nurses get Peter prepped,” she asked.

“Sure,” Tony nodded, giving Peter a careful side hug before following the doctor out of the room, shutting the door behind him – all the rooms were soundproofed due to all the enhanced humans in the Tower and their sensitive hearing. “You were clearly holding something back,” he accused. “You’re lucky Pete’s so out of it or he would have picked up on it too.”

Helen sighed deeply, finally looking tired. “He’s lost too much weight.”

“I know,” Tony agreed sadly, reaching up to massage his temples with one hand. “What are we going to do about it?”

Helen clicked her tongue and tapped a finger against the tablet in her hands. “He’ll probably be able to eat once her wakes up but I really just want to place an NG tube while he’s under so he can have a continuous stream of nutrients going in. We could even continue feeding him while he’s sleeping, really get the weight back on. I wanted to talk to you first before I brought it up. He’s on the cusp right now so he could get away without having it but I don’t really want to give him the option to decline it. It would help him recover a lot faster.”

Tony hummed, torn. He didn’t really want to take away Peter’s agency here but he agreed with Helen that he doubted the kid would go for it. “Let me talk to him about it,” Tony finally conceded. “I might be able to get further with him.”

“Sure,” Helen said with a nod. “You should be good to go back in and sit with him, it’ll take another thirty minutes to an hour to get everything ready but we’ll let you know when it’s time.”

“Thanks,” Tony said sincerely, re-entering the room. Peter was still sitting propped up in bed in his comfortable sweatpants and hoodie, not having to change since the procedure was so simple, but with the addition of another IV catheter in his other arm connected to a bag of his own blood – donated earlier in the year for occasions such as this.

“So what did Dr. Cho want,” he asked, eyes still tired but shining with his usual intelligence and a bit of curiosity.

“Figured we wouldn’t be able to get that past you,” Tony said sardonically, taking a seat on the edge of Peter’s bed, facing him. “Helen wants to place an NG tube while you’re under. Wait,” he said, holding up a hand preemptively when Peter opened his mouth. “You’ve lost too much weight as it is and it’s going to be hard to put it back on with the bland diet she’s going to have you on while you heal. Doing this will make your recovery go so much faster.”

“I don’t want to be stuck in here,” Peter grumbled, gesturing the the room and Tony let one side of his mouth tick up in a smile.

“Hate to break it to you kiddo,” he said, “but that’s already a forgone conclusion.” The kid groaned and Tony let a full smile pull across his face, many of his previous worries eased with the diagnosis and treatment plan. “Let Cho do this and I’ll pull as many strings as I have to to spring you early. Deal?”

Peter made a face, his nose crinkled in disgust but he nodded in defeat anyway. “Two days. At most.”

“Three,” Tony haggled, holding out a hand which Peter eventually took with a sigh. “Great! FRI, relay that to Helen please.”

“Done Boss. She said she’ll be ready for Peter in about ten minutes.”

“Thanks honey,” he said, still smiling. “I’ll call May while you’re out and have Happy pick her up after her shift. She can stay here for the next few days.”

“Thanks Mr. Stark,” Peter said, his voice still sounding more destroyed than Tony had ever heard it but lighter somehow – probably because he could see the light at the end of the tunnel and knew he would be feeling much better soon.

“Anytime kiddo. Anytime.”

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump8 #Prompt: Force Feeding #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump

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smalltragedy · 4 years ago

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* herman tommeraas, cis man + he/him | you know donovan mercer, right? they’re twenty one, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, four months? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to ice boy by corbin like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole fear hidden behind a stoic stare, bleeding from your nose and from your gums, and the night sky with all its stars, with all its mystery and unknown thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is march 15th, so they’re a pisces, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( james, 21, est, they/them )

looks away as i finally post his intro after being kinda awol fr however long. i love him a lot n hes also bri’s character mercy’s younger brother so u hv to be nice to him. think abt mercy’s life. then think abt ducky. im sry in advance tht his intro’s a little longer ive hd ducky fr like. a year or two n i’ve been playing him a While <3 as always like this if u’d like 2 plot n i’ll try 2 msg u bck bt otherwise im gna just hop right into threads bc obv i need to. change my methods.

ABUSE, VIOLENCE, DRUG ABUSE, EYE INJURY, GANG MENTIONS TW.

mini playlist.

father ;; the front bottoms / ice boy ;; corbin / lose yourself ;; eminem / my own worst enemy ;; lit / say it ain’t so ;; weezer / maps ;; yeah yeah yeahs / star stopping ;; lil peep / benz truck ;; lil peep / trauma ;; nf / northern downpour ;; panic! at the disco / your graduation ;; modern baseball.

statistics.

full name: donovan mercer.

nickname(s): ducky.

birthday: march 15th, 1999.

zodiac: pisces sun, aquarius moon, aquarius ascending.

mbti & temperament: intp & theorist / phlegmatic.

label: the despondent.

hometown: hell’s kitchen, new york.

sexuality: bisexual (bt not out).

pinterest.

biography.

born in hell’s kitchen to vinny mercer and a mother who ran out of the hospital as fast as she could, as soon as she was able. she’d gone so quick that she’d never given ducky a middle name - just donovan. the younger brother of mercy (shoutout 2 bri)

his father’s the right-hand man of a well known mob boss named lars amaretto, and so, you can imagine the kind of environment ducky (& mercy) grew up in. weapon & drug dealings, interrogations, violence around every corner. a brutal way of living, no place to raise two children.

implied abuse tw // their father was not kind, or merciful - and ducky was a runt compared to mercy, small and sensitive and kinder than his brother. weak, and filled with softness, with big brown eyes and a smile that should’ve been able to melt ice - but it didn’t. and it never did.

he cried often, and was punished often for it until he learned to stop crying - at least in front of their father, and mercy too, at some point. only in the comfort of his room, with doors locked and blinds drawn closed. implied abuse end of tw

he dreamed, too, dreamt often. he’d been obsessed with outer space since childhood, as long as he could remember. school had once shown man landing on the moon, and ducky wanted that. wanted to be that, wanted to be there, up with the stars, discovering the unthinkable.

abuse mention // but it was discouraged, heavily so - projects destroyed by an angry fist only to be reconstructed to the best of ducky’s ability, with mercy’s help, all throughout the night. he’d saved up for a telescope when he was thirteen, but it’d been destroyed almost immediately when discovered. not a day went by that their father didn’t tell ducky that he was, first and foremost, stupid - and would always be. end of abuse mention

to the point where he stopped trying, simply. he never graduated high school.

abuse mention // anxiety mention // anyways … at the age of fifteen, he’d have enough. he was sick of the abuse, the pain - the crying behind closed doors, the sneaking around, the constant feeling of needing to escape, impending doom, anxiety attacks in the shower and in school bathrooms and at the back of the bus where nobody sat besides him because he was - that boy, the son of that man, the brother of that brute. he’d been a teenager and he’d already been an outcast by all means - an outcast in his family, no matter how hard he tried to appease vinny, and an outsider everywhere else.

the plan took months of preparation, paper ripped out from the back of his school notebook and stuffed beneath his mattress, details of his escape from a checklist of essential items to makeshift maps of bus routes to different cities.

all for nothing, the moment vinny discovered it, the edge of a map sticking out after a rushed morning.

heavy abuse tw // violence tw // it’d been the same day he’d gotten the nickname - ducky - the way the wound wrapped below his mouth, and the way it’d begun to heal - puckered, at first, like a duck’s bill. a better name than eyepatch, at the very least. the scar’d run from the arch of his left brow, across his eye, down his cheek, and below his lip. his eye sustained injury, and not allowed to see a doctor about it, it never healed properly.

eye injury // corneal scarring, impairing his left eye. astronaut dreams destroyed, but not in a matter of seconds. in the matter of an hour, maybe more - and that’d been much, much worse.

he stopped trying to run away after that. tried to be more like their father, more like mercy - more brutish, less feeling. spoke less, and less. spoke hardly at all, unless spoken to first.

still didn’t matter. still lived his days in fear, still knew it’d never change. nothing would ever change.

the mercer brothers have been floating around the north carolina scene for ~5ish years now, trailing after their father who is consistently chasing after their mother with no luck. they’re currently residing in palm motel. can we get a hell yeah?

personality & facts.

he’s actually very? intimidating? when you first meet him. mercy’s younger brother, with a criminal’s record almost as long as his - a scarred face and a mean resting face. it takes at least five minutes of conversation beyond small talk before it starts to weigh on your mind that maybe, he’s not as bad as he seems.

and - well, he isn’t. but he’s guarded - so guarded. more-so than mercy, because mercy’s quicker to anger, quicker to react, and ducky tries so hard to drown out the noise. but he’s not a robot, and his facial expressions can give him away in a second.

he’s seen what happened when mercy had a glimpse of something good in his life (though, it wasn’t actually good at all - mercy had someone, at least. at the very least) - and how quickly it’d all fallen, and so ducky puts a barrier between him and others. distant, as much as he can be.

it hurts, because ducky isn’t by any means antisocial. he doesn’t hate people - he wants to be normal, wants to have friends and a girlfriend - or maybe even a boyfriend, god - but he’s so afraid. ducky is, by nature, a very scared person. terrified to his very core. he knows there is always eyes on him, and mercy too, and he knows that nothing is worth getting someone else hurt.

you know him as mercy’s little brother, and he’s quiet you know that - but his name is ducky, and you think - he’s not too bad. and he knows this, knows the doubts. knows that it’ll get back to mercy, eventually, that his brother is nothing more but a pussy. so he fights more than he’d like to, against the guilt that buries itself deep within his chest with every thrown fist. he throws up, afterwards, in the garbage can outside. too much to drink, he says, rare grin - because grins are convincing, and grins with bleeding gums are intimidating. he learned that from his brother.

violence makes him sick to his very stomach. he can’t watch horror films, or even action films, without feeling queasy. there’s been more times than he can count where he’d thrown up after a fight, or after an interrogation, usually in private but in the occasional presence of mercy.

they fight, a lot, sometimes - ducky’s too soft, too weak, and it’s bad and it’s terrible and ducky knows that mercy’s afraid. for him, of their father, and his wraith. ducky knows that if mercy isn’t hard on him now, their father will be on him harder. still. there’s resentment, small but there, like the flame of a match. he doesn’t know what’ll happen when there’s nothing more to burn, but he doesn’t want to find out. he’s afraid to find out.

he’s still in love with the moon and the stars, and the planet’s - and their moons, too. its subdued, now, though. a silent passion - one that is often not watered, left for rot. he sneaks into engineering lectures at the community college, occasionally, or physics, or whatever peeks the small curiosity inside of him.

commits small acts of kindness when nobody looks. doors held open, the meals of elderly folk eating alone suddenly paid. picks up litter besides trash bins, and always cooks extra than what he needs and leaves the rest for mercy. it’s these small things that make him feel, just the slightest, better about himself.

because god - there are layers and layers of self-loathing. it’s a labyrinth, and he’d never speak of it - but he can’t stand his own reflection. doesn’t keep photos of his family, only a few sparingly of mercy.

a liar, sad to say. has little experience with. ehem. intimacy, and the bodies of others, but lies often and says that he does. mostly to his brother, but word travels quick - and he’s not nearly as much as a fuckboy as is rumored, having only been with a handful of girls, if even that. it’s better this way - if people know that he throws others away like they’re nothing.

he ghosts often, too, if he does get to talking with anybody. the moment ducky feels a spark, something pulling at his poor heart, he ghosts. he develops feelings too easily, too often than he’d like. has left many friendships without explanation, because of this. you know the priest in fleabag season 2? the scene where he comes to fleabag’s house? yeah. tht’s ducky!

has maybe half the amount of clients that mercy does, but he’s working on it.

pretends he doesn’t care as much as he does. pretends a lot, like there’s nothing soft to him. but a trained eye can see clearly through this. even so - even if you can see that there’s more to ducky than violence and drug deals - you’d still have to break through a dozen walls.

in the rare occasion you get him talking - i mean, talking a lot - he’ll talk about space. ramble off a dozen useless facts about dwarf stars and black holes and all of jupiter’s moons. about a video game he likes, about nothing and everything at all. but as soon as he begins, he stops - embarrassed. apologizes, shuts his mouth, disappears to wherever. anywhere but there.

drug abuse // has a. complicated relationship with benzos n xanax n a various assortment of painkillers. ironic bc he hates drugs due to. his chosen career n wldnt do most of what they sell, bt yknow. this ws inevitable. hates beer bt forces himself 2 drink it bc toxic masculinity probably man idk.

overall just … he’s a soft boy, with a big heart - bigger than anybody else in his family, that’s for sure, but his exterior is far different than that, and it’s hard to tell.

violence mention // purposely loses fights so that he doesn’t have to severely hurt someone. because sometimes he just - he was raised in a violent environment, and sometimes he snaps. sometimes ducky just fucking snaps. and his vision goes red, and he can’t control himself - because need to survive kicks in, and violence is all he knows. if someone pushes ducky - pushes him enough, he breaks. he fights back. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows, and that’s not an excuse - and he knows this, and god, he’s so tired. he is so. tired.

wanted plots.

u look good tonight ... ;; wld love a connection in which he is feeling emotionally compromised n maybe kinda hs a thing w someone bt hes like. very unreliable n kinda ghosting bc he is very afraid n it wld b maybe bad fr them to b anything other than hook ups. cld apply to smth very intensive or smth very surface lvl i’ll take thousands.

palms sweaty ... moms spaghetti ... ;; ppl tht ducky just hs fkn brawled. cld b anybody fr any reason. ducky prob lost n he prob lost on purpose bt also ur muse cld maybe kick ducky’s ass? cld b a fake fight cld b a real fight. cld b a npc fight n then ur muse cn patch up ducky? possibilities endless. maybe they hv a nice spaghetti dinner n both of them r both bruised up frm their fight. sometimes fights end in spaghetti dinners. thanks eminnem or whatever.

own worse enemy... ;; ducky needs friends bt hes bad at making friends n sometimes he fks shit up by pushing ppl away n self sabotaging n being a major cunt n sometimes he just ghosts bt hes always very remorseful abt it? this cld b a very like. up n down friendship of any type its just. where do they stand. r they friends. r they enemies. r they lovers? probably not lovers. prob just platonic. but still its the thought tht counts.

and also ;; literally just like. anything. clients who buy off of him n like. casual friends n casual enemies n casual hookups. ppl hes ghosted. ppl hes embarrassed himself in front of. maybe ur muse tries to get ducky to socialize or maybe ducky is like. u are too much fr me. n ur muse runs off crying. endless possibilities all u hv to do is call this number now.

#abuse tw #violence tw #drug abuse tw #gangs mention #eye injury tw #irvingintro #( ducky mercer. ) about. / ice boy.#sighs sm #also sry fr hw embarrasingly late this is #did i even spell tht rigth? no #did i spell tht one right? bno.#fuck.

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herstoryherlegacy · 3 years ago

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Expect the unexpected

(Trigger warning - lots of throw ups)

This has never really been my motto. Most things in my life have been expected or I’ve had signs pointed out to me that gives me a hint of what lies ahead. I was not expecting to be in the ER tonight. Actually I was just about to put my makeup on and do a lovely couples photoshoot with my husband when I got the call to come to the ER for possible blood clot in my lungs. Let me back up..

I had been healing from my port placement 3 days ago. Yesterday I was texting Juan updates on how I was feeling. I’m extremely thankful he was so diligent on checking in on me. My main concern was the tightness in my chest, pressure where the port is. I couldn’t take a deep breath. I felt better resting. I had even been doing light housework to stay up and active. Today he checked in again. The chest pressure was better. I could actually take a deep breath with little to no problem. Fast forward to this afternoon. I had went down to my best friend Sam’s salon to get my hair styled for my photoshoot. She’s on the 2nd floor and we took the stairs. My favorite part. I hadn’t exercised since my diagnosis and it’s been killing me. I was so active. Upon reaching the 2nd floor which was not far, I was winded. I text Juan letting him know, and he didn’t respond right away. I sat down, caught my breath, and got my hair done. As soon as I parked at home Juan called. He was consulting his doctor and advised I go in ASAP to an urgent care to be seen. I needed an x-ray, EKG, oxygen levels checked to rule out a possible blood clot in the lungs. Fuck me..

Disappointed to say the least. I walked into my home filled with laughter from my girls and their cousins, everyone gathered at the table for a meal, my in laws were visiting. All I could say was, we have to go to urgent care. I didn’t even kiss my babies goodbye 😕 I said goodbye to them but not thinking I wouldn’t be back tonight didn’t cross my mind. Now I wish I had. I arrived at a local urgent care before closing and the first thing I noticed in the lobby were vases of fake sunflowers. By pure coincidence, I use a sunflower background when I update my stories about my disease. I immediately knew this was God’s way of telling me he was with me and that I would be okay. I went into a room to be evaluated, and guess what kind of shoes the nurse was wearing? I’d never seen these before, but white vans with yellow sunflowers all over. There are no coincidences! However I wasn’t helped and was told to go to the ER.

No one likes to be in the ER, especially not right now. I had labs drawn, and an x-ray which showed proper placement of the port. Luckily Juan was here working and able to be there for my x-ray. He came to see me once more before he left to tell me he was going to communicate with the doctor about my CT and insulin complications. I had mentioned I was waiting for my husband to bring my charger because I was basically on E, and he graciously went to retrieve his charger to give to me. So extremely thankful for that gesture because alone, with no connection to my family in this place, is NOT the business. A charged phone is a precious lifeline so please always keep yours charged! So now..I wait for the CT.

I had been moved all over that ER. First I came to a bed and talked with a nurse. Then another nurse came in demanding she needed the bed. Once I was done I was booted off that bed so fast and into a chair in a hallway. The place was littered with sick people inside and outside rooms. It was so sad and crowded. I do believe I was mixed with both normal sick people and possible covid patients. To say I was nervous is an understatement. Back and forth I went between rooms, chairs, main waiting room, and scans. The longest wait was waiting to have my CT scan. I was in a room with chemo type reclining chairs. This poor girl in front of me was dealing with pain, bad. I felt so sorry for her. She was doing a good job being quiet but her face and body language looked like she was in active labor, though she was not. After watching I assumed she was suffering some sort of abdominal pain. When it was just us two, I didn’t want to make her talk, but I told her that I didn’t know what she was going through but that I was going to cover her in prayer. Her eyes lit up. She said thank you a bunch and I just assured her that I had her taken care of. I prayed with healing words. No matter what situation I’m in, I would never turn down the opportunity to put myself aside and pray for someone else who needed it more. I have failed this test before many times being too shy to pray, but you never know how those simple words of offering someone prayer may help them feel better. I wanted to cry, yeah I was in here for a possible life threatening issue, but I was nowhere as bad off as these people.

So I prayed for her, and eventually it was my turn to go to my CT. I had an IV put in, flushed, and had 3 medications to help me with my scan. One was Benadryl. I was actually glad to have it because I’ll be receiving it in my Pre-chemo cocktail and I wasn’t sure how I would feel on it. Yes it made me woozy immediately, but it was tolerable. Almost enjoyable in the correct setting. Waiting again, and was wheeled over by this super nice guy who eased the stress with good conversation. If you’ve ever done an MRI with contrast..it’s a fucking insane feeling. I laid down, the nurse flushed my IV and added the contrast. She loaded me in and waited a few minutes for it to kick in. I was in the machine for another few minutes and immediately when I was done I felt the warm rush. I’ve previously been warned it makes you feel really warm and almost like you’ve pee’d yourself. Thank god they reminded me because the warm sensation is explosive. It simultaneously felt like hot water was exploding from both my chest outward and my crotch 😂 indeed I clenched my body in case I did pee, but that’s exactly how it felt!!! So odd. Off to wait again for the results. This is where it for torturous. I am SO thankful for my AirPods and this charger. I have a very sensitive trigger to throwing up. Myself, other people, I can’t handle it. I actually did a good job this last week because both my girls got a virus, and I wasn’t second hand nauseous at all, that’s a victory. But in this ER literally 90% of the patients were vomiting 😑 I cranked those air pods to the max to drown out the sound. Closed my eyes. I don’t want what they got. So I’m in the big chair room again, my poor friend comes back in. Still in pain desperate for relief. Then another person, and another until the whole room was filled with us 5 people. 3/5 with vomiting 😕. Poor baby I prayed for got sick first, she was telling a nurse she was getting sick from the pain itself. Then the girl directly next to me. As she was getting her IV meds she started to get sick. It was a constant rush of nurses trying to get those sick bags in time..bless their quickness. I winced and turned to my left as to avoid being there. There wasn’t anywhere I could go where I wasn’t in the direct line of someone getting sick. I was miserable. Benadryl still kicking, I tried to nap, but had to keep my eyes open waiting for my name to be called. Eventually the time came, I was put in a draw chair outside the big chair room and my doctor read me the good news! I had my IV’s taken out and asked if they wanted me to go back into the big chair room (I don’t want to hog the draw chair in case someone needed it) and he said sure, just as I stood up the first poor girl started wrenching and I said “you know what I’ll stay here” and with a laugh the nurse walked back to their station and printed my discharge papers. I was R E L I E V E D. I was as calm in this situation as I needed to be, panicking and stressing weren’t going to help me. Easier said than done, to just not stress, but knowing how much trauma your body goes through WHEN you stress, it just wasn’t going to work in my favor. I came home famished, ate my dinner at 11:30pm, followed by a bag of popcorn, followed by a small serving of ice cream. Then my blood sugars sky rocketed all night 🙃 eh, not a good thing but I will hopefully have that very taken care of soon. Praise God nothing came out of this, each day has its own surprises, not all good, but also not all bad. The day started well with me sharing that my CT showed no cancer anywhere else in my body. This is EXTREMELY good news, and ended with me in the ER. You just never know how things will play out. So hug your kids, tell them you love them, do something fun. Enjoy the day given, because in a flash it could all be taken away ✌🏻

#cancer #emergency room #sunflowers #godisgood

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jasontoddiefor · 5 years ago

Text

Title: I measure every Grief I meet

Summary: Batman arrives in time and Jason spends hours buried beneath his father’s corpse, crying and begging and bleeding before Alfred finally manages to contact someone to come bring them home. Ethiopia is a constant in most universes, but who dies isn’t written in stone.

AN: Y’all remember when I said I had big angst coming? This is it. Have fun!

There were three truths to being Robin.

1. You are the distraction. The hits they see coming but don’t expect to hurt. The bright light, the laughter and the joy.

2. You are half of a whole. Batman and Robin are a team, which is why you shouldn’t fly on your own.

And most importantly:

3. Batman will always catch you, no matter what.

Jason had held onto that last truth even when the Joker wouldn’t stop beating him and all he wanted to do was scream. His legs were on fire, the few steps he had taken had been worse than any beating he had endured before. Jason knew that once the adrenaline wore off, he wouldn’t be able to move them at all. All Jason wanted to was scream, or better yet, take the fucking crowbar and hit the Joker right back with it until he was lying on the floor, blood slowly collecting under his head-

But Jason couldn’t. He had to endure, had to save his energy until Bruce would come and get him.

He’d make it.

Jason knew he’d arrive.

Bruce always did.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Jason saw the Joker returning from the back of the warehouse. He tried to keep his breathing even like he hadn’t started struggling to push air in and out of his lungs hours ago. He wanted to shut his eyes, spare himself the sight of a future filled with broken bones, a blood-drenched uniform and pus covered lacerations. But Jason had to stay awake, stay aware. The moment he lost consciousness of what was done to him, he’d lose whatever advantage he still had.

Even if the said advantage was only knowing what weapon the Joker had taken to his bruised body. Instead of the anticipated object of torture, the Joker returned holding onto a coat. Instead of stopping beside Jason, he walked towards the entrance of the warehouse.

“Okay, kiddo, I gotta go,” the Joker began to speak. Jason noticed how rough and low his voice sounded. He’d never heard it so deep. Usually, it was as high-pitched and disorientating as nails on a blackboard, screeching birds, a violin played by a beginner.

“It’s been fun, alright. Well, maybe a smidge more fun for me than you.”

The Joker shrugged as if he were talking about daily trivialities. “I’m just guessing since you’re being awfully quiet.”

He watched Jason just a moment longer, his eyes too sharp, too calculating. There was madness in these green pits of poison, but it wasn’t the kind found before the jump into insanity. This was afterward, calculated unhingedness betting on sudden terrifying inspirations for an even more gruesome plan.

“Anyway! Be a good boy, finish your homework and be in bed by nine. And hey! Please tell the big man I said hello.”

The Joker finished putting on his coat. The jarring of the door mashed with the Joker’s laughter, the sound still echoing in the silence that followed.

Jason allowed himself two short breaths, then he rolled backwards to get on his feet. His… everything protested vividly with pinpricks against him moving. He managed two wonky steps forwards before crashing to the ground again. His body begged for rest, but the door was right there. Jason just had to keep moving forward.

He’d get out of this.

He would go home and apologize to Alfred for running away without another word. Ask Babs to teach him that cool kick she did on their last joined patrol. Call Dick and tell him he’d like to just hang out sometime and try out this whole siblings package that came with being Bruce Wayne’s son.

Jason would go back home and hug his Dad and promise to never ever take on such a dumb and dangerous risk headfirst again. He’d honor the ‘you’re worth more than the mission,’ whispered at his bedside when Bruce thought Jason was asleep.

Hot tears ran over Jason’s cheeks. He lifted his right arm and pushed himself forward. Then he moved his left arm, bare skin scraping over the dirty floor of the warehouse. One arm after another, Jason slowly crawled towards his freedom.

It’s a trap, his ever vigilante sub-consciousness whispered. It sounded like a starved child begging for food on the streets. The Joker’s right behind that. He’s waiting for you. He’ll grab your ankles and drag you back inside again and laugh and laugh and laugh.

He didn’t slow down.

Jason was choking on his own spit and blood, but he didn’t dare stop even for a second longer than necessary. The way over to the door took ages so that he could hardly believe it when he actually made it. Reenergized, Jason jogged the door handle, but it didn’t move.

The door didn’t open.

Hysteria bubbled up in his mind, emerging from his throat as barely contained whimpers. He just wanted out, he wanted to go home.

Sobbing, Jason leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.

Everything would be alright. He was still here, but the Joker wasn’t. Bruce would find him in no time. He was Batman. They were a team. They didn’t- shouldn’t leave each other behind.

And if not for that fucking ticking noise, Jason would be able to focus on that as well, instead of crying like a child. The noise kept distracting him, reminding him painfully of every second passing away while Jason had to wait for rescue. Like the world’s most annoying countdown, the ticking continued.

Jason opened his eyes and turned his head so fast that he became nauseous.

A small black box covered in tape and wires was lying innocently on the wooden boxes to Jason’s left.

Tick. Tock.

A Bomb.

There wasn’t even a minute left until it would blow up. It would set the sky ablaze, burn everything in reach to ashes and Jason-

20.

Jason was right in the middle of it.

17.

He’d die.

15.

Bruce would be too late and he’d die.

13.

The door to Jason’s right crashed open. A shadow, tall, dark, imposing and so familiar.

“Jay, son-“

“Bomb!” Jason screamed and Bruce didn’t even bother to search for it. He pulled Jason close and began to run. The warehouse and the bomb to their back. Jason’s head was resting in the crook of Bruce’s neck.

He exhaled.

Fire torched the earth.

Jason’s ears were ringing.

Everything was silent, yet the screaming in his head wouldn’t stop. It assaulted his mind like the crescendo of an untuned violin. Small fires crawled over the remains of the warehouse to his right. The flames must be cracking, whispering of destruction, but all Jason heard was the terrifying emptiness of a high-pitched whirring.

Jason coughed and tried to push air into his lungs, but all that seemed to slip in was ashes. The air smelled of burned flesh and the weight on his chest made it impossible to move.

“B?” Jason rasped.

He needed Bruce to get off. They had to start going; staying close to explosion sites was dangerous, especially in their condition. Bruce would have to carry Jason. He knew he wouldn’t be able to take another step on his own. Bruce had shielded him with his body, but the shock from the fall to the harsh ground hadn’t improved Jason’s wounds either.

“Batman?” Jason tried again. “We need to move.”

Jason could barely make out his own words. He knew he was moving his mouth and his tongue, so he must be making words. Why wasn’t Bruce reacting? “Batman!”

Silence still. Terror seized control of Jason’s voice.

“Bruce, please, wake up.”

He didn’t know what to do. Jason could count the times Bruce hadn’t been able to act on one hand, and then he had been mind-controlled, or sick. Not like this. Unmoving. The smell of burned flesh. As still as the dead-

Jason’s heartbeat accelerated, he thought his heart was about to claw itself out of his ribcage.

“Dad,” he said. “Dad, please. Wake up. I need you to wake up, don’t leave me here alone. Please don’t leave me. I’m sorry, please. I promise. Wake up. Wake up, wake up. Dad, please, wake up-”

Jason woke up in a hospital. The smell of antiseptics stung in his nose and his throbbing head made it difficult to open his eyes.

The world was silent.

Jason had been to plenty hospitals since he had been adopted. Bruce supported many hospitals, if not all of Gotham’s clinics, and took to visiting regularly. Jason had tagged along whenever he’d felt like it. Most of the time, he would sneak away to the children’s wing and done cartwheels for the youngest – or snuck in sweets and snacks that were better than the gross cafeteria food.

In all his visits, though, even on the intensive care station, the hospital had never been this silent.

Jason forced himself to open his eyes, and to his relief, his sight wasn’t immediately assaulted by bright white light. His room was as dark as night in Gotham with plenty of shadows that looked just vaguely human enough to scare you. The curtains were drawn and the only source of light was the TV in the corner, running the news from what he could tell.

Vicky Vale stood in front of a building Jason recognized as the Wayne Enterprises' main office. More people surrounded the plaza around it, bringing flowers, candles and balloons.

Jason must be in Gotham again. When had that happened? He’d been in Ethiopia with Bruce just before-

A sharp pain exploded in Jason’s head and he instinctively raised his hands to massage his head, an action his ribs immediately protested against.

Bruce.

He had to go check on him. Surely he was close. He was always there when Jason felt unwell. Jason had woken up so often at night with Bruce asleep at his bedside. He was probably just down the hallway.

Jason pushed the blanket off his bandage covered legs and tentatively sat his feet on the ground. He didn’t have any crutches, but the IV stand would do as well. He braced himself for pain when he shifted his weight to his feet, but thankfully only a dull numbness greeted him. Given his injuries, Jason knew standing shouldn’t be so easy. They must have given him the good stuff.

Jason gritted his teeth and took his first step. He hated painkillers.

Soon enough, Jason opened the door and reached the busy hall of the hospital. People were chatting away, running around, moving.

Jason couldn’t hear a thing, nothing but a very low rumble he wasn’t sure he was just imagining.

One of the nurses spotted him and began talking, but Jason still couldn’t make out any sounds.

“Where’s my Dad?” He said, or perhaps he shouted instead. In his panic, it might have been either or both, Jason couldn’t tell.

The nurse kept talking, moving towards him, so Jason took a step back. “Where is he!?”

There was a hand on his shoulder and Jason, all injuries be damned to hell and back, was ready to flip whoever was playing this fucked up prank on him. His hand was already at the other’s wrists, and if he hadn’t turned around in the last second, he would have followed through with it too.

“Alfred.”

Seeing Alfred amidst the chaos washed all tension off Jason’s shoulder.

“Alfred, what’s going? Where’s Bruce- Alfie?”

Alfred looked so tired, exhausted beyond his years. He had always been an unmoving constant in Jason’s world. The closest they’d get to immortality without Ra’s al Ghul he had joked with Bruce. For the first time since Jason had seen Alfred, there was nothing graceful about the butler’s age. He looked exhausted in the same way Bruce did when the two of them had to bury another child after a long night.

Alfred’s mouth moved and words must be coming out.

“I can’t hear you,” Jason said, desperation clinging to him. “Why can’t I hear you?”

Alfred was silent.

They went back into Jason’s room and soon after a doctor came to them. She was holding a tablet and typed out what she was saying, painstakingly slowly in Jason’s opinion. He’d been here for two days already apparently and went through a lot of surgery. They’d take him down to another station to get his ears checked out now.

“Where’s Bruce?”

Jason made sure to speak slowly, pronounce every syllable correctly without Crime Alley’s drawls. Maybe they all just couldn’t understand him properly. He felt as if he had asked this question a thousand times already. He just wanted to see his dad.

Alfred’s face was ashen and he put an arm around Jason’s shoulder.

Jason didn’t get it.

And then, when he read Alfred’s message on the tablet, he thought he had forgotten how to read as well.

Master Bruce had already passed by the time you were brought to the hospital.

Jason’s shoulders trembled and he began to laugh. High-pitched, he assumed, but he couldn’t tell because he couldn’t hear and couldn’t read too apparently because his dad wasn’t dead.

Batman couldn’t die.

It was Superman who had found them, supposedly.

Jason didn’t recall anything but his own pitiful begging until his tears had exhausted him and he had let himself be welcomed by the merciful emptiness.

They’d been kidnapped by the Joker.

[Lie: Jason had gone to the warehouse by himself.]

They had managed to escape.

[Truth: They had been outside.]

They had been caught by the blast.

[Truth: The heat hadn’t touched Jason but it had melted the Batsuit to Bruce’s skin, scorched his skin black.]

Superman had come across them by chance.

[Lie: Alfred had taken an hour until he had been able to connect to a League member. And then another thirty minutes until Clark Kent could get to them.]

Jason had been unconscious when they had been found.

[Truth: He had spent 83 minutes and 47 seconds buried in-between rubble and his father’s corpse, breathing in ashes and blood. He’d been awake for almost all of it, choking on his tears and his words.]

Jason was lucky. He was alive.

[Lie: He woke up with nightmares, words on his tongue he couldn’t speak. It said “Sensorineural Hearing Loss” on the white paper sheet the doctor had handed Alfred, but all Jason really saw punishment befitting the crime. He hadn’t listened. Now he wouldn’t ever hear again.]

Bruce Wayne was dead.

[Truth: Gotham was mourning, pouring flowers and light all over the streets for its favorite son. They didn’t even know yet that Batman was gone too.

And so was Robin.]

When Dick stepped onto the Watchtower, he was capital P Pissed. The Titans weren’t the League’s children’s club they could order around like they wanted. Dick knew the League respected them, but this first generation of heroes only ever acknowledged their boundaries when it benefited them. This was why Dick had left Gotham in the end.

Bruce could be proud of him as much as he wanted, but as long as he still expected Dick to come each time he called and follow every other like a perfect little soldier, there was nothing left in Gotham for Dick.

He had practiced his speech on the entire way back. He’d give Bruce a piece of his mind, maybe force the League to stick to some kind of regulations.

The words were stuck in his throat the moment he saw Superman.

No matter what, Clark Kent was always a rock you could lean on. He carried so much weight on his shoulders and rarely let anyone see his weaknesses. Bruce had called his behavior foolish and necessary at the same time.

Dick was vaguely aware that if there was anyone Clark confided in, it had to be Bruce. The thought that Clark must have terrible days too had never really occurred to Dick.

Clark looked grim, and so did the rest of the League.

Founders meetings didn’t happen very often since the heroes were already busy enough. Yet there all of them were, with the notable exception of Batman.

“What happened?” Dick asked.

It was Wonder Woman who spoke up first. “Two weeks ago, Robin and Batman confronted the Joker in Ethiopia. The Joker managed to escape and has so far escaped the League’s grasp. Robin has been severely injured, but is recovering steadily.”

Dread filled Dick’s thoughts. “And Batman?”

Diana stood up and walked over to Dick, taking his hands into hers as she had always done when he was young, walking around the Watchtower while Bruce was in surgery.

“Batman passed away on the 27th of April. We tried to reach you faster. His funeral is today.”

There were paparazzi everywhere. They were screaming his name, trying to get his attention, and Dick tried to block them all out. Kori squeezed his hand and helped him move forward. His side was still hurting from the battle he’d been in hours ago. All of it felt so surreal and fake.

Dick had seen Bruce injured plenty of time, but he had never expected those injuries to mean anything besides a little more physical therapy and another disapproving look from Alfred.

Dick knew death - it was a part of their lives.

He didn’t expect it to ever haunt him personally again. Not like this.

(He had healed before hadn’t he? Those wounds had closed, yet here they were again: wide open.)

They had reserved the first rows for family and friends. If Alfred looked bad, Jason looked downright horrible. He was sitting in a wheelchair, makeup partially hiding bruises and scars. He hadn’t bothered to cover up the bags under his eyes. Babs and the Commissioner were at the front, as well as Oliver. Dick could spot Selina in the crowd and various other Justice League members in civilian uniform. From the Kane family, only Kate had shown up, wearing a suit. Her hair was as bright as Dick remembered it from the last time he had seen her.

His relationship with Kate had always been strange. She wasn’t that much older than him, but Bruce had always treated her differently. She was his cousin and Dick was his-

Dick bit on his lips. He wanted to look at anything else. Everything but the closed casket in front of him.

He failed.

He needed to check the autopsy files later, see what had actually happened. The League’s report hadn’t even scratched the surface.

The music began to play and everybody stood up.

Dick would go to the Batcave and search for an explanation. Something about this didn’t add up in his mind and he would figure it out.

Jason didn’t know what the hell all the people were talking about. He didn’t even know why so many people were at the funeral. The family’s circle of friends hadn’t been all that big. Most of these people were only here for their own benefit. After all, they hadn’t been there when Bruce had-

When he-

They hadn’t been there.

Never mind Dick who looked like he was paying about as much attention to it all as Jason. Jason had excuses at least. He couldn’t hear what was going on, wouldn’t for a while longer until his ears healed the little bit they might still, and he’d get hearing aids. Jason had already cried plenty for his father. Screamed and raged too, threw books against the wall and hoped he would grow satisfied by seeing everything crash and burn.

He’d only felt horrible afterward, cried because he had damaged the Anne of Green Gables book Bruce’s mother had bought decades ago and Bruce had entrusted to him.

This funeral was useless. Jason had never been to a funeral, he only knew where his mother, where Catherine Todd, was buried thanks to Bruce researching it. Jason hadn’t been involved in her funeral. He had been searching through trash cans, looking for food.

He should have stayed in Crime Alley.

He ruined everything he touched.

The Cave welcomed Dick home. The familiar moving shadows embraced him, eyes watched his back and the low whirring of the Bat-Computer powering up echoed in his ears. Kori had gone back to the Titans after the funeral, they needed her more than Dick did at the moment. He would have gone with her too if he’d gotten access to the Cave immediately. But Alfred had decided to be difficult about it all. He had pretty much outright forbidden Dick from going down to the Cave. It was only after Alfred had gone out with Jason a week later to get the kid his hearing aids that Dick could finally sneak it.

Because of course he had to hack the system to get access. Damn Alfred’s paranoia.

Dick had spent many hours in the Cave, but he’d never really been alone for long. To know that he really was the only person here was strange, to say the least.

Quickly, Dick headed for the Batcomputer and opened the archive. He searched for the files that set up this whole Ethiopia mess. If there was one thing Dick had to be thankful for considering his vigilante upbringing, it was the many hours Bruce had spent with him, teaching him how to organize exactly. Bruce was a neat freak, and his own files were all categorized per date, case, duration, participants, crime and so on. Dick used a similar if slightly simplified filing system and had more or less forced his teammates to adapt to it.

Dick grinned triumphantly when he found the beginning of this particular case. He’d have to cross-reference it with the undercover cases later on to figure out what Bruce needed to disappear for.

Dick knew he and Bruce weren’t exactly on speaking terms right now, but he’d thought that for instances such as faking the death of your civilian persona, he’d have gotten a note, a call, anything.

Emotionally stunted as Bruce was, he wouldn’t just disappear on Dick like that.

He’d promised Dick.

The more Dick read, the more confused he became. Where was the hidden plot?

Groaning, Dick pushed himself away from the Batcomputer and marched over to the cabinet with the paper files. It was impossible to hack the computer unless you were Barbara Gordon, but Bruce still kept some of the critical data on paper so that you needed access to the Cave to read those files, and the Cave could withstand WW3. If there was anything more profound to it all, then surely the secret had to be hidden in-between these documents.

Dick carefully combed through the different cases, forced himself to read on where Bruce’s elegant handwriting turned into short chicken-scratches. More often than he expected, Dick had to stop and go to the mats, burn away the images of torn-apart bodies, thin children with no clothes, and horror stories of Gotham’s dirty streets. Dick had known that Gotham could be this cruel, but Bruce had never let him see these cases.

At the very end of the pile, Dick had to admit that there was nothing on these blood-stained pages that explained Bruce’s actions.

Frustrated, Dick went back to the computer to check the recordings. He still hadn’t gone through all the audio files because he usually didn’t have the patience to sit down and listen for a longer duration. And most of the time, the audios were pretty useless as well.

Dick dropped back into the massive chair in front of the computer. It was big and comfortable, he’d fallen asleep in it when he was younger and waiting up for Bruce to return home. He’d always woken up in his bed the next morning.

Dick opened up the file and it began to play.

“Bomb!”

Static.

“Jay, Jay, you’re okay-“

And the rain started pouring.

The manor was loud when Alfred and Jason returned. After the two weeks of mostly total silence, every sound had Jason jumping at his own shadows. His hearing aids worked as well as they could, though Jason still had troubles with certain sounds. Alfred had suggested visiting Lucius in the next days, have him take a look at them.

Jason thought he was comfortable hiding away in his room for the foreseeable future, but before he could voice such thoughts, Alfred was ushering Jason into the kitchen.

It had been a quiet, peaceful May day outside. Sunshine warmth and bird songs.

Alfred wanted to make him a hot chocolate either way and Jason was sure it was more for Alfred’s sake than Jason’s own. He wondered if drinking the hot beverage in silence was their thing. Instead of talking, they hid away in the kitchen, drowning their sorrows in sweetness as the sun disappeared behind the horizon.

The kitchen was already occupied when they entered.

“Master Dick,” Alfred said, his tone almost wary.

Jason didn’t know what for. Dick had stayed away from everyone in the past weeks. Or he had stayed away from Jason at least, and in such a big and empty house, Jason was pretty much everyone. If Dick wanted to join them for dinner now, it wasn’t Jason’s place to protest.

(Though there were several things on Jason’s mind he wanted to scream at him.)

“I’ll be making hot chocolate for Master Jason and I, and I prepared lasagna for dinner. Will you be joining us?”

Dick's eyes were blue.

Barbara had made jokes about it. It had been Jason’s first time meeting Batgirl and he’d tried to impress her with a rather amateur flip. She’d smiled at him regardless.

“Gosh, B!” She had said. “Are you sure you’re not cloning yourself to get such a talented little Robins?”

Dick’s eyes weren’t blue anymore. They were stormy gray, tidal waves and hurricanes, rage, and anger.

“You’re the reason Bruce is dead,” Dick said.

His face was impassive, but his look made Jason freeze up on the spot.

“Master Dick-“

“He wouldn’t be dead, if not for you,” Dick continued, now rising to his full height.

Jason used to wonder how people could be intimidated by the ever-smiling, joyful and perfect Dick Grayson.

He didn’t anymore.

“I-“

“You got my Dad killed!” Dick shouted and lunged forward, his hands at Jason’s collar.

Not even Alfred’s shocked protests could drown out the sounds of explosions in Jason’s head because Dick was right. Jason had been stupid and reckless and only he was to blame that the two of them were orphans once more.

“I know,” he said when he finally found his voice again. Dick was still caught up in his righteous fury. “It’s my fault. I know. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to- I didn’t- I’m-“

Dick let go of him and stormed out of the room.

Alfred stayed with Jason, put his hands on his back and let him cry into his neck, all while whispering sweet but useless reassurances into Jason’s ears.

He knew he was to blame.

(He wished it would have been him too.)

When Dick could finally feel again, he was halfway across Gotham in his Nightwing suit.

Bruce was dead.

He was dead, dead, dead deaddeaddead-

He had promised. Bruce had promised that he’d never leave Dick. He wouldn’t die, he wouldn’t make Dick bury another parent. Oh god, he had buried his father, Bruce’s burned body had been in that coffin, Dick had just stood there and watched as they killed his father a second time because he hadn’t known-

“Breathe, Dick. Look at me. Dick, can you hear me?”

Dick wanted to throw out another cheap line about hearing. He wasn’t the Robin who had lost his hearing. He’d only lost his father, his wings, the one person who’d always catch him, be it when he was falling from chandeliers or buildings. Even when they had been separated by different cities, Dick had been aware of Bruce’s shadow lingering somewhere nearby.

“Dick, son, are you alright?”

“No,” Dick replied. “I’m not okay, Uncle Clark.”

Dick held onto Superman’s cape. Clark’s heartbeat was a slow and steady one, grounding.

“I know. It’s alright.”

“It’s not. He’s really gone, isn’t he? Bruce is dead. And I wasn’t fast enough. I shouldn’t have left him or Gotham. I could have stopped this. If I’d been-“

“Here? Faster?”

Dick slowly let go of Clark. He wanted to rub his eyes, wash away the tear stains, but he couldn’t. Years of being told to never take off his mask had stuck.

“It wasn’t your fault, Dick,” Clark said. “You couldn’t have known. You weren’t even on-planet. Don’t blame yourself.”

No, Dick couldn’t have known. But he should have. He and Bruce had been partners, even if Dick had left to stretch his wings and Bruce had brought Jason in – he’d still been Dick’s partner. If not for Jason, Bruce wouldn’t have gotten into this situation in the first place, but Dick couldn’t change the premise. That too was a lesson Bruce had taught him early on.

You cannot change the situation, only the players.

So who had been there, or rather, who hadn’t?

Alfred must have suffered terribly at the other end of the comm. Line. Listening to his son’s last words trying to organize a rescue-

Dick tensed.

“Look, if there’s anything you need-“

“You said you were listening,” Dick interrupted softly. He had screamed his throat sore just hours ago in the Cave. “You promised, Clark. You said you always had an ear on my father’s heartbeat and you didn’t.”

What was the Justice League even for if they weren’t there for each other? A whole world to protect and they couldn’t even keep one of their own safe.

“Dick-“

Dick turned around and stared into the black void of Crime Alley beneath him. He couldn’t look into Clark’s face anymore. See his worry and pity and guilt. He should have just been faster instead.

“Go away, Superman. Your kind isn’t welcome in Gotham.”

Dick jumped.

And for the first time in years, he was wondering how he’d reach the ground.

Jason fucking hated his hearing aids. He hated a lot of things recently starting with his pain medication, the press and the fact that Gotham still seemed to be holding her breath even though it was all over already. Bruce was dead, and so was Batman.

He didn’t know what everyone was waiting for anymore.

Jason dragged himself out of his bed and room for lunch. Alfred insisted that they ate together, what for Jason didn’t know. He wouldn’t be able to sit in the same room and cook a meal for his son’s murderer.

(Because that was what he ought to call himself.)

Dick hadn’t returned to the manor in the past weeks or, if he had, Jason hadn’t seen him. The past had proven once already that he wasn’t the most observant person or a good judge of character.

Jason sighed when he reached the top of the staircase. He hated walking them up and down every day, but he wouldn’t tell Alfred about it. Jason was causing enough trouble as it was.

Once he reached the bottom, he sat down for another few minutes to catch his breath. He’d lowered his medication dosage and was paying for it now. He just wanted to get off them as soon as possible. He hated taking the little white pills, they brought up too many ugly memories.

Jason continued on to the kitchen. They didn’t eat in the dining room anymore, Jason didn’t know why.

Maybe the table was just too big for them.

When Jason stepped into the kitchen, the smell of burned flesh assaulted him. He couldn’t even make it to the sink. He just toppled over and threw up right on the kitchen tiles. He heaved until his stomach was empty and only fluids crawled up his throat. Alfred’s hands were on Jason’s back, but they weren’t enough.

“Everything will be alright, lad. Breathe with me, Jason.”

But he couldn’t.

He just kept on hoping for air when he was drowning in the deep waters.

Alfred tried to make Jason go see a therapist.

Jason thought it was stupid and promptly voiced it. He hadn’t meant to start shouting, but by the time he had realized what he’d done, it was already too late.

Alfred didn’t bring it up again, but he gave Jason access to the Cave again.

Jason hadn’t been in there since before Ethiopia and he only got as far as the first case holding the Batman suit.

(He didn’t throw up again, but it was a close call.)

He had hurried back upstairs, nearly running past Bruce’s bedroom. He hadn’t meant to stop and stare, but he couldn’t help himself. Slowly Jason opened the door. He knew the door usually screeched every time you moved it. Bruce hadn’t wanted to oil the hinges because it alerted him whenever someone opened the door. Jason had thought the explanation was bullshit, but Bruce had been awake every time Jason had crawled into his bed at night.

The sheets smelled like they always did.

Jason woke up screaming.

Maybe hiding away in Barbara’s Clocktower was cowardly, but Dick didn’t know what else to do. He couldn’t return to the manor, despite Alfred’s many unanswered calls and voice messages. Barbara hadn’t said anything against him staying with her either, yet. She had handed him a pillow and a blanket, pointed him into the direction of the sofa and that was it. While she worked, Dick did coffee runs, cooked, cleaned or spent hours staring at the ceiling like it could tell him what is next step should be.

And every night, without fail, Dick put on his suit and headed outside, chasing crime out of Gotham’s streets and venting his frustrations.

He knew he shouldn’t go out when he was so full of rage, but he didn’t know how to stop.

(Bruce used to be the one who decided that they should have a movie night every time Dick was too angry for patrol. He hadn’t noticed it as a kid, but now Dick knew what his father had been doing and he missed those times.)

“Are you staying?” Barbara asked one morning when he returned.

Dick was still wearing his suit, his hair was shiny because of how much he had been sweating.

“What?”

Barbara didn’t look away from her many screens. She was calculating something, observing Arkham on another screen, Blackgate on another, and the listening device was recording a conversation and sending it straight to her server.

“Are you staying in Gotham or returning to Blüdhaven? I need to know so I can script patrol routes accordingly.”

The question caught Dick off-guard. “I don’t know.”

“Then make up your mind.”

Dick threw his hands up in the air. “Can’t I get just five minutes to think about it?”

His tone must have been harsher than he had intended. When Barbara turned around, she looked downright murderous. Her auburn hair appeared to be on fire with the light of the screens behind her. Dick had never believed that her injury would interfere with her capability to be an absolute terror. Still, he had never expected to be at the receiving end of her righteous fury.

“You’ve had more than five minutes already, Dick. You’ve had hours, days, weeks. I need to know now so I can start setting up an actual working system for Gotham!”

“What gave you the right-“

“What gave me the right!?” She interrupted him. “I’m Oracle. Bruce left his city to me. I’m supposed to know it all and right now I’m the only reason Gotham hasn’t been devoured by gang wars already, but I don’t know how long I can keep this up when working with uncertainties. Tell me now if you’re staying or leaving so that I can do my work.”

She was breathing heavily and her eyes, though her glasses hid it well, were red-rimmed. When he thought of it, Dick had never seen Barbara sleep in the past weeks.

“I-“ He glanced at her screens. There was a robbery going on in City Hall. “I need to go.”

Dick fled.

Nightwing caught the robbers still in the act. He quickly knocked them out and put them into cuffs. The police would arrive in the next fifteen minutes, Dick was sure. The night was as clean as it could be in Gotham, and with summer underway, Dick didn’t need to feel bad for leaving the robbers right there on the ground.

Dick had perhaps apprehended the robbers in a much harsher way than he could have, but he was just so angry. He wanted something to hurt. Others, his hands, his heart – he didn’t care as long as he was feeling anything that wasn’t the dark pit clawing itself open with razor-sharp nails.

Dick moved further south, as far away from the Clocktower, the manor, the Cave, the Grave as he could. He hadn’t patrolled in Gotham in such a long time, every change caught him off-guard. Not all of them were massive, but Dick expected a house where there was none or empty space where there now rested a small playground. When Dick reached the docks, he was almost thankful that the old warehouses were still standing. Some of them had been torn down to make space for newer ones, but the oldest was still standing. Dick had fond memories of falling asleep its rusty roof while the sun rose and Bruce was sitting next to him.

He had always woken up in his bed again, except for the times Bruce also hadn’t made it up to Dick’s room again and had just let Dick fall asleep next to Bruce.

Gotham’s sunrises were beautiful. The polluted air made the colors all that more vibrant. Almost neon. The prettiest there were.

Nobody would carry him back to his room.

His father was dead and Dick hadn’t had the chance to apologize to Bruce and come home again.

He should have never left Gotham.

When Dick fucking finally showed his face again, he looked just as angry and grim as the last time Jason had seen him. There was a different edge to it though, the same kind of exhaustion Jason had been able to trace in Bruce’s face after bad nights.

Jason had taken to working on his homework in the Cave. Up in the manor, he couldn’t concentrate. Everything looked so normal like nothing had changed, like Jason hadn’t brought everything down crashing.

In the Cave, surrounded by the familiar smell of sweat, machinery and leather, Jason could breathe and focus. He caught up on schoolwork he’d missed, vowed to excel at it for the praise he’d never hear again. Dick suddenly showing up there wasn’t part of the plan.

Alfred hadn’t allowed Jason to drop the speech therapy. Jason frankly speaking didn’t see the point of it. He already knew the basics of ASL and with the adjustments Lucius had made to his hearing aids, Jason was alright. The world wasn’t silent anymore, even if it wasn’t as loud and clear as it used to be, but Jason could make up for it. He’d managed on the streets with broken bones, bruised ribs and scraped knees.

He didn’t understand how meeting with some lady with eyes filled with pity was supposed to improve anything – or what the point of going to that equally stupid children’s group was. He didn’t fucking want to interact with any of them and he most definitely didn’t want to be stuck there for two hours every Saturday. He could be using his time more productively, studying, researching, tracking that fucking clown down since the Justice League was apparently too god damn incompetent.

Jason didn’t need any help.

He wasn’t just born with a mistake, he was the fucking mistake. It would be better for everyone if they stopped trying to fix it and just left him alone.

Dick didn’t know what the hell Jason was doing in the Cave. He had no right to be there, but since Alfred was apparently letting him in there, Dick couldn’t kick him out either. And the brat was stubborn. He glared at Dick every time he entered the Cave, but Dick’s presence obviously wasn’t enough to make him leave or speak up.

The kid was just always there, observing, judging.

It was worse than Barbara’s anger when Dick had returned to her to apologize – after a week of sleeping in Bruce’s safe houses. She had been right. Dick needed to step up and act to protect what he had abandoned. During the night, he refamiliarized himself with Gotham. He needed to know every corner, every territory, every gang and very loose brick if he wanted to do as he once did: fight and bleed for this city.

Batman’s absence had shifted Gotham’s carefully crafted balance into disorder. The Rogues were careful still, but soon enough Batman would have been gone too long for them to still care about repercussions. They would just lash out and injure whoever their closest target was.

None of this would have happened if Dick hadn’t left. He needed to fix it, try to stitch up the bleeding wound of Bruce’s absence. He could do it. He had to.

Bruce used to believe in him.

Dick hoped that despite his own flaws, his father had never stopped.

It wasn’t easy to pull up the schematics of the batsuit, but it got more bearable with every word Dick read. Bruce had made a lot of changes since Dick had been Robin, continually improving his armor. A lot of it wouldn’t work for Dick, his fighting style was too different, but he too could adjust. He owed it to Bruce.

The cape had to be shorter, the armor lighter.

Time to get to work.

Jason hadn’t known what Dick was doing in the Cave, not until Dick had asked Alfred for help. The butler wasn’t pleased with whatever Dick was attempting – probably something stupid – but he was still helping him, if reluctantly. It reminded Jason of the times he and Bruce had snuck away from galas to go on patrol.

“Do you think it will hold up?” Dick asked Alfred. Jason watched them out of the corner of his eyes, tried to make it seem like he wasn’t paying attention to what they were saying. They were a little out of his reach, it sucked that he couldn’t hear them. He should look into tweaking his hearing aids, giving himself a broader range, he thought as he subtly moved closer to the conversation.

“It should,” Alfred replied. “Though, I’m not sure you’ll be able to fool Gordon.”

Dick snorted. “There’s no fooling him. He knows exactly who we are. He just lies because he’s a cop and all cops lie. He’s just one of those who knows what the line should be.”

And then Dick picked something up from the table. Long and dark fabric fell to the ground, the bat-symbol reflected the light it caught.

It was a batsuit. A new one.

“No.”

Jason didn’t notice he had said it out loud until Alfred and Dick both turned to him. Jason stood up from his chair and walked over to Alfred and Dick. Dick might have the advantage of years of training, but he hadn’t been forced to steal for his survival. Jason snatched the uniform right out of his hands.

“Hey!”

“You don’t deserve this,” Jason hissed. “You have no right to walk in here and put on his mark again!”

With every word Jason said, his voice grew louder, stronger, more resolute.

Dick’s storm returned full force and he stood up straighter. “Now, you, listen to me-“

“No! Fuck you!” Jason didn’t back down, not this time. He knew he was a screw-up, but Richard John Look At Me I Can’t Do No Fucking Wrong Grayson didn’t get to pretend he wasn’t. “You walked out of this and you don’t get to come back. The only person who can allow that is dead and you don’t fucking get to wear his uniform. You’re not Batman! You can’t be!”

“And you can!?” Dick shouted back.

His wrath was impressive, but Jason wouldn’t let him take this away from him. He would fight and bleed and suffer if that meant that Dick wouldn’t ever touch a uniform.

“You don’t belong in Gotham, traitor!”

“And you don’t belong in the manor!”

“Master Jason! Master Dick!”

Right now, Jason couldn’t care less about what Alfred had to say. He had vowed to protect Gotham and all the treasures left behind. He didn’t care about what happened to him, but nobody would tarnish Batman’s legacy with cowardice and weakness. Not as long as he was still standing.

“Fuck you, Grayson! Bruce chose me!”

Maybe he wouldn’t have if he knew what it would lead to. Or perhaps he would because Bruce had sat at Jason’s bedside, read for him, made him breakfast, didn’t get mad when Jason accidentally broke expensive vases or put stickers on the ancient wooden floors.

“He was my dad too and he wanted me. He was mine and you don’t get to take him away.”

Then, before Dick could think of a reply, Jason quickly ran off towards the stairs, the suit still in hand. He’d throw it in the trash, ruin it and ensure nobody could ever wear it.

Jason didn’t even manage step one of his plan. As soon as he was out of the Cave, he blindly ran upstairs, planning to cut his path to the kitchen short, but unfortunately, Jason still wasn’t healed completely, and not as fast as he knew he could be.

Dick caught up to him and gripped his shoulder when Jason was going at full speed. Jason fell backward, tumbling right into Dick’s chest.

“What the hell, Dickface!?” Jason shouted, he clutched the uniform as tight as he could, but Dick was stronger. He jacked it out of Jason’s hands like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Now you listen,” Dick said.

Jason looked up, ready to stare straight at a tidal wave of fury, persist and tear it down, but Dick’s face was blank. No anger, nothing.

“You don’t know anything about Bruce and me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jason challenged. “I know plenty-“

“You know nothing,” Dick replied, his voice tethering on the edge of dangerous. “And here’s the deal: You don’t say anything about it and I don’t make sure you never step on Gotham’s rooftops again.”

Jason stared at Dick in disbelief. How was this supposed to even be a threat? Dick couldn’t stop Jason from doing jack, no matter how hard he might try.

“I’m sorry, Grayson, did the truth hurt your feelings?”

Dick looked like he was reaching the end of his patience. Good. Jason wanted him to lose it, to prove he was just as much of a mess as the rest of them.

“Shut. Up. Jason. Just shut the fuck up. Bruce would be ashamed to hear you speak like that.”

Jason snarled and stepped forward to push Dick, but the older man avoided Jason by leaning to the right, evading him easily.

“Well, he isn’t here anymore! So who cares!?”

Dick moved away from Jason, mustering him again with that cold expression Jason couldn’t place.

“Gotham,” Dick then said and walked back into the direction the two of them had come from.

Bruce chose me!

Dick pulled the uniform close to his chest, inhaled and expected a scent he never entirely could forget. Sometimes he’d walk through Blüdhaven, catch it and get thrown right back into one of his fondest childhood memories. When he had been younger, he hadn’t understood how much work having a protégé must have been for Bruce. He had to make his files and the cases he allowed Robin to investigate childhood friendly, train him enough so that he wouldn’t have to worry every time Robin left his line of sight.

He was my dad too.

Of course, Bruce being Bruce, he would worry nevertheless, that was just in his nature. He wasn’t the poster child of articulating his feelings or thoughts very well, but Dick had never questioned that Bruce cared about him. He had proof of that buried beneath all the gruesome Ethiopia files he had hidden so deep down in the archive that nobody but him and Barbara would ever find it.

He wanted me.

Bruce would make Dick run laps until his legs gave out for how he’d been acting in the past weeks. Jason was fifteen for god’s sake and what had Dick done? Screamed in his face that it was Jason’s fault Bruce was dead when really, nobody but the Joker was to blame.

Dick didn’t have to like Jason, he didn’t know if he ever could, but he could start treating him like the victim instead of the offender. He was a child lashing out at everything and everyone he could get his hands on, Dick had to be patient.

Putting on the uniform for the first time was a strange feeling. When Dick looked in the mirror, he thought he was seeing someone else. His brain caught up only slowly, measuring the height of the vigilante in the mirror against what he knew Batman’s actual height was. The cape was too short, the waist too narrow and the chin not angular enough.

He was mine.

Dick looked like a child playing dress-up. It would have to be enough. (He would make sure of it.)

“The Signal has been lit again and for the first time in months-“

Switch.

“-Calendar Man escaped last week-“

Switch.

“I thought I wasn’t seeing correctly, but there he was-“

Switch.

“Batman-“

Switch.

“-Batman.”

Switch.

“-Batman-“

Switch.

“-Robin?”

Jason stopped flipping through the channels, which were all reporting the same thing. Batman had finally returned and caught the villain of the week. The people were celebrating, but Jason didn’t know what for. It had taken Dick much longer than it would have Bruce to capture Calendar Man. One person had died still. Batman hadn’t made his great comeback, he was lying six feet underground and maggots were eating away his skin. Dick was a terrible replacement and Barbara was the only reason he was functioning at all. Without Oracle’s help, the first scuffle he had gotten involved in, would have ended deadly.

“And still we wonder: What happened to Batman? And where is Robin? The Joker, too, hasn’t resurfaced yet and his madness looms like a threat over Gotham’s skyline. Many speculate-“

The TV cut off.

Jason looked to his right where he found Alfred holding the remote.

“You shouldn’t watch such rubbish, Master Jason,” Alfred said.

“Why? It’s not like they’re saying anything wrong. As soon as that clown comes out of his hideyhole, Dick is done for. He’s barely holding it together as he is.”

Jason pulled his knees to his chest and rested his chin on them. Where is Robin? The question echoed in his head. He was curled up on a comfortable sofa and the heavy blanket resting on his shoulders kept him warm. His wounds had healed, all of them, and he was almost back in shape. His legs still hurt more than they ought to when he didn’t land a role or a jump a hundred percent correctly, but that was to be expected. Bruce wouldn’t let him out on the streets yet, maybe in a week or two.

But he couldn’t.

Robin had caused all of this, he didn’t know how to fly anymore.

“Master Dick is trying his best,” Alfred said.

He took off his gloves and put them on the table in front of them. Then he sat down next to Jason and put one arm around Jason’s shoulders.

“His burden isn’t yours to carry and neither of you should feel like you have any weight on your shoulders at all. You are not to blame for the action of others.”

Jason bit on his lip until he could taste blood on his tongue. “But I am. I did this. I ruined it. I got him killed-“

His eyes burned. He had cried so often in the past weeks, when was it finally enough? He hated it, he wanted it to stop, but nothing he ever did went according to plan.

“You did not. You were trying to do an admirable task and save another person. Bruce wouldn’t want you to keep hurting yourself like this. He definitely wouldn’t blame you, either.”

Jason buried his head in Alfred’s chest as if that could stop the tears from flowing. They burned hot on his cheeks and his shoulders trembled as he tried to choke down the sobs.

“It will get better, Jason,” Alfred murmured. He held Jason close, both his arms acting as a shield, protecting Jason from the outside world. “It will get better.”

Jason wanted to believe it.

Blüdhaven was a terrible city to protect. Everybody was corrupt and Dick could count the people he could trust on one hand with a couple fingers still left over. However, Blüdhaven was also a lot smaller than Gotham. It wasn’t called Gotham’s little sister just because it inherited its gangs, it was also only roughly a third of its size.

Gotham was a lot more work than Blüdhaven. When Dick had started going out as Nightwing, the high amount of hours and sleepless nights that went into acting on your own had caught him slightly off guard. The first weeks hadn’t just sucked, they had been the worst.

Dick felt a lot like he was eighteen again, standing in front of a wall so high he wasn’t sure he could climb to the top. Dick wasn’t even working by himself, he had Oracle and her Birds of Prey. Catwoman too had taken up a much more active role, keeping check of East End. Her relationship with Bruce had always been a little strange, and it hadn’t gotten any clearer now that Dick was an adult and could understand parts of it. However, Selina Kyle had always been absolutely clear on the fact that she was no vigilante and certainly no hero.

Her more recent actions sung a different song, but Dick wasn’t going to ask her about it. He was grateful for all the help he got.

Batman’s mantle was a heavy weight, one Dick wasn’t sure wouldn’t suffocate him one day. He’d need to slow down a little, or the stress would catch up to him. His body was already a stunning blue and green pattern- there was no need to add any red to it because he couldn’t catch enough sleep.

Alfred wouldn’t be able to handle it and he already had his hands full with Jason.

Dick hadn’t seen him in the Cave lately, though he knew the teenager still sneaked in to look at the computer. Jason did a good job of covering his tracks, but Dick had been in this business longer than Jason. It had been almost twelve years now.

It felt like an eternity and a half.

Dick dropped in Bruce’s chair. (No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t think of the big chair as his own. Dick had hang on it when he was a child, climbing all over Bruce while he was trying not to spill any hot tea on Dick. It was always going to be Bruce’s throne to Dick.)

“Alright,” he muttered. “What does today’s schedule have for us?”

Barbara forwarded him any info she gathered. Some of it was already marked down as taken care of, but other cases were filled with more gaps and holes than Swiss cheese.

“Arms dealer, drug trafficking, …” The list went on and on and Dick had no idea where to start. It seemed like the moment he took down one operation, another was there to take its place.

Dick didn’t like the silence of the Cave, never had. Back in Blüdhaven, Dick would play musing while he was solving cases and before that, when he had been Robin, he had always been talking with Bruce – or at Bruce. His grunts and hums might not have been the greatest replies, but they had been enough for Dick. He missed them. The silence ate everything up.

Until it didn’t.

“Dick!”

Dick wasn’t prepared for Barbara’s face to suddenly show up on the computer screen. Her eyes were wide with shock, fear. Her breathing was uneven and shallow, signs of a panic attack.

“Barbara, what’s going on-“

“The Joker. He’s back. One of my camera’s picked him up. It’s him, I know it, Dick. It’s him, he’s back.”

Dick could feel all the blood drain from his face. For a moment, he was frozen. All the years of training him out of the habit seemed to disappear.

(“Fight or flight, chum. Choose either, but never freeze. There’s no shame in running away.”)

The cold determination took over.

“We’ll get him,” Dick said. ‘I will end him,’ he thought.

He suited up.

Jason carefully monitored Dick’s progress. He still sucked, but the fact that he needed Jason’s help was becoming painfully obvious. Jason had thought about abandoning Dick, but then he might as well burn Bruce’s grave to the ground.

Dick was trying to keep Gotham standing when Jason couldn’t. He had to help him or people would get hurt and die. Gotham needed Batman and if Dick was the only viable candidate, then Jason would ensure he wouldn’t come back to the Cave with more bullets than blood in his body. Jason left notes on the Batcomputer, correcting Dick’s records and adding background information Dick couldn’t have because he hadn’t been there when it happened.

There was no way he’d know the Irish and the Russians hated each other because of some Romeo-and-Julietesque drama that had gone down a year ago. So Jason put it in Dick’s rainbow color-coded files and highlighted it thrice.

Jason didn’t own Dick anything, least of all an apology.

He had been right with everything he said.

But they needed to set terms or Gotham would go to hell.

Jason walked down the steps to the Cave deliberately slowly, going through his speech word for word. Yes, he had written an actual speech and learned it by heart. He didn’t want Dick to catch him off guard when Jason struggled to find the words. Alfred was currently out running some errands, so it was the best time to confront Dick.

Jason knew it hurt Alfred to see the two fighting. The butler had enough worries already and Jason didn’t want to add to them.

When Jason reached the bottom of the stairs, he stood still for a moment. Analyze the situation first, figure out where Dick was and what kind of mood he was in.

But Dick was nowhere to be found. Jason frowned and tried to recall whether Dick should be anywhere else, maybe with his Team?

No, he had resigned from the Titans or something. He had had a massive fight with his teammates about his decision to stay in Gotham, not that Jason was supposed to be aware of that.

“Grayson?” Jason shouted. “Are you here?”

Nobody replied and Jason was starting to get worried. “Hey, Dick, come on. This isn’t funny. We need to talk.”

Jason walked further into the Cave, but he still couldn’t spot Dick anywhere.

“Where did you-“

Jason’s words were stuck in his throat as Jason glanced at the Batcomputer screen.

He was back.

He was back, he was back, he was back.

Jason belched, but nothing came out. Hellfire burned the earth around him, there was a heavy weight on his chest and the Joker was laughing and laughing-

Dick.

He must have gotten the Joker alert and ran after him on his own, without Jason, without back-up.

The Joker was no fool, he would know that Dick wasn’t Batman. He’d barely take a look at him and he would make Dick pay for it.

Jason couldn’t let that happen.

He scrambled over to the changing room, that horrible sound chasing him. Jason hadn’t worn Robin’s colors in months. He wouldn’t fit the uniform anymore. Somewhere in-between his panic, he recalled that the spares, Dick’s old Robin suits, were still kept in at the very back behind Jason’s.

Bruce had never said why he had kept them. They were old, Dick wouldn’t use them again and Jason’s had all been upgraded. They would have to be enough today.

Jason fastened his utility belt and headed for his bike.

He couldn’t waste a minute.

Thirteen seconds left.

Jason drove out of the Batcave faster than he ever had.

He needed to find the clown and end him.

The Joker usually hauled up in the Amusement Mile. Even when he was locked up in Arkham, people didn’t dare to go there in fear of stepping into the Joker’s traps.

Dick would likely head there first.

The Joker wouldn’t be there. It would be stupid to head to his main base immediately. They knew Joker had more hideouts, but they had never been able to track down all of them. He would restock first and then-

Where would he go?

Somewhere he can plan, somewhere familiar.

The Joker had known that Bruce had been on his way to Jason and he knew that whoever was wearing Batman’s mantle now, it wasn’t the real Batman. What was the likely conclusion if Robin and Batman hadn’t been seen since Ethiopia?

Death.

Joker would be pissed, he’d be furious. His Batman was gone and now a new one had taken the scene. One who didn’t share any history with him yet. He’d want to change that, recreate what had existed once.

Jason cursed. He knew where the Joker was headed. He thought about calling Dick or Barbara, notifying anyone, but-

He could end this.

Jason could ensure nobody would ever get hurt by the Joker again.

He drove on.

Dick was one setback away from indulging completely in his panic. The Joker wasn’t in his usual hideout, nor anywhere near it, and Barbara had lost track of him. The Joker could be everywhere, planning to blow up more than just one warehouse this time, and they didn’t have a single lead.

“Dick,” Alfred’s voice rang over the comm. “Is Jason with you?”

He sounded out of breath like he had run a marathon. Dick’s grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“No, why should he?”

Please, Dick thought. Not now, not this.

“He’s not at home and his bike is missing, I fear he’s decided to follow you.”

Dick’s mouth dried. No. No, no, no, no!

“O, can you track him?” Dick asked. “Jason’s bike has a tracker, right?” Dick’s bike used to have a tracker so he wouldn’t be able to sneak away. Of course, he had figured out how to disable it, but if Jason was even half as terrified as Dick right now, maybe he wouldn’t have thought of it.

“I’ve got him,” Barbara replied. “He’s- it’s parked in front of Ace Chemicals. I’m rerouting the police there. Hurry.”

Dick didn’t need to be told twice.

The Ace Chemicals plant was dark. They were currently right in the middle of rebuilding the whole area and roughly half of it was already done. They had started with the newest parts, fixing them up and enlarging them. A lot of their production had been shipped overseas, and if a few adjustments here and there were enough, they could simply tear down the old buildings and warehouses.

Jason didn’t even waste a second to consider where exactly the Joker would go, it was obvious. He had no interest in the new building, it held no memories for him. No, he would head to the old part. Maybe he had sneaked in, just like Jason, through the damaged fence and entered the old building through the backdoor.

The lack of security cameras was a bit confusing, but not too unusual. Enough dark deals were made in the shadows of big corporations. The less supervision there was in general, the more plausible deniability did the heads of such companies have. Jason was mindful of any security still, but he encountered not even one guard on his way through the building. Everything smelled like chlorine and disinfectant. It reminded Jason of the hospital and he hated it. He tugged at his cape and held it over his nose in the hope it would lessen the sharp scent at least a bit.

It didn’t.

The warehouse was cloaked in darkness. The only light source was the moonlight shining through the dirty windows. Jason’s patience was running out.

“I know you’re here,” he hissed. “Stop hiding, you coward.”

Jason walked into the middle of the warehouse, his back exposed. He was open to any attacks, but he was sure that the benefits outweighed the risks.

At first, nothing changed, but then a shadow moved and by the time Jason could see the trademark violet suit, he also heard the Joker’s footsteps and clapping.

“Oh, look! The itty-bitty birdy found me! Where did you leave your new Bat?”

Jason had been right. The Joker did know that it wasn’t the same man under the mask. He took out two Batarangs, one for each hand.

The Joker leaned forward as if to examine them closer. “Those again? I thought we had already established they’re not useful, especially if I step a little on those fingers and toes.”

Jason was accustomed to the fire burning inside him. It flared up, tainted his vision red and urged him to move forward through all walls and bodies.

He couldn’t feel its warmth.

Instead, ice spread through his limbs, its cold burning like the flame, if not even more damaging.

“That reminds me!” The Joker said. “Do you think we should have another session? Our first one didn’t end as planned.”

And suddenly, the Joker was upon him. Jason stumbled back, but he couldn’t catch his balance in time and dropped to the floor. The Joker grabbed Jason’s shoulders and when he tried to lift his head, the Joker smashed it to the ground.

“You! Ruined! My! Game!” The Joker shouted in Jason’s face. “You useless little birds always do! The Bat is mine and you keep hogging his attention. Life would be so much better with you gone.”

The Joker sighed theatrically and leaned back. “I imagined how sweet it would be. Just me and Batman forever and ever without you little pests interfering.”

The Joker’s nails dug into Jason’s arms so harshly that he must be drawing blood. Jason whimpered. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, he’d had a plan, a goal. He couldn’t let the Joker ruin it or him or anything else ever again.

“But you! You had to get in-between us! I figured Batsy’s gonna be sad for a while, but then he came back all wrong. So I have to make him right, I’ll fix us. You won’t make me mad again, will you, Robin? I had fun the last time, but I think I might be angry today. People don’t like me being angry, it hurts them.”

The Joker’s green eyes gleamed and he began to grin. “Or maybe that’s why you came back? No daddy at home to punish teeny-tiny Robin for getting him killed?”

Jason could taste blood on his tongue. He hated the Joker. That was the reason for the cold, he was the reason. Jason had been angry at others before, but nobody but Willis had managed to make Jason so furious he lost all control, but the Joker?

This was hatred.

Jason screamed and with all the strength he could measure up, he pushed himself off the ground, toppling the Joker over. Now their roles were reversed. The Joker was lying on the ground, helpless like prey and Jason was holding the weapon.

He would kill him.

Jason would kill the bastard and make him pay for every crime he had ever committed.

“You-“

A loud crash interrupted Jason. The right wall of the warehouse just smashed open when a familiar black car drove through it.

Dick jumped out of the driver’s seat.

“Robin!” He shouted, then his eyes zoomed in on the Joker lying beneath him.

“Hello, big bird,” the Joker sing-songed. “Nice upgrade you got there, but it’s not all done. I was going to help you but then this little bird interrupted.”

Jason used his right hand to push the Joker’s head forcefully to the ground.

“Robin,” Dick repeated, this time softer. “Let go of him.”

“No.” Jason hissed. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Dick said and took one step forward, then another. “You don’t want to do this.”

“I don’t want to do this? He ruined everything!”

Why didn’t Dick understand? If they got rid of the Joker, everything would change. No more torture, no more nightmares, no more pain.

Jason was going to fix everything. “He has to die.”

“B wouldn’t want you to do this,” Dick said. He held his hands up as if to show that he wasn’t going to forcefully take the decision out of Jason’s hand.

It almost made Jason want to laugh. Bruce had shown him a couple maneuvers he could do easily while

“No more death,” Jason said. “No more destruction. The world is better off without him!”

Beneath him, the Joker laughed maniacally, his face twisted into the ugly impression of a smile.

“Shut up!” Jason shouted, but the Joker wouldn’t calm. He only became more and more hysteric and Jason just wanted it all to end!

“I said, shut up!”

“Ja- Robin,” Dick tried again. “Please. You don’t-“

“I’m right,” Jason said. “I’m right. He should die and I’ll make him stop.”

Dick fell silent. The Joker’s laughter surrounded them both. If Jason wasn’t here, Dick wouldn’t know whether he’d be able to knock the Joker out and put handcuffs on him. Hell, if Dick were in Jason’s position, he didn’t know if he could do it. He wanted the Joker gone as well. Preferably slow and painful, so he’d suffer like Bruce had.

But-

“B wouldn’t want it,” Dick repeated. “I want him gone as much as you do, but Batman and Robin don’t kill.”

Gotham would fall apart as soon as they shed blood like that.

“I know it hurts and he should suffer, but you shouldn’t have to pay the price. Dad loved you and he wanted you to be safe. This is the opposite of that. You don’t have to agree, you don’t even have to think my way is the right one, but you know he’d hate himself for being the reason you’d have to spill blood.”

Jason’s hands were still holding onto the Batarang. If Jason really wanted to kill the Joker, Dick wouldn’t be fast enough to drop it.

“He deserves it,” Jason whispered. “He killed our Dad and he deserves it.”

Jason dropped the Batarang. His arms went slack at his side and Dick used the opportunity to move in. He pulled Jason away from the Joker as fast and gentle as he could. He draped his cape around Jason’s shoulders and kneeled down next to the Joker. Dick jammed a syringe with sedatives in the Joker’s neck and cuffed his hands together.

Maybe the dosage was a little higher than usual.

Not enough to make sure he wouldn’t wake up again, but to ensure he’d drop immediately and his insane laughter would die.

“Oracle, police?” Dick asked. He was moving on autopilot, directing Jason away from the body.

“Outside, my father’s there.”

Good.

“Let’s go back home,” Dick said softly. At his side, Jason only nodded.

Dick carefully maneuvered Jason out of the warehouse and towards the Batmobile. When they arrived back home, Alfred was already waiting for them. He pulled both of them into a bone-crushing hug.

“My boys,” Alfred said. “Don’t ever do something like this again. I’m not sure my heart could take it.”

Dick put his arms around his grandfather, squishing Jason in the middle. All of them were here and all of them were alive.

They had made it.

Dick was home.

“There is something I want to show you,” Dick said. “I- I didn’t want you to know before and, fuck. I’m sorry. This wouldn’t have-“

Dick was struggling to find the right words. Would it have changed anything, he wondered, if he had given Jason this beforehand?

Jason wasn’t moving from his spot on Bruce’s chair, still wrapped in Dick’s cape. He was just staring into space, tear tracks still visible. Alfred had wanted them to go upstairs immediately and not step in the Cave for the next ten years, but Jason needed to listen to this.

Dick sighed. Now or never.

He opened the Ethiopia file and purposefully didn’t look at Jason. Then he hit play.

“Jay-“Bruce's voice played and Jason breathed a sob. “Jay, you’re okay. It’s alright. Don’t cry. Sssh, I love you. You and Dick. I love you, I-“ He coughed. It was a wet and ugly sound. “I love you, I love...”

The recording cut off.

Jason hit replay.

Again.

And again.

And again and again and again and just once more. He just had to be sure that he wasn’t mishearing Bruce’s words, that he was committing them to his memories until he could quote this terrifying declaration.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Just once more.

Rewind.

Jason was sitting in the circle with the rest of the deaf kids. He knew their names, some of their hobbies and roughly how much of their hearing was impaired. He had never bothered to pay any attention beyond that or involve himself in any way. More than once, he had brought a book to these sessions and had refused to look up from it.

He thought of all the puns about deafness Dick had made on the way to Jason’s appointment. Not all of them had been good or fun – two have them had fucking hurt, but Dick had apologized and it was okay.

Getting better.

Something like that, at least.

‘Is there anything you’d like to share today, Jason?’ The therapist asked like she did every Saturday.

She wore one of her awfully colorful dresses and smiled softly, hopeful. Jason didn’t get how she could do that for weeks without growing resentful. If Jason didn't absolutely shut down, he avoided eye-contact and replied with a quick ‘no’ and, if he was feeling especially crude, told her to ‘fuck off’ in the most vulgar way possible.

‘Yes,’ Jason signed for the first time. ‘I’ll be spending the evening with…’ He dropped his hands in his lap, took a breath, then picked the sentence up again. ‘I’ll be spending the evening with my older brother. I don’t know what we’ll do yet, but I hope it will be fun.’

Poison Ivy had escaped Arkham yesterday. The last few times she had escaped, she hadn’t done any significant damage and Jason still had a biology test to study for. Sometimes, Ivy was down to answer his questions when they were driving her back to Arkham. It would be pretty great if tonight was one of those nights.

“So,” Jason said. “I’m thinking.”

The buzzing in his ears annoyed the hell out of him, but he couldn’t get it to stop. He'd have to wait until they were back home.

“Oh, dangerous,” Dick shouted from where he was lying beneath the Batmobile, trying to figure out what Ivy had done to stop their car.

Jason rolled his eyes and wrung out his cape once more. Everything was cold and wet and sticky. Ivy had been seriously pissed by the plans for a new factory at the edge of town. So much for getting her to tutor him.

“I think I should exchange my mask for something that covers my ears as well because my aids were not made for being thrown in Gotham River.”

Dick moved out from beneath the Batmobile, looking at Jason in a slight panic. Even though the mask covered his head, it was fairly easy for Jason to tell what he was thinking.

“They didn’t get damaged, did they?” Dick asked, signing while he was it.

Honestly, Lucius had made them. If getting dropped in the water once was going to fry them completely, Jason wouldn’t trust any of the equipment they were using.

“They’ll survive the night,” Jason said. Even if everything sounded a little bit like static. ‘And don’t speak and sign, your signs are shit.’

‘Sorry.’

“Anyway, I was thinking I should get a helmet…” Jason trailed off. Something or someone was moving on the roof of the building in front of them.

“Robin?” Dick called.

“Be right back,” Jason replied and angled his grapple so that it would pull him onto the roof. He shot it and whoever was on the roof was already running backward. Oh, hell no!

Jason landed smoothly on the roof and after a short sprint, he caught the person, who turned out to be much shorter than Jason expected.

Kid-sized, really.

“Hello,” the kid squeaked nervously. He couldn’t be older than twelve or so, Jason thought. “Nice to meet you?”

“What are you doing here?” Jason asked. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Eh…” The kid glanced at the camera he was holding. “Maybe?”

Jason raised a brow, pretty unimpressed with the kid so far. Though, he couldn’t just let the kid go and ignore that he had caught a maybe twelve-year-old with a camera on a rooftop. At least it wasn’t a video camera, so no possibly incriminating videos spoiling Batman and Robin’s identities for the world.

“Gimme that,” Jason said, already pulling the camera out of the kid's hands.

“I don’t show them anybody!” The kid insisted when Jason turned the camera on and looked at the most recent photos.

As expected, the last one was of the two down in the alley, but the ones before that were close-ups of the dynamic duo fighting Ivy. Ivy had destroyed an entire – fortunately abandoned – building in her rage. To get pictures of that…

“Who are you?” Jason asked. He didn’t make it his habit to intimidate kids, but if they got involved in such dangerous situations, he needed to know why. “Who is paying you for this?”

“Nobody!” The kid said. “I just do this for. Uhm. Fun. My name is Tim. I’m your neighbor.”

The words registered in Jason’s mind about the same time as they did in the kid’s as Tim slapped his hands over his mouth and paled.

Later, when Jason would be ranting about Dick’s overreaction at Bruce’s grave, he’d maybe admit that he could have dealt with Timothy Jackson Drake differently and that knocking a twelve-year-old out shouldn’t ever be anyone’s first instinct, but right now?

Right now, Jason already had the knock out gas in hand and was only vaguely aware of Dick having reached the rooftop.

#batfam #Jason Todd #dick grayson #bruce wayne #batman #dc #dc comics #fanfic #MY ANGST MAGNUS OPUM

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 4 years ago

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Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 144

144

Curled around him, Lance basked in Keith’s warmth. His boyfriend his protector against their friends. Pidge, Hunk, Shiro and Curtis all waiting at VOLTRON for their return. There were lots of hugs, lots of apologising on his behalf. A lot of anxiety over Kosmo jumping up at his belly, his fun son had grown more than Lance realised. From a tiny pup awkward pup, he now stood just below hip height, but was still his precious baby. Keith a little too firm as Kosmo tried to stand up, paws on Lance’s belly, nearly making Lance vomiting, as he had done for the last half hour of the flight.

Then came the trek to the medical wing, too many people wanting to know if he was okay and if the twins were, and Pidge couldn’t stop staring at his belly, making him super uncomfortable. Coran had shooed them off, Lance suspecting he just wanted to have the first look at the ultrasound ahead of the others. Lance so not in the mood for it, making Coran agree to wait until the following day. He was still poked and prodded. Set up with two IV lines that he felt he didn’t need. Temperature and heart-rate taken. Forced into a clean set of clothes so he’d be “more comfortable”. He’d had a panic attack when they landed. He couldn’t find his mami’s bag, Rieva had already taken it down out of the luggage department.

He was wiped out, but then the others came back in. Pidge and Hunk tried to squeeze onto the bed, barely built for one, let alone four adults, and Kosmo who’d taken up prime position on his legs. Shiro and Curtis had come back thanks to the news of his Mami passing. Their condolences hurt to hear, on top of Pidge and Hunk both offering theirs again. Battling anxiety, Lance mostly let the others talk around him. A few times he’d nearly snapped when Pidge got too loud and Hunk cuddled just that fraction too close to Keith. His ego was being a dick, Lance no longer sure if his ego was making him worse, or him being worse was making his ego be a dick.

Things were much easier when the focus was shifted from him to Curtis’s horns. They were cute. Not great big monstrous things like a ram, but two black little nubs that went well with the black ring around his irises. Admittedly, Lance was expecting horns big enough for Shiro to hold onto them, and while he could, it’d barely be a palm full... Not that he wanted to think about Shiro riding Curtis, Pidge put the idea in his head and Lance was left to deal with it. He was happy about Curtis being safe and back, but his ego wasn’t thrilled. It very much felt slapped in the face, wanting to yell at them all to pay attention to Lance’s belly because twins were way cooler than horns.

Filling Lance in, he hadn’t seemed to miss much. They’d had lunch at Pidge’s parents, then dinner at Hunk’s house. Shay had come to dinner, and they’d done Christmas without him. Pidge excited at the prospect of a second Christmas when Keith “suggested” it. Hunk making huge plans to make it a “Welcome Home Party”. Lance using his current stay to plead out they wait until weekend, which would give him the Thursday and Friday to mentally prepare for peopling again, then using his fatigue to politely evict their friends group. Trying to evict Keith to go talk to his brother was like trying to pull two sheets of wet glass apart. It wasn’t happening. The vampire could smell Krolia on them, suspecting she was back, and waiting until they group thinned before coming to offer her condolences. Lance had enough of condolences. Enough of the heartfelt words. Each time he was sent back to Mami not waking. To trying to call Keith only to break his phone, and the pain of losing the one person who’d protected him for so long. It was easier with a heartfelt hug and and a mutual understanding it was hard.

Keith was asleep. He’d fallen asleep while Lance was left unable to shut his mind off. Nausea, coupled with stress and a throbbing headache left Lance awake more than his circling thoughts. Flying didn’t agree with him, even with his shoes sprinkled inside with his death soil. It helped abate the symptoms from flying, it just didn’t help when it came to an overactive mind and being squished by Keith who had his hand pressing against Lance’s belly, as if trying to protect him as he slept. Keith was too cute, and obviously relieved to see Shiro and Curtis had made it home safely.

Putting up with being squished as long as he could, Lance carefully set Keith’s hand on his hip, so he could slip free. Coran would no doubt be around shortly to check on him. He missed the way they used to be so close. Now it felt like Coran cared more for the twins than for him. If Coran had cared he’d have let them go back to Keith’s apartment, and cancelled the surprise of their friends waiting for them. He knew it was because Coran cared and worried for him that he hadn’t. Hugging Pidge, she seemed smaller than ever. Hunk just as solid and warm as a he remembered. He loved them too much. The loss of Mami driving home again how short and fragile human lives where when compared to his. Lance had made up his mind. He’d live as long Keith lived. A full life with his boyfriend and their children, until it was time for Keith to pass and they’d pass together. Never feeling the loss of that half of their souls. It was funny how he’d mocked the idea of soulmates mentally, and now it seemed the only term close to describing the degree of love he felt for Keith. He wanted to spend every day of their lives together, making new and happy memories, in a household filled with love.

Feeling the space beside him empty, Keith shot awake in panic. He’d been wiped out from the visit of their friends. They were so damn loud. Not that he wasn’t happy they’d been there to rip the anxiety bandage off Lance’s wounds, he simply wished they’d been there and quieter about it

“Babe?”

With the light on in the bathroom, and Kosmo also missing, Keith was drawn to it like a moth. Pushing the door open with his foot, Lance was sitting on toilet with his face in his hands. Kosmo laying near his feet. Keith had noticed each time Mami was mentioned that Lance would shy away. That wound too deep for a reunion to be a magic fix it all

“Babe?”

Looking up at him, Lance wiped his eyes

“Sorry. I couldn’t sleep”

The idiot had been crying alone...

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Headache and I feel sick...”

Walking over to his boyfriend, Keith felt for a fever as Lance bunted into the touch

“You feel warmerish... and I can smell you”

Lance blushed, hands going to cover his lap...

“Babe?”

“Don’t judge me”

Keith didn’t know what he was supposed to not be judging Lance over seeing he wasn’t judging him in the first place

“I’m not. I got a bit worried when you didn’t come back to bed”

“You were squashing the pee out of me... and then I just... felt so blah that I thought if I could... you know... I might be able to calm down... but I couldn’t...”

Oh. Lance was looking for a little stress relief after their long arse day

“You could have woken me up”

“And what would I have said? I can’t sleep, so suck me off?”

“Pretty much”

Keith’s knees cracked as squatted down, Lance blushing softly as he wouldn’t meet his eyes

“I’m not mad, and I’m not judging you”

“I feel stupid... I’m horny as hell and I shouldn’t be, but I don’t know... it just happens. I’m so fucking tired...”

He looked it too. And was tired enough to be honest that he wasn’t feeling that great

“Do you want me to get you off?”

Lance sighed deeply, angry as replied

“There’s no point... I tried but... I feel too sick... and I’m so frustrated...”

“Let me help”

“I told you...”

Lance needed release, his scent was begging Keith to touch him

“Not to brag about my sexual prowess, but I’m pretty sure I can give you exactly what you need”

“But what about you?”

“Babe, if you haven’t noticed, I love you. I love touching you. Just let me take care of things”

Lance nodded, moving his hands away to expose the damp spot on his sweats. Rather than wolfing down the meal, Keith wanted Lance to feel comfortable first. Kissing his boyfriend, Lance hesitated, slowly letting Keith take the lead. That he was kissing him back made Keith’s heart flip. Whining at him, Kosmo protested what his father’s were about to do, leading him to an overdue eviction.

Soaking wet, Lance’s wetness dribbled down his thighs, Keith lapping between Lance’s legs moaning at the taste of his lover. Bent over the bathroom sink, Lance’s legs were already shaking, arse jiggling as he rocked against Keith’s tongue. His boyfriend definitely pent, and already stretched so perfectly that Keith could have slipped right in. Wanting Lance to enjoy this, he also was aware that Lance was on edge. That he was exhausted and needed sleep, cutting Keith’s fun short as he rose to his feet, meeting eyes with Lance in the bathroom mirror

“You ready?”

“Mhmm... I tried... but... my fingers couldn’t reach...”

Shit. He’d have liked to see that. He loved watching Lance prep himself almost as much as he loved prepping him. Dizzy on Lance’s scent, his boyfriend smelt as if he was in heat, which shouldn’t be possible with Lance already being pregnant.

Sliding his hands up Lance’s sides, his boyfriend shuddered, wetness dribbling down Keith’s erection as he rutted up against him, missing pushing in on his first try

“You’re so fucking wet...”

Lance blushed

“Shut up”

“I didn’t say it’s a bad thing. Stick your arse back for me”

Spreading his legs, Lance stuck his ease back, Keith letting go of his side to guide himself into Lance’s heat, both men groaning in unison, as Keith slowly sank balls deep. Bring up his hand, he gripped Lance by the hip with his left hand, right hand moving to grope the vampire’s small left breast. Whimpering his name, it sounded pornographic

“Keith...”

“It’s okay, babe... let it out”

Rolling his hips, wetness smeared across Keith’s crotch. Drawing back then thrusting in caused a wet slapping of skin

“Keith... just... fuck... me properly”

Hard and fast, he could do that. Wrapping himself around his boyfriend, Keith fucked Lance as hard as he wanted. His boyfriend panting and they’d barely started. Not quite getting as deep as he wanted, Keith lifted Lance’s right leg, Lance incoherent, as their bodies rocked. God knew how good Lance felt around him. The way he tightened at having his leg lifted made it hard to move, as if his boyfriend was trying to squeeze his orgasm out of him as he drew him deeper

“I’m... Keith... don’t stop... I’m going to come...”

The slapping grew louder, Keith barely coherent. High as hell on Lance’s pheromones

“Shit, babe... come for me... you feel so fucking good... shit... shit... fuck, babe...”

“Mmm... Keith... Keith... nggm... ah... ahh...”

Lance tensed as he came, clamping hard around Keith, Keith coming just as hard inside his boyfriend, buried to the hilt and panting like he’d run a marathon. Shit... he hadn’t lasted long... Lance still smelt so damn good. Nosing at the crease between his boyfriend’s shoulder blades, Keith rode out his orgasm, hips stuttering yet still moving, caught up in Lance’s scent

“Fuck...”

He wanted more. So much more. He’d been pent up as he’d watched Lance from the swimming pool. All the little expressions Lance made while watching him. The way he’d duck his head or look away. He didn’t want his boyfriend looking at anyone other than him

“Keith?”

Sliding free, cum and wet dripped onto the floor, Keith rutting between his legs, causing his pregnant boyfriend to whine at him

“I’m sorry... you smell so good...”

“I wanna... kiss... I feel so... hot...”

So Lance was feeling this too? He wasn’t imagining it? The logical thing would to be ask Coran why Lance seemed in heat, but his head brain was on vacation leaving all the flowing blood to his dick

“Let’s go to bed... I want to do you again...”

Lance slowly nodded, Keith liked to think his was a smooth as boyfriend as he lowered his leg then swept him off his feet.

Laying Lance down on the hospital bed, Keith climbed up to cage him. His boyfriend wrapping his arm around him, as he claimed his mouth. Sinking his fangs lightly into Keith’s lip, Keith hissed, his lips had gotten used to not being bitten and he was reminded of how long it’d really taken to gotten used to Lance’s fangs. Not that he told his lover. He didn’t want him being sorry when he should be feeling good. Breaking the kiss, Lance licked the blood from his lips

“I feel... so hot...”

“You feel like you’re in heat”

“I can’t be... I’m having your babies...”

Shimmying back and down, Keith went for Lance’s chest. Tonguing at the small bud of Lance’s right nipple, Lance’s hands held his head to his chest, fingers threaded through Keith’s hair, hips rolling as Keith mouthed at the small mound

“Ahhh... careful... still... sensitive”

“I know...”

Lance seemed sensitive enough to come from having his nipples stimulated alone. Keith moving to mouth at his left nipple, Lance’s legs tightening as he knees pressed into his side’s

“Keith... Keith... don’t... not like... that...”

Nipping on Lance’s nipple, Lance whined, pulling his hair to pull him off

“Not there... it’s too much...”

“Mmm... but they’re cute”

Lance’s nipples seemed bigger, the colour had darkened, the bud feeling bigger between his teeth than they’d had before. Not pulled away far enough, he swiped his tongue up, Lance groaning loudly

“Keeeeeith... stop teasing, I don’t have the patience”

“You don’t have the patience to let me love your body”

“Fuck loving my body... I need you in me... feels empty... aren’t... I... good enough”

Keith rose back up, words falling between the kisses he pressed to Lance’s lips

“You are more than good enough...”

“Then... just... I want to...”

“I know, baby. I know... you’re body is so amazing... so open for me... think you can take me again”

Lance sat up as he wrapped his arms around Keith’s neck, nodding as he did, Keith moving his hands down to take Lance by the hips

“I want it...”

Nosing at Lance’s nose, Keith’s hands slid to try lift Lance by the arse

“Wrap your legs around me, babe. I’ve got you... gonna fuck you on my dick, just how you like...”

Lance was too cute. Riding his dick, Lance panted, legs spread and tummy on display. Tiny titties red from all the attention lavished on budding breasts. Sucking on his lover’s left breast, Lance stopped making sense somewhere around the time he nipped at his nipple. When his boyfriend finally grew tired from riding him, Keith laid him back down, spreading his legs wide, so he supported Lance by his calves and riding him hard. Lance’s pheromones increased his stamina, he already knew that from barely being able to keep up with Lance’s heat. Over and over again he drove into his boyfriend, Lance coming across his bouncing belly as Keith kept thrusting, wetness now soaked enough into the bedding his knees were damp. Coming for the second time, Keith finally felt a little calmer. Calm enough to pull out and slump across Lance, mindful of his lover’s precious belly, as he caught his breath. Lance bringing a hand up to rest on his head, long caramel legs wrapped loosely around him. Kissing Lance’s cooling skin, his boyfriend still smelt sweet.

“Babe?”

“Mmm...”

“You okay?”

“Mhmm...”

“Okay”

That was good. Good that Lance was okay. The room smelt of them and their sex, Keith quietly content for now... or at least the next five minutes.

#once bitten twice stupid #oncebittentwicestupid #ashratherose

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thesquireofcheddar · 4 years ago

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A Man Young And Old: I. First Love by William Butler Yeats I Though nurtured like the sailing moon In beauty's murderous brood, She walked awhile and blushed awhile And on my pathway stood Until I thought her body bore A heart of flesh and blood.

But since I laid a hand thereon And found a heart of stone I have attempted many things And not a thing is done, For every hand is lunatic That travels on the moon.

She smiled and that transfigured me And left me but a lout, Maundering here, and maundering there, Emptier of thought Than the heavenly circuit of its stars When the moon sails out.

II Human Dignity Like the moon her kindness is, If kindness I may call What has no comprehension in't, But is the same for all As though my sorrow were a scene Upon a painted wall. So like a bit of stone I lie Under a broken tree. I could recover if I shrieked My heart's agony To passing bird, but I am dumb From human dignity.

III The Mermaid A mermaid found a swimming lad, Picked him for her own, Pressed her body to his body, Laughed; and plunging down Forgot in cruel happiness That even lovers drown.

IV The Death of the Hare I have pointed out the yelling pack, The hare leap to the wood, And when I pass a compliment Rejoice as lover should At the drooping of an eye, At the mantling of the blood. Then' suddenly my heart is wrung By her distracted air And I remember wildness lost And after, swept from there, Am set down standing in the wood At the death of the hare.

V The Empty Cup A crazy man that found a cup, When all but dead of thirst, Hardly dared to wet his mouth Imagining, moon-accursed, That another mouthful And his beating heart would burst. October last I found it too But found it dry as bone, And for that reason am I crazed And my sleep is gone.

VI His Memories We should be hidden from their eyes, Being but holy shows And bodies broken like a thorn Whereon the bleak north blows, To think of buried Hector And that none living knows. The women take so little stock In what I do or say They'd sooner leave their cosseting To hear a jackass bray; My arms are like the twisted thorn And yet there beauty lay; The first of all the tribe lay there And did such pleasure take -- She who had brought great Hector down And put all Troy to wreck -- That she cried into this ear, 'Strike me if I shriek.'

VII The Friends of his Youth Laughter not time destroyed my voice And put that crack in it, And when the moon's pot-bellied I get a laughing fit, For that old Madge comes down the lane, A stone upon her breast, And a cloak wrapped about the stone, And she can get no rest With singing hush and hush-a-bye; She that has been wild And barren as a breaking wave Thinks that the stone's a child. And Peter that had great affairs And was a pushing man Shrieks, 'I am King of the Peacocks,' And perches on a stone; And then I laugh till tears run down And the heart thumps at my side, Remembering that her shriek was love And that he shrieks from pride.

VIII Summer and Spring We sat under an old thorn-tree And talked away the night, Told all that had been said or done Since first we saw the light, And when we talked of growing up Knew that we'd halved a soul And fell the one in t'other's arms That we might make it whole; Then peter had a murdering look, For it seemed that he and she Had spoken of their childish days Under that very tree. O what a bursting out there was, And what a blossoming, When we had all the summer-time And she had all the spring!

IX The Secrets of the Old I have old women's sectets now That had those of the young; Madge tells me what I dared not think When my blood was strong, And what had drowned a lover once Sounds like an old song. Though Margery is stricken dumb If thrown in Madge's way, We three make up a solitude; For none alive to-day Can know the stories that we know Or say the things we say: How such a man pleased women most Of all that are gone, How such a pair loved many years And such a pair but one, Stories of the bed of straw Or the bed of down.

X His Wildness O bid me mount and sail up there Amid the cloudy wrack, For peg and Meg and Paris' love That had so straight a back, Are gone away, and some that stay Have changed their silk for sack. Were I but there and none to hear I'd have a peacock cry, For that is natural to a man That lives in memory, Being all alone I'd nurse a stone And sing it lullaby.

XI From 'Oedipus at Colonus' Endure what life God gives and ask no longer span; Cease to remember the delights of youth, travel-wearied aged man; Delight becomes death-longing if all longing else be vain. Even from that delight memory treasures so, Death, despair, division of families, all entanglements of mankind grow, As that old wandering beggar and these God-hated children know. In the long echoing street the laughing dancers throng, The bride is catried to the bridegroom's chamber through torchlight and tumultuous song; I celebrate the silent kiss that ends short life or long. Never to have lived is best, ancient writers say; Never to have drawn the breath of life, never to have looked into the eye of day; The second best's a gay goodnight and quickly turn away.

#lit

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ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 5 years ago

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All Is Found:Anastasia!AU

Part IX – A Song Someone Sings

Fandom: The Witcher Word Count: 2,081 Rating: G Taglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @jill-makes-art @mynamesoundslikesherlock @kemmastan @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent @mlleecrivaine @coffee-and-stories @amirahiddleston @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @astouract @your-not-invisible-to-me @mycat-is-mylove @daydreamer-in-training a/n: A retelling of Don Bluth’s Anastasia (1997)

{prologue}{part i}{part ii}{part iii}{part iv}{part v}{part vi}{part vii}{part viii}

You closed your eyes and tried to still the frantic beating of your heart that thundered like the waves crashing on the rocks. You’d run out blindly, unsure of where to go but somehow finding your way outside. Once there your feet continued mindlessly and you followed your aimless wanderings until they took you to the oceanside of the major. You’d found a space in the craggy rocks by the ocean where you could stand, well-hidden from the revelry that went on overhead in the glittering palace. The words you’d overheard echoed in your head as you tried to make sense of them, anger ebbing away to grief and confusion.

I was doing it for the reward.

Of course he was. From the start Geralt had made it clear that financial gain was the primary motivation. But it felt cheap and painful now, after all you’d been though. Nowhere near as painful as what he’d said next.

In truth, I didn’t believe she was the princess.

The words twisted like a knife in your heart. He’d thought you were nothing all this time. Maybe that should make you happy, that he’d seemed to show affection for you without expecting the benefits of a title, but it just hurt. You’d liked feeling someone. You’d like having him treat you like you were someone. But it had been an act. An all too convincing act and now you stood on the outskirts of the palace not knowing what to say or do or who to trust. You had a possible grandmother but she was just another stranger. You felt small as you looked out to the sea, so far away from home while also realizing that you didn’t know where home was anymore. You thought you’d found it by Jaskier’s side but like the Belhaven Home and the palace, you’d lost that. And in truth it never really been yours in the first place.

It was cowardly to hide but you didn’t know what to do, allowing yourself to sink onto a rock. You felt alone but if you’d looked behind, even for a moment, you would have known that you were far from it.

-----

Marie didn’t wait for an excuse or explanation from the boy, she simply moved past him and walked out into the hallway. She passed Yennefer and the witcher, drawn by a single goal. She would meet this so-called princess, get it all over with so she couldn’t wonder or worry about the truth later on. The boy had lost her but she knew where she would go if she were feeling overwhelmed. She knew because she’d already gone there several nights throughout her stay in Cidaris, looking out across the sea and admiring its tenacity and cruelty. She wished to be so cruel, so cold-hearted as to not care who lived and died. But that would have made her a poor queen and if nothing else she could say that she fared well in that role for as long as it was hers.

Marie paused as the rocks came into sight, the flowing, dark blue fabric and shimmering capelet visible as the wind pulled it seemingly from the boulders themselves. She knew you stood between them and despite herself she felt a twinge of hope. Some things, it seemed, were unkillable after all.

She made a point to make noise as she approached and the skirt disappeared, withdrawing deeper into the rocks. Once she was within earshot Marie took a deep breath, raised herself to her full height as she had so many times over her lifetime, and looked the unknown head on.

“You may as well come out,” she said in a voice that was stronger than she felt, “That is, after all, why you’re here. Is it not?”

-----

Your hand clutched the pendant the rested on your chest. The voice didn’t sound familiar, but it didn’t sound foreign either. It sounded like a voice you may have heard in a dream or imagined what a grandmother may have sounded like, even if her words were brisk and sharply enunciated. You took a single steadying breath and then stepped out from behind the rocks.

The pair stared at each other. It was hard to look at you, much harder up close than it had been in the ballroom though you were clearly not a ghost. Marie could see the goosebumps on your exposed arms and shoulders and the smudge of makeup that you’d wiped away from your eyes.

“So,” she said, voice a little softer because after all this was a scared child and even if you weren’t her granddaughter, you were someone’s, “I’m told that you are the lost princess.”

“I’m told the same,” you said, voice wavering a little as you looked at the woman in front of you. She was everything you thought a queen should be. She was tall and stood upright and though her hair had gone grey and her eyes spoke to a lifetime of pain and experience she gave off a sense of being utterly in control. The crown on her head was a brazen, unrelenting reference to her role in Toussaint and a final act of rebellion against Nilfgaard. You immediately admired her, but you did not remember her.

“I assume you overheard what the Pankratz boy said?” the queen said. You swallowed hard but, inspired by her regal bearing, you drew yourself up to full height as well and forced yourself to speak.

“I did. And I want you to know that if I’d thought it was a lie, even for a moment, I wouldn’t have come,” you said, desperate for her to know that you meant her no harm. It felt vital that this woman know you would never hurt her, not even if it meant risking yourself pain.

“I believe you,” the woman said with a shadow of a smile flickering over her face for just a moment, “But you do believe you are the princess, then? Which means you believe I am your…”

She couldn’t make herself say it. She’d only ever been one person’s grandmother, one of the few titles she actually gave a shit about. You caught her meaning and nodded.

“I should tell you now that I don’t remember you,” you said, “I know he told you everything I could say, probably more convincingly, but if they were hoping that us meeting would trigger some sudden revelation I’m sorry to disappoint.”

Marie moved in closer and you started, but did not move away, letting her get so close she could see the curve of your nose and the flecks of color in your irises and the little tuft of hair by your ear that never did lay straight. She wordlessly raised a hand and pressed it down, a genuine smile alighting her face when it stuck back up stubbornly. She then glanced down to the pendant around your neck and the smile froze. You followed her gaze and moved to take the chain off without a second thought. You handed it to her and then realized what you’d done, a moment of panic before you felt an odd sense of ease. When she held it you didn’t feel scared that she’d take it or like you were losing the one thing you had tying you to your family. Surely that meant something. Surely that had to count for something.

“Do you… you probably don’t remember when I gave this to you,” Marie said, looking up to your eyes for confirmation and you shook your head.

“You were so excited,” she continued, “It was our last tea together before the party. Our last tea together forever. I wish I’d known. I would’ve… well… there’s no point to that line of thinking. There are so many things I would do over if given the chance but we don’t live in that world, do we?”

You shook your head no and swallowed hard.

“The pendant was a promise, as I’m sure you’ve read and understood. How strange to see it here again, of all places. I showed you how to wind the music box and you were delighted to watch your parents dancing. And when I told you that you would be coming to Cidaris with me within the month-”

“The week,” you corrected, surprising yourself as you did.

“What?”

“You said it would be within the week.”

Your eyes were trained on her hands that still held the chain, the pendant’s words visible and nestled in her leathery palm.

“You said my parents had business to take care of and I didn’t care, didn’t think about what they’d be doing or worry about being apart from them. I was so excited. I wanted to have an adventure so badly and it felt right that you were the one to take me. They always said I was just like you, when you were younger.”

You reached out and gently caressed the pendant and Marie’s hand clasped over yours, the pendant pressed between your hands. When you looked up into her eyes there were tears in them, a strange sight in a face that had seemed so impassive just moments before. Her other hand rose shakily to your face and you were surprised when she wiped tears away, unaware you were crying until that moment.

“Y/N? Y/N is it truly you?” she asked.

“Oh fuck,” you breathed, “I think it is. I mean – I think I am.”

She was fiercely strong, far stronger than you every expected someone her age to be, her arms pulling you against her so tightly you feared you would hurt her but she only clung to you tighter and you instinctively returned the gesture. She clasped the back of your head with one hand and gently rocked you where you stood, muscle memory taking over as she held you in your arms. Bigger now, bigger than she’d ever held you before, but the eyes that wept into her shoulder were the same eyes she’d gazed into when you were an infant and a small child. The eyes, wide and afraid and confused, that she’d looked into before losing you forever. But even forever had an end.

You clenched a fistful of her gown, ornaments digging into your skin painfully, and the more tenderly she stroked your hair or murmured your name, repeating it over and over like a song, the harder you cried. When you imagined finding your family you’d pictured embraces and tears but the fear you felt was new, and the sensation that you were travelling through time. You felt certain if you opened your eyes you would be a little girl, clutching a necklace and excitedly babbling about packing and ships. When you did open them you saw only the sea through the mist of her grey hair that obscured your view and you felt it. You felt it so fiercely, so certainly, that it nearly left you breathless. As your grandmother held you in her arms, you felt that you’d come home.

-----

Stregobor watched from the depths, obscured by a simple illusion. It was a touching scene, the reunion of Marie Thyssen and Y/N Y/LN. He could have done it then but something held him back. Perhaps patience, perhaps a streak of spite that told him if he killed you now, the dowager queen would simply walk into the sea, but he had plans for her. He would not let the woman who had ruined his victory end her own suffering, and more to the point he would not let a bargaining chip be wasted so quickly. He listened until they walked out of view.

‘We have much to discuss, you will stay with me in my room. Gods knows there’s enough room.’

‘I-I don’t know if I’m ready to meet the rest of the family…’

‘Oh no, I’m keeping you all to myself for now. Never worry, dearest, I won’t fail you twice.’

‘You didn’t f…’

Their words were lost in the wind and a sharp smile carved its way across Stregobor’s face. Let them have a few hours. Let them fall into a peaceful sleep. He turned back to the hidden door and let himself in, back into the inner walls of the palace which he’d grown to know like the back of his hand. Y/N would fall asleep a princess but she would not wake to see the day as one.

#All Is Found series #Anastasia!AU #The Witcher!AU #sorry it's been 100 years kiddos #we're nearing the endddd

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elmidol · 4 years ago

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The Face of War (NSFW)

Three Blind Tooke Part One Resistance is Futile

Read on AO3

Warnings: injury, mild violence, noncon, dubcon

Three Blind Tooke Part One: Resistance is Futile Chapter Twelve: The Face of War

All alone we are together, And together we are alone.

You stared blankly at the wall across from you. Days. You knew it had been days since you had seen Kylo Ren, and yet you were not certain exactly how many had transpired. Rather than feed you real meals, you were given nutrients through your IV. You wondered if you were going to develop a bladder infection, once more being forced to endure a catheter. You startled at the sound of the door opening. A stormtrooper, you figured. Or else a physician to check your vitals. Maybe even a cleaning droid. Those ignored you whenever they entered. Footsteps told you that it was a visitor of the fleshy kind.

In your peripheral there was a blackness. You glanced to the side with your eyes alone, your mouth opening a minute amount when you took in the identity of your visitor. Your captor. He did not seem to glance your way in the least. “You’ve finally stopped crying.” His altered voice was becoming more familiar to you than his real one. You knew that this was the case for many; it wasn’t as though you were special, you reminded yourself. Replaceable. Not enough to satisfy his sick cravings. “Urvno informed me that your eyes were raw…irritated. Have the drops worked for you then?” It was only then that he lifted his head, his visor pointed in the direction of your face.

“You’re wretched,” you whispered, thinking of the metaphorical punch to the gut he had delivered with his admission. He made no response. You were no stranger to his gaze, to his silence. “How long have I been here?”

“Six cycles.” You felt something brush along your mind; there were no tendrils of pain this time, yet you still found yourself flinching. A strange, almost clicking noise filtered out of his mouthpiece. He stepped closer, his face directly in front of yours. “You’re funny, tooke.”

You clenched your teeth, fighting off the urge to cry. “Glad I can amuse you,” you hissed out.

“You believe I have been having sex with another. It’s funny.” You furrowed your brow, not sure why he found it amusing, and confused as to why he had phrased things as he had. Kylo Ren tilted his head to the side. “I said, ‘Your body is replaceable, tooke’—it is. ‘Do you believe you are my only form of entertainment?’—you are not. Two separate issues.”

“Yet conveniently strung together,” you bit out, your heart hammering in your chest and ears.

“You called me unlovable…so why should you feel betrayed, even if that had been the case?” He was practically touching you, his body and mask so close to you. Your breath fogged against his mouthpiece, condensation forming along it. “You were speaking of wishes. Your need for me to be unlovable, for you to not be seduced, to not care…for me. You’ve missed me.” Now his body did press up into yours. You tensed against your restraints at his touch. His hands were set on the table on either side of your face.

You turned your face to the side so that your breath was no longer hitting against his mask. He pressed the cool metal, more tolerable in temperature due to your breath yet at the same time moist because of it, to your cheek. He stood there for a number of seconds. You did not look his way, keeping your gaze on the metal walls of the ship you were in. After several more seconds of your silence and his, Kylo Ren stepped away from you. Your eyes turned to him and followed the man until he walked out of your line of sight. You could hear the doors opening, his heavy footsteps once more, and then the door closed and those stomping boots faded into the distance.

Hours later when the door next opened, you listened more intently. It was a mere cleaning droid, however. You watched as it did what it was programmed to do. It left not long after it entered, and you were once more alone.

It doesn’t matter whether or not he was with another woman. It means nothing. He’s my enemy. My enemy…enemy…

The doors opened once more. This time Urvno had entered along with a stormtrooper. Your catheter was removed, as was the IV. When you were readied, Urvno turned you over to the ‘trooper. He escorted you to one of the refreshers on the Finalizer. You were allowed a quick shower, during which time you were given a razor to shave. After you were finished, you were dressed in a long black shirt that slipped a little past your thighs. A black bra and underwear as well. That was all.

Officers and stormtroopers alike looked your way when you were escorted down the hallways and corridors of the Finalizer. More than one whistled, and more than one referred to you as a Resistance whore along with stating the crude things they would do to you. You did your best to not shrink at such catcalls and their leers, however you found it difficult to hold your head up high.

Rather than being taken to Kylo Ren’s quarters as you had believed you would be, you were instead escorted to medbay. Once there, you were placed in a secluded area, away from the members of the First Order. A nurse came, took your vitals and trimmed your nails. You then waited for a few minutes before the attending physician drew the curtain closed prior to drawing your blood and performing a pap smear. You winced your way through the physical, trying to retain at least some of your dignity. It was only when this was completed that you were taken to the more familiar portion of the Star Destroyer. You entered Kylo Ren’s quarters without complaint, the stormtrooper pushing you forward regardless of this. Your bare feet hit against the ground noisily, and you hardly had a chance to look over your shoulder before the door closed.

Turning back around to see what was in front of you, you found yourself stilling completely. The book had not been moved from its place on the floor. It did, however, have a boot print on it as well as other evidence that Kylo Ren had walked across it. As if he did not care about it in the least. Your eyes darted about the room, yet you could find no evidence of the man being present. You slowly, hesitantly, made your way to the book. You knelt down on the ground, your fingers brushing over the object. It was torn in a few places, his careless footsteps across it having ripped part of the binding. You scooped it up and wrapped both of your arms around it, cradling the book to your stomach.

It was the only thing that was yours, even if it had been given to you by him; even if he had stomped on it and treated it poorly in your absence.

The door to the refresher opened. Your attention was drawn to the man, who was at last devoid of his robes and helmet. He was covered by a mere towel around his waist, another on his shoulders, which he had evidently been using to pat-dry his hair. His eyes darted to you for but a moment before he turned his attention elsewhere. He crossed the room, taking out clothing. You watched him tug on his pants before he allowed the towel to drop to the floor. The one around his shoulders remained for only a few seconds longer. This, too, was discarded in a similar fashion.

He was saying nothing to you, practically ignoring the fact that you were even in the room. You soon stood, climbed into the chair, and curled up while opening the book. The feel of the crisp paper felt almost foreign. For so long you had read material on a datapad, as it was slim and more easily carried while traveling as you did. You ran your fingers along the page, flashes of your childhood entering your mind’s eye.

A hand entered your peripheral milliseconds before the book was lifted out of your grasp. You made a small noise of protest, turning only to find the man seizing the book on either side with his hands. The muscles in his arms tensed and flexed as he tore the book down the middle. He placed the two halves one atop the other and ripped it once more. You stared dumbly as the pieces fluttered to the floor, and Kylo Ren swerved his hip past the arm of the chair as he made his way over to where he had set his helmet upon the bed.

Your chest heaved, and you slid off the chair and onto your knees, your hands touching portions of the ruined book. Kylo Ren did not place his helmet on his head, though he cradled it in his arm. He made his way back to his closet, tugging out the remainder of his outfit. Once more he was ignoring you. You splayed your hands along the floor, atop the pieces of the only belonging you had had. A single hiccup shook your body. You swallowed thickly, held your breath, and were able to hold off any other such spasms.

You looked over at Kylo Ren, who had pulled on a shirt and was in the process of tugging on his boots. “I…hate you,” you said, feeling yourself starting to cry. “I really hate you.” Still, he did not utter a single syllable. Finished with his boots, he began to dress the rest of the way. You rose on shaky legs and trudged over to him. By then, the only thing he was missing was his helmet. Those dark orbs flew to your face when you braced yourself, readying a fist to strike him. You froze up instantly.

He stepped sideways a little as he turned so that your bodies were facing one another. His hands lifted, slipping under your shirt, his fingers hooking into your panties, which he tugged so that they fell. You then stepped backwards in retreat, however he did not allow you to put any distance between the two of you. Once more he was a predator, you his prey. His body moved with such precision, with such grace, that you found yourself scrambling quicker. His strides lengthened, and then he was on you, pinning you to the bed with a hand pressing down on your abdomen. His other limb had parted your legs, and he had dropped to his knees so that he could bury his face between your thighs.

His tongue thrust up into you, and you gasped and then gulped at the intrusion. You unconsciously ground against his face, and he rewarded your desperation with a flick of his tongue to your clit. When you regained your senses and tried to pull away from him, the hand on your stomach pressed more tightly.

“Stop! I hate you! Stop it!” Your stomach was swimming, intense heat and arousal pooling between your legs. Kylo Ren was moaning, his entire mouth enveloping you. You tried to arch your back, tried to get him to take more of you when he started to concentrate on smaller portions at a time. You could feel him smirking against your cunt. Your inner walls gripped at nothing, the want for something to be buried in you again making you whimper when instead he pulled fully away. Kylo Ren used the end of your shirt to wipe his face then stood. You were still panting as you observed him cross the room, watched as he pulled on his helmet, and nearly cried in frustration when he exited his quarters, leaving your body craving his touch.

You cursed him, cursed yourself, when you squeezed your eyes closed and reached between your legs. You awkwardly pressed two fingers near your entrance, hesitated, and then moved them into you. It felt strange; nowhere near as good as when he was finger-fucking you. You withdrew the digits almost immediately, turned on your side, and stared down at the pieces of your ripped book. You pushed off the bed and walked over to the items that so held your attention. Dropping to your knees in front of them, you started to pull all the pieces towards one another.

It was not as though you could repair the book on a permanent basis; you had no adhesives with which to stick all the pieces together again. Still, you attempted to arrange them correctly. You lined each piece up together as you would a puzzle, working them all into a cohesive picture. Tears started to well up in your eyes, which were still a little raw from all the crying you had done over the past six days.

At last admitting to yourself the impossibility of the task, you picked up all the pieces, entered the refresher, and placed the ruined book into the trash. You then looked around yourself, wondering what you could possibly use as a weapon. Your eyes stopped on your reflection. You grabbed the hand towel from off its hook, wrapped it around your hand, and made a fist. With this, you struck the mirror. It took you a few more tries to get it to crack in a way that allowed you to pry off a piece you could utilize.

You removed the towel from your fist, setting the cloth on the counter before picking up the mirror shard and walking out of the refresher. You moved, once more, to the chair. The shard of glass had dug a bit into your flesh by the time you heard bootsteps coming from the other side of the door. You glanced down at your hand, at the blood that was beginning to drip, and then released a steady breath to strengthen your resolve. You stood from the chair, crossing the room so that when the door opened you were able to strike at him.

Kylo Ren took a step backwards, catching your wrist when the glass was a mere inch from his neck. You trembled in his grasp, waiting for him to squeeze your wrist as he had done so many times in the past. Waiting for him to break it. He raised his other hand, unhooking your fingers from the glass, which remained in your hand, embedded in your flesh from your tight grip on it. He worked it carefully out, more blood spilling now that nothing was obscuring its path. The man stepped forward, forcing you to walk backwards. He steered you in the direction of the refresher, nearly shoving you inside.

You were still waiting for him to break your wrist, to dislocate it—anything! His visor was pointed in the direction of the portion of the mirror you had broken as he reached for the knob and turned on the faucet. He stuck your hand underneath the spray, and you hissed out in pain, jumping at the contact. Kylo Ren seized a fresh towel from a drawer after turning off the water, wrapped the cloth around your hand, and practically dragged you by the wrist back into the other room. He shoved you onto the bed, at which point he finally relinquished his hold on your wrist. You allowed your limb to drop to your lap, staring at the towel wrapped around it while Kylo Ren took out a commlink and placed a call. You could hear him speaking to Urvno, telling the man to report to his quarters along with a kit.

“Aren’t you mad?” you asked in a very quiet voice. “I tried to kill you. Aren’t you mad?”

You were met with pure silence. It was not until Urvno entered Kylo Ren’s quarters that anything was said. Even then, your captor addressed only the physician, stating that you had sliced your hand on glass. While Urvno was sterilizing the area so that he could stitch it up, Kylo Ren used his commlink once more, this time to call a repair team to tend to the broken mirror. When he made the next call, you felt your stomach sink. Mittens and chains, much like you had been forced to endure in the beginning of your captivity.

The repair crew came, immediately entering the refresher with the purpose of removing completely the broken mirror. You watched them as they walked through his quarters, attempting to ignore the stormtrooper that entered, the aforementioned bindings in his hands. The mitten for your injured hand, you noticed, was different than the other. It would allow your wound to breathe, to heal properly. Everyone in the room addressed Kylo Ren as ‘Sir’ or ‘Lord Ren’. One used the title of ‘Commander’. Such respect and fear. Fear so palpable you could taste it. The stormtrooper stepped forward when Urvno had finished with his task. The mittens and restraints were put into place. You did not fight in the least, only hung your head and stared at the floor.

A new mirror was not brought it, though the repair crew informed Kylo Ren that they would ready one immediately. Urvno lingered for a minute or so before dismissing himself. On his way out, he informed the man that he would be wanting to keep an eye on your wound to see that it healed properly. One by one they all left. You were alone with Kylo Ren, alone in the silence that hung between the two of you.

“Are you—“

“It upset you that I ripped the book.” He sounded almost curious, and you found that you could form no words all of a sudden. “Why?”

“It…it was the only…the only thing that was mine.”

His shoulders slumped the slightest bit as he released what sounded to be a sigh. Kylo Ren lifted his hands so that he could remove his helmet, which he placed down. He stepped closer before moving onto the bed next to you. You dropped your gaze to your hand. It throbbed, and you wondered a little why you had not kept the towel around your hand when you were wielding the shard of glass. You brought your legs up onto the bed, shifting so that you could turn and lay on your side. Your shirt was riding up, and you had never put back on your panties.

You felt the bed shifting, moving in ways that indicated he was readjusting his clothing. You squeezed your eyes closed, opening them not long later when he aligned his body along yours. He wasn’t naked, you realized. He had removed his boots and robe, however he still wore his other clothing. Kylo Ren snaked an arm around you. You waited to see what he would do. He only laid there, holding you.

“I…I’m…hungry…” He rolled over in order to seize the commlink, which he used to order that food was brought for the two of you. “Aren’t you mad?” Kylo Ren turned you onto your back, your arms pinned to your sides due to the way the chain caught along you. His brown eyes ran along your face, his expression completely neutral. “I tried to kill you.”

“You never claimed to attempt otherwise.” He set his mouth to your throat, placing wet kisses against it. You remained perfectly still, your brow furrowed and eyes staring up at the ceiling. You waited, wondering when he was going to kiss his way down your body. It was what he always did, you reasoned. Yet your throat apparently held much appeal for him. He suckled it, nipped, and you could feel him beginning to leave hickeys on you. When he did begin to shift, it was upwards, his lips sealing over yours. He paused upon noticing your look of confusion. His lips parted, and you guessed he would have spoken had the droid not entered his quarters with the food.

As the droid set up the food on a tray, Kylo Ren assisted you in moving back up into a sitting position. You rolled your arms, which had started to fall asleep due to how they had been pinned. You looked at the food that had been brought, wondering how you were meant to eat. It was not as though you could lift the utensils, your hands covered as they were. Kylo Ren lifted a fork, stabbed it into the meat, and then held the bite out to you. It had been quite some time since you had been forced to endure this. You scowled, however obediently opened your mouth for him to slide the bite inside.

It was as you were chewing on your fourth bite that he spoke up. “You have stated that there is no love between us…why should it matter if I had been intimate with another?”

Unsure of the answer to this inquiry, you simply swallowed and waited for the next forkful. It did not come. Kylo Ren was staring at you expectantly. You ducked your head, eyeing the food hungrily and wishing to avoid the conversation. He stabbed the prongs of the fork into a bite, lifted it, and as you were opening your mouth to accept it, you found that he instead slipped it into his own mouth. You felt the muscles in your legs tense, as though telling you to spring at him, to attack him for the food. You were by no means starving, however you were more than a little hungry after not being fed for the majority of the cycle. He fed you the next bite, which caused you to once more relax.

Kylo Ren gestured towards the glass filled with what appeared to be juice. You nodded, allowing him to place the rim to your lips and help you drink. “Would you like something sweet, tooke?” Your pupils grew wide, and you could have sworn your heart skipped a beat. How long had it been, aside from the drugged hot chocolate, since you had last had something sweet? What would he want you to give up in return? Rather than ask for anything, however, he set aside the lid to the other plate, which you had previously believed held his dinner. Instead there were a few cookies, which had your mouth watering. He picked one up from the plate and offered it to you. You stared at it, unsure if you could trust him. As though he were reading your thoughts, his lips quirked upwards. “It’s safe,” he said, a sort of teasing lilt gracing his voice.

You swallowed thickly before at last leaning forward and biting into the cookie. A small noise of pleasure left you, and you closed your eyes while relishing in the rich flavor. After you swallowed, you looked up at his face. The cookie remained between the two of you, his hand holding it ready for you to take a second bite. “Why?”

“Perhaps you’re more hurtful than you realize—or you intended to be so,” he said, resting the cookie against your lips so that you took another bite into your mouth. “I have always appreciated and respected the fight in you…but never the lies.” You chewed without commenting, listening to him speak. He was being civil, and thus you found that you could not deny him a proper audience. “You’re desperate, tooke… Lonely.” Your heart started to pound against your chest. “Terrified that you would serve the cause I am a part of if you did not push me away. The book wasn’t yours. You never accepted it, not for what it was.”

“What it was?” you asked, your mouth at last empty of food.

“A simple act of kindness. Something for you to hold.” His voice was passionless, as if he had personally moved on from the ordeal but was humoring you with an explanation. “You did not accept it, but instead lashed out with your lies.” Kylo Ren started to tilt his head to the side. “You interpreted my response different than I thought you would. It hurt you.” He knit his brow at this final portion, confusion once more lacing his voice.

“I don’t… I don’t know why it hurt. It shouldn’t have. You’re my enemy.” He offered you the final portion of the cookie, and you took it. Kylo Ren was patient as ever, waiting for you to finish chewing so that you could complete your response. “Why did it hurt?” You looked towards your injured hand, imagining the tattoo underneath before glancing at its twin and thinking of the same thing. “I don’t have any sort of romantic feelings for you.”

“Yet you care for me.” He said it with as much confusion as you felt. Why would you care for him? You pitied him, and that you could accept. But to care for him in any form, enough so that it had hurt you when you believed he was being intimate with another?

“You’re the only one I’ve ever…” been with wasn’t quite correct. Had sex with was more accurate, yet still not quite it either. “…had such…experiences with.” It went beyond the sex in some respects. He had been in your mind, seen the views you had thrown his way to deter him from taking what information he had wanted from you. Things from your childhood that you hadn’t spoken with to anyone, or hadn’t shared in quite a number of years. There was a certain intimacy in it that went beyond a physical union. “But…you aren’t mad that I tried to kill you?”

“I had anticipated it.” His gaze fell to the mittens. “But not such a foolish course. Perhaps you’re losing your touch.” His lips quirked up into a sort of smirk. “Do you still hate me?”

“I don’t…know. Sometimes. You’re still killing…killing all my…comrades.”

“All the while they’re murdering mine.”

“I’m aware. I never claimed this was black and white. It’s war.” His mouth met yours, and you did not pull away. You allowed your eyelids to descend partway, though you did not respond otherwise nor return the kiss. When he cupped your cheek, however, you gave him a single kiss, a sort of gesture of appreciation for his kindness—the cookie, the fact that he had not responded to your attempt on his life with violence. He tensed, you could feel him stiffen as though he wasn’t sure how to respond to the fact that you were, even if only momentarily, an active participant. You had taken him off guard. “Why are you keeping me here still? You don’t need me anymore.” You met his eye. “I know nothing about the final cell.”

“You may believe that to be true, tooke, but I know otherwise. The smallest of clues… The First Order will find the other Resistance splinter cell using you as a guide.”

“Dreadful,” you muttered with distaste. “Monstrous deeds.”

“It’s war,” he repeated simply then kissed you.

[All is fair in love and war; Yet they claim life is not fair. Such strange contradictions they tell, When wars are our lives everywhere.]

#kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #three blind tooke #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren smut #resistance is futile #elmidolfanfic

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