#also as a bright blue eyed person literally no one is immune to the blue eyed stare 😔

[rainbowpufflez]

More things for moots >:3 this time @johnbleepingzoidberg ‘s PerfWorld fankid Valentin Sycamore !!!

Also I couldn’t help myself

[tsarisfanfiction]

Grounded pt4

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Scott, Tracy Family

7k words later and this thing that was supposed to be a short explanation for what I saw as a plot hole in Venom is finally at an end. Got rather out of hand but since when is that unusual with fics? This’ll be proof read, edited, and then posted on AO3/FFN soon; I’m still undecided if I should chapter split it or have it all as a oneshot but it won’t be exactly as it’s been split here because I’ve posted this as I wrote it.

Someone mentioned ‘what if the ep was really like this’ so I’ll reiterate some of my earlier notes: this fic is a reaction to the lack of TB1 or Scott doing any sort of piloting in the S3 Venom despite it being a rescue where speed was important.  All the events in part 2 fit around the events we see in the episode seamlessly (I literally watched it in 5 sec bursts as I was writing to make sure of that), so to them and everyone else who thought that: this fic is designed to be that episode, just viewed through a different lens.  And then I made it worse after the episode was over because why not.

The reaction to this has been fantastic so far, way beyond anything I expected!  Thanks for that, and I hope you enjoy this last installment as much as the rest of it.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

There was a steady beeping, calm and methodical.  Beep… beep… beep… it went, more of a reassurance than an irritant to the dregs of his consciousness.  Scott recognised it, but couldn’t place it, and found himself more interested in the fresh air flowing around his mouth and nose.  That was more immediately familiar, a constant from his last bout of consciousness, and it didn’t take his stirring brain long to label it as a rebreather.

Was that really necessary? Frowning slightly, he lifted a hand to his face and tugged the machine away, fresh air replaced with warmer air that had just the faintest tang.  The air of the sea.  He’d been on Thunderbird Two, but Thunderbird Two’s air didn’t taste of warmth and salt, rather the recycled air of an enclosed plane in flight, crisp and just a little bit off.  If this wasn’t Thunderbird Two and he was tasting sea air, there was only one place he could possibly be.

He smiled, hand still holding the rebreather falling to his side limply.  He was home.

Opening his eyes was a little more of a challenge, eyelids still heavy and eyelashes catching on each other, but as he blinked his way into awareness, beads of moisture forming in the corners of his eyes but not falling, he realised that he was almost sitting upright, the bed raised to its full extent so he was facing the wall with its fake holographic window rather than the plain and boring ceiling.

Scott appreciated that, letting the rebreather fall from his fingers as he wiped the sleep and moisture from his eyes.  He’d spent far too many hours staring at the ceiling that never changed, and at least the hologram could change.  The actual reasoning behind his positioning was more likely his rib, which Scott would worry about later.  It wasn’t his rib that had tried to kill him, and he looked down at his left arm.

A neat band-aid – a childish one, decorated with bright red biplanes soaring across a blue background that he’d always fought for as a kid – stood out against his bare skin, just below the elbow, and he smiled, wondering which of his brothers was responsible for that one.  On that same forearm he also saw a cannula, attached to tubing with translucent liquid passing through, and grimaced.  He never liked being on a drip.

He was no longer in his uniform.  Part of him – the part that contained his pride – bristled at that, wondering who had stripped him while he was unconscious and why, but the clothes he was wearing were comfortable, well-worn, and unmistakable as his favourite pyjamas even without him looking at them.  His comfort-pyjamas, although he was fairly certain he’d never made the mistake of letting that slip to anyone.  The ones he turned to whenever things got particularly rough, a plain unassuming dark grey with worn patches from the times he’d needed all the support he could get.

It could just be a coincidence, although Scott was uncomfortably aware that if there was one person he couldn’t keep anything truly secret from it was John, but whatever the reason, he was glad of them now.  There was nothing like comfort clothes after a near-death experience.

Considering he’d just had a near-death experience, the lack of anyone in the room with him was somewhat unusual.  Virgil in particular he’d expected to see, his younger brother blaming himself for bringing him out on the mission even before he’d been bitten, let alone afterwards. Kayo hovering unassumedly in the corner, sharp eyes full of concern.  John flickering by his side, watching him for the slightest change. Grandma, retired from caring for strangers but never too old to stay up all night with her family.

Scott eyed the drip. If none of his family were with him, physically or virtually, then that meant something else was going on that trumped his condition.  In their family, there was very little that trumped an unconscious brother or grandson. And if they weren’t with him, he had no intentions of staying put.

He’d removed drips hundreds of times – his own and other peoples’.  By this point, he had it down to an art, even if his sneaky family had tried to make it harder on him by putting it in his dominant arm; there were benefits to being ambidextrous.  He reached across with his right hand, fingers gently probing the needle, and had just found the sweet spot when there was the unmistakable hsss of the door sliding open.

“What do you think you’re doing, young man?” Grandma demanded, striding in and gently but firmly forcing him to release his grip.  “That’s there for a reason.”

“Hey, Grandma,” he greeted, grinning at her and ignoring that she’d just caught him trying to escape. “How long was I asleep?”

“Your siblings brought you back four and a half hours ago,” she told him, picking up the discarded rebreather and placing it on the bedside table before perching on the bed.  Scott watched her carefully, accepting the hand cupping his cheek as a thumb swiped at what was presumably some sleep he’d missed.  “Trust you to wake up the one time I have to use the toilet.  This old bladder can’t hold it in like it used to.”

Scott grimaced good-naturedly at the tmi and she chuckled at him, patting his cheek lightly twice before letting her hand rest.

“You gave us all a scare there, Scott,” she said softly, eyes running over him once before meeting his own.  “You don’t have to try and beat Gordon on that score, you know.  It’s okay to let someone else have that crown.”

“I’d appreciate it if he never gave me another scare in my life,” Scott admitted, before glancing around the room again.  “Where are they, anyway?  Not to sound self-centred, but I don’t usually wake up here alone.”

“Alan and Kayo are dealing with a stalled freighter just outside of orbit and Gordon and Virgil are responding to a sinking cargo ship,” Grandma told him.  “They’ll all be back soon, and delighted to know you’ve decided to re-join the land of the living.”  She tangled her fingers with his, pressing them to her chest with a hand that was almost trembling.  “It was a close call, Scott.  Your brother almost didn’t make it in time.”

His brother? Virgil?  John?  John had had a plan, he remembered that much, although he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard the details.  Wait…

“I heard Thunderbird One,” he said, recalling the roar that had soothed him to sleep like a purr.  It could have been a figment of his imagination, but he didn’t think so.  A smile spread across his grandmother’s face.

“Of course you did,” she laughed.  “You boys and your machines.  Well on your way to see your mother and you still recognised your ‘bird.”  The smile was bright for a moment before it dimmed again. “Alan flew all the way to a lab in China to collect a dose of the antivenom before rendezvousing with Thunderbird Two to deliver it.  I’ve never seen that ‘bird fly so fast without you in the hotseat.”

Alan.  Scott could well imagine his youngest brother, face screwed up in concentration and fear, sat in the pilot’s seat.  The idea tied a knot in his chest, but at the same time there was pride, and an unexpected thankfulness for the rib injury that had kept him grounded and subsequently given Alan more flight hours in his ‘bird. Without that…

Without that, he might well have died.  The realisation doused him like cold water, his eyes leaving his grandmother’s to stare blindly at his lap.  He’d known he was dying, remembered a desperate fight against whispered promises of the stars and seeing his Mom again, but sitting in the infirmary, home and safe, it carried a different weight.

“Oh, Scott,” Grandma whispered, releasing his hand and cheek only to draw him in to a careful hug around his shoulders.  “It’s okay. It’s over.”  After a moment his hands found the back of her always there purple onesie, fisting around the fabric as his head rested in the crook of her neck.  “It’s okay.”

There was the slightest of cracks in her voice, a reminder that no matter how much steel she was made of, she wasn’t immune to the idea of loss.  Her parents, long ago, before Scott’s memories began.  Her husband, daughter in law.  Her son, who might still be alive and waiting for them.

“I’m okay,” he repeated, as much for her benefit as his.  “I’m okay.”

Her hand found the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair softly as though he was a young boy woken from a nightmare again.  It was the sort of treatment she didn’t give him in front of his brothers, knowing that he preferred to keep up the illusion of strength in front of them, no matter what.

“I want you to take it easy,” she told him after a minute or so, releasing him and instead gripping his hands in hers.  One pair was trembling, but he didn’t know if it was his or hers.  “I know that’s not in your vocabulary, but I refuse to let you throw yourself back in harms’ way until you’re fully recovered after what happened today.”

“But-” Scott protested, complaints and reasons why he shouldn’t be bedbound queuing up one after the other on the tongue.  A single look from his grandmother quelled them all before he could vocalise any.

“If you can’t do it for the sake of your own recovery,” she said, something in her voice implying that she thought he should treat himself better – he treated himself fine! – “then do it for our peace of mind, Scott.  We were all terrified when we heard what happened. Virgil was stuck watching you slip away with no way of stopping it.  That fear doesn’t magically go away, Scott.  We all know that.”

He was saved from answering by the swish of the door opening again.  He glanced over, wondering who it could be when he hadn’t heard any Thunderbirds come in to land.  Brains and the Mechanic were the only others on the island, and while it wasn’t unusual for Brains to check up on the infirmary, Scott didn’t want the Mechanic near him in his current condition.

It wasn’t the Mechanic. It wasn’t Brains, either – or MAX, for that matter.

“h’Oh, you’re h’awake!” Parker said with a surprised but delighted grin as he fumbled his way into the room carrying a tray laden with food.  “h’I was just bringing food for Mrs Tracy…” he trailed off, but continued to approach the bed.

“Parker, you shouldn’t have,” Grandma smiled, releasing one of Scott’s hands to move the rebreather off of the bedside table.  The older man set the tray down before stepping up to Scott’s side.  He didn’t reach for him, keeping his hands loosely behind his back, but sharp blue eyes raked him up and down.

“’Ow are you feeling?” he asked after a moment.

“I’m fine,” Scott replied, ignoring the eye roll from his grandmother, who clearly didn’t agree with his assessment.  Aside from some token weariness, which he knew was normal after a spell of time unconscious, he really did feel perfectly fine.  Even his rib wasn’t bothering him.

“h’I suppose that’s because you’re h’on the good stuff,” Parker shrugged, making Scott pause.  He should have realised that, especially after all the trouble his ribs had given him on the mission.  The temptation was there to ask how badly his recovery had been set back, but that would have just given Grandma even more ammunition to stay in bed. Besides, he’d be told eventually. Of more immediate interest was Parker’s unexpected visit.

“What brings you to the island, Parker?” he asked, glancing around the room again.  “I don’t see Lady Penelope around?”

“M’Lady’s in the lounge,” Parker told him.  “We came ‘ere to drop off the Centurion-21 fuel for Brains, but ‘eard h’about you and M’Lady requested to stay h’a while.”

“You’re always welcome here,” Grandma reminded him, and Scott smiled in agreement.  “Is she making any progress?”

“h’I couldn’t say for sure,” Parker shrugged.  “But I know M’Lady and Master John won’t stop h’until they get their way.”

Scott frowned.  Combined, John and Lady Penelope were an almost unstoppable force, but he couldn’t think of any reason for that tag-team, not right now.

“What are they doing?” he asked, because anything that big, he needed to know about.  Especially if working on that was a higher priority for John than checking in on him – John, the brother who was too used to sitting out of the loop and firmly inserted himself virtually into any situation with a brother operating at less than one hundred percent.  Scott knew he wasn’t at one hundred percent, not even by his own standards.

“Making sure today’s events never happen again,” Grandma answered, curling her hand back around his again.

Today’s events. The rescue?  Him being bitten?  That was all bad luck, how could they possibly ensure it never happened again? Although, he supposed, if anyone could, it would be the duo currently working on it.

His confusion must have shown on his face, because Parker took it upon himself to explain.  “h’It transpires that the reason the ‘ospital ran h’out of h’antivenom was a funding problem,” he said, sounding somewhat unimpressed.  Scott didn’t blame him – whenever money was the problem, he found himself wanting to strangle whoever had decided lining their pockets was more important than human lives. “M’Lady h’is setting up a charity to make sure all ‘ospitals can ‘ave all the h’antivenoms they need.”  Admirable and welcome, but that didn’t explain John’s involvement.  He certainly hadn’t been needed in any of her past charity ventures.

“So what’s John doing?” he asked, hoping his brother was not ruining whoever had decided money was more important than lives.  It wouldn’t be the first time, and while Scott agreed that they deserved it, sometimes John could go a little too far.

“Arranging for International Rescue to have our own stock of all known antivenoms,” Grandma told him, squeezing his hands gently.  “We might not be able to stop spiders sneaking into our Thunderbirds, or you boys throwing yourselves in front of each other, but there is no reason why you should have had to suffer for an hour because you didn’t have the right antivenom on hand.”

That made sense, and Scott nodded his approval.  International Rescue did have a stock of common antivenoms, as well as everything they needed to deal with the local fauna on Tracy Island, but if they could broaden that, at least to the most dangerous venoms, it would only be a good thing.

It was also a typical John reaction – finding out why something had gone wrong and immediately finding a way to stop it happening again.  That, at least, told Scott that John was okay.  If he’d found a solution to the problem then he would be satisfied. No doubt Scott would find himself under close holographic scrutiny in the near future so John could see for himself that he really was fine, but with a solution the what-ifs wouldn’t be playing on his mind.

His other siblings would be less easily pacified.  He had no idea what Gordon knew, having not seen his water-loving brother at all that day thanks to a fishing trawler in trouble, but Virgil and Kayo would be kicking themselves black and blue, and Alan would be stuck in the what if I’d been too late loop.  Scott knew that feeling very well indeed.

He hadn’t yet decided if the fact that it had launched rather than exploded made the fact that he’d reached the Zero-X too late better or worse.  He wasn’t sure he’d ever decide.

“Still, I think we’d better let them know you’ve woken up,” Grandma said, releasing his hands.  “I won’t be long, so don’t even think about getting out of that bed, young man.”  She shared a look with Parker.  “If you’re hungry, see if you can eat some of that food Parker’s brought in.”  A gentle hand touched his cheek lightly before she stood up and left the room.

One look at Parker told him he wasn’t going to be going anywhere, especially when the man perched on the section of bed Grandma had just vacated.  Parker was the one he’d learnt many of his escaping tricks from – if there was one person that would see through them all, it was the butler.

“h’I wouldn’t be in too much of a ‘urry to h’escape, Master Scott,” the older man said, and Scott found himself relaxing back against the bed.  Master Scott.  It was his favourite of Parker’s ways of referring to him, but also the rarest.  He’d graduated to ‘Mr Scott’ after the Zero-X, the man’s acknowledgement that he was now the head of the family without using the dreaded Mr Tracy.  Parker never called him that, not even in public when the rest of the world insisted. Sir was a substitute when society demanded, and Scott always appreciated that.

Master Scott only came out when Parker was being fussy, and never with an audience.  Just like Grandma, he knew and accepted there was a front to be held in front of younger siblings – even if neither of them approved.  If he was Master Scott, he wasn’t expected to make any decisions or take on any of his father’s responsibilities.

“Some food?” the butler asked, gesturing to the tray.  It was homemade, but not by Grandma, and Scott would have to be far worse off to even consider declining that.  In answer, he reached for the toast, only for Parker to lightly touch his wrist and stop him. “You’ll get crumbs h’everywhere if you h’eat like that,” the older man scolded lightly.  “Stay still, there’s a good lad.”

The tray was relocated to his lap, and Scott tore into the offering as soon as Parker retracted his hands, to an amused chuckle from his companion.

“h’It’s not going anywhere, Master Scott,” Parker reminded him.

“He’s just trying to finish it before the others get home and want to share,” John commented, and Scott’s head jerked up to see his brother’s hologram materialise alongside him. He looked tired, not that that was an unusual occurrence over the past few weeks.  “You’re looking better, Scott.”

“I can’t imagine that’s hard,” he managed through a mouthful of food.  The last time he’d been aware of John’s presence, he’d been deep in the clutches of deadly venom.  If he’d looked half as had as he’d felt, it would have been an awful sight.  “How’s the campaign going?”

John pulled a face.  “They’re asking for money, which by itself isn’t a problem because I expected that, but they’re trying to charge us triple what they charge hospitals, and as Lady P’s working to get those rates reduced because they’re extortionate, I’m not letting them use our lives to line their pockets.”

Scott grimaced along with him.  Money grabbers were the worst.

“So what’s your plan?” he asked, because there was no way John was letting that slide.

“Persuading them that it’s better in their interest long-term to not try and bankrupt us,” John offered, a bemused look on his face.  “We could afford it, but if they think that they’ll be driving the prices up with every new shipment.  More realistically, I’m talking to Colonel Casey to see if the GDF can’t pull some weight. As they’re military and not private, the companies couldn’t charge them as much.  It would leave us needing the GDF’s good will for access, but we already know the GDF don’t dare put us out of business.”

It was Scott’s turn to pull a face.  He hated getting the GDF involved in anything; for as long as Colonel Casey was a dominant figure in the organisation International Rescue wouldn’t have any issues, but in the longer term he was brutally aware that she was their father’s generation.  At some point, she would be forced to retire and then they’d – he’d – have to handle the full force of the GDF without inside help.

Still, he trusted John and Colonel Casey.  Anything they implemented would be beneficial to International Rescue.

“Let me know what you come up with,” he requested, and John nodded, turquoise eyes briefly scanning across him.

“Alan and Kayo will be returning home in five minutes,” he told him.  “Do you want me to tell them you’re awake or let them find out for themselves when they check in?”

“Tell them once they’ve landed,” Scott decided.  “Virgil and Gordon, too – what’s their ETA?”

“They’re racing Thunderbird Three home,” John shrugged.  “But Thunderbird Three will win.”  Scott chuckled.  Alan somehow always won their races home, no matter how much further away he’d been.

“What are they betting this time?” he asked, and John grinned.

“Loser gets to be your slave for the week,” he said.

“Mine?”

“Well you’re not doing much on your own any time soon,” John told him matter-of-factly.  “Has Grandma given you the rundown?”  Scott blinked, pausing mid-bite.

“I thought I was supposed to be walking around with the ribs,” he ventured tentatively.  “But no, I haven’t been told what the damage is yet. Care to fill me in?”

John glanced away at something Scott couldn’t see.

“Your rib re-broke,” he started bluntly.  “Which I’m sure you’ve realised.  So that’s another six weeks grounded, and this time no-one’s sneaking you onto a Thunderbird before that’s up.”

“Six weeks?” Scott groaned.  John raised an eyebrow in his direction.

“Well what did you expect?” he asked.  “Kayo filled us in on the mission details once you were stable.  You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

“But-” Scott protested. “What about the mission to find Dad?” John shook his head.

“The new Zero-X will take longer that to construct,” he told him.  “Brains and the Mechanic finished the T-Drive while you were out in Brazil and we’ve got the fuel, so they’re going to test fire it tomorrow to make sure it’s all working before they start on the craft itself.”

“Tomorrow?” Scott asked. “If it’s ready why not today?”

“Even engineers need breaks sometimes, Scott,” John scolded lightly.  “They’ve been working almost non-stop for the past five weeks, which I know you know.”  There was a slightly accusatory tone at the end of his sentence, and Scott realised John knew how closely he’d started watching the two engineers.  “Besides, Grandma and Virgil won’t let you out of that bed for at least twenty four hours, and we all know you won’t be happy unless you see it for yourself.”

Well, they weren’t wrong.

“You still haven’t told me why I’m getting a slave for a week over a broken rib,” Scott realised, and John once again raised an eyebrow at him.

“You haven’t tried to get out of bed yet?”

“Don’t h’encourage ‘im, Master John,” Parker groaned.  “Mrs Tracy ‘ad to stop ‘im h’earlier and ‘e ‘asn’t ‘ad h’a chance since.”

“It was an hour before the antivenom reached you, Scott.  The damage doesn’t get miraculously fixed just because the venom’s gone,” John continued.  “Your blood pressure is still low so I’d wager you’ll probably pass out if you try to stand right now, no matter how ‘fine’ you feel, and we don’t yet know for sure if it’s done any damage to your heart.”

“My heart?”  The soft background beeping caught Scott’s attention and he turned his head to the EKG.  It was on, signalling that it was receiving data from wireless transmitters.  He put a hand to his chest; underneath the pyjamas he felt the tell-tale patches, leaving him with no doubt that it was his own heartbeat it was recording.  “Oh.” That was low.  Not dramatically so, but lower than his normal resting rate.

“It’s recovered reasonably well, but Grandma and Virgil still aren’t happy with it,” John told him. From his tone, it wasn’t only the family medics unhappy.  “I know you don’t like staying in bed, but unless you want to fall over and make your ribs worse, I would suggest you stay put.”

Scott scowled.

“You’re also recovering from dehydration, so drink up and leave that drip in,” Grandma added, walking back in with a large cup, complete with straw.  “I see there’s nothing wrong with your appetite,” she observed. Parker obligingly removed the now-empty tray away from Scott’s lap and stood so that she could sit back on the side of the bed.  “Drink.”

Obediently, he took the cup with both hands and sipped at the liquid, which revealed itself to be simply water.  A dull rumbling even through the soundproofing of the infirmary told him Thunderbird Three was back.  John confirmed that before signing off to talk to their returning siblings.

Scott made a note of the time, wondering how long it would take before he had visitors.

Three minutes later and the door slammed open to find Kayo and Alan shoulder-to-shoulder, clearly racing each other.

“No running in the house!” Grandma barked, but neither of them looked the least apologetic.  They did at least walk the distance from the door to his bed, where Grandma had slipped off to let them get closer.  Both stopped short, Alan fidgeting from foot to foot at he stared at him with open relief, and Scott rolled his eyes.

“Come here,” he told his youngest brother, spreading his arms in demand of a hug.  As always, Alan needed no further invitation, crashing into him and wrapping his arms around him tightly, although it didn’t miss Scott’s attention that it wasn’t Alan’s usual rib-squeezing hug.  He appreciated that, curling his own arms around his brother’s shoulders.

Alan was trembling.  “I thought I was going to lose you,” he mumbled into Scott’s neck.  “I thought-”

“I’m still here, kid,” he interrupted quietly.  “And I hear I have you to thank for that.”  The sniffle he got in response told him it was Alan, the baby brother, rather than Alan the emergency responder he was dealing with.  “You did good.”

“I thought I was too late,” Alan mumbled, and there were tears against Scott’s skin.  He tightened his grip on his brother.  “You looked d-dead.  I d-didn’t think you were breathing.”

“I’m here and breathing,” Scott reminded him, letting him sob on his shoulder as long as he needed, rubbing the neoprene – both siblings were still in uniform – underneath his hand reassuringly.  He remembered the same reaction after EOS had first made herself known to them, only that time it had been John Alan had clung to in tears, post-adrenaline rush. They needed to stop putting their lives in Alan’s hands like that.

But Alan would settle, barring the new nightmare fuel that never went away, once he’d let out the initial emotions.  It was either a blessing of youth, or a coping strategy he’d been forced to employ too young. Kayo, who was watching with unguarded relief across her face, was like John; pragmatic and level-headed.  A serious conversation would settle her, although when she met his eyes, he linked his hands together behind Alan’s back and made them flutter, shooting her a quick grin.

The resulting glower she sent him didn’t hide the softening in her eyes, or the way her shoulders slumped. Satisfied for the moment, he returned his attention to his youngest brother, who seemed content to stay where he was.  Scott let him, nodding at Parker when the older man gestured that he was going to leave the room.

No sooner was Parker gone than Gordon burst through the door, Virgil hot on his heels.

“Scott!”  Gordon skidded to a stop just behind Alan, reaching out to put a hand on Scott’s shoulder where he could.  “Don’t do that again,” he demanded, amber eyes flicking to the EKG for a split second before he found some space to perch on the bed behind Alan.

“Like you’re one to talk,” Scott shot back.  Gordon grinned.

“I won’t if you don’t,” he said.  “Deal?”

“Deal.”

They couldn’t really promise that, not in their profession, but Scott saw something lift behind Gordon’s eyes, the banter regardless doing something to reassure him.  Gordon had always used humour to cope.

Four siblings down, or at least addressed, and one to go.  Somehow, Scott didn’t think a hug or joke would work quite so well on Virgil. Guilt was deep-set in brown eyes, but Virgil didn’t look at him directly, focusing on the EKG and drip as he bustled around.

“Virgil,” he said, pulling one hand away from Alan to catch his brother’s arm the moment Virgil got in reach. It was the arm with the needle in it, bright band aid stark against his skin.  Virgil’s eyes focussed on it and Scott sighed, tightening his grip on the neoprene beneath his fingers.  “Look at me.” He couldn’t do much, not while Alan was still clinging to him, but hell if he was going to let Virgil shut himself away and stew in a self-inflicted puddle of misplaced guilt.

Virgil stilled, but didn’t obey.  Scott closed his eyes and sighed again, squeezing Alan lightly.  The blond snuffled but didn’t otherwise move.

“Virgil.”  That was John’s voice, his final brother reappearing holographically at the foot of Scott’s bed.  The middle brother ignored him, too.

“Kid, your brother’s talking to you,” Grandma chipped in.  “At least have the manners to look at him.”  Despite the words, there was no scolding in her tone, just a quiet encouragement.  Virgil glanced up at her, and a look passed between them that Scott couldn’t see before Virgil slowly turned to face him.

“Thank you,” he said before Virgil could apologise, or say something else nonsensical.  Whatever his brother had been gearing up for, it clearly wasn’t that; he blinked, startled, before opening his mouth to probably-protest. “I know it was Alan that got the antivenom, but you’re the one that kept me alive long enough to get it.”

“I’m the reason you needed it in the first place!” Virgil snapped, looking away again.  “If I’d paid more attention… if I-”

“If nothing,” Scott interrupted, conscious that they had an audience but unable to ask anyone to leave.  He wanted his family there, with him, and knew they were all busy reassuring themselves that he was going to be fine.  “You’d have done the same thing if our positions were reversed, except I’m not as good as you with all the medical stuff.”

“You’d have done enough,” Virgil mumbled, and Scott rolled his eyes.

“And you did enough,” he returned.  “No what-ifs, Virgil.”  Hell knew he’d told himself that enough through the years, with varying levels of success.

Virgil at least met his eyes again, even though Scott could see it wasn’t enough to lift the guilt. That would take much longer, including him making a full recovery and a conversation without the rest of the family listening in, intentionally or not.

“You’re staying in that bed,” he said instead, and Scott made a grumbling noise of protest.

“So I’ve been told,” he replied.  “I can’t say I’m happy about it, but John made quite the compelling argument.”

“Does this mean you’ll listen to me for once?” John asked disbelievingly, arms crossed and eyebrow raised.

“What do you mean, for once?” Scott asked.  “I listen to you!”

“When it suits you,” John rebuked.  “I have a list, if you’d care to hear it.”

Scott wouldn’t put it past John to actually have a list.  He turned his attention back to his other brothers without responding, to an amused noise from the space monitor, and gave Alan a grin as the youngest finally pulled back from his shoulder, eyeing him with teary blue eyes.

“I’ll sit on you if you try and get up,” the youngest told him firmly, look somewhat ruined by those eyes. Gordon laughed.

“Alan, you’re a twig.”

“Am not, fishboy!”

“Are, too!”

“Not!”

“Boys,” Kayo interrupted, taking a few steps closer to the cluster on the bed.  With one arm now free, Scott reached for her and got a light hug at his silent request.  It didn’t last long, but it was enough for the rest of the tension to leave her shoulders before she stepped back, out of his reach again.

“Hey, where’s my hug?” Gordon demanded, and Scott raised an eyebrow at him.

“You want a hug, you’ve got to come get it yourself,” he said.  “I’m not moving.”

Permission gained, Gordon shoved Alan out of the way, the younger falling off the bed with a squawk of indignation, and wrapped himself around Scott.  It was far looser than his usual hugs, but out of all his brothers, Gordon was best at gauging what an injured person could take.  Scott rested his chin on his shoulder, feeling the dampness of the neoprene that betrayed that Gordon had been in the water during his mission.

Tension drained out of his aquanaut brother’s powerful shoulders and Scott found himself relaxing as well.  He’d always found it easiest to relax and wind down when his brothers were okay, and with three out of four openly reassured, his own nerves were less on edge.

“I’m still sorry,” Virgil said after a moment.  Scott still had hold of his bicep, and glanced up at him as he spoke.  That pain and guilt was still there in brown eyes, but it was Gordon and Alan that Virgil was looking at.  A big brother himself, he too was being drawn into some sort of reassurance by the youngest two calming down.

There were many responses Scott could give, and maybe later once it was just the two of them he’d dive deeper in if Virgil hadn’t managed to settle himself and needed a stronger release, but in that moment, with his family around him and the knowledge that whatever happened next, they’d survived this hurdle, there was only one thing to say.

“I know.”

Surprised brown eyes met his, as though Virgil had expected another rebuke, another it’s not your fault, but Scott knew better.  He didn’t blame Virgil at all, but it wasn’t his forgiveness Virgil needed; his brother needed to forgive himself for his perceived transgressions, and that he couldn’t do as long as Scott stayed stubborn.  He tugged at the bicep in his grip, coaxing Virgil closer with an inviting smile.

Virgil hesitated, understanding but unsure.  Scott didn’t say anything else, didn’t push harder, but then Grandma put a hand on Virgil’s other arm and whatever remaining fight there was seeped away.

It was Gordon’s turn to squawk as he found himself nudged out of the way, but he went willingly, surrendering the space to Virgil as Scott’s dark-haired brother wrapped his arms around him cautiously.

“I’m okay,” Scott murmured into his brother’s ear, returning the hug as fiercely as he could.  Like Alan before him, Virgil shook ever so slightly under his touch, but unlike the youngest, no tears were shed.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Virgil mumbled.  “You stopped breathing for a minute just before Alan arrived and I thought that was it.”

“I heard you,” Scott admitted, just as quietly.  “I don’t think I’d have had the strength to keep fighting without you.  Alan might have got the antivenom, but you saved me, too.”

Virgil gave a shuddering breath and his arms tightened, just a little.

They stayed like that for several minutes, Scott managing to relax further now that was the fifth and final sibling’s immediate concerns addressed, but eventually Virgil pulled back, the ghost of a smile on his face.  He looked like he wanted to say something, but before he could, Gordon crashed into him.

“Group hug!” he declared, reaching out to snag Alan and pinning an unprotesting Virgil in place as Scott’s three youngest brothers gathered as close as they could for a tangle of arms and bodies on Scott’s bed.  Alan flailed in Kayo’s direction and the woman stepped closer, slipping an arm delicately around the back of Scott’s neck and more tightly around Alan.  Scott grinned at her before looking past the mass of brothers to lock eyes with the one he couldn’t reach.  John grinned back at him, and even though he wasn’t physically there, Scott didn’t need it to know his immediate brother was just as relieved.

The hug lasted until Grandma intervened, suggesting that they let him have a little bit of space. He didn’t need space, but they all heard the underlying reminder that he was in that bed for a reason.  After that, it was back to business as usual, his on-Earth siblings scattering to change on Grandma’s order and reconvening later in their civvies with various forms of entertainment while John went back to his latest project.

Lady Penelope poked her head in later, but he didn’t see Brains – or the Mechanic – until the next day.

“I-it’s time to t-test the T-Drive e-engine,” the engineer told him the next morning, after checking him over in his own desire for reassurance; there was some guilt there as well, for pushing him out on the rescue, but thankfully Brains was much easier to calm than his brothers – the fact that Brains hadn’t seen him almost dead helped.

“Give me five,” he said, reaching for the drip stuck in his arm.

“Make that ten, Brains,” Virgil rumbled, catching Scott’s hand.  “Scott’s not up to walking even if he thinks he is.”

Scott groaned, but Virgil raised an eyebrow at him.

“I thought John made a convincing argument for you to stay in bed?” he challenged, and Scott shrugged.

“That was yesterday.”

“And your heart rate still isn’t back to normal, so it’s the hoverchair or nothing,” Virgil rebuked, rolling his eyes.

Scott sighed but dutifully held out his arm for Virgil to remove the drip instead.

“No, that’s coming with you,” Virgil corrected, gently pushing it down to his side again.  “Just the EKG.”  The machine was turned off, but Virgil made no move to relieve him of the transmitters, telling Scott that it was being linked back up later. Wonderful.  “Now then, let’s get you out of this bed-”

Scott leaned forwards and swung his legs around, placing them on the floor and pushing himself to his feet.

“Woah!”  Virgil sprinted around the bed and caught him as his vision fuzzed.  “John’s compelling argument?”  Scott was vaguely aware of being shifted around as the world spun around him, but it was a surprise to find himself in the hoverchair by the time he was fully aware of his surroundings again.  Usually, Virgil would dump him straight back in bed.

“Okay, John’s compelling argument still holds,” he admitted, leaning against the back of the chair and closing his eyes briefly as the world tried to spin a little more.

“Let’s get going,” Virgil sighed.  “Hands off the controls; I’m steering.”  Scott grumbled, but had no doubt that the controls had actually been disabled.  “As soon as the test is over, you’re coming straight back.”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” he asked, and Virgil chuckled.

“Not at all.”

They were last to the balcony; it didn’t escape Scott’s notice that the Mechanic was the other end to the rest of them, talking quietly to Brains but otherwise ignoring the Tracys. That suited Scott just fine; if the test worked, he was well aware he owed the man an apology for his accusations of sabotage.  Although maybe he’d keep that back until the Zero-X2 launched successfully and Dad was home. Just in case.

“You look pale,” Grandma commented.  “Did he try to stand up?” she asked Virgil.  Scott glowered as Virgil rolled his eyes in answer.

“What do you think?” he asked rhetorically.  “He didn’t pass out entirely, otherwise the test would be happening without him, whether he liked it or not, but it was close.”

“He is right here,” Scott grumbled.

“And he’s going to keep his mouth shut and drink this up,” Grandma informed him, pressing a cup of water, complete with straw, into his hands.  “You shouldn’t be out of bed at all, young man.”

“T-test is ready,” Brains announced before Scott could find a retort that wouldn’t get him taken straight back to the infirmary.  “I-igniting T-Drive in three, two, one.”

Without binoculars, it was difficult to see what was happening on the platform, but nothing exploded and after several moments all that could be seen or heard was the whining of an engine.  It was higher pitched than the engines Scott was used to, but there were none of the warning noises suggesting that something was wrong.

Beside him, Virgil sighed in relief while Gordon and Alan whooped.

“C-cutting engine,” Brains called, and it powered down easily.  Smooth as any of the best plane engines Scott had piloted – and he’d piloted many.

It had worked.  They had a T-Drive engine.

They could go find Dad.

“Scott?”  Virgil sounded worried, and he opened his eyes – when he had closed them? – to look up at his worried brother.  Alan and Gordon hovered nearby, and he looked at them all in turn, even John’s silent hologram – his ginger brother hadn’t been there when the test had started, hadn’t been expected after he pointed out their holotech’s range didn’t reach that far.  “Are you okay?”

Was he okay?  He had a broken rib, was recovering from a near-fatal spider bite and its side effects of dehydration, bradycardia and hypotension, and the man who had almost killed his brothers multiple times was standing the other end of the same balcony.

But they were one step, one significant step closer to Dad.

“Yeah,” he said, staring out past them, at the platform cradling the most important engine International Rescue had ever created.  For the first time since that horrid trash mine day five weeks earlier, he could honestly say, “I’m okay.”

Fin

[theoreticalmindgames]

puppies & questions - a klance oneshot

klance buzzfeed puppy interview AU :)

So a @lancemcclain wrote this AU and I just kinda took it and ran so thanks for the cute idea and enjoy! 

~

Keith usually didn’t do filming stuff. He was used to sitting at his desk and editing all day. Meeting with different video groups. Editing some more per their wishes and requests. But Shiro asked him for some help with filming a puppy interview, and even though Keith never really liked it when Shiro asked him favors because there was usually a ‘but’ or a ‘and also’ attached to it later-he wasn’t immune to the charm and adorableness of puppies. 

So Keith sat behind the camera on a very comfy stool while Shiro chatted with the human shelter volunteers. A playpen had been set up in the corner, the pee pad all crumpled from the puppies frolicking throughout the pen, trying to say hi to everyone walking by. 

“So who’s coming in today?” 

Shiro had walked over, now holding a coffee and a bagel from Adam who stopped by during his lunch break at the nearby university. 

“Oh, It’s Lance McClain.” He said nonchalantly as if he was not one of the most popular celebrities at the current moment. As if he wasn’t seriously attractive. As if Keith didn’t have a mild crush on said celebrity. 

“Oh, okay.” Was all he could manage, as he turned back to the camera and began to fiddle with the settings, only to have Shiro fix it right after him with a quiet huff. 

A few minutes later the door opened and a tall woman with her hair drawn back in a large white ponytail glided in, followed by a casual looking Lance McClain. Keith swallowed, and stood up, then sat back down because was he supposed to say hi? Or just sit there? 

Shiro walked up and gave him a handshake, Lance McClain smiling back with an impossibly bright smile with impossibly straight teeth. They exchanged words but Keith was too busy staring at the way his bomber jacket stretched across his shoulder. But then Shiro was walking towards him gesturing and talking and then Keith was looking Lance McClain in the eye probably looking like a doe-eyed idiot. 

“Hi, I’m Lance,” He said, extending a hand which Keith took. It was strange hearing him say his own name. Like they could have been meeting at a coffee shop. 

Keith’s vision came out of tunnel mode when he heard Shiro. 

“-eah so Keith is gonna be doing most of the interview stuff, and I’m just here to make sure no one dies.” 

“What?” Keith looked at Shiro, who gave him a grin. A grin that said “have fun with this really attractive celebrity play with puppies while you get to sit there and watch.” 

Lance laughed at Shiro’s comment. “I am very ready to cuddle every puppy in this place so let’s bring it on.” He flashed that perfect smile again, and Keith noticed a dimple form in the left corner of his lips. 

Keith resituated himself behind the camera and turned on the camera. “Um, you can just sit on the green ex on the ground.” Keith pointed, and Lance smiled at him, lingering, before going to sit. The volunteers brought over the puppies and Lance’s grin grew as they attacked him in a playful herd. 

One immediately went for the jar of questions and began to eat the small slips of paper. 

“Oh geez,” Lance giggled, pulling the puppy away, and Keith swore his heart imploded from the sound of Lance giggling. 

“Okay-” Keith cleared his throat, as a very fluffy puppy settled itself in Lance's criss-crossed legs and fell asleep. “So um, just choose questions from the jar- oh gosh-” 

The same culprit had found his way back to the jar and was batting it around. 

Lance laughed again, scooping up the puppy in his arms. “Maybe this will work better if you ask the questions. I think I’d like that better. Interviewing myself is kinda weird anyway.” 

Keith blinked at him, before getting up and crouching to grab the jar, which was slightly wet from slobber. “Uh, yeah, that works. Yeah.” 

“Sweet.” Lance smiled at his quick before his attention was taken by two puppies starting up a tussle on his legs. 

“Okay, so the first question-”

“Wait, I- Sorry, I can’t see you behind that huge camera.” Lance chuckled, peering to the side, the two fighting puppies now hoisted under his armpits. 

He wanted to see Keith? As in look at him? Oh god he just realized that he was literally wearing joggers and a t-shirt from his dirty laundry bin. Okay, no time to panic now just do the damn interview and this will all be finished soon. So Keith scooted the stool to the side, the jar of questions sitting in his lap, and his shoulders hunched. 

“Much better.” Lance nodded in approval, a smirk threatening to appear. 

Keith nodded back, trying to not look Lance in the eye because wow they were really nice and blue. “Okay, first question. If you could go back in time and play any role in any movie, who would you play.” 

Lance gave one of the puppies a quick kiss on the head before answering. “Okay, this is easy- definitely Jack from Titanic.”

Keith hated that he smiled. “Okay, next-who has been one of your favorite costars to work with?”

Lance pondered for a moment, drumming his fingers on one of the puppies’ back, while another knawed on his wrist. “Probably Gina Rodriguez- she is just super fun and lighthearted and we have the same like, goofy sense of humor which was super cool.” 

Keith nodded, listening intently because here he was, just chatting with Lance McClain. 

“So you’ve been in a mix of lighthearted and serious films- which genre do you prefer to act in?”

Lance looked at Keith as he asked him the question, before scooping up a runaway pup, and holding her close. “Um, well the comedies I’ve been in are always super fun and I think that’s the most like, enjoyable? But I also like the chance to kind of switch roles and play some more serious parts- and it’s the serious movies that get to tell deeper and more personal stories, which I really like as well. So both.” He smiled like he had broken the rules and Keith found in unfairly cute. “Are you a comedy movie kinda person?”

Keith almost missed the question that was fired back at him because- well this wasn’t how it was supposed to go, right? He figured it wouldn't hurt to answer it real quick though. He didn’t want to be rude or anything. 

“Um, not really? I mean I like some comedy shows but not really movies.” 

“Nice,” Lance nodded, holding a puppy up to his face and letting it lick his nose. 

Keith continued with the questions, and almost every time, Lance would ask him one in return. And it wasn’t like- it wasn’t like he was just doing it to maintain some kind of image. He seemed genuinely interested, which is what threw Keith off the most. 

“Ghosts are not real,” Keith scoffed. The jar of questions had been finished and they had just been going back and forth for the past ten minutes asking each other things. Their conversation flowed easily and Keith felt like he could talk to Lance for hours without getting tired. 

“Um, ghosts are too real and I’ve seen one.” Lance puffed his chest out, holding a puppy protectively like Keith had offended the dog as well. 

“You’ve seen a ghost?”

“Yes! At my grandmother's house. Her house is like a million years olf so it had like a hundred ghosts in it.” 

Keith snickered at his exaggerations and covered his mouth when a tiny snort escaped. “Oh my god.” He breathed. 

Lance laughed loudly, his body tipping from front to back with laughter. “You-you have a cute laugh.” He said as his giggles calmed down. 

Keith shook his head, feeling his cheeks get warm. “Anyone who snorts does not have a cute laugh.” But all Keith could hear in his head was cute cute cute cute cute he called me cute. 

“Well I like your laugh,” Lance said quietly, looking at Keith through his lashes like some kind of- well some kind heartthrob movie star. 

The sound of clicking heels interrupted the moment as Lance’s manager walked over with Shiro. 

“Alright Lance, we’ve got to head out soon if we’re gonna make it to your next interview.” 

Lance pouted, his lip jutting out as he gave each of the puppies a kiss and a hug before letting the volunteers take them away. 

Keith turned off the camera, glaring at Shiro's shit-eating grin as he took over packing up the camera gear. Lance stood up and straightened out his clothes and walked up to Keith who was lingering near the set. 

“Thanks for the interview, it was really fun.” Lance smiled warmly, stepping close to Keith. He could smell his cologne, fresh and beachy. 

“Yeah, it was - it was nice.” Keith smiled, shoving his hands in his pocket. 

“Um, I was wondering- well I don’t know um-” 

Lance fidgeted with his hands, and Keith smiled at the nervous boy in front of him. 

“Yeah?” Keith urged him on. 

“Um, well I wanted to exchange numbers and see if we could hang out. Sometime. Whenever.”

Keith let out a breath, and he was pretty sure Lance could hear it, but he didn’t care as he slipped his phone from his pocket- unlocking it and handing it to Lance. 

“I like your lockscreen,” Lance said as he handed Keith his phone back. “I like space too.”

“Yeah, yeah it’s cool.” Keith bit his lip, peeking down at his galaxy background, still having a hard time believing that Lance had just put his phone number in his phone. 

“So, text me and we’ll grab coffee or lunch or something.” Lance looked at him with those bright eyes and that bright smile and Keith, for a moment was convinced that this wasn’t a real thing. But then Lance was coming in a for a hug and Keith leaned in with a little more force then he meant. But Lance delivered with a similar enthusiasm and his hands spanned across his back, and Keith got an even better whiff of whatever kind of scent Lance was wearing and it was so clean and calming Keith felt like he could fall asleep right here. 

When they pulled away, Lance’s cheeks were pink and Keith was pretty sure his were as well. 

“I’ll text you,” Keith said. 

Lance's face broke open into a grin. “Okay. Okay cool.” 

Keith clutched his phone to his chest and let out a sigh, just to make sure he was still breathing. 

~

Lance texted like a maniac and Keith kinda loved it. 

OH MY GOSH KEITH 

I just saw the ugliest bigfoot statue 

It kinda looked like you 

Just kiddingggg

But you would have loved it 

Keith snickered as his Mac pinged with every text.

 Lance i’m trying to work here 

I know which is why I’m giving you a much deserved break 

But if i’m bothering you i can scooch outta here 

You’re fine Lance 

Thank you for the entertainment 

Okay sweet :))))))

~

They got coffee at a place tucked away in the city, and only two people came up to ask for a picture. They talked for three hours, both ordering seconds, and then thirds of their respective drinks. Lance, a medium latte with vanilla and cinnamon. Keith, a London Fog. With every new topic they discussed, every giggle Lance let out, Keith liked him even more. He saw how human and how real and raw Lance was. He made Keith feel comfortable and welcome and valued. He would listen and respond with intent and it made Keith feel things that he wasn’t sure what they were. 

At the end of their coffee date- “Can I call it a date?” Lance had asked and Keith had said yes- they walked out of the building and Lance whisked Keith into a nearby alcove to kiss him gently. It was so soft and delicate that Keith was pretty sure he was gonna melt on the spot and disappear into the drain. But he let himself indulge and wrapped his arms around Lance’s back, while long brown fingers cradled his jaw. 

When they pulled away Keith was breathing heavy, despite the lack of tongue. Oh god, did he want to know what that felt like. 

“I’ll text you.” Lance said, pressing a last quick kiss to Keith’s cheek before getting into the black SUV across the street. 

Five seconds later his phone buzzed. 

U are very cute and i wanna kiss you a lot now so when can i see you next ?

Keith rolled his eyes and bit his rising grin as he opened up his calendar app. 

            the end :) 

[lets-talk-appella]

That’s When She Knew

Hey, so here is the *sort of* part 2 to Chloe’s Secret (the one where she goes to visit Jesse following his and Beca’s split) that I’d promised! I hope you enjoy.

If you’re curious about Chloe’s Secret, you can find it HERE.

Summary: In which Beca finally pulls her head out of her ass to realize that she’s been in love with Chloe this entire time. Much fluff ahead, enter at your own risk.

Timeline: Just under a year since graduation/PP2, set about 6 months after the events of Chloe’s Secret.

Word count: 4k

Beca sneezed violently for what felt like the millionth time; her nose scrunched up, her body tensed, and she stopped dead in her tracks as her face exploded outwards in a torrent of mucus.

“Eww…” she groaned, examining the wet spot on the inside of her elbow, which she had used to cover her mouth. A tissue was presented to her, held between a thumb and forefinger.

Accepting it with a grunt, she glanced at the bright-eyed redhead beside her and asked bitingly, “Why are we doing this again?”

Chloe beamed at her, utterly delighted. “Because it’s absolutely beautiful outside for the first time in months!”

Beca glared back as she blew her nose with enough force to pop her ears. She wiped, sniffled a little, and whined, “But I’m dying! Let’s go back inside where I can breathe.”

Chloe shook her head and smiled as she spun away from Beca to skip across the short grass of Central Park. As she moved, the slight breeze played with her hair and the sunlight made her eyes look even more impossibly blue.

“I’m sorry you have spring allergies, Bec, but it’s finally nice out again and I want to celebrate! Besides, if you build up immunity now you won’t be allergic later.”

Beca rolled her eyes in disbelief as she shoved her used Kleenex into a pocket for later disposal. “I’m not sure that’s how these things work, Chlo. The trees are like, literally attacking my face.” 

Nevertheless, she picked up her pace slightly to catch up with Chloe so they could walk side by side again.

She never could say no to Chloe.

Chloe looked at her best friend triumphantly and the two continued their leisurely walk across Central Park. Despite her stuffy nose and itchy eyes, Beca couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling of the afternoon sun warming her shoulders. It had been a long winter. They weren’t used to the cold New York temperatures after living in the south for so long at Barden.

As they made their way across the grass and toward a nearby footpath, they were almost taken out by a stray Frisbee thrown by some teenagers. “Oops, sorry about that!” one goofy-looking guy called out to them as he ran by to retrieve the lost disk.

Chloe, sweet as ever, replied with a smile and a quick, “That’s okay!” while Beca narrowed her eyes and muttered, “That was close, dude.”

She looked around the overcrowded greenspace filled with people who shared their desire to enjoy the nice weather. There were several Nike-clad joggers, a few young kids playing around, and various people walking their dogs. Beca cringed at the sound of a screaming toddler in the distance; she wanted nothing more than to be alone with Chloe. The park was nice and all, but the number of other people there distracted her and made her feel on edge. She would have preferred a quiet walk with just the two of them and as little outside distraction as possible.

Her broody thoughts were interrupted when Chloe started, “So, I told Aubrey I’d Skype her this weekend since Stacie’s planning on visiting her at the lodge and this way we can talk to them both. Is there a time you’re free to join?”

Beca raised her eyebrows and glanced at Chloe before sending her gaze to the ground in front of them as they walked. “And have to hear both of you squealing at each other for the first five minutes of the call? No thanks. Also, since when does Stacie visit Aubrey?” she added in confusion, looking back up at Chloe.

Chloe clicked her tongue in protest as she narrowed her eyes and crinkled her nose. She replied with as much dignity as she could muster, “We do not squeal, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She took a breath and her face turned thoughtful as she continued, “As for Stacie, well, I think that started when –”

She cut off suddenly and threw her arm out to the side, catching Beca in the stomach and stopping them both in their tracks.

“Oof! What the hell?” Beca wheezed as she recovered from the unexpected blow.

Chloe pointed to the ground about a yard ahead and exclaimed, “There! We almost squished the little guy!” Beca craned her neck to squint at the ground where Chloe was pointing. After a moment, she saw it: a fuzzy little black and brown caterpillar inching its way across the walkway to the grass. If Chloe hadn’t stopped them, it was likely that one of them would have stepped on it.

“How the hell did you see that thing from here?” Beca asked incredulously.

Chloe shrugged and moved to the caterpillar. She squatted down and gently rolled it to its side, where it curled into a tight, protective little ball. Carefully scooping it into her hands, she squat-waddled over to a tree near the edge of the path. She placed the caterpillar back down on the ground, where it would be safe right next to the tree trunk. Chloe nodded once, apparently satisfied with the caterpillar’s new placement.

Beca got a funny feeling in her chest as she watched the interaction. As Chloe dusted her hands off on her jeans and stood to face Beca, the strange feeling only intensified and spread to her stomach. She wondered vaguely if she was about to be sick on the sidewalk.

“There!” Chloe exclaimed proudly. “Now he’s safe!” She picked her way back to the path and continued walking in the direction they had been headed before the interruption.

Beca stayed rooted to the spot, eyes zeroed in on her roommate’s back as she walked further away. She felt…odd. Her mind drifted and her eyes lost focus as something settled into place deep within her.

In that instant, Beca realized she was in love with Chloe.

Chloe’s simple act to carry the caterpillar to the tree, probably saving its life, had stunned Beca. It wasn’t the first time Chloe had gone out of her way to help another creature; Chloe was the kindest person Beca had ever met. But this was a caterpillar, an insect that Beca hadn’t even noticed. Chloe astounded Beca with her compassion. Chloe made Beca want to be better. She had always accepted Beca as she is, had never tried to change her, and yet, Beca wanted to be a better person for Chloe. Chloe deserved only the best people in her life, and Beca sometimes didn’t think she’d earned the right to be Chloe’s best friend. Beca wanted to continue trying to better herself for Chloe for the rest of her life.

She wanted a life with Chloe, and only Chloe.

Her mind was flung back to their time at Barden as she recalled the inexplicable need she’d felt to audition for the Bellas, not for herself, but to avoid disappointing a stranger who’d burst in on her shower. She remembered being confused during her freshman year and kissing Jesse because she thought she was supposed to, not because it had felt in any way right. She remembered her guilty relief when Chloe failed Russian Lit repeatedly because it meant she was going to stay at Barden. It meant she was going to stay with Beca. She remembered touches, glances, dances, that always had her feeling some confusing sense of want that she had immediately shoved down.

She remembered being absolutely terrified of life beyond college, until lyrics of a familiar song, sung over a campfire, had grounded her. She remembered the moment she’d locked eyes with Chloe, whose face had been gently bathed in golden light from the campfire. She’d thought that she was the most beautiful person she’d ever seen. That was the instant Chloe became home. From then on, Chloe filled her thoughts more than Jesse ever had.

Beca loved Chloe. Was in love with Chloe. Maybe she had been for a while.

Beca supposed that she should have seen it coming, really. Since the retreat, the thought of losing Chloe had been unbearable. After they graduated and won Worlds, Beca’s future had, for a time, looked as though it would be Chloe-less. It had been dark, uncertain, and had developed a gray hue without Chloe’s sunshine. Within a few days following the Worlds competition, Beca had found herself starting to dread her original plan of moving to LA. Sure, she’d be with Jesse, but that option lacked Chloe, which was unacceptable.

It had felt like a miracle when she’d gotten the call from BFD, Residual Heat’s sister company. New York was expensive, though, and she’d need roommates. She’d known exactly who to ask. Beca couldn’t remember ever feeling more relieved than when Chloe had agreed to come with her. A weight was lifted from her chest; instead of a gray future, she saw a bright red and ocean blue one filled with sunshine and warmth.

She had never really liked living with other people; even the Bella house had been a bit much for her sometimes. So, Beca had been surprised (but not really all that surprised) when she realized that she liked living with Chloe. Like, a lot. She kind of loved it. And when Chloe had gone to Florida to visit her parents the weekend after Jesse had broken up with her, Beca should have taken a hint from how much she’d missed Chloe, even though she’d been with Amy and several other Bellas. Not having Chloe next to her had felt like she was missing an arm. She’d felt lost, and not from the breakup.

She should have known then.

Even now, though, it didn’t feel like some huge revelation; there was no lighting strike, the earth didn’t move under her feet, she wasn’t left gasping for air. It simply felt like something within her chest – within her being – had clicked into place. She felt whole, complete. She hadn’t known she was incomplete until the pieces fit, and now she wondered how she had gone so long without all the parts assembled. Beca vaguely registered that she should be scared, terrified even, of her feelings. Her younger self would have immediately shut down, rejected her own emotions, and would have built towering walls against Chloe. She would have left. She would have run.

Beca Mitchell was in love with Chloe Beale.

The old Beca would have closed Chloe out, thinking that eventually the redhead would leave her. The old Beca would have cut ties now before the inevitable pain later, because there was no way, no possibility, of Chloe loving her in return. Freshman year Beca would have run and never looked back.

The mere thought of leaving Chloe shot agony through her chest and she gasped.

The current Beca had grown up. She had painstakingly dismantled her own walls brick by brick throughout college and up to the present. She still held strangers at a distance with wit and sarcasm and was slow to make new friendships, but for the most part, her walls were a lot more like paper than like stone. She had a select group of people to thank for that. The Bellas had wormed their way past every barrier she had thrown at them until she had accepted each and every one of them into her heart. Jesse had also contributed to the dismantling of her walls with his own sledgehammer, breaking through to her until she had loved him, even if it turned out to be more of a friendship love in the end.

But if Jesse had been a sledgehammer against her walls, Chloe had been a wrecking ball. Somehow, Chloe had taken Beca completely by surprise. Or, wait – maybe it wasn’t so much that Chloe had broken down Beca’s walls, but rather that Beca realized Chloe wouldn’t stop trying to get through them, so she decided to open up to save them both needless effort. Chloe had always been different. Beca knew that no matter how hard she tried, even if she threw Chloe from her life and never saw her again, there was no way she could ever build a wall between her heart and Chloe Beale. It was unthinkable.

Beca loved Chloe, and always would.

So no, Beca couldn’t run. It wasn’t even an option. But what if Chloe didn’t feel the same toward her? That would be torture.

Oh God. What if Chloe didn’t feel the same way? Why would she? Beca’s heart throbbed as she realized this very likely possibility. Chloe was beautiful, inside and out, whereas Beca was… just Beca. She was grumpy, sarcastic, sometimes unfriendly, and overall average-looking in the right lighting.

She never would have moved the caterpillar. Not that she’d have stepped on it purposely, of course, but she’d simply never considered the potential for its existence. She wasn’t like Chloe. She wasn’t good enough.

Why would Chloe want her, when so many others haven’t? She thought she’d had a good thing with Jesse, but he hadn’t stayed in the end. Though they still talked, it didn’t change the fact that he hadn’t wanted to be with her anymore. If he didn’t want her, why would Chloe?

Fear choked Beca as she thought of how it had hurt when she’d lost Jesse. That rejection had stung much more than she thought it would. Sure, they had started to grow apart, but somehow, she felt that it had been more personal than Jesse had ever let on. She thought he’d been withholding something from her about their breakup, like maybe she never knew the real reason. Though they were friends now, she carried the memory of that pain in her chest. She wasn’t sure she could survive a similar rejection from Chloe.

Just before a desperate scream of self-pity threatened to break free from her and cause a scene in Central Park, a wave of memories flooded Beca’s mind. Each lasted only an instant and flashed before her eyes like some cheesy movie montage: harmonizing to Titanium in a shower; being pulled close at hood night; arms around her, guiding her through choreography; a fight that felt like a breakup; a whispered desire for experimentation (Beca’s stomach fluttered at that memory); the hardening of bright blue eyes at the mention of Jesse; countless lingering stares she’d pretended not to notice; a hand reaching for hers at every opportunity; a body curled into hers every morning in their shared bed; Chloe making dinner and leaving leftovers for her; Chloe always making sure she arrived places safely; Chloe’s hair filling her peripherals as she was hugged from behind; Chloe’s endless support and belief in her; Chloe watching her mix when she thought she wouldn’t notice; Chloe’s gaze over a bonfire. Chloe, in love with her.

Relief washed over Beca even as her cheeks warmed and reddened with shame; how could she have missed it? Beca knew that Chloe loved her but had never considered that she might love her as more than a best friend. However, thinking back, she grew frustrated with herself. How could she have been so blind? Chloe had been telling her she loved her for years, and Beca had only just noticed. She wanted to both laugh with joy and punch herself in the face for being so oblivious.

Beca still had not moved from where Chloe had stopped to save the caterpillar. Only seconds had passed, but Beca’s whole world had changed, truly not with a bang but with a whisper. Her eyes refocused and she snapped out of her own mind to see Chloe standing several feet ahead looking back, clearly confused as to why Beca hadn’t continued walking with her.

Chloe beckoned to her impatiently and called out, “Why are you just standing there? Do you have to sneeze again?”

Beca shook her head slowly, still reeling slightly as she mumbled too quietly for anyone to hear, “N-No, I’ll be right…there…”

Chloe wrinkled her brows, craned her upper body toward Beca and asked, “What? Just – come here! I’ve been waiting for you!”

A corner of Beca’s mouth lifted into a half smile at the word choice. She jogged awkwardly to catch up to Chloe, suddenly nervous. However, when they were side by side again, the sight of familiar blue eyes sent waves of calm determination crashing over her. She knew what she had to do.

With a deep breath, she looked into Chloe’s eyes and said, “Chloe…I’m here. You don’t have to wait anymore.”

Chloe looked completely bewildered. “Allergies getting to you, Bec? No need to be so dramatic.”

Beca almost laughed, irritated with herself; she was so bad with words. Her spine straightened as she tried again. “No, I’m um. I’m just – um.”

Chloe raised an eyebrow. Beca couldn’t blame her. Her mutterings sounded like those of a mental patient.

Yet, Chloe waited as she always did, knowing that Beca needed time to find the right words. Beca fell even more in love with her at the gesture. God, how had she gone so long without knowing?

Beca continued, “I’m trying to say… yeah. Yeah, you have been waiting for me. For a while, I think. And I’m trying to tell you that – well, that you don’t have to wait anymore. I’m, like. I’m here. I’m ready. So… you don’t need to wait anymore. Yeah?”

Chloe stared at her, confused apprehension etched across her face. Beca stayed silent, hoping that she had gotten the message. After a moment, Chloe began in a quietly vulnerable voice, “I don’t…what are you… Beca?”

Beca decided to take the plunge, ignoring the fear in her chest. “Chloe, I think – and you really need to stop me if I’m wrong and just a big idiot – but I don’t think I’m wrong, I think – well I know I was an idiot before, but I mean now – I think that you might like me? Like, like like me? As in want to be with? Like date? And that you might have felt that for a while and I just missed it? Am I right? Do you like like me?”

Beca stopped her word vomit to finally inhale, her eyes never once leaving Chloe’s face, not wanting to miss the smallest reaction from her best friend.

She’d missed so much over the years. She didn’t want to risk missing anything now.

Throughout Beca’s speech, the color had drained from Chloe’s face, and her mouth had opened slightly in surprise. She finally closed and swallowed, hard, her throat bobbing. Her eyes moved from Beca’s, flickering between her and the ground. Beca watched as the muscles in Chloe’s cheeks twitched and knew that she was clenching her jaw. Chloe looked scared, like a small animal trapped in a corner. Beca had never seen Chloe so uncomfortable. Her stomach plummeted; she’d been wrong, and now Chloe was the one who was going to run.

Suddenly watery eyes met tentative dark blue ones, and Chloe choked out, shaking her head, “Bec… I’m sorry.”

Beca felt as though she’d been slapped. Shit. Her gaze dropped and her face burned in shame. She’d crossed a line, and she had no idea how to save what was left. “Shit, Chloe, I – “

“Beca Mitchell!” Chloe cut her off her sharply. Her eyes snapped back up to stare at Chloe in shock as she continued, “Don’t you dare interrupt me right now. Let me finish, please.”

Beca nodded frantically, desperate for Chloe to keep talking.

With a deep, steadying breath, Chloe resumed. “I’m sorry. You have to understand – I never meant to fall for you.” Beca’s eyebrows shot up. Did Chloe just say – but she was speaking again, hands clenching and unclenching at her sides.

“I just, I don’t know, I saw you at the activities fair that day and you looked so beautiful, and then we sang together and something just clicked for me, and I couldn’t get you out of my head. And then you had Jesse, and I felt horrible, Bec, honestly, I tried so hard to not to like you, but I couldn’t help it because you were always so perfect, and I just – ”

Beca had heard all she needed to. She lunged forward and clutched desperately at Chloe, one hand placed on her cheek and the other flung around the back of her neck. She saw Chloe’s eyes widen just before she slid her own shut. She pressed her lips against Chloe’s, muffling whatever words were going to come spilling out with the rest of her rant. Beca tried to put everything she could into that kiss, everything she’d realized in the last moments.

At first, Chloe didn’t respond and Beca almost pulled away, worried that she’d somehow misunderstood. But then, Chloe’s lips softened under hers and strong arms encircled her waist to pull their bodies closer together. Their lips moved against each other; Chloe tasted like sunshine and strawberries. Beca felt like she was floating away.

Beca pulled back briefly to double check Chloe’s reaction; when the contact between their lips broke, Chloe’s eyes fluttered open. She looked dazed, her eyes slightly unfocused.

She was absolutely beautiful.

“Was that okay?” Beca checked quietly. “I’m sorry, I should have asked first.”

Chloe smiled softly and Beca’s insides melted a little.

“That was completely okay. In fact…”

Chloe closed the space between them this time, and they kissed again with more care. Beca noticed that Chloe’s mouth fit perfectly against hers, with Chloe’s lower lip nestled between both of Beca’s. The kiss was brief and stayed PG (they were in the middle of a crowded Central Park, after all), but Beca didn’t think she had ever been kissed with so much love in her life. Her skin burned pleasantly where Chloe’s lips met hers. She’d never felt anything like it.

They broke apart naturally but kept their bodies close. During the kiss, both of Beca’s arms had ended up around the back of Chloe’s neck, resting on her shoulders. They smiled shyly at each other before Beca cleared her throat awkwardly. Wanting Chloe to understand her completely, she said, “You don’t need to wait for me anymore, Chlo. I’m sorry it took so long, but I’m here. I want to be with you.”

Chloe smiled blissfully and said, “Mmm, I think we can arrange that.”

With a mild sense of horror, Beca realized her eyes felt a little watery. Gah. Must be the damn allergies. Blinking rapidly, she grinned back at Chloe, hardly able to believe her ears.

Suddenly, panic gripped her heart; what if Chloe meant this as a fling? Beca didn’t think she could stand it if Chloe was planning on this being too casual. Beca knew she was too far gone for anything between them to be considered a meaningless fling. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and forced the words from her mouth.

“Good,” she said, “Because I’m about to completely demolish our friendship.” Her eyes opened in time to see concern cross Chloe’s face as she continued. “And… you don’t have to say it back – I know this is coming out of nowhere, but – I … I love you.”

Chloe’s eyebrows jumped to her hairline and her jaw dropped. Beca would have laughed if she hadn’t been holding her breath in anticipation. All at once, Chloe’s face shifted to an unreadable expression that sent adrenaline shooting to Beca’s already shaking legs.

Chloe leaned forward slowly until her mouth was at Beca’s ear. Beca, rooted to the spot, didn’t think she could move even if she wanted to. With a soft exhale, Chloe whispered, “Can I tell you a secret?”

Beca nodded mutely, more frightened than she had ever been before, including the time she’d almost died in that bear trap. Chloe chuckled softly, then breathed into Beca’s ear, “It’s a good thing that I love you, too.”

Beca’s heart soared and her face broke into a huge smile which Chloe matched with her own once she’d leaned back enough to see Beca properly.

“Oh. Okay,” Beca managed to choke out, happier than she could ever remember being.

“Well,” said Chloe, leaning again to press a brief kiss against Beca’s smile, “that settles it.”

Cheeks sore from her smile, Beca chased Chloe’s lips with her own until they met again. She’d never get tired of kissing Chloe.

When they broke apart again, Beca laughed at Chloe’s slightly pink cheeks. “I like doing that.”

“Me, too,” replied Chloe. “But we are in public.”

Oops. Beca looked around to see that more than a few people had started to watch their interaction, including the teenage boys that had been playing Frisbee. Yikes. “I forgot,” Beca said sheepishly as her own face warmed.

With a wink and the smirk she had learned from Beca, Chloe nudged her harm playfully and purred, “It’s okay. I know a place we can go.”

Beca’s right hand slid down naturally to be enveloped in Chloe’s left as Chloe turned and led them back in the direction of their apartment, both wearing identical smiles. Beca, lighter than air, knew that she’d follow Chloe just about anywhere, whether it be a cappella auditions or an unknown future. 

She’d be okay, as long as Chloe was with her.

[ambiengrey]

Loitering Ch 4

Summarized for your convenience: summary.

<-previous

the need to know

“Real courage is when you know you’re licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.”

― Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird

The ever-increasingly cold breeze nipped at the sides of his face, combed his fringe back from his forehead – a blur of white tipped black in and out of his peripheral like a phantom, a spectre only there when he wasn’t looking – as he marched up the driveway; fists clenched at his sides, steps determined and unfaltering.

By the time he’d reached the ornate gates and pushed them aside, he’d stopped thinking up excuses with which to explain his presence to whoever opened the door.

Not for the first time either, did he find the ease with which the gates parted for him suspicious, and in the same vein he shoved the thought aside, again; no desire to dig too deeply into what that might suggest.

Just as before.

And before…

Only one purpose stuck at the forefront of his mind as he trudged up the way, eyes focused on the looming wooden doors of the manor – imposing and impressive.

For the first time it occurred to him that, he’d never been as in awe of the manor as he might have been – by the time he saw the outside of it, glittering windows in the sparse Gotham sunlight, big brown doors, balconies and dense, flowering shrubs, sprouting creepy crawlies like veins up the walls, he’d already spent a night inside.

He’d never glimpsed the splendour from afar and paused, gaping up at its grey stone walls, stunned to silence by its majesty. Not only for the look of it, either, but for the legacy it carried.

Jason could actually respect the latter. Could understand the origin of the daunting weight settling on his shoulders whenever he approached the estate and had to look up to see the high rooftop, the castle-like cornices adorning the manor like a crown.

He had to wonder if he was the only one under the invisible pressure – as the lowest, most unforgivable, treacherous, wayward son, adopted though he’d been, of Wayne there was?

Were a million Wayne-eyes, ghostly apparitions in the windows, trained on him whenever he sauntered down the driveway – piercing gazes narrowed; judging, disapproving of him, and wishing him away by sheer force of will?

Perhaps that was why he loitered, rebellious by nature – a nature not of theirs – to taunt them back? To shuck off the heavy weight of their gazes and drop it at their own doorstep, only to stay defiant in their sights as long as he could manage rather than skip away, lighter than before, or enter, even, into their midst, free of their scorn – but – where they could not see him anymore…?

What was a rebellion worth when no one was looking?

That was only a rambunctious child playing pretend by himself.

Jason was no longer a child.

…

He did not come to be defiant, either, though.

Not this time.

It was his own fault he was so out of the loop.

He’d spent the last few weeks in a safe-house, perfectly determined not to set foot outside, where the world was steadily turning shades of molten gold and yellow ochre, deep dark brown, burnt umber and bright orange tinged red against a backdrop of dreary forever-grey.

Only when he could finally hold it no longer – a desperate, burning desire to know a fire kindled in his belly – and it was plain they were never going to find him, he was too well-hidden – and they, perchance, too busy to try – did he at last leave the safety of his nest, determined in his task.

He had to know.

He had to know.

If they’d been too late.

If they’d been at all.

If all his effort had been in vain.

He could feel the hope inside, wishing it hadn’t been for nothing, though he had no courage to voice it or even properly think it.

Jason couldn’t dare to hope.

Not when it involved him.

There had been no hope for Jason himself, after all – in a warehouse, a gazillion miles from home, bruised, broken and bloodied. Betrayed.

…A lot of b’s going on.

…

—Shit.

When had it become a joke?

Dammit.

That had been the entire point though, hadn’t it? To be funny.

Hopelessly funny.

Why would this time be any different?

Why would there be any hope for the Repla—

—but.

Hell.

He didn’t want to think like that, either.

Best to just not think at all.

Better simply to act.

He was good at that. Impulsive, sure – on occasion, he wouldn’t deny. But, more often than not he liked to consider himself a bit of a strategist.

He liked to plan it out. Assess the situation.

Contemplate every possible route.

Weigh one outcome against another. Evaluate the consequences.

Pick a path.

It only ever seemed impulsive, to everyone else.

Except when it actually was.

Maybe this had been, just a little.

Because shit. He was thinking about it now – wavering.

He stopped abruptly, hand raised inches from the door, frozen more than halfway through a motion that would have undoubtedly caused a hollow echo reverberating through the halls inside.

He very suddenly found it hard to breathe – consequences flitting through his mind, a sickening fear spreading its fingers through the fiery want to know, oddly unafraid of the flames, seeming instead immune and intent on smothering them.

What the hell was he doing?

Almost thankfully, he was spared having to answer that thought, when the door to his right – not the one beyond his raised left fist – swung unexpectedly open.

For shit’s sake he actually jumped.

A little, dammit.

Only a little – and why the hell not? He was on edge. Even fricking Nightwing would’ve pissed his panties. Probably.

“Barbie,” he very nearly croaked, his throat was so dry.

Not that she was any kind of Barbie-doll – in the sense of long-legged and tanned (though she had been that before, still kind of was), platinum blonde and baby blue-eyed with a red-lipped smile and a freaky fashion fetish for all things neon pink.

The nickname just kind of fell off his lips, habit now more than anything else because he knew it annoyed her – or maybe it was just the way he always said it – plainly spiteful and obnoxious – because at present, she didn’t have her eyes narrowed at him, no twitch at the corner of her – sometimes red, actually – lips in response to his address, which had been decidedly devoid of the usual tone.

Part of him was a little too surprised to see her, because he actually hadn’t – not like this – since his return from the literal grave.

In hindsight he should probably have expected her presence though – she shared in Dick’s sentiments that they were all somehow family in some form or another, though she’d never been considered a sister. You don’t lock lips with your sisters, after all (—Dick).

The pointedly-being-ignored bubble of hope in Jason’s chest swelled a little at Barbara’s presence, naively thinking if she were here then probably his replacement was, too, and they had found the idiot, after all.

It was a fleeting feeling, however, because Jason noticed almost at once the swell around Barbara’s – blue, in fact, and bespectacled – eyes, one part sleep-deprivation, one part resultant of too many tears, made doubly obvious by the red rims around those blue orbs, and little scarlet veins adding to the evidence of exhaustion as they criss-crossed their way through the white.

The bubble in his chest seemed fit to burst with strain – of fear and disappointment this time. Had they been too late? Had he been too late?

Was this Barbara mourning another dead Robin…? Had she come over to…comfort Grayson, probably, who would be a blubbering mess after losing another brother – and Alfred (oh, Alfred), and…and Bruce.

Did his little—

Did his replacement have a glass case with a tattered uniform to match his own?

What did his plaque say?

A Good Robin.

…

Another Good Son.

Jason bristled, and then felt a little ashamed for it.

If Tim was dead – and it took every ounce of his being to not just assume the worst based on Barbara’s eyes alone – well, then…

Shit.

And being jealous would be petty.

“Jason,” she said, and Barbara’s tone was a practised calm. Jason realised she’d sat there for all of ten seconds before she’d spoken.

Sat. There.

Confined to her wheelchair.

…

Maybe that had been part of his surprise at seeing her, even though he’d known about it. Still.

Talia al’Ghul – Batman’s baby-mommy and Jason’s…whatever the hell she’d been (saviour, mentor, mother-figure, friend, person-thing) – had kept Jason well-appraised of the Bat-family’s fortunes and misfortunes once she’d dipped him in a healing Lazarus Pit that either returned his mind to its former – albeit teenage – glory, or screwed with his sanity – the toss was still up on that one.

It was how Jason first learned of his replacement. And of the new, suspiciously quiet Batgirl that resembled her mentor so much it was stomach-curdling – to anyone she crossed paths with anyway.

And, of course, of the Joker and his still-beating black heart, still-breathing lungs, even though he’d murdered Batman’s Robin – and then some.

There hadn’t been any vengeance for Barbara either, though, granted, she hadn’t died like he had.

Still, Joker’s bullet could very well have done more than to paralyse her. Jason had idly wondered at some point, if she had died as well, would Batman have been driven to revenge after all? At the loss of a second partner?

Would Commissioner Gordon have avenged his daughter if the Bat would not?

His daughter who also just happened to be Batgirl.

Would they have done it together – for his daughter, and for his long-dead son?

Would Babs have come back from the dead, too?

…Babs.

Dickiebird called her that.

He might have lost it, Jason mused, if Joker had killed the always-assumed love of his life.

It would have broken him, afterward. Jason knew that much. Knew about Dick’s reaction to the thought of Joker hurting Tim, and knew about his reaction to him hurting the Joker to the point he was basically dead – if only briefly.

Dickiebird wouldn’t survive another loss of control like that. He’d be drowning in misplaced – because there’d be nothing guilty behind that madman getting what he deserves – guilt.

And dammit.

If Timmy was dead, Jason was doing it himself.

If Timmy was dead…Jason’s eyes very fleetingly flickered to the second floor windows, as if he could see Dick standing there. In the middle of his room, fists clenched, lips twisted, teeth grit in a snarl – the picture of hopeless frustration, bound by the Bat’s cruel, unfair sense of morality ingrained in the marrow of his bones.

Don’t fret so much, Dickie. I’ll make sure at least one Robin gets the justice we all deserve.

“I assume you’re here to see Tim.”

“No,” he answered at once, Barbara’s voice snapping his gaze back to her and his thoughts from its morbid revenge-takings.

Her eyes did narrow at him then, lips thinning as she regarded him, and Jason cringed inwardly at the quickness of his answer.

“No,” he repeated more slowly, more calmly. “I was just—” but no, he had no more excuses, but no desire to actually explain his presence either. “I don’t want to see him,” he settled on instead, firmly, because it was the truth.

He only wanted to know. He had no desire to see.

“Wait,” he started, only just realising what he was saying – what she was saying. “Ti—the replacement is…here?”

Barbara leaned back in her chair, fingers tapping at an armrest. She nodded slowly, after a second, ducked her head, “Yes.”

There was very little relief in her tone. It sounded more ominous than anything else.

“And, he’s…”

“Alive,” she supplied, which told him absolutely nothing.

Nothing good, at least.

Their once more littlest bird was not okay.

Jason’s bubble of hope had disintegrated entirely.

“I…” he started into the silence. Kid wasn’t dead, at least, but he wasn’t alright either. Jason didn’t need to know more than that. He certainly didn’t want a catalogue of the little bird’s injuries – physical, mental, emotional, and/or whatever shit else there was.

He was not okay. That was enough.

Apparently, there was vengeance to be had, after all.

“Got to—” he was going to finish that sentence with ‘go,’ and then leave very determinedly, but—

“Sorry, I’m ready now, we can—holy crap, you’re Jason Todd.”

“No kidding,” he replied, eyes narrowing, fingers twitching with irritation.

Stephanie Brown was – more the Barbie-doll personified than Barbara – an ex-Robin, too. Cut from the same cloth of abundant “recklessness” as Jason himself, apparently. It got her fired before it got her killed, and then she died, anyway – only she didn’t – and now she was Batgirl, which…the Dark Knight either had no say about, or didn’t actually mind, after all.

Truth be told, Jason should admire her tenacity or something, but at the moment all he could manage was annoyance.

Stephanie was Tim’s ex-girlfriend – and apparently he had Dick’s same penchant for staying friends with exes – and he was upstairs, somehow not okay, and she was down here smiling.

There was a bounce in her step as she appeared behind Barbara’s wheelchair, a lightness to her tone, a pleasant curve to her lips and a happy glint in her – completely different form Barbara’s – blue eyes (even if they were also obviously freshly dried of tears).

It grated at Jason’s skin.

Jason couldn’t imagine even Dickie – who was more often than not considered the sole definition of happiness, for shit’s sakes – smiling while their little—

Dammit.

His. His – as in Dick’s – little brother was somewhere upstairs, not okay.

“Wow, that’s one intense bat-glare,” she remarked suddenly, blinking at Jason before she leaned a little towards Barbara, “Or is that just his normal expression…?”

The corner of Barbara’s lips quirked up into a little smirk, briefly, but she didn’t reply. Stephanie didn’t seem to actually want an answer anyway, though Jason didn’t give her chance to—

“Don’t compare me to him,” he snapped, and then felt stupid, because it sounded childish.

The girls didn’t reply. Instead, Stephanie said, “I assume you’re here to see Tim, and Bruce.”

Barbara shifted in her seat.

“No,” Jason scathed, harsher than he would have if she hadn’t mentioned Bruce.

Stephanie frowned and pursed her lips like she disapproved of that about as much as Jason had of her smile.

“Well, you—”

“—should,” came, quietly, with the swing of the left-sided – from where Jason stood – door, enough to reveal a short, half-Asian girl, dark hair pulled back, her eyes dark brown and peering up at him as she curled around the door, a tattered-looking book Jason couldn’t see the cover of clutched to her chest.

Damn, Replacement – apparently Dick really was rubbing off on the kid – who else was going to jump out of the woodwork just to see him?

Huntress? Batwoman? Catwoman? Wonder Girl?

That last one actually seemed likely.

And then, none of them did – as secret identities went, the three Batgirls were the only ones in the know. Jason was only mostly assuming. And yes, he was just going to collectively refer to them as the Batgirls now, for ease of monologuing – though he knew Barbara went by Oracle now and Cassandra, that was her name, had passed on the mantle to Stephanie.

She was stationed mostly in Hong Kong, according to Jason’s intel – no longer Talia, as a side – but Jason had glimpsed her flitting across rooftops, either patrolling or searching for Tim – or both – the past month. Two.

…

Almost three.

…

…His stomach twisted just thinking about it, so he stopped.

Cassandra Cain was a weapon, Jason had thought, watching her work, too curious not to, even though he really hadn’t had the time – his lead had already been old by the time he picked up the trail and getting colder by the second. Still, it was him, so it was worth it.

Pretty Bat was lithe and agile enough to rival Dick – flexible in a way few of them truly mastered – and tall, despite her lack of actual height, fierce and commanding enough to rival Bruce – invoking fear with little more than a look.

She went by Black Bat, Jason had heard, which, he’d thought, was only a little redundant since bats were already black – or so went the general assumption, anyway, but who was he to criticize, really? He went by the colour of his hood. Not technically, but if you didn’t know the history there you wouldn’t think anything else.

“You…want to.”

It took him a moment to realise what she’d said.

His arm had come down from the door at some point he didn’t remember, and he clenched his fists at his sides now, so tight the leather of his gloves squeaked with the strain.

“Like hell I do!” he snapped, glaring daggers at her.

She didn’t even flinch.

“Hey, no need to be such an a—”

But Barbara’s hand came up, almost lazily, and Stephanie cut herself off, just as Jason turned his glare back on her.

“Let’s just go, Steph,” Barbara said, tone dry. “Jason’s a big boy. He knows what he’s doing. And I’m late, besides.”

She regarded him over the rim of her glasses, and Stephanie didn’t hide her scowl either, grabbing hold of the wheelchair’s handles. Cassandra made no move to help, and Barbara’s fingers curled securely round the armrests as Stephanie made to wheel her right down the porch’s steps.

She only made it so far as the first edge before Jason had come round to the front of Barbie’s perch, fingers reaching for the armrests, only just not touching them as he met Barbara’s gaze, “Let me…”

She didn’t seem surprised in the slightest, though Stephanie had halted the chair a little abruptly. Jason chose to ignore that. Both of that – all of that, really, he needed no remarks on his behaviour. It was the decent thing to do and that was it.

He had no doubt Stephanie and Barbara had probably done this before, or else strong little Cassandra might have jumped in – not that Jason knew enough to assume, but she was a Bat, it seemed to go without saying. Only, he was there and doing nothing, plus Barbara seemed peeved at him, which sucked for some reason, and he didn’t know how else to apologize for whatever the hell he’d done this time.

Gaze unwavering, which only served to make his skin crawl, Barbara released the armrests and brought her hands up, making room for him. Grip sturdy, he gave Stephanie a quick glance before they lifted the wheelchair in tandem, hovering it just enough to move it smoothly over the steps and place it safely down on solid ground again. Jason kept his eyes on his hands, well-aware of Barbara’s on his face.

Leaning a little forward put her face inches from his own, still bent forward as he was, and Barbara’s hands came back down to settle on his wrists, squeezing slightly. He flinched, looking up at her.

Her eyes looked hazy, but serious, through the glass, and her deep red hair framed her face, spilled over her shoulders in waves of fire and blood.

“Thank you,” she said, so low he didn’t think the others could hear, and Jason’s brow furrowed – she couldn’t mean this. “For what you did for Tim.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he replied, just as quiet, if so much more strained, before, jaw firmly set, he made to straighten, intent on forcefully plucking his arms from her grip, but she let him go without protest and he stepped back, trying to remember how to breathe.

Stephanie gave him a pensive look he pointedly ignored, even as Barbara turned her gaze away, started pushing herself in the direction of the car. “Let’s go, Steph, Alfred shouldn’t be long.”

“Right…” and she wandered after Barbara, Jason’s gaze following them both for a moment – he hadn’t even seen the car parked off to the side when he’d approached the manor, too fixated on the doors.

That right there was an excellent display of his night-work skills.

Alfred was probably driving them home, but the car in question was much too expensive to be anyone’s but Bruce Wayne. Jason contemplated how not long Alfred would take and how fast he’d need to walk to get back to the gates and disappear without them passing him, when—

“Wait,” Cassandra spoke, not as quiet as she had before, but still as firm, and Jason, skittish as a cat for crying out loud, felt his shoulders twitch. The shorter girl – by at least half a head – skipped down the steps towards him, holding out her book, pointing one finger at it, “Read. Please.”

Jason snatched it only a little less politely than he could have, still a little irked, and read the title aloud, “Beauty and the—” he cut off, not only recognizing the too-large, slanted and half-crooked letters scribbled with a thick Sharpie, but the roughly bound book with its thick cover and curled pages as well. He knew if he opened the book there’d be a couple pages at the beginning in his own handwriting, the pencilled words probably faded and the paper yellowed with age, the rest neatly typed out on thick white sheets, finishing the story. “…Beast. This is mine,” he finished with a stunned mumble, before he gathered himself enough to demand, “Where the hell did you get this?”

“I’m afraid that was my doing…Jason,” came the reply, even as Jason looked up to glare at Cassandra – who had her head curiously tilted at him, but said nothing. She hadn’t been the one to speak; instead, the culprit stood just over her shoulder – tall and slim, and forever dressed in a neat black and white suit as if he owned absolutely nothing else—

Alfred.

There had been only the briefest of pauses before Alfred had said his name, as though he’d never hesitated, but that only made the absence of ‘Master’ all the more striking. Jason was no longer a master in the manor.

“My apologies, sir. Miss Cassandra expressed the desire to read to young Master Tim,” Jason only just managed not to twitch. “And as you might recall, Master Bruce has a large collection of frightening variety, but alas. None seemed appropriate for Miss Cassandra,” he smiled at her briefly, and only then did the girl taker her eyes off Jason to smile back. Jason would have shifted his weight, or looked at her properly when she moved, if he wasn’t so frozen. “I directed her to your collection instead…” Alfred’s weary eyes fell on the book Jason was unconsciously clutching with all his fingers, and rested a gloved old palm on the cover. Alfred didn’t look at him when he spoke again, but Jason couldn’t keep his eyes off the old man’s face – it had been too fucking long.

“I’m afraid I’d quite forgotten your penchant for rewriting library books in your own hand, before you could type them out. Cheaper than buying them, you used to say. More honest than simply keeping one. Practice, besides. And I believe, apart from your many Robin trinkets, your library card was your most prized possession.”

Jason couldn’t add to the conversation for the lump in his throat, though he did manage a weak nod. Alfred’s head came up and Jason lowered his gaze, no desire to catch sight of whatever disappointed expression Alfred felt fit to grace him with. The old man’s hand slipped from the book to straighten his coat.

“Do step inside, sir,” Alfred said, in that tone Jason had heard so many times as Robin and brooked no argument. “Before you catch a cold. For all that winter is on the rise still, the chill is hardly bearable.”

And then he was gone, stepping almost regally towards the car. He’d started it up and was backing out the driveway before the feeling returned to Jason’s fingers.

For all that he’d been “saved” from the streets and adopted by Bruce, was trained by him, had been his partner, his failure, had called him…Dad, on occasion…Alfred was the one who’d raised him.

A single one-sided conversation with the man and Jason had the same sickening churn in his gut that he had months ago – when he’d called Tim Timmy, of all the damn things.

“You’re more than welcome, you know…”

Jason’s head snapped up, a firm scowl on his face as he locked eyes with Dick, who stood on the porch’s first step. Jason shoved the book at Cassandra, not quite bothering for her to actually take it before he let go. For all her grace in a mask and cape roaming through darkness, the girl scrambled awkwardly to stop the book from falling. Jason had spun around to leave before he could tell if she’d managed.

“Wait,” Dick called, of course. “Where are you going?”

There was an itch between Jason’s shoulder blades. A quick, throbbing pulse in his neck. A twist to his stomach and his head ached. Honestly, he couldn’t care less where he went as long as he went away. But he thought of Timmy. Still not okay.

“Something I got to do,” he answered offhandedly, though his tone was strained, throat still dry, not certain why he was replying in the first place.

Though he’d started walking off, and not exactly slowly either, he could still hear Cassandra’s quiet input – to Dick – “The Joker.”

He quickened his pace, clenched his fists, and would have marched right down to the gates without falter, no matter what the hell Dick tried to say to stop him – dead or alive, replacement or not, Tim deserved a little justice; they all did – only—

Of all the things Jason thought Dick could possibly have come up with, this never even made the list, and hearing it Jason couldn’t do anything else but stop.

“Joker’s dead, Jason.”

next->

[themockingcrows]

Tapping With Blue Eyes: Ch. 2 - Unseen Gaze

Shoutout to @stribird for poking me into motion and asking me to get this world expanded  back during JohnDave week (and for making such cute art of the existing chapter at the same time). I’m sorry it took so long. <3

This chapter is SFW AO3 Mirror- [X]

Adjusting to being a tap wasn’t that hard. Really, the bonuses were pretty sweet. Great food, great sex, new boyfriend eager to make sure Dave felt spoiled rotten in exchange for sharing his blood solely with John. Few months in, however, Dave really wishes he’d spent less time making goo-goo eyes and more time brushing up on how many tangled webs the vampire was involved in, both family and otherwise.

This wasn’t what he envisioned at all.

    It was hard to think that just a few months ago, Dave had thought vampires were just in video games and creepy movie castles, or boxes of cereal that tasted like early diabetes mixed with Saturday morning cartoon marathons. They were all fictional, the hiss and scare, the flying bats, the unholy combination of Hot Topic and Party City's Halloween section. He'd always associated them with silly things, or with overly sweet candy corn.

    Now he associated them with fantastic food, warm hands holding him, loud club music and mind blowing sex among other things.

    Like being prone to fainting, for instance. That was definitely a new thing Dave associated with vampires, and he wondered why he never considered it before.

    “Dave, I told you we should have waited longer, now look at you!” John fussed, cold soda bottle bleeding perspiration into the collar of Dave's shirt from where he had it pressed against the back of his neck. It took effort not to drop his gaze lower to where the faintest edge of a fresh bruise was resting against his boyfriend's nape, and even more effort not to press his lips right where they'd been earlier that morning. Which was the literal cause of all this. “We should have waited till afternoon, or just. Waited till it was time to visit Dad and then gone, given you some more time.”

    After the first few weeks of sorting out their own balance and rhythm, Dave was an enthusiastic tap sorting out the schedule and figuring out how much he could comfortably give at any time, and John was accepting the burden that came with finally having a constant supply of blood on hand. It made him powerful, made him alert, made him more protective.. and it all had to be managed like he was just learning his powers for the first time as a child. His father had been right about never really stopping the learning, and about his newly appreciated appetite being a strain on him in unimaginable ways. The benefits outweighed the negatives but.. still.

    The biggest issue they were facing so far was that protective instinct. John had to work hard at it to keep from slipping and becoming overbearing, smothering his tap, and angering his boyfriend. It felt right, it felt good but it wasn't the right thing to do. Dave needed as much freedom and space as anyone else did, and together they were finding ways to cope with it. Part of the reason for John taking Dave to meet his father today was to also see about getting some more direct advice on what to do. Part of him was wondering if this was really as normal as he hoped, or if something in Dave was just incredibly potent. John was fairly sure he was able to lift fridges with one hand like his father without breaking a sweat now, and hoped to get some tips on how to keep that force strictly to the fridges and not at all towards accidentally hurting Dave.

    Why taps didn't get their own power up, he'd never know. ..Maybe they just got more delicious after becoming bonded with someone, and had the benefits of protection and food? Still felt unfair, but as far as humans went, it was probably well enough. Didn't need humans getting too deeply in the center of those unseen.

    “I'm fine, John, really,” Dave said with a grunt, eyes closing as he adjusted to the cold feeling on his skin. How fucking embarrassing. One moment they'd been walking along and heading down a few steps to the street, and the next his legs turned to jelly and the ground had rushed up to meet him. He could mentally trace each droplet of condensation as it traced beneath his shirt and out of view, as well as imagining the spreading cloud of water on the fabric. It was the most solid thing he could focus on while waiting for the ground to stop swaying beneath him. “I got dizzy. No big. I didn't crack my head open or anything, right?”

    John eyed him, not sure if he was honestly questioning or if he was making a joke.

    “..You didn't. But you did go down like a quarter ton of bricks,” he said. “We shouldn't have come out so early, last night was intense. Maybe we should have just stayed home. Do you want to go home?” John worried, keeping the bottle in place. Dave was subtly swaying, and it was keeping him on edge, ready to dip down and pick him up if it kept up.

    “Ease up, really, it's fine,” Dave repeated. He snorted softly when the anxious fussing didn't stop immediately, and reached up to grasp at the cold drink, wanting to pry it from John's hand so he would have to reset his focus and listen clearly. “Did too much too fast, I'll go slower now. Just like last time, right? I was fine last time too. Just did a bit too much too fast.”

    “You need to rest..”

    “I just did rest in fast forward. On the ground,” Dave said, lips curling into a teasing smirk. “No, but seriously, I feel a ton better already and if I go slow I'll be fine,” he promised, satisfied that the ground no longer was moving even with his eyes shut tight.

    John didn't look convinced. He busied his empty hands with pushing Dave's hair gently back out of his eyes and hooking it behind his ears and the stems of his shades, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. When Dave glanced up he could see the tip of a fang pressing a little too hard against the thin flesh, drawing up a bead of bright blood the longer it stayed there.

    He was trying. He was trying so hard it made Dave's chest ache. A few weeks ago, John would have just picked him up and toted him off towards home, or towards a hospital, ignored protests in the midst of his worry. That instinct to ensure Dave was alright, that Dave was well, that he hadn't damaged his boyfriend at all, was overwhelming. John's eyes were bright but visibly straining to sit still, muscles in his arms trying to twitch with the urge to do more.

    The grab and run didn't happen. Somehow, the vampire was keeping the instinct at bay. They'd feel proud about it later.

    “..Alright. Would you feel better if you helped make sure I'm fine?” Dave guessed, relaxing when he saw John nod enthusiastically, blue eyes wide and eager as a puppy. “Let's go get something to eat, then. That helps. The soda won't be much more than a crutch,” he said, remembering what he'd learned since his first few faints. Sugar and caffeine helped him, but never for long when he crashed from a feeding. Dave was fairly sure he'd need to give some serious thought to John's comment about keeping snacks and supplements on hand in the future, but at least for now he was piecing together what worked best on his own.

    “What do you feel like? Something solid, light? Snacks? Want some coffee? I could just take us back to your place and make something if we got ingredients, it'd be no proble-” John rambled till a finger pressed to his lips, shooshing his rambling. John blinked briefly, then sighed. “..I was doing it again, huh.”

    “A bit, yeah. C'mon, let's just go get something quick and light, we've got the whole morning left to burn. Maybe a sandwich or something from the convenience store, even.”

    “Not the hot dogs, or the burritos, or anything else on a roller though,” John said as he bent a bit further to scoop Dave upright and dust him off once he caught his weight on his own two feet. Dave curled his fingers into fists and fought hard to avoid wavering afterward, honest to god dizzy and not wanting a repeat of worry sounds filling his ears. There wasn't much budging him on the junk food stance, not when moments like these happened, but it was hardly an iron will to work against.

    “Aw, but John, how else will I get to experience the fiery burn of food poisoning when my hearty appetite takes me straight out of a flavor explosion as my godly immune system falters,” Dave crooned. “No, seriously, it'd be fine, I've eaten worse. You've seen this with your own two eyes.”

    “Yes and I really don't understand it still,” John sighed. “You basically have your own chef at your beck and call, and yet you keep veering to that stuff every chance you get. I'm not even sure it's really food.”

    Dave tugged at John's arm to get him to start moving, satisfied the sick feeling was already leaving his head the longer he moved. He cracked the soda open, dodged a spurt of foam that slipped over the edge of the plastic cap he slammed back into place a second too late, and slurped the sugary liquid from the side as it ran down over his fingertips. He let John take the lead this time, glad when the vampire only steered enough so they could dodge the street that would take them near a 7-11 and the greasy wonderland within. Instead, they wandered along to a cleaner, smaller family owned mart that promised fresh varieties of juices and light foods. It was a little more expensive, but it seemed like a the increase in quality was worth it.

    John was just glad they didn't sell gas out front, the petrol fumes usually indicating not-that-fresh food and nothing he'd want to taste personally later on if given the choice. Less fresh food made for some fairly gross tasting blood, and Dave himself wasn't some amazing alchemical property that made garbage taste any less like garbage coated in candy.

    “Ooh, they got a live juicer in here, it's not just all pre-bottled,” Dave said, sounding a bit impressed. He looked even more enthusiastic the second he noticed mango and pineapple among the stacked fruit options, and veered a hard right towards the counter when at least three varieties of ripe apples came into view.

    Hell yes.

    Hell to the fuck yes.

    “Hey, pick one for me too? I'm gonna check what else is here,” John said, heading back to check out the coolers and shelves.

    Aside from the usual snack foods, there seemed to be different options for local brands. Among the candy bars were some chunkier treats with labels from downtown, and chip bags bore marks from all around the state. The fresher foods were most appealing to him however, and he stared at the cooler to find something simple. ..A sandwich. That'd work, right? By the time he'd picked something out and made his way back to Dave, the blonde was juggling two tall, cold glasses of fresh juice and clutching a sticky bottle of soda beneath his armpit.

    “What'd you grab for me?” Dave asked, pausing his slurping to eyeing the wrapped package.

    “Nothing wild. Roast beef, cheese, veggies,” John shrugged. “What about you?”

    “Strawberry, mango, banana,” Dave said. “Not red so much as, like. Murky weird orange brown yellow-ish? But it should taste good. They didn't have cherries or I'd have tried making it even brighter.”

    “You're never gonna drop that red association with me, huh,” John said, rolling his eyes. A good choice, but he could now confirm that between Dave's color preferences and the vampire gags, red would be outweighing blue in his vicinity forevermore. John eyed Dave's hips as he wandered ahead to the cashier to set the cups down for now, following the curve of his ass till he had to look upward.

    Right. Subtle. Good going, John.

    “Nope, not at all,” Dave snorted, reaching into his pocket to fish out his wallet, paying for the juices. John paid for the sandwich and slipped it into Dave's hands as he snagged the sticky soda and his own juice, setting the former into a small bag to avoid touching it very much after getting his change.

    They made their way outside and around another block before finding a bench to settle on, John leaning back and slouching, while Dave crossed a leg over his opposite knee and unwrapped the sandwich, grinning at the contents.

    “Whoa, nice one. Maybe we'll have to go back there sometime, they seemed to have a lot of stuff,” Dave said. “Not too far out either. Could be a thing when we want a walk?”

    “Or when we're coming back from the bar, if they're open that late.”

    “I didn't see any gas pumps, I doubt it,” Dave said as he ripped into the bread in a large bite, chewing quietly for a moment before holding it up to John in offer with a coy grin. “Won't taste nearly as good as me, but here: want a bite?”

    Though John smirked at him, he got a bit of headway back by grasping the skinny wrist he loved to tease with his fangs, pulling his arm forward to bring the sandwich in range of his mouth to take a large bite as well. He hummed, surprised at the flavor, only to have Dave nod to the side and start to mention something about what he thinks might be some kind of secret sauce or dressing on this thing. John heard the first half of the chatter, but slowly stopped listening as he felt the first clench in his stomach.

    No.. No, not his stomach. His chest. Right over John's heart was the distinct sensation of something squeezing, stealing his breath away, pouring icy water down his spine till his skin twitched uncomfortably.

    Panic.

    Something was wrong. Very, very wrong and he couldn't place it. Where had he ever felt this before? John racked his brain, trying to think of something specific, and was coming up blank. He wasn't old enough or strong enough yet to sense things well as his dad, but fuck why was this bothering him so badly? There was a reason to be upset, a reason for this panic, and he couldn't imagine what it could be for certain. Lifting his head, John began to look around while Dave continued to talk, pausing once in a while when the need to breathe caught up to him or the allure of taking another bite grew too distracting.

    ..Nothing.

    He couldn't see a single thing out of place, and if only for that, everything became suspicious. Old woman jogging? Suspicious. Group of teenagers? They're teens, of course they're suspicious for one reason or another. Man with a baby carriage? Double suspicious, what if it was the baby that was feeling like a threat? John lowered his hand and grasped at Dave's shoulders, pulling him gently closer to hug tight.

    “So anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to hit up the movies after all. There's some good shit pla- John? ..Dude. John. You alright? Look like you saw a ghost,” Dave said, letting himself be tugged close. He blinked a few times, then peered up over his shades, curiosity glinting. “...DID you? That a thing too? I mean, I didn't think you were real, is there other shit that's real? Is the tooth fairy gonna shank me with a toothbrush sharpened into a punji stick for not flossin' enough? Werewolves gonna come and treat me like a fire hydrant? Bigfoot actually a thing? Do we need to guard the snacks better from his hairy ass outdoors?”

    “Dave.”

    “What?”

    “Dave.”

    “What.”

    “I need you.. to be.. very quiet. Just for a second. Okay?” John said, still on high alert as the feeling intensified. Which direction? Where was it coming from? The longer he couldn't locate the source, the more he was alarmed at just how open the space they were sitting was, how exposed, and couldn't bother fighting his instincts any longer. Dropping his juice he stood up and dragged Dave with him, ignoring the sudden loud complaints about the splash of red juice getting all over (RUINING, JOHN, RUINING!) his shoes.

    Needed to run. Needed to run, find somewhere with a nice solid door, and needed to get ready to fight. ..Fuck, no, couldn't fight with his tap right there, too high a risk. Nor could he risk leading whatever was leering at them out of sight to either of their homes. Dave was starting to squirm and struggle in his arms, complaints growing louder as the remnants of the sandwich and Dave's juice fell and splashed all over his shirt this time, traces trailing down to John's arms like frigid ice. He'd deal with it later. Needed to run.

    Car. They could go to the car, and go to his dad's place early, they'd be safe there. It was fine if dangerous things knew where his father lived, they wouldn't cross a vampire as well established as his father, whatever it was. Fledglings and young, newly bonded vampires like himself were easy prey in the eyes of some beasts, but with backup they wouldn't be sitting ducks.

    His time so far with Dave had been like a daydream, everything sunny.. this wasn't how John wanted to introduce the risks he'd warned Dave about in the flesh.

    “John will you put me the fuck DOWN?! I'm drenched, this is gross as fuck, I'm gonna get ants on my dick at this rate. You want that? Insects suddenly having front door open access invited to my tasty dick? Because I sure as fuck don't want that,” Dave said, continuing to struggle, and continuing to be locked in place by an iron grip that he himself had managed to make even stronger over the last few weeks by feeding his boyfriend. The speed was increasing as well, whatever had John spooked was doing a fabulous job at making him push the limits of just how fast he could flee an area. Dave couldn't even make out the faces of the people they were sprinting past, and wondered vaguely if they looked like a blur to them.

    Fuck.

    “Man, seriously, put me the fuck DOWN, John, I will elbow your ass and you fuckin' know it. Wanna try me?” Dave warned, preparing to pull his arm back as a threat. “Come on, you've been doing great, just. Slow the fuck down and tell me what's happenin' at least!”

    “Watched. Bad. Can't go home, going to Dad,” John said hurriedly, zipping around another street corner. Dave could see sweat beading on John's brow, and could finally see the terror in his eyes. Was it real? Was this a false alarm? ..There was no real way to verify that himself, far as Dave knew, but it was worth questioning. He grunted when the running suddenly stopped as if John had reached a dime, considered its shiny surface, and brought every cell in his body to a screeching halt directly on top of FDR's smug looking head.

    They'd reached the car, and apparently it was indeed enough of an emergency in John's eyes that he didn't so much as put something down for Dave to sit on, instead choosing to deposit his sticky, juice soaked body directly onto his nice fabric seats. John waited till Dave's legs were in place before slamming the door shut and going to his own side, not even waiting for seat belts to get on before he was cranking the engine and hurriedly backing up, turning enough to veer out of the lot.

    While John was so busy looking forward, Dave was busy looking back. He wasn't sure what he was really looking for, but it seemed important to at least try. It would also be good to stop focusing on how close they were to a four car pileup or a roll over by not looking at just how close John was cutting everything with his erratic movements. What was suspicious or not to a vampire? Based on the foods John could eat safely, he figured there were no rogue threats of garlic bread or Italian food trucks in their future.

    It was only when John was done jockeying around to get to the ramp that would lead to the desired highway that Dave was fairly sure he'd caught sight of something as out of place as they were being on their own. Two figures on foot, fairly tall, one with dark hair and one with light were standing in the middle of the road a few cars back, faces turned towards the back of their car. A truck driver laid on his horn briefly, trying to force them to get out of the way, and right before Dave's eyes, they vanished.

    The figures did not step aside, or run, or jump. One moment they were there, green and orange eyes too bright in their faces, and the next they were not, blinking out of position and for all Dave knew, out of existence entirely. Had he been seeing things...? No. No, the horn had honked, someone else saw the people too.

    ..Were they even people, though?

    “Dave, buckle up. I'm sorry I didn't give you time before, but we should be fine on the highway, so might as well avoid even more chances for tickets,” John said. His voice was still tense, but there was an air of apology in his tone, of the usual playful fussing trying to come back. He plugged the metal clip into the buckle of his own seat belt and adjusted how the band rested on his chest and shoulder instead of letting it lurk up by his throat uncomfortably, then reached his sticky hand into his pocket to pull out his phone. Now that the coast was clear enough to be considered 'safe' again, John was left to deal with the side effects of his earlier panic, his bursts of using his still-being-adjusted-to power. His hand shook badly enough that if he were drinking something, Dave would have been reaching for a towel to mop up the wildly flying liquids, yet he was keeping an iron grip on the steering wheel and staying well within the speed limit.

    “Oh. ..Uh. Yeah. Yeah, you're right,” Dave said, breaking his eyes away to look down, plugging his own seat belt into place. The fabric of the seat was already turning a rainbow of colors beneath and beside him, and he could feel his toes squishing in his shoes. He hoped there was spare clothes at John's father's place, and that he wouldn't mind the first important meeting being cut awkwardly short so he could run off and shower. A quick hello sir, goodbye sir, may I get naked upstairs and have some of your clothes sir, no big deal.

    Awkward.

    “..Dad? Hey! I'm sorry it's pretty early compared to what we were planning for, but uh. Something.. something kind of came up, and I'm bringing Dave to the house. Will you be home, or do I need to just use the key?” John asked, trying to sound calm, cool and collected. Apparently it failed, because John winced a moment later. “No, we're fine. Promise, I just felt something was really off and kind of made a big mess while leaving. ..No. I don't know what, or who. Why? Someone in town I should know about?”

    Dave held his breath as he listened in, trying to make out words that were leaking out of the speaker and around the edge of John's ear. He'd heard the voice of James before, and had spoken loosely once or twice when John had the phone on speaker, so he knew the deep, steady tones to listen for. ..Wasn't clear enough though, and Dave sighed as he slouched further, debating putting his sticky shoes up on the dashboard. Why not, everything was already gross, why not just go whole hog while he was at it?

    John paled and went very quiet, mouth shut, lips thin with stress. He nodded, though obviously his father had no way of knowing it, and eventually seemed to remember that himself when he began to make soft 'uh huh' noises to show he was listening.

    “It's. ..You're sure it might be?” he asked, letting out a soft laugh. “You're not messing with me, right? Not a prank? Because if this is a prank, you're definitely ahead of me agai- Oh.”

    Not a prank, then.

    “..Right. I'll lock up once we get there,” John said, placing his phone so he could press it up with his shoulder as he changed lanes and adjusted his speed a bit. “No, I don't want to order in, not if they're potentially in town. Last thing I need to have happen it anyone creeping on your house. ..Nnn... I don't know, Dad, there's schedules to keep up and I'm pretty sure we both have shifts tomorrow.”

    “Day after,” Dave supplied, brows lifted at all the unanswered questions that, judging from the look on John's face, he wasn't that interested in discussing right now.

    “Okay, so, SOON-ish we have shifts, we can't go staying a long time, creeps in town or not. I'm pretty sure just coming to your house at all might make them back off. ..Dave? No, no, don't worry, Dave will be fine, you already know that,” John said, sounding self assured. It melted away and he sounded every bit as young as he looked when, in the next breath, he whined out a loud “Daaaaaaaad, really, I know! I'm already bringing Dave along, and we're both safe, that's a good first step. I did a good thing,” he insisted. “..Alright, alright, we'll talk later. You're right.”

    With a quiet, barely there 'love you, Dad', John hung up and dropped his phone into the empty cup holder. He sighed and slouched as well, eyes on the road but mind obviously miles away. It took a good five miles worth of silence before he jerked straighter and looked to Dave.

    “Ah! Fuck, do you want the radio on? I can put the radio on. What're you in the mood for? I don't have channels saved, but I thi-”

    “Oh, hey, was wondering when you'd notice me! My name is Mud, Mud Strider, pleased to meet you,” Dave said in a singsong voice, annoyed. Talking like he wasn't there, talking like he was a fucking child, talking over his fucking head: all things he couldn't stand and wouldn't take sitting down. The way John wilted again showed his frustration had hit home well enough. Putting the metaphorical claws away, Dave sighed. “..Alright, so. Mind telling me what the fuck literally all of this is about? Who's in town? Why'd you freak and murder my outfit back there, I don't know if I can save this, that shit stains.”

    “Look, I'm sorry, but you wouldn't understa-”

    “Don't fuckin' pull that YA fiction bullshit on me and act shocked when it doesn't work, John Egbert, I'm not a kid. Spill. All of it. I'm involved in this enough to apparently be at risk of whatever the fuck got you worked into a rich creamy lather back there, so you might as well give me the deets and get me on the same page as you.”

    “..Right,” John sighed. He'd looked close to arguing, stubborn to a fault, but Dave had a big point. Instinct needed to settle down, and he needed to use his head. Dave might be his tap, but he wasn't just food. Wasn't a resource with no sense of his own place in his surroundings. “There's a lot going on, potentially. Or at least a lot to explain. ..Can I ask for some patience till later, though? I can avoid getting arrested for driving like an idiot, you can shower and change, we can both have something to eat and then talk with my dad. He might be able to explain even better than me.”

    Dave blinked, and narrowed his eyes a bit, lips turning down.

    “Hey, no, I'm not stalling Dave,” John said, guessing the look. “I'm not trying to be vague. Dad was a bit vague too, I think because he knew I was driving and talking, but that just means he'll be more thorough when we're all settled down in one place. Bonus: it's safe there! So I'll be plenty relaxed too. ..Think you can handle that? Just a little longer? I've got questions for him too, but I want to know for sure what he already knows instead of just.. y'know. Guessing.”

    “You're totally stalling. Who are 'they',” Dave said. “The people who might be in town that you mentioned.”

    “I don't know if it's them or no-”

    “'Them'. I don't care if you know they're in town or not, man, just. Who is 'they' and 'them'. Gimme some adjectives, man, something to chew on till I can weasel stuff outta your dad. GOOD adjectives,” Dave clarified. “Gimme somethin' to run with!”

    “A bunch of assholes, potentially, that work?” John said, rolling his eyes.

    “Assholes. What, like. They human at least, orrrr....?”

    “No. No, they're not. I don't think they keep humans around for sure.”

    “...Are they like you?” Dave asked.

    “I wish. ..At least one of them is like me, if it's the one I think might be around. But not like me at all, because as I said: they're assholes,” John insisted.

    “Any of 'them' got a name? How many we talkin' here.”

    “Several different people. I'm not giving any names till I know for sure,” John insisted. “Last thing I need is to talk about Jake and have him sudden- ugh,” he said, stalling as he realized what he'd let slip. “Just. Alright look, there's a name, don't go saying it much. Treat it like bad luck.”

    Jake, huh. Alright.

    “..What kinda species, then, if only one or so are like you, potentially?”

    “Were,” John said, nose wrinkling. “Most were are fine, they keep to themselves or just carry on, but. ..Some are just. ..Eugh. Older people get, or longer the family lines are, the more frustrating they are to deal with.”

    “So. Vampires, were..wolves?” Dave guessed to himself. “Anything else? This is a Halloween grab bag double feature at this point, John.”

    John nodded, then shook his head right afterwards.

    “Yep. And that's it, that's the end of the line, I'm not spilling any more beans till we can find out if I'm even spilling the right ones! I could be spilling pineapples for all I know!” he insisted.

    “Fine, fine, damn. How would your Dad know more than you about a few random people being in town? Especially if you freaked out this far away from him?” Dave finally asked. There was at least a few things to focus on and turn over in his mind now, but the loose strings were bugging him more than ever. He knew when he agreed to be John's tap, agreed to date him, that he'd wind up in some crazy shit potentially. Suddenly arriving dick deep in said crazy shit was going to take some definite effort to coast along with.

    “The entire city is chock full of other beings, Dave, remember? All kinds of species, doing their own thing and living life. When something disruptive happens, people notice and talk about it. Dad's a lot more ear to the ground than me about things, he's older, has more contacts. I only recently bonded with you, there's a lot of catching up to do. ..And if it is English, then he'd probably have tried to creep on Dad at least once or twice since rolling into town. He doesn't alert me every time someone passes through, but generally there's not a ton of trouble being caused either. Not much need to mention anything. ..Er. Well. I mean NOW there is, with you around, but since this is the first time I've had one, he pro-”

    “Creepin' on your old man? Why the fuck would anyone do that?” Dave asked. “Isn't he like. Desk job, 9-5, nose to the grindstone of paperwork boring office work dude?”

    “It's apparently rude to not at least try to visit your relations,” John sighed. “Even if your relations want nothing to do with you and have been trying to get you off their collective backs for decades. ..If he's in town, he definitely would have been in range enough for Dad to pick up on personally if not just causing some kind of trouble to be obnoxious.” He glanced over, then leaned forward to switch the radio on. A few flips of the dial and he'd found a station playing things from the 90's and 2000's, and turned it down low to fill in the monotonous sound of wheels on highway. “And if that's what was creeping on us, it'd make sense why I couldn't spot him. Especially if his creepy friend's with him.”

    Dave gave John a dry look, then stared out the window instead. Great, MORE questions. None of this was making any god damned sense, did he need to take notes? Was there going to be a test on this? "So You Fucked A Vampire: Here's His Tangled Backstory And Side Quests!".

    “Y'know, I know I asked for the details, and I understand why you're not explaining more, but goddamn that's kind of annoying. How long till we get there? And how long till your dad turns up, too?”

    “Another twenty minutes till we get there, and probably a few hours till Dad. ..I'll try to explain more when we're there while we wait, try to make more sense,” John promised. “When I'm not driving anymore, when I don't have to worry about needing to run suddenly with you again. You're right. This is all things you need to know, if you're going to continue being my tap. I need to be more clear, but right now I'm just really, really rattled.”

    Dave wanted to be frustrated still, wanted to be annoyed. A lot of things had just happened at once, none of which he got any say in, but John sounded really sincere right now. After weighing his options, Dave finally nodded.

    “Alright. Sounds good.”

    Relieved, John grinned the brightest he had since they woke up coiled together that morning and nodded, already trying to run over what to say in his mind. There was so much to unpack there.. How do you even begin to compress hundreds of years of familial history into something bite sized for someone completely unfamiliar with everyone and almost everything involved?

    He stole a sideways glance Dave's direction, took in the stained shirt and the calmer, albeit tired looking features he could make out while the blonde's face was turned half away, and let his grin relax into something softer.

    ..He'd find a way.