#and yes i’m throwing this in the st tag simply because they kind of took over this post

[excelsior9173]

there is an old rail bridge on my walk to campus. it’s a lovely walk, just under an hour and full of lovely views and native fruits.

i’ve walked on the trails many times, but the bridge is a new addition to my route. i will admit that at first i was rather intimidated by it. it’s very high up and made entirely of wood.

however, i walked to and from campus today to pick some buffalo berries and had to cross the bridge twice. i listened to sleep token the entire way there and back (because what else would i put on) and it was a transcendental experience.

i don’t know if it’s the nerves over the bridge or vertigo or what, but walking on it today felt like i was untethered. unmoored, like i could jump just a little and float away. it was fascinating and kind of nice.

it was also just really good for my mind. i’ve been in a bit of a slump, and definitely not fixed right now, but that walk helped. walking is how i’ve always cleared my head, but sleep token is an excellent tool to add. i don’t know what it is about their music but it drowns everything out. i cannot think about anything, i simply exist in the music and that’s all that there is. i’ve never had such a quiet mind before and will be eternally grateful for finding a band that hushes and soothes everything. even if they make me cry

(edit to add the photos of the view from the bridge i forgot to share)

(a second edit to say that those photos were taken about an hour apart. love calling the land of living skies home. if you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes!)

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

It's Valentine's day, sam has gone out with eileen, dean and cas are stuck in the bunker without dates or anything to do ...... The air conditioning stops working, it gets real hot and sweaty and they both decide they are wearing too many layers .... and whatever ensues I'll leave it up to you.

here you go, anon: (I had to retype this, and reedit this, with the help of the amazing @3dg310rdsupreme so like. just remember to curse tumblr before you start reading, cause that’s why it took ridiculously long:)

***

“So?” Dean raises his eyebrows at Cas, starting to walk down the stairs with an angel by his side. They’ve just finished waving Sam and Eileen off to their date - which is exactly what it sounds like; he stood in the doorway, and Cas smiled from the doorway, until Sam’s car disappeared down the road. “Dinner?”

“Of course.” Cas nods. 

He’s not going to eat, but there’s a little something called company. Dean doesn’t want to eat alone. And what’s more, Dean’s even going to set up a plate for him. He started doing so a while back, cause otherwise it’s just like Cas is there to watch him.

And be it eating or sleeping - that’s always weird.

Walking all the way to the kitchen feels like trekking towards the centre of the Earth. Dean scrubs his face in annoyance, exhaling impatiently. He’s supposed to get used to it. 

It’s really hot. And they’re underground, in a windowless bunker. A bunker with a broken air-conditioner - it’s ancient; so that’s justifiable, was the general consensus, but Dean’s willing to bet it all boils down to their exceptional Chuck-induced bad luck, and Fortuna just wasn’t a good enough godly mechanic.

Or maybe she never anticipated that heroes could get hot, too. Sweating is for the weak and the transient - or some shit. Dean can practically picture her sneer.

Jesus, he hates her.

“Do you need help?” Cas says, once they’re in the kitchen. Dean turns around to blink at him, while he returns to the present. Cas manages to make it sound like were Dean to say yes, Cas would actually help him prepare food. 

Now, Cas is good for a lot of stuff. Strong, strategic, trustable instincts. Brave. But he isn’t worth shit in the kitchen. Dean isn’t really sure if Cas knows that but he hopes, for his sake, that he does. 

Yet, it’s an earnest question, ridiculous or not, so Dean earnestly shakes his head in response. “I made dinner while the rest of you were busy helping Sam choose a corset.”

It’s the kind of hot where Dean’s automatically surly. Sure, he generally is too - but right now, he doesn’t even have to try. 

“It was his shirt.” Cas corrects, simply, and Dean rolls his eyes at the walls as he turns around to get plates. “My advice was to go with the pecan.”

“Was he wearing a pie?” Dean throws back, dryly. He’s got the plates. Now he puts them on the table, and turns to fetch spoons. Cas is still standing, because of course he is. “Guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Pecan’s a shade of brown.” Cas states for the record, and Dean’s getting tired of Cas not going along with his lines. 

And he’s really getting tired of the goddamn heat. 

“Too bad. Now I want dessert. Way to ruin burgers, Cas.” Dean snaps, and Cas looks a little startled - and would you look at that. Even Cas is sweating. There’s beads of sweat on his forehead, and his coat seems even more uncomfortable than usual. 

Suck it, Fortuna. Real heroes sweat. 

“You know what?” Dean mutters, mostly to himself. He really is trying to be less of a jerk - but he can’t seem to help it. It’s Valentine’s day, and it’s hot. So he decides to stop talking, and takes off his jacket, a deep blue leather utility, and shucks it away on a counter. 

Cas seems to find this interesting, his eyes following Dean around the room; so then Dean does the first thing that comes to mind. 

He walks over to Cas, and holds his hand out. 

Cas stares at it, like he’s trying to figure out the purpose of its existence. Dean helps him, because he’s awesome like that.

“Your coat.” 

Because why the fuck not?

“Oh.” Cas unstiffs - Dean isn’t kidding, that’s an actual thing he can do, okay - and almost rewards Dean with a smile. Just like that, he’s wriggling out of his trenchcoat, the sleeves not clinging to his jacket because apparently that only happens to him. Or probably because the coat classifies as oversized, even after all these years. 

Once he’s removed it, Cas folds it from the middle like he’s never folded a coat before, and hands it to Dean. 

“Great. Let’s sit down.” Dean tells him, putting his coat away on the same slab where he’s deposited his own. When he turns around, Cas is sitting, and has folded his arms on the table. The bunker lights, like his eyes, linger on Cas’s jacket. 

To be fair, he doesn’t usually get to do this - because Cas doesn’t usually take off his trench. Guy’s emotionally attached to it or something. 

But he looks - well, so much better without it. Obviously, Dean’s not referring to the way the black makes him look broader, or the buttons draw attention to the suit’s tapered waist. He just looks a lot more comfortable, compared to before. 

Speaking of. 

It’s still so fucking hot. 

“Dean,” Cas begins randomly, once they’re both sitting. Dean’s about to start eating but he stops at Cas’s voice, soft and unsure. “I need to ask you something.”

For some reason, Dean swallows. “Yeah?”

“It is Valentine’s day, after all.” Cas justifies preemptively, and Dean looks up at him. 

“So?”

“Is this a date?” Cas finally asks, blue eyes boring into Dean’s, something profound in his words.

Dean pretty much stops thinking, as if on cue. “What? No.” He gets up. He shouldn’t have gotten up. He’s already up. “Is this about dinner? Jesus, Cas,” He hopes he sounds exasperated, he’s trying to. “Hell, is this about me taking your coat before you sit? It’s burning up, man, what do you expect me to do?”

Cas stands up too, wordlessly. 

He looks like he’d still like an answer. He looks like he might even repeat the question. 

Before something else - something worse can happen, Dean’s picked up his plate. “I’m going to have dinner in my room. Feel free to…do whatever you want. Apparently, It’s Valentine’s day.” He adds, halfways to a scoff, as he marches out of the room. 

(Remember how Dean’s stopped thinking? Yeah.)

Cas picks up both of their coats before walking away, a few minutes later. There’s something heavy in the air, left behind.

*

Dean’s done eating. 

And because this is his life - his sad, pathetic life- his entire room has somehow grown even more annoyingly hot.

Burdened with misery all the way down to his sweaty socks, he wonders what Cas is up to.

Dude could be in the library, or his bedroom, or hell, even in the kitchen. He could be reading. Or training. (Or, Dean’s mind drifted, waiting.) What could Cas be doing, aside from stewing in this heat, which seems to be all Dean’s doing at the moment?

Except of course, thinking about Cas. But he doesn’t really count that as a separate activity, anymore. In more ways than one, it’s perpetual.

Well, he convinces himself, as he picks up his plate and walks out of his bedroom, arguably hoping to find Cas - he’s got to put the plates in the sink, at some point.

Dean finds Cas in the hallway, walking towards him - or like, in his general direction, and the first thing Dean notices is that he’s not wearing a fucking jacket anymore.

“Hey.” He stops, shuffling his weight on his feet. He takes up a second to imagine what it would be like if Cas didn’t stop, but then he does - so at least Dean’s got that going on for him.

“It’s hot, isn’t it?” Cas remarks, matter-of-factly.

His expression’s perfectly serious, but Dean can swear there’s something else there. He can’t put his finger on it- but there’s something off. It’s the way Cas emphasizes the question tag. Or in the way he says the entire damn sentence.

Or maybe, Dean’s just overthinking words to avoid letting himself think about Cas in his white shirt.

His tie’s still in place, but the suit jacket’s gone, and its left the sleeves all crumpled. That’s a possible reason for Cas to have folded the sleeves up to his elbow, putting on display his forearms. And wrists. 

When Dean forces himself to look up from Cas’s hands, he decides that the shirt fits the best of anything else yet, stretched wide over his shoulders and essentially hugging his chest snugly, on the way down.

And it’s so white, that paired with Cas’s tan and the striped blue of his tie, it looks-

“So hot, yeah.” Dean answers, right before the pause that’d begun after Cas spoke, crossed the line to weird. Dean looks at the plate in his hands. “I’m going to put these away.”

“Good idea.” Is all Cas says, coolly - and on a different note, starts to tug at the knot of his tie this way and that, to loosen it. He’s successful almost immediately too, the collar beginning to widen, and -

Dean really doesn’t need to be here for that, so he hurries along his way, walking with his eyes glued to the floor as if that somehow detaches him from existence.

*

This, a hundred percent, has nothing to do with Cas.

It’s hot, is all it is.

Dean peels off his overshirt, leaving just a black t-shirt on - which is not even one of his best ones; it’s probably the one which got exchanged with Sam back in 2014, judging from the way it goes down past his waistline. Dean doesn’t bother folding it as he drops it on the bed. He’s got more important things on his mind.

Such as scoping out a valid reason to go out of his room again.

*

Almost an hour later, Dean feels like it’d be okay to venture out. Before leaving, for good measure, Dean removes his belt, too. Unbuckling it instantly eases some of the pressure on his stomach, which has kept on building, ever since this evening started.

Ever since Sam and Eileen left for their date, leaving him and Cas alone in the bunker with a broken AC.

On Valentine’s day.

Which, Dean frowns to himself, is a rather inconsequential piece of information to add to that pile.

He warns himself against thinking on those lines again, and strides out of his room. He can sense there’s someone in the War room, so in order to sound like he really needs the thing, he starts speaking from the hallway. “Heya, Cas, have you see the -”

There’s no good explanation for why he stops talking.

Except, maybe there is. 

Maybe there’s the best explanation ever, right in front of him, perched on the corner of a table. Maybe it’s got an unbuttoned shirt, and majorly fucked-up hair. Maybe it’s got abs, and chest hair, and hipbones; and maybe it’s all the reason that Dean Winchester’s ever required, for anything in his life. 

He’d lay down his life for it. Hell, he could probably live for that very reason.

“Have I seen the…?” Cas repeats, his left eyebrow hooked. Has that ever happened before? Just that one, arched perfectly, as if demanding all the finished sentences in the entire world.

Dean clears his throat.

He isn’t sure what he’s thinking about, but he can still tell it’s a mistake.

“Nevermind.” He lets out, in a voice which sounds wrong, even to him.

“Alright.” Cas nods in acknowledgement, and with that, turns back to his book. It’s a giant, musty book- but then, all their books are giant and musty, and Dean cannot decipher what’s written on it, because he’d really rather stare at Cas’s hands holding it.

“Don’t you think,” Dean licks his lips. Even his throat is dry. “Wouldn’t you say it’s getting a little too hot in here?”

“I’m doing what I can.” Cas replies, managing to stuff in a little bit of distressed in there, with the general flatness. “Clearly, so are you.”

In a couple of beats, Dean realizes he’s run out of words to say, and Cas doesn’t look too eager to supply his own to keep this conversation alive, so then Dean chuckles - to say the least, awkwardly, and retires to his room again.

*

He’s going to show Cas how much better he can do.

*

“It’s, so, hot.” Dean grits his teeth, pulling the shirt over his head. Now he’s naked from up the waist, and it feels a lot better.

This isn’t a typically humid area, so it’s not like being shirtless is gonna get him sticky. Or any more sweaty, than he already is. In fact, it feels so much better, that Dean almost manages to convince himself that that’s why he’s doing it.

Almost.

There’s no ignoring anymore, that it’s Valentine’s day. And he and Cas are alone in the bunker, and it’s really hot, but that’s not just it.

It kind of never was.

Dean falls back on the bed, sinking slightly into the mattress. An image of Cas floats through his head, and though he really shouldn’t be thinking about Cas right now - half-naked, and on a bed - he doesn’t want to stop.

It’s evident Cas knows what’s going on here.

(It’s evident Cas knows what he’s doing to Dean.)

And Dean feels a pang of something, when he realizes he’s losing this - whatever this is. He may have started it off by being a dick, but he’s lagging behind now.

It’s really more about how much Cas gets to Dean, than about the number of layers he took off. And who’s Dean kidding? He isn’t getting to Cas at all.

(At least, it hasn’t ever felt like it.)

Dean sighs.

He’s too far gone.

And Cas is leaning on a table and holding a book, with an unbuttoned shirt and his fucking smolder, waiting to tell Dean it’s really hot.

He unbuttons his jeans.

Screw this, it’s over a hundred degrees.

Still thinking about Cas, he undoes his zipper, and pushes them down his legs. It’s only when they’re pooled around his ankles, that it strikes him how fucking gone he is, on Cas. 

The realization doesn’t help at all.

He steps out of his jeans, and clenches his jaw.

*

This isn’t the time to think about feelings, and it’s not the time to ponder his relationship with Cas. It’s time to get out there.

So he does.

He walks fast enough, that it’s ironically not hot anymore. Exposure to air makes his legs feel a lot cooler, and though his boxer briefs cling to his thighs, it all feels somewhat freeing.

When he reaches the War Room, Cas isn’t there.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean swears under his breath, starting to walk down the hallway, but there’s no sign of Cas there either, and not even in the kitchen, and then -

“Dean?”

Dean jerks his neck around to face Cas. For the first time, Cas’s eyes seem to have deviated from their lifelong mission to stare Dean down - instead they’re focussed, oddly, on the only part of Dean which is still covered; and his lips are parted a little bit, but -

But he’s also completely fucking naked.

“Cas.” Dean growls, not wasting more than a second to take in all of Cas - eyes glancing over the parts he’d already gotten acquainted to, and hurrying to ogle his thighs, his ass, his fucking dick - and then, letting out a breath he had no idea he was holding, he’s pushing Cas against a wall, and crashing his lips on his.

He’s kissing Cas.

Cas gives back as he gets, grabbing hold of Dean, and pulling him closer with hands around his neck, as his tongue shoves into Dean’s mouth. Dean groans, but it gets lost in Cas’s mouth - eyes rolling back in his head, as his hip thrusts wilder, shoving Cas against the wall harder and pinning him there.

“Fuck, Cas, I - hnghhh -” He pants, in a raised voice, wanting to explain, apologize, proposition - everything at fucking once, but he breaks off with a whimper when he feels Cas’s dick against the fabric of his boxers, exciting his own dick even more.

Cas seems to be more interested in kissing him than his dick lets off - moving in perfect tandem with Dean, eyes completely shut and eyebrows furrowed like he’s concentrating on this; and he really is. He’s kissing Dean like nothing else matters - he’s kissing Dean like this is it, and he’s right, he’s so fucking right.

This is it.

Sparks fly when they kiss, and there’s current in his veins when Cas holds him. It thunders in his ears when Cas pulls Dean close, and all his walls collapse when he cries out Dean’s name.

This, right here, pushing and tugging, and desperate and breathless - this is them. This is everything their lives have been leading up to. This is truly and utterly it.

When Cas’s arms go around his waist, bringing him in tighter, Dean just has to pull away for breath.

Pupils blown, he grunts, accusing because he doesn’t know what he’d be, if not mad. “You ruined the game - or fucking whatever that was, Cas, you fucking ruined it -”

“I think I won the game, Dean.” Cas declares, jaw squared, and lips returning to that thin frown - but Dean does not want to be subjected to it anymore, so he dives in to tug it straight, but Cas cups his face, and kisses him instead, all the way there but just so soft - and Dean’s never been kissed like this before. He’s never known anything like it.

“Yeah, okay, fuck.” Dean gasps, when Cas’s hand slides under the elastic of his boxers, and takes his dick in hand. “Yeah, you win.” He adds, and they’re the last coherent words he gets out in a long while, as his head falls on Cas’s shoulder, hand on the wall propping him up, and he loses what little had remained of his senses.

*

Their chests still heave and Dean’s still lying half on Cas’s arm, absolutely boneless in the way sex makes people.

Cas turns his head to look at Dean, and there’s something twinkling - so beautiful, in his eyes. “Dean?”

“Yeah?” 

“I’m just asking to confirm, but was this because of the heat too?” This time, he sounds playful. He’s just egging Dean on. 

So of course, Dean refuses to accept anything out loud. 

He just turns to his side, and burrows himself around Cas. He knows it’s probably too hot to cuddle, but when he gently puts his head on Cas’s shoulder, Cas just hooks his chin on it like they’re in a frigging chick-flick. And that’s okay, just because. 

“Fine. Happy Valentine’s day to you, okay?”

Cas doesn’t say anything to that, but when his arm comes around Dean, there’s something smug about it. 

And Dean loves it.

[stubbornattempt]

I guess I'll tell the story going backwards. When I first moved into the place with my dad I was worried about being in the same town as John. I didn't know if he was going to fuck with me or not. There was a kid's mouse ears headband in the freezer and a USB chord tied around the refrigerator door handle and I was freaked out that John had broken in and was leaving threats. When I lived at the house where you and I first "met" and the whole John thing broke open he had come into my house and left threatening things around including a toy in the freezer. At least I'm pretty sure he did because there was a pic on Tumblr of that yellow character from Adventure Time in the freezer. So anyway, I thought I'd need to get extra security on the house. I texted my sister and asked her if she knew anything about the headband in the freezer and the cable on the refrigerator door and she did. The headband was in the freezer to make it glow in the dark and the cable had been used to secure the door closed. I assumed that my phone was bugged and that those texts were read by others. I got a job at Kroger and on my very first day there John came into the store. He looked at me sympathetically but I was spooked and ran and hid in the back. That made me think that he was aware of the texts and knew that I was working there. When I left work that day there was a plastic bag that said "Pilot" on it, and it was under my car right in front of the rear tire so it couldn't have been there when I parked. Someone had intentionally placed it there. I thought it meant that you were coming for me. John came into the store several times. He had earbuds in and that made me think he was trying to show that he was listening. I was working in the meat and seafood department, as I'm sure you know, and John came up really close to me one time and so I decided to talk to him. I followed him into an aisle calling his name and he finally looked at me and said, "You work here!" and I said, "Yeah I live in ***** now. Well I just wanted to say that you know where to find me if you ever want to talk about anything." And he smiled very brightly at me and nodded as he walked off. I found him extremely attractive, as I always have. I got hammered one night and was texting my mom about homophobia and I said something about how penises were desirable. (I have no fucking clue why I texted her this, I was shit faced really.) The next day in my parking space at work there was this St. Patrick's day thingy on the ground. I started seeing clues and messages in the groceries at work. I thought that John was offering to take me back and I wasn't really interested because I wanted you. Then I thought the messages said that I could have both, so I began thinking it might be nice to reconcile with John and finally tap that even. Then it seemed like you didn't want me to be with John so I wasn't going to but he kept trying to convince me. Sometimes customers would say things to me that seemed like code. One time this old woman wandered into the back of the meat cutting room and this old man told me that he "lost his wife." I began to evaluate every customer interaction as a potential message and also every misplaced piece of merchandise. I thought that you were mad at me for talking to John and made a mean comment about my weight. I thought that John tried to convince me that you were abusive to me and that he would treat me better. I got a little firm with you and threatened to break it off, but I couldn't do it for real. So its entirely possible that all of this was completely in my head, but I thoroughly believed it was happening at the time. I was very stealthily scavenging the store for products to place around and deliver my messages. I thought there must be people coming in and looking around and reporting them back to you guys. It started to get super stressful. I thought that John kept harassing me and I really only wanted to be with you and I told him so. Then I thought his wife got involved. I thought I saw her come into the store one time. In my mind they started threatening you. The messages at work were supplemented with perceived messages from Pandora and also the various screen savers on the computer. I thought that John and his wife were actively trying to sabotage you from getting to me and so I agreed to give them what they wanted if they would leave you alone. I have no idea if any of this was real at all or completely in my mind. I suspect that at least most of it was in my head. Eventually I became afraid of every misplaced product and read grave messages in everything. I don't remember what was the straw that broke the camels back but I walked out one afternoon and never went back. I thought that the Pandora messages told me that my car was tagged by you guys and so I drove off to another town and spent the night in a store parking lot hoping you would meet me there. Later I came to believe that my car was tagged by the bad guys, which led me to ditch it. Somehow I got it into my head that I needed to leave my dads place, and that's when I got that cheap used car and drove off to another state. I wanted to hide my car so I drove off into a wealthy residential area, and that's where it broke down. I spent the night in the car but in the morning I was worried about the cops showing up since I wasn't allowed to drive a vehicle without an interlock so I walked back into town. I went to a bar and had a beer. Then I went and got sushi and had another beer. Then I napped in the grass. At night I slept in this gazebo that was by the road. A car pulled up next to the gazebo and stayed there. The person didn't get out. The car was there for hours. I didn't know if I was bugged or not so I was talking to you a lot. I asked if the car behind me meant that you were on the way, and when I said that the car drove off. I didn't know who might be able to hear me if I was bugged, whether it was just you guys or some bad guys too, so I abandoned my shoes in the bushes by the gazebo and went into a CVS or something and bought some other shoes. I hid my old shoes rather than throwing them away in case they were the only way you could find me. In the morning I thought about buying a bunch of Benadryl and ODing in a hotel. I took a taxi to a larger city and used up almost the remainder of my money on a hotel room. Then I went to a waffle house to get something to eat and I had a few mimosas. It was too early to check into the hotel so I laid in the grass next to the restaurant. Some woman got out of her car and asked if I was alright, so I left and meandered on. I decided to cancel the hotel room to save money, but they said that the money wouldn't be refunded to my card for several days. I only had like $50 left but it was super hot and I wasn't dressed appropriately. I was wearing my binder and it was really uncomfortable so I went to a clothing store and bought some shorts, a bra, a t-shirt and a cap to keep the sun out of my face. I didn't really have any money after that. I got on a bus randomly. I slept that night in the grass near a McDonalds. I went to a gas station and asked for a piece of cardboard and a pen to make a begging sign. I thought I could beg at an intersection near a main highway at night and that way it would be easy for someone to swoop me up as they drove by. I didn't make very much money doing that and people are kind of dickish. That night I slept on a bench at a bus stop. Early in the morning this guy woke me up and talked to me. He was very nice and kept talking about the ants on the sidewalk and I thought maybe he was trying to say that I was bugged. I'd bought all new clothes but maybe someone tagged me while I was asleep. He asked me if I wanted to get a coffee with him so I said yes and we took a bus to a Starbucks and sat outside next to a fountain drinking them. He asked if I wanted to shower and we took another bus. We arrived near the metro station and sat on some steps across from a big sign that had your name on it. The guy told me that he didn't want me to shower because he was worried that other guys might watch me showering and he asked me if we could just go to a bathroom and clean up there using the sink instead. So we went to a Subway. We talked a lot and he said things that made me think he was an avatar for the theater guys. Their avatars seemed to always be trying to convince me that you were bad and that they could help me. I appreciated their concern very much but nothing would keep me from getting to you. That guy had an EBT card so we went to CVS and he bought me some food. We were walking along and he wandered off and I kept walking. Then he caught up to me and asked why I wandered off and said that he was worried about me. Eventually we did part, and I slept on a bench outside of a women's shelter. There was a dumpster that was very convenient for peeing behind. I'd go to the bathroom at McDonalds when they were open and put TP in my pocket for later use. In the morning this black guy walked by and gave me $10. The other guy who I thought was an avatar was a black guy too. Eventually I came to think that their avatars were always black because of our Scandinavian thing. Anyway, I located the soup kitchen and stayed near to it during the day so I could get my meals. I still thought I was finding signs from you about picking me up. I thought I got a message from the Guys that it wasn't safe and that we were gonna be busted, so I tried to tell you that by going into a record store and leaving a message in the records. I was running out of money so with the last of it I bought a train ticket home. On the way home I was stopped in another city with a metro system and was trying to lose my tail and get to you. I had bought a train ticket back home but it wasn't until the next morning so I decided to make them think I was simply riding around the metro checking out the city and eating and drinking. I said something about riding the metro out loud so you guys would hear my plan. I went to buy my metro card and this woman came up to me and started asking me questions about how to get a metro card. She pointed to the line she wanted so I decided that I'd ride around and eventually get on that line and ride it to the end. I rode around various places eating and drinking, and I thought my wallet might be bugged so when I transferred to the final line I left my wallet on the train so if they were tracking it it would look like I was still riding on the other line. I ended up making a run for it again once I got off the train. I skulked around in the shadows and hugged buildings and zigzagged for a while until I was certain that I'd been elusive enough. I laid down underneath the trees at the edge of this abandoned parking lot. I heard a really weird noise and looked and it was a deer. After some time a car slowly pulled into the parking lot and turned off its lights. I waited but it just stayed there. I skirted around the edge of the parking lot remaining under the cover of trees to get closer to the vehicle. I saw a person in it briefly and then the head disappeared down. I thought it had to be you. I thought we would wait again until morning so they would think we were already gone and stop looking. I peeked a few times during the night and the vehicle was still there. I didn't sleep at all but when it was light I looked and the car was gone. I was crushed completely but I figured I must have been bugged and it wasn't safe. I was gonna stay in the city and keep trying to get picked up by you but I received a message to go home so I did. The station was within walking distance of my dads house so I just walked home. I told him that I'd run into some friends from high school at Walmart and that we decided to go to the beach for a few days and that I'd left my car in the Walmart parking lot. I don't remember what I eventually told him about the car. More time passed and while watching TV I thought I got the message that I needed to leave again and that the authorities were after me. So I left on foot one morning and went to a dollar store and bought new clothes and a backpack so I could be sure they weren't bugged. I went into a fast food bathroom and changed. I was looking at cars and license plates driving by to see if anything seemed like instructions. I went into the woods and drank a few spiked seltzers. I thought it would give you guys time to realize what I was doing and give you time to plan. Then I walked to the interstate to hitch a ride. An old woman stopped and I told her I was going to the hospital. I think she said her name was Mary Anne and I thought that might be code for "ma" and that she might be an avatar for John's wife. She asked me if her driving scared me. If she was an avatar I think she was trying to convince me that there was no danger and that I should return home. But I didn't trust her. She dropped me off at the hospital and I went in for a minute and then I went back out. I walked to another intersection after getting some food from a gas station. I hitched again and another woman picked me up. She was really nice and cool. She said something that made me think my backpack had been tagged by the previous woman. I told her I was going to a city slightly south to visit my boyfriend. She said she could take me about half way there. She said she was going to drop me off at this one exit so I said ok. She dropped me off by the side of the road and I walked to the exit. There was a car parked by the side of the road that started driving once it saw me and the black guy stopped and asked if I needed a ride. I quickly ditched my backpack and got in the car with him. He introduced himself using the name of my ex-boyfriend who I was pretending to visit. He said for me to tell this boyfriend to thank him and that he was giving me a ride because he didn't want to see me wind up dead on the news. I think he was again an avatar for the Guys. He drove me to a certain truck stop after making lots of unnecessary turns and loops. He went inside the truck stop and came out telling me that he found some people who would give me a ride the rest of the way to my destination. They were a really redneck couple with a young child in the back and apparently they were on the way to score some heroin. They asked where I wanted to be dropped off and they left me in the city. It was starting to get dark and I looked for a hiding spot. I found this little caul de sac outside of an apartment building. I laid against the wall so that satellites couldn't spot me. I had a little bit of food left. There was a radiator thingy that I peed behind. After I found my hiding spot a car drove up and honked two times. So I decided to stay hidden for 2 days. I thought they would give up looking for me in that city after two days. So I waited and no one bothered me. After it got dark for the second night I started to wonder if I was supposed to emerge or wait for another sign. I don't remember what made me decide to come out but I did and immediately I felt as though I'd blown my cover and fucked it up. I went to a bar so I could pee and I drank a beer. My shorts smelled like urine because I hadn't had any TP. I walked around and everywhere I went I thought I saw signs that I'd fucked up and you were mad at me. I was so distraught that I contemplated jumping off of this very tall bridge. Then I decided to go to the hospital instead so I started walking towards the direction I thought the hospital was in but I realized I wouldn't make it because it was very far away. So I found a secluded area of land and went to sleep. I talked to you on the off chance that somehow you could hear me and I cried about messing things up and told you that I couldn't live without you and begged you please not give up. In the morning I walked back into the city. I stood by the intersection and tried to hitch a ride. I didn't know where I'd end up but I thought I needed to keep moving. The intersection was too awkward for anyone to stop though. So I took a taxi about 30 minutes outside of the city to a truck stop. I hung out in the grass behind the truck stop for a while crying and talking to you. I was going to hitch another ride but I wanted to be safe so I bought new clothes again. They only had flip flops. Between melting down I asked one or two truck drivers for a ride and they said no. While I was sitting on a bench a woman got out of her car and had lots of envelopes that she was depositing in a FedEx box. I thought maybe that meant the Feds were trying to make arrests. Some security guard type of guy approached me and told me that I couldn't hang out at the truck stop and that if I didn't leave they would call the police so I left. I asked him if he knew where a bus stop was and he told me there was one at the McDonalds but I went there and there wasn't one. I went to a restaurant to get something to eat. This group of people came in and sat in the booth next to mine. Their conversation made me think that they were coming to arrest you and I couldn't hold back the tears. I left the restaurant and laid in the grass weeping with my arm over my eyes. Some guy started talking to me asking about if I wanted to hang out with him in a hotel room and how he would paint my toe nails. It started to rain really hard so I set off walking down the road. This woman pulled over and asked if I needed a ride. I got in the car and asked her where she was going and she said she was just going to give me a ride to a motel. I got my motel room. The guy asked if I wanted a smoking room and I said yes. There was no ash tray in the room though. Because that guy had said something about painting my toe nails I thought maybe my flip flops were bugged. I don't want to talk about when I figured out you were in the room next to me because what happened between us is intensely private and I don't want another soul to ever read it. It's just for us. When we decided to run for it, I slinked off into the woods and stayed put until dark. This car started honking insanely and I started to creep towards it but then I thought it might be ruse so I stayed hidden. As it got darker this man and woman seemed to be looking for their dog Marco. They had flashlights and were in the woods. I started to follow them out but they were walking too fast and I was wearing flip flops and couldn't keep up. Eventually they broke and I went barefoot. I had trouble getting out of the woods because of a very dense wall of thorns but I did and I hid behind a dumpster. I wasn't going to fuck it up this time. The man and woman continued to call out for Marco. It seemed like this went on for at least an hour. I tried to get their attention. I was hiding behind the dumpster and I heard a car honk once so I emerged from hiding and started walking towards it. It was an SUV with a black man and woman in it. Once they saw me they drove away and I thought maybe I'd been tricked by the bad guys again. I went back behind the dumpster and this homeless looking guy comes up and starts peeing right in front of me. His pee almost sprays onto my bag on the ground. I said "Hello" but he didn't respond. And he had a raccoon on his shoulder. I thought maybe the raccoon meant "coon" like a black person and that those people had tricked me. The guy turned and went back into the woods so I followed him. I went deep into the woods and there were a lot of neat bioluminescent plants and critters. I was thirsty so I opened my little fruit packs and drank the juice. I thought I was supposed to wait the night out in the woods. Then I thought I was supposed to leave my bag behind the dumpster so it would look like I'd been picked up. It was too late to go back though, so I left the bag hidden in the woods and walked away from it. I decided to take no chances and left absolutely everything behind including my ID and keys. I found a cozy little place underneath some foliage and settled in for the night. It was a little chilly so I put my arms and legs into my shirt. I dozed off then a stick hit my head and I heard someone say "Move!" so I sat up. This bird sounded funny and the more I listened it sounded like "NEV-ER GET BACK" and the more I listened the more I could hear it. I looked in the direction of the sound and I heard "Don't look at me." So I started to find my way out of the woods. The thorns dictated which direction I could go, and sometimes I'd be going the wrong way and I'd hear "GET BACK" until I course corrected. When I emerged from the woods I knew I had to run to the interstate but I didn't know if you'd ever be able to find me again. I said in the direction of the bird, "Find me!" As I ran off I could hear the bird saying "Thank you." I wanted to stay off the roads and I climbed over this fence into someones yard and ripped the back of my shorts. It took me a long time to get to the highway. At one point I was forced to be on the open road, but a car drove by and put its blinker on but it didn't actually turn, so I turned and went into the woods. I heard more bird noises but instead of words they were being rhythmic and I started crawling on the ground to a rhythm that would make me seem like an animal. I had lots of thorny encounters and at one point got entangled with some barbed wire. I was getting nearer to the highway, I could hear it. Then I heard a voice call out, "Hello? Is somebody there?" And I was deep in the woods so I knew it couldn't be innocent. I ran like motherfucking hell. I ran as fast as I could through dense walls of thorns and lost them. The entire time all I could think about was how upset you would be if I didn't make it out of there. I was running on pure adrenaline and I didn't feel any fatigue. At one point I was running through some vegetable field and I hopped a fence and walked along in a creek. I kinda twisted my ankle. Eventually I spilled out of the woods and into the highway. I flailed my arms maniacally for someone to stop and pick me up. Then a truck stopped and I ran to get into it. The driver was this very nice Indian man who asked me what happened and I made up a story about getting car jacked. I was dying of thirst and he gave me water and Doritos and Starbursts. Then he said I could sleep in his bed in the back and put bacitracin on my cuts. I was laying there when the cabinet door opened and there you were, tiny and hunched up in the dark. Again, I don't want to discuss our personal stuff where there is a chance someone else could read it. I want you to know that as I drifted off to sleep, listening to you, I was the happiest I've ever been in my life. We had been victorious, I thought. I didn't care where in the world we went. I was so happy. And also incredibly tired. My whole body shut down and I slept. Unfortunately you know the rest of the story. 

[iatethepomegranate]

Homecoming Chapter 21

@iontorch @prettybeefballs @darkmagicianknight

The whole fic is a sequel to Human Connection (can be read as a standalone, but character personalities make more sense if read together)

Tag, in chronological order

Shiny Masterlist of the entire series (including AO3 link because I don’t trust tumblr to behave regarding external links)

Pairing: DickTiger

Rating: Teen, probably? I don’t know. There’s no sex anyway. (In this chapter)

Length: 5.4k (this chapter)

Summary: Dick and Tiger get some much-needed time together. Now that immediate danger is over, however, Tiger has far too much time to overthink things.

Notes: I don't think there are any particularly common triggers, but Tiger isn't in a great space mentally and Dick is still experiencing those symptoms (but they know why now so no more panicking). 

Hopefully my source on language stuff was correct. I think the spelling is sometimes a bit different. Fewer a's. Anyway, hope it's right or I'm gonna hate myself making that a plot point.

Chapter 21

Tiger was sorely tempted to sleep in his clothes, but Jason stopped him in the hallway right outside Dick's bedroom in the manor. Tiger supposed it was also his own room, but it was strange to think of that after being absent for months.

“Give me your clothes,” Jason said.

“What?” Tiger was too tired for this.

Jason leaned in, whispering so quietly Tiger could barely hear him. “Go put on a towel or something and give me your clothes. I need to get the evidence off. Then you need to have a year-long shower or something so we can be sure there's no evidence left on you.”

“I am not getting naked in front of you.”

“Half-naked, more like.”

He was missing the point on purpose. Tiger stared him down.

Jason snorted. “Fine, fine. You can hand me your shit through the door.”

Tiger rolled his eyes and stepped into the bedroom to strip off to his underwear, throwing clothes at Jason through the tiniest opening he could manage without jamming his own fingers.

“Dick never mentioned you were shy,” Jason teased.

“It is called modesty. Have you not heard of it?”

Jason laughed at him, his voice shrinking as he moved away. Was it really common to simply... walk around shirtless in front of people you were not intimate with? Or was it simply a characteristic of this highly unusual family?

Tiger was never going to find out. He didn't really want to. Modesty was sometimes impossible while in the spy world. Wearing the lungee helped, but he had fallen out of the habit recently. He would have to start again. He had left one of them in this room when he'd left. Perhaps it was still there... unless Dick had taken it with him to his apartment.

Tiger washed his hands thoroughly before searching, finding it folded neatly in a drawer. Dick mustn't have touched it. The man never folded anything neatly if he could help it. If that was there, then maybe his Quran was... ah. There it was. On the sparse bookshelf in the corner of the bedroom. It had been a simple enough task to clear a shelf so it could have a place by itself. Most of the books Dick had were old schoolbooks or romance novels with swooning maidens and oddly attractive noblemen. And a few circus arts photo books.

Tiger was suddenly grateful he hadn't had much time to pack when Bruce forced him to leave. Helena had returned the spare Quran to him that he had originally left at St Hadrian's. He wasn't sure where it was now. Helena might have taken his things with her before she detonated the explosives. He had been... preoccupied at the time.

The anxiety that had plagued him all day still had its claws in him. He wouldn't be able to sleep in this state. Well. He needed to wash up anyway, and he had not yet given his final prayer for the night, preoccupied as he was by the escape and Dick's subsequent brush with death.

Tiger showered, washing himself thoroughly, and took the ritual washing steps required for prayer at the end. Then he dressed and wound the lungee onto his head. His Quran hadn't collected much dust. Someone must have kept it clean for him. Damian, most likely. Dick had left the manor at some point after Tiger had.

Praying helped, like it usually did. It calmed him, even if the feeling of the anxiety ebbing left him exhausted. It had been a difficult day. He had earned that.

The calm carried him to sleep, but not so well that dreams did not haunt him. He woke breathless, disoriented, heart pounding but unable to remember why. There was a strange feeling of dread in his stomach and he felt around for Dick's presence. He wasn't there. Why wasn't he there?

Tiger curled up, breaths hissing ineffectively in and out. Do not panic. Where was Dick? He had the distinct feeling he had forgotten something.

Wait. Dick was fine. He was in the batcave med bay, fighting a migraine. Well, fine was perhaps inaccurate. But he was not in danger.

Tiger sat up, putting his head between his knees until he could breathe again. He reached over and found the digital clock Dick kept hidden in a drawer because the light annoyed him. It was after two in the morning. He had slept only a couple hours.

He needed some time to calm down. He couldn't remember his dreams this time, thankfully, but there was an empty feeling that made him think they had something to do with losing Dick. He needed to see him or he would not be sleeping more tonight.

He hoped Dick was asleep or at least feeling better. Tiger found a ridiculous fluffy bathrobe Dick owned but never wore and a pair of socks that held the cold at bay, just a little bit. The wooden floors of the hallway outside the bedroom still chilled the soles of his feet, so he moved faster, grateful no one was awake to see him slipping around like a foal.

He almost expected to see Bruce at the computer in the batcave, but apparently the man did sleep sometimes. Once every year, perhaps?

There were soft voices behind the door to the med bay. Someone was awake. Tiger gently tapped on the door.

“Enter,” came Alfred's voice.

Tiger opened the door slowly, in case it made noise. It didn't.

Dick was sitting up, cross-legged in the middle of the bed with a pile of pillows supporting his back. He smiled over at Tiger, eyes bright despite the dark circles beneath them, and his lips were almost symmetrical now. Tiger breathed a sigh of relief, a little louder than he had intended.

Alfred passed Dick a child's drinking cup, the kind with handles on each side and a spouted lid for drinking. Tiger had forgotten the word people used for it. Something childlike, fitting given its usual purpose.

Dick took a sip, holding it by the handles with both hands. “Ah, water. How I missed ye.” He patted the end of the end with his right foot. Or, well, he attempted to. It wiggled more than anything. Dick glared at it and repeated the motion more successfully with his left. “Sit with me?”

Tiger sat on the spot Dick had indicated. “You look better.”

“Head's still pounding and my right limbs still kinda hate me, but yeah. I don't feel like I'm dying anymore.” He smiled over at Alfred. “I'm okay, Alf. You should get some sleep.” He set the cup down in what looked like a custom-made cupholder on a trolley that also carried a heart rate monitor. Then he wiggled his left pointer finger, which had a clamp linking him to the machine. “You'll know if I need you.”

“A few more tests, sir.” Alfred brandished a ruler.

Dick groaned. “Spoiler alert: my reflexes still suck.”

Alfred rounded the bed and held the ruler in the air, a small camera in the other hand. “One more time.”

Dick sighed and held out his right hand. Alfred dropped the ruler. Dick missed grabbing it entirely.

“Your reflexes have improved slightly,” Alfred said, crossing to input the data into the computer. “We will test you again in the morning. Master Tiger, do you intend to remain here tonight?”

Tiger would prefer that, but felt strange asking.

“I'd like you to,” Dick said. That made it easier.

“I will,” Tiger said.

Alfred ducked into another section of the med bay, pushing a screen aside. He pulled out a second bed on wheels and dragged it to the other side of the heart rate monitor. Separate out of necessity due to the medical equipment and access in the event of an emergency, but close enough that Tiger would be in Dick's space enough to go back to sleep.

Alfred stole one of Dick's pillows for the bed. Dick only complained for a few seconds. Alfred checked the vitals on the monitor, made Dick drink some more water, and then left them for the night.

“He has an alarm system in his room that'll let him know if I need help,” Dick said. “I'll be fine. I promise.”

“I thought you were going to die,” Tiger found himself admitting, not entirely of his own volition. He had not intended to say that to someone recovering from hours of pain.

“Me too,” Dick said quietly. Tiger squeezed his knee, but his awkwardness probably made it less of a comforting gesture and more... discomforting.

“Can you sleep?”

“I think so. I dozed off a bit while the migraine was screaming at me, so now should be easy. Comparatively.” He nudged Tiger with his good foot. “Get in bed. You look dead.”

“Flattering.” Tiger climbed into the other bed, which was surprisingly sturdy under his weight. Everything in here had to support Bruce's bulk, so he shouldn't have been surprised. Medical equipment was not often built to accommodate Tiger in either height or weight. He actually broke a stretcher once. Before Dick's time in Spyral, fortunately, or he never would have heard the end of it. Alia been bad enough, teasing him for...

And now he had made himself sad again.

Dick reached over with his heart-monitor-wearing hand, nudging his face. “Whatcha thinking about?”

“I broke a stretcher once,” Tiger murmured. “Not on purpose. I was too heavy.”

“I believe it. I've seen Bruce break chairs by sitting on them.”

Tiger found a smile working its way onto his face, despite everything. “Alia saw the whole thing. She teased me for weeks.”

“You miss her.”

“Mm.” Tiger was beginning to regret opening his mouth.

“That's okay, you know. You're allowed. Double agent or not, you still spent a lot of time with her.” Dick lay down, nudging Tiger's hand until he took the hint and laced their fingers together. “Remember the good stuff. I know she cared about you at some point. Nearly ripped my face off after the Old Gun mission when you had to go in and save my ass without sniper support.”

Maybe Tiger was not regretting opening his mouth so much. He leaned down and kissed Dick's fingers. It felt good to do that. They didn't have to hide how they felt anymore.

“No one is completely good or completely evil,” Dick said. “Remember the good in Alia. Remember how she was, not what she became. Even if she did try to frame me for murder a little bit.” He laughed, a little sheepishly. “Anyway. People are complicated. I've lost people who I had complicated relationships with. Dwelling on the bad doesn't help.”

“You should have been a grief counselor,” Tiger told him.

“Hey, I'm still young. Anything could happen.” Dick grimaced. “I'm not sure I'm ever gonna be Nightwing again, so... may as well explore my options.” He huffed out a breath and pasted a smile on his face. “Whatever. Not gonna think about that now. Happy thoughts, eh?”

“Yes. Happy thoughts.” Tiger desperately needed that, and he sensed Dick did, too. “I'm proud of you. For holding up so well against Bannon.”

Dick shrugged his left shoulder. “Necessity makes heroes of us all.”

“I admire your bravery. Do not diminish what you did.”

“Okay, okay. I'm awesome. I admit it. You were pretty darn good in there, too.”

Tiger didn't think he was, but it was nice to hear. “I... thank you.”

“I'm serious. That shit was rough.” Dick's thumb rubbed against Tiger's nearest finger. “We're gonna need time to deal with that. I'm just glad we're together now.” He grinned, but it slipped off his face immediately. “Ooh. Ow. I hurt myself smiling.”

Tiger held back his laughter, because it really wasn't funny.

“Oh, come on,” Dick said. “You can laugh. I certainly can't. Let me live vicariously through you.”

Tiger snorted.

“Eh, that'll do.”

Dick's aggressive positivity certainly helped wipe away the last traces of dream anxiety. Tiger nuzzled into his pillow, smiling over at this wonderful man, this cheerful force only a few hours removed from a torture chamber and yet burning so brightly as if he had never suffered a moment in his life. That was true bravery. His heart was burning with love. Or, he hoped it was love. He hadn't eaten enough for indigestion, surely.

“Jaanaana���”

Dick cut him off. “You know, you promised to explain what that meant once we were free.”

“Oh. Uh.” Tiger coughed nervously. He was not the type to cough nervously—who did that?—but apparently he was now. “Would you like me to...”

“I'd love you to. I've been dying of curiosity.” He snickered the tiniest bit. “Ow. Please tell me before I hurt myself doing basic human things again.”

Tiger had to take a few breaths before he had enough air to speak. “Oh. It, uh... it means my love. Or my beloved. It depends on the translation. I... it slipped out one day and...”

“Oh my God.” Dick was grinning again. “Smiling hurts a whole lot right now but I can't stop. That's so... I love it. I love you. Please keep calling me that.”

“I intend to.”

“Aww. You're so sweet.”

“Hardly.”

“Yes, you are. You're not allowed to argue with the injured guy.”

Tiger laughed, muffling it in his pillow in case the sound was too much for Dick. “Very well. I am sweet. You, however, are the sweetest.”

“Oh, stop. You're just spoiling me now. And I haven't even come up with a petname for you yet.”

“Please don't.”

“Hey, we can't let this be one-sided. I feel mean letting you shower me with affection while I sit here like, yeah thanks. Come on. Be a sport.”

Tiger could not deny Dick anything right now. Or ever, really.

Dick pulled his blankets up with his weak hand, even laughing a little bit at his struggle. He'd managed to get it to grip the fabric before Tiger could offer assistance.

Then Dick sighed, his eyelids visibly heavy. “I'm glad you came down here. I missed sleeping next to you.”

“As did I.” Tiger leaned over to give Dick's fingers one last kiss. “And I love you, too. Very much.”

They didn't need to say more. Dick fell asleep first, finally giving in to his exhaustion. Tiger watched him for a while, finding comfort in every rise and fall of his chest, every soft breath filling the air.

Fingers still loosely tangled with Dick's, Tiger fell into the most peaceful sleep he'd had in months.

Dick woke, feeling distinctly hungover with a brain full of cotton wool, to find Tiger curled up on his side. Eyes open. Watching him. Dick caught a moment of softness before Tiger registered he was awake and climbed out of bed.

“I should call Alfred.”

“Chill for a sec.” Dick rubbed his face, sleep still clinging to the corners of his mind. He wiggled the fingers on his right hand. They felt weak, but they were moving better.

Last night had sucked, except for those moments with Tiger. Dick didn't remember half of what he said—the memories lost to some kind of pain haze—but he did remember talking about Alia, and Tiger finally explaining what jaanaana meant. He just wanted a few seconds to let all that warmth wash over him again before reality set back in.

“Sit with me?” he asked. “Just for a bit?” He shuffled more to his left. “These things can take both our weight. Bruce and Jason tested them together in a rare show of familial unity.”

Tiger gave him a look that was simultaneously affectionate and exasperated—he hadn't quite guarded himself yet but it wouldn't be long—and slid into bed beside him. It was a tight fit, not exactly comfortable, but Dick couldn't have given less of a shit if he'd tried.

“Hi, stranger,” he said, just so Tiger would give him that look again.

Tiger held himself up on one elbow and played with Dick's fingers in his free hand. “I know you did not hit your head that hard last night.”

“I do have some great swiss cheese pain memory going on, though.”

“Oh?”

“Don't worry, though. I remember the important stuff.”

“We have very different definitions of what is important.”

Dick grinned up at him, and it didn't hurt nearly as much as he feared it would. Progress. Tiger was playing with him, in his own way. They both knew what Dick meant.

Tiger ran the backs of his fingers along Dick's jaw. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. Kinda hungover, though.”

“...meaning?”

Right. Tiger didn't drink.

“Still kinda tired. Head's pounding. Maybe a little nauseous.” Dick was silently grateful Tiger hadn't been in the room when he was vomiting the previous night. He kept that to himself; he'd managed to keep some food down and use mouthwash between Tiger's two visits anyway. “Don't tell me you've never gotten hit in the face with, like, a sleeping drug and woken up like that.”

“Not recently.”

“Lucky you.”

Tiger smiled indulgently. Dick had half a mind to tease him about it, but it really was nice to see him looking so relaxed. Knowing Tiger, and the way he dealt with trauma, it wouldn't last. So Dick kept that to himself, too.

“Morning breath kiss?” he asked instead.

“Will you throw up on me?”

“Probably not?”

Tiger kissed his forehead instead. Dick found that an acceptable alternative. He could always pounce on him later.

“Now may I call Alfred?”

Dick sighed. “Oh, fine. He's gonna make me pee into a jar again. I mean, I definitely could pee a lot right now but I'm always worried I'm gonna miss.”

“Uh-huh.” Tiger slid off the bed. “Stay put. I do not trust you.”

Dick didn't trust himself, either. He lifted his right leg and rotated the foot. Moving okay, but he wasn't sure what would happen if he tried to stand on it.

Alfred arrived with a tray of fruits. Dick had a sudden urge to eat everything in sight.

“Take your time, sir,” Alfred warned. Dick munched on pieces of watermelon while Alfred stabbed him with needles.

Tiger got kicked out at some point during the examination process, which definitely did involve peeing into a jar. Well, a plastic cup. And more freaky brain-scanning machines.

Dick was sitting on the edge of the bed, working up the nerve to try standing while Alfred put data into the computer. Alfred seemed fairly confident Dick could stand, though he wasn't so sure about walking. Dick, for his part, was trying not to set himself up for disappointment.

Before he could bring himself to do it, though, there was a knock on the door. Dick and Alfred looked at each other. Dick shrugged.

“Enter,” Alfred said.

Bruce poked his head through the door. “How are we doing?”

“Well,” Dick said, “right now, I'm in shock that you actually knocked for once in your life.”

Bruce joined him on the bed. “Tiger warned me you were probably peeing into a jar.”

“Did he actually say peeing, though?”

“No. Urinating.”

“That sounds more like him.”

Alfred finished with the computer. “Now, Master Dick, shall we try standing?”

“Do I have to?” Because joking about his fears sounded more appealing than actually facing them.

Bruce stood, offering his hand. “Come on. I'll help you up, just this once.”

“Ugh. Fine.” Dick grabbed it with his good hand, letting Bruce pull him up. He had to adjust his stance to put more weight on his left foot, but that was easy enough. That circus upbringing had given him a near-supernatural sense of balance. Thanks, Mum and Dad.

“Do you feel secure, sir?” Alfred asked.

“Relatively. Not sure I can walk without falling on my face, though.” He hobbled a step, half-expecting his right leg to crumble. It didn't, but it wobbled something awful.

“Very good,” Alfred said, typing something into the computer. “At this rate, sir, you should have sufficient mobility within a few more hours.”

Dick could've sank to the floor with relief, if Bruce hadn't chosen that moment to drag him in for a hug. Alfred had assured him repeatedly the symptoms were not permanent and typically disappeared within twenty-four hours, but there was definitely a part of him that feared he'd be stuck that way forever. He'd be (relatively) fine in a few hours, at least until the next attack. And he had no idea when that would be. They had as much data as they could find about that machine, but there was nothing like hands-on experience.

Was this simply a case of him developing a short-term tendency towards migraines? Would this become a chronic condition? Would he end up being more or less sensitive than the average migraine-sufferer who developed their condition due to natural causes? The unknowns were freaking him out a little bit.

Bruce squeezed him but didn't offer any verbal assurances. He didn't typically offer platitudes. Unknowns freaked him out, too. At least Dick could trust him to be honest. He wasn't the type to sugar-coat things for the sake of people's feelings.

Alfred placed a spiral-bound notebook with a pen in the binding onto Dick's bed. “Now, Master Dick. You will need to track your symptoms and triggers.”

“I'm right-handed, Alf.”

Bruce stepped back from the hug, raising an eyebrow. “Did I not teach you how to write left-handed?”

“Oh, you did. I just hate it.” Dick had been trained to do pretty much everything with his non-dominant hand. Writing was still unpleasant, though.

Alfred sighed. “You may ask someone to write for you, if you must. Light and sound appear to be common triggers among the machines' victims.”

“So no going outside without cool shades. Check.”

“Dick.” Bruce almost managed to sound stern. Impressive, really.

“I've had a bad week. Don't judge me.”

Alfred made him sit back down and suffer more tests and scans. He definitely wasn't getting out of here before lunch.

Tiger was glad to spend time praying with Damian at midday, for several reasons. First, of course, was the fact he simply liked praying. Second was the fact Damian was good, quiet company during this time. Third was unique. The entirety of Dick's family had not left him alone for more than a few moments today. He was flattered Dick's family cared enough that they kept seeking him out, but Tiger had never been a people person, even less so today. Dick was resting until lunch and Tiger had honestly hoped to have some time to himself.

So Tiger lingered on his favourite verses even after he had finished praying, sinking into the familiar text. Damian lingered beside him, even as he fidgeted.

“You can tell them to leave you alone,” Damian said. “Or I can do it.”

“No, I...” Tiger didn't want to reject their kindness. Stephanie had brought him chocolate, of all things. No one did that. He and Dick didn't do gifts. It had seemed impractical for a long time. Maybe that could change now.

They were just trying to help. It was not their fault he needed some time alone with his thoughts.

Damian rolled his eyes. “Do you like suffering?”

Sometimes Tiger honestly wondered if he did. He had lingered on his pain these past few months in a way he never had in the past. Maybe repression had been unhealthy, but wallowing was equally so, as well as impractical.

There was a balance. Why could he not find it? How did other people do it? Was there something wrong with him? And why was he having an (internalised) emotional breakdown because a child offered to help him?

He's been silent for too long. Damian made a kind of tutting sound Tiger had never heard another person do in all his years. Where did this child even get that from?

“I will tell them you leave you alone today, since you clearly cannot be trusted to interact with your fellow human beings.”

“You're not wrong,” Tiger said, closing his Quran. There was perhaps an hour until lunch. The sun was almost bright today and the gardens did not seem quite as rain-drowned as they usually did. Maybe a walk around the manor grounds would help him put his mind into working order.

He and Damian parted ways outside the room. Tiger put his Quran away and found a coat in Dick's closet. Tight around his shoulders, but it would do. Gotham weather was a liar. Even when it looked warm, even the slightest breeze would chill to the bone. He considered finding a beanie, but dismissed it as too dramatic.

Tiger hadn't had many opportunities to explore the gardens behind the manor. Bruce had not wanted him wandering unsupervised during his previous stay here. Dick had to fight just so Tiger could walk to a few set locations without a chaperone.

Well, Bruce wasn't here now, and Tiger was not above complaining to Dick if problems arose. He hurried down the back steps before Bruce could show up to stop him.

The climate rendered the back gardens of the manor especially green, though Tiger suspected it was not all in the hands of the weather. The lawns were even more manicured than St Hadrian's, which had been painfully immaculate. Tiger used to sneak off to find something that looked real.

He found himself wandering a sweet-smelling rose garden, separated from the grounds by dark metal fences. Gravel crunched underfoot, and that alone made him feel more alive than he had in months. Gravel. Really? Tiger decided not to linger on the thought.

The bushes were well-tended, but a little wilder than the rest of the grounds. Every colour imaginable was here, though the overall favourite seemed to be white. Those bushes were everywhere. They reminded Tiger of a funeral shroud.

He spotted a stone bench in the centre, surrounded by the gravel path. He leaned down to read an inscription: For Martha. That was the name of Bruce's mother, yes? Tiger suddenly wasn't so sure about sitting on the bench. Was it purely ornamental? Would it be disrespectful to sit on Bruce's dead mother's bench? Tiger didn't know the etiquette here.

He didn't know a lot of things.

“There you are.” Dick was leaning against the gate, a thick pair of sunglasses covering his eyes. “Dami said he spotted you out this way.”

“How did you get here?”

“I have to tell you something,” Dick said, too seriously to be real. Unless Tiger was making assumptions. “You see... that machine did something terrible.”

“Oh?” Best to take this seriously until he knew for certain.

“Yeah. I can't walk anymore. But it gave me some pretty sick invisible wings. You know... win some, lose some.”

Tiger tried not to sound too relieved as he replied, “But how will you fit into civilian society now?”

“Tim's making me some robot legs. I'll soon be a flying cyborg who gets hemiplegic migraines that may or may not be a long-term thing.” Dick pushed the gate open and limped through. “Just kidding. Except the migraines. Check out these cool shades.”

They looked like he had stolen them from a white middle-class great-grandmother. “Very cool, Dick.”

“I knew you'd like them. Alfred shone a flashlight in my face. It sucked. So he gave me these for going bright places.” He drew level with Tiger, leaning slightly to his left. “Don't tell Alfred I'm leaning. He'll smack me with a newspaper because I'm gonna give myself posture problems or something.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

Dick lowered himself onto the bench. Tiger quickly followed suit. One question answered. Now if only everything else bothering Tiger could be resolved so easily...

“Is today a brooding day?” Dick said.

“I... what?”

Dick shook his head, smiling slightly. “Never mind. I'll save the teasing for Bruce. His reactions are funnier.” He lowered his voice to a respectable imitation of Bruce-as-Batman. “I do not brood, Robin.” He coughed, laughing through it. “Man, I haven't done that voice in a while. Should've gargled some gravel first. More authentic that way.”

“Your face looks better,” Tiger said. It... did not come out quite the way he had planned.

“Thanks. I powdered my nose just for you.”

“That's not what I—”

“I know what you mean, hon. You're right. The paralysis is dying down.” He wiggled his fingers. “Give me a few more minutes and maybe I can write in that nifty migraine journal Alfred gave me. Shame I won't have anything much to write until the next time my brain goes on strike like that.”

“You could write down the symptoms you remember.”

“I made Bruce take dictation for me already, even though he whined about it since he did technically train me to be ambidextrous. Mentioned everything I remember about last night.”

“Are the sunglasses helping?”

“Yeah. Just remind me not to stare directly at the sun.” The sunlight dimmed as clouds covered the sky. Dick looked upwards and snorted. “Not that there's much risk of that in Gotham.”

“Why does anyone want to live in this place?”

Dick shrugged. “Well, historically there was a reason. I don't remember what it was. Then people put down roots and didn't wanna leave. Now a lot of people come here for work, or stay because they've always lived here.”

“And you?”

“My family's here.” Dick rested his head on Tiger's shoulder. “I know it's hard to believe, given you and Bruce don't really get along, but he was there when my world fell apart. He took in a random kid from the circus because he knew exactly what I was going through. That's what he does. And, look, he has some pretty strong views on stuff like guns and killing, but he has a reason for that. I mean... I remember the first time I faced down a group of mob henchmen as Robin. The anger that boiled in me. They weren't the man who killed my parents, but they were cut from the same cloth, you know? Bruce is like that with guns. Plus, he gets protective of his kids. A random spy boyfriend who's shot people before? Hoo boy.”

“And yet you have fought with him. Over me.”

“Well, yeah. Just because I understand doesn't mean I can't see when he's being irrational.”

Tiger was unsure Bruce's problems with him were irrational at all. Here they were, pretending he hadn't helped Jason and Helena shoot Alia. Fatally. From where he was sitting, Bruce seemed like the only rational person in the world.

Dick reached up and kissed Tiger's neck. “Hey. Enough brooding, big guy.”

“I shot someone.” The words burst out of him, shaking through the air before he even realised his mouth was open.

“To save me.”

“I shot someone.”

“You weren't the only one.”

“We are lying about it.”

“Because Bruce is not gonna be rational about this.”

“Are you defending what we did?” Tiger did not recognise the voice coming out of his mouth. This voice did not belong to him. Who was he anymore?

“No. I don't like it. But I know why the three of you did it.” Dick squeezed Tiger's bicep. “And I'm grateful, okay? I'm alive because of that split-second decision. I'm in one piece, more or less, because of you.”

Tiger did not want to talk about this anymore. He did not want to examine his feelings about this. Too much confusion. Too much fear. Too much everything.

Relief came in Jason's shape, as he leaned over the fence to yell, “Hey, losers! Lunch is served.” Then he walked back up to the manor without waiting for them to follow him.

Dick grabbed Tiger's arm before he could move. “One second, gorgeous.”

“Are you testing petnames on me?” His voice still didn't sound quite right, but close enough that they could both ignore it.

“That obvious, huh?” Dick grabbed Tiger's chin. “Now our breath's better, I'd very much like to kiss you.”

Despite the bulky sunglasses and his questionable health, Dick pounced on him. Their lips locked. Tiger forgot about everything else. Including lunch.

It was anyone's guess how much time passed before Jason came back, yelling at them to come eat some sandwiches rather than each other's faces.

Dick laughed so hard he gave himself a minor headache, but insisted it was worth it.

[drautcs-blog]

CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT.

TAGGED BY: Took this from my ancient Hanzo blog because it was invaluable for getting a lot of ideas down on paper. I tagged myself, fight me.

���━ FULL NAME: Titus Drautos ( also known as General Glauca ) ━━ GENDER & SEXUALITY: Male / Demiromantic / Pansexual ━━ ETHNICITY & SPECIES: Cavaughnian, Human.  ━━ BIRTHPLACE & BIRTHDATE: “Scylla”, Cavaugh Region, Lucis ( Before being assimilated into the Niflheim Empire ). He was never given a canon DoB, but I’ve taken to January 1st since he displays the typical traits of a Capricorn male considerably well. ━ GUILTY PLEASURES: There aren’t many activities that Titus would be particularly embarrassed about to be honest. He is private about how he spends his time anyway, regardless of if it’s something others would consider embarrassing. Titus is a pretty mild dude-- Glauca moonlighting aside. He’s fond of exotic cars, fishing, and fencing. If he cares enough to share his hobbies, he isn’t really concerned with how it’s interpreted. 

━ PHOBIAS: I can honestly say that I am hard-pressed to find something that Titus fears in a capacity significant enough to warrant being called a phobia. I suppose dæmons make him uncomfortable, yes, and he would prefer not to be around them, but not enough to actively fear them. I guess something more worthwhile is pointing out the fact that Titus has no fear of death. He doesn’t hope for death, nor would he commit suicide unless it kept someone significant alive, but he will walk into dire situations ( with as much planning as possible still. He would be remiss to throw his life away for glory or fruitless passion. ) without hesitation if the benefit of victory outweighed the cost of failure. Titus understands that it is unlikely that he will grow old enough to lament his age, considering the mantle that he’s taken up.

Otherwise like any other person, he avoids uncomfortable social situations, he feels guilt, and works through stress.

━ WHAT THEY WOULD BE FAMOUS / INFAMOUS FOR: Drautos had already been infamous as General Glauca for at least 12 years since killing Sylva Nox Fleuret, the late queen of Tenebrae, and having a fairly close shot at assassinating Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum and King Regis Lucis Caelum ( whom he succeeded in murdering on his subsequent attempt. ). That alone ( to say nothing of his accomplishments as a formidable Niflheim tactician and his prowess as a master swordsman, known for cutting massive swaths into the opposition from the front-lines ) has cemented his name in Lucian infamy for as long as the tale of Insomnia's downfall is told. 

After the events of Kingsglaive, it is possible he will be known as turncoat when his true identity as Titus Drautos becomes common knowledge and therefore regarded as the lowest of the low to those still unshakably loyal to the Crown.

━ WHAT HAVE THEY / WOULD THEY HAVE GOTTEN ARRESTED FOR: So we’re going to start this list off strong with two counts of regicide. No, but the laundry list of Glauca antics aside, Titus did his best to stay out of situations that would attract negative scrutiny of any kind. As a teenager ( around ages 14-17, the three years following the Niflheim siege of his village ), however, he did have significant issues of excessive aggression that luckily only resulted in having to be reprimanded by his superiors.

After the events of Insomnia, I could imagine Titus eventually being arrested by Crown loyalists for the assassination of Regis. Even after the long night ends. If he isn’t outright killed/transformed into a daemon, I can also picture Titus in a situation where he is arrested for acting against Chancellor Izunia.

━ A SHAPE YOU SHIP THEM WITH: I still don’t understand what this question means??? Would the shape of a kukri count? Because boy does he love them with all his heart. His heart is practically bursting at the seams at the prospect of being reunited with them. Too soon, I know.  I dunno, does angst count as a shape?

━ CHARACTER MOST LIKELY TO MURDER THEM: I mean-- as it just so happens to turn out, his subordinate Nyx Ulric is heavily implied to have murdered him pretty hard at the end of Kingsglaive ( with a kukri to either the heart or the lung ). Besides the most obvious answer being Lucii-powered Nyx, I would surmise that Cor the Immortal would have been an actual problem to handle as Glauca. He is regarded as one of the greatest living swordsmen in Lucis--bar none. I’ve had a few discussions about this, and I’ve already got this minor headcanon that Titus played an active hand ( not direct, mind you. Maybe by suggestion somehow in the proper ears, or presented as demands from the Empire ) in encouraging Cor to be reassigned on the day of the treaty-signing in order to avoid having to fight him in a direct confrontation. Cor is the one person-- over the magic wielding king of Lucis and Crownsguard Clarus Amicitia combined-- that Titus was not certain enough in defeating in a timely manner to take a chance in fighting during the events of Insomnia’s downfall.

Aside from those two, I’m pretty sure a lot of people would be gunning for his head post-Insomnia. Prince Noctis, Ravus Nox Fleuret, Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, Iris Amicitia, and Gladiolus Amicitia would especially be justified in wanting wrathful retribution for his actions. 

━ FAVORITE BOOK GENRE: Epic Poetry, is the go-to when Titus has actual free time to read ( Which is pretty damned rare, let me tell you. Between having to wrangle snot-nosed recruits, seeing to drills, paperwork, mobilizing the Glaives on behalf of his Grace, and staying updated with his ‘second job’ he doesn’t have much leisure time.  ) however it isn’t uncommon for him to be found pouring over treatise regarding military science, economics, or philosophy. He doesn’t actively seek out narrative-driven prose for his own enjoyment, but he doesn’t explicitly dislike it. He would take the time to read them if it was a gift or something.  

━ LEAST FAVORITE BOOK CLICHE: One-dimensional representations of the dichotomy between good and evil. It’s childish and has been beaten to death in most fiction. In his eyes, good and bad do not exist in a black and white vacuum. The intentions of actions may be tinged in varying shades of altruism and egoism. Stories that paint conflicts as simply being between good and bad tend to bore him to tears. 

━ TALENTS AND / OR POWERS: Titus is a highly proficient swordsman, as seen when he manages to succinctly dispose of both the King and a member of his elite Crownsguard singlehandedly. He is highly knowledgeable in multiple forms of swordsmanship ( with experience in iaido, kendo, and sabre fencing )  although his forte resides within the use of both the bastard sword ( the iconic weapon of choice as General Glauca and honed by way of Kunst des Fechtens ) and the shortsword ( the weapon of choice while masquerading in uniform as the Glaive captain. ).

His skill is further amplified by the Magitek armor Titus is able to summon at will, which multiplies his formidable strength beyond superhuman levels ( at one point, granting him the ability to eat the force of a speeding car (about 128 k joules of kinetic energy) and toss it to the wayside. ) while providing propulsion which allows him to perform massive leaps as well as allowing him to slow the descent of a massive fall.

I suppose another skill that bears mentioning is Titus’ dangerous talent for detail observation and pattern recognition, which goes hand in hand with his ability to think tactically. This observance extends not only to his surroundings, but to people and their interpersonal relationships; Titus is extremely good at reading others if given enough time to do so and has little hesitation in using said information ( including grief ) to manipulate people and situations into working in favor of his end-goals.

━ WHY SOMEONE MIGHT LOVE THEM: Idk why someone would do that to themselves but alright. He’s a walking neon sign flashing ‘bad idea’. Despite all his flaws as a person, Titus has no trace of the concept of quit in his body. If he decides to genuinely pursue a cause, he has every intention of following through until the end as a matter of honor. 

Titus also has a bit of a fatherly streak, in that he is willing to take souls in need of guidance under his wing if they are willing to receive help and improve. He takes his role as mentor to younger glaive members fairly seriously and makes corrections in a rather straight-forward manner. I guess he abides by the ‘tough love’ regimen of mentorship. 

As far as romantic love, Titus is surprisingly charismatic in a non-professional setting, almost to the point of seeming laid back-- or as laid back as his reticence would allow, however getting to that point takes a significant amount of time because of his penchant for keeping others at arm’s length. And in the event that he does have genuine romantic feelings, chances are that he will not verbalize any of those feelings until he’s either a) on his death bed, or b) put in a position where there is no confusion about whether his feelings are reciprocated ( ie: obvious mutual flirting, or he didn’t make the first move. ). Titus has an acute dislike for discussing his own feelings and he’s mastered the art of putting a cork on his personal desires to avoid rocking the boat.

━ WHY SOMEONE MIGHT HATE THEM: Well.

If the rest of what I’ve written so far hasn’t sold you juuust yet.

If we’re going to start on his personality, honestly Drautos isn’t really unpleasant when it comes to face-to-face conversation unless he’s obviously displeased. He does, however have a tendency to be fairly blunt and unambiguous in conversations that don’t pertain to him personally ( his feelings/ talking about himself in general. In situations centered around particularly personal questions, he straight up avoids the question or talks his way out of having to give an in-depth answer. Titus dislikes having to talk about himself. ).In that regard, he’s take-no-nonsense and will speak freely.  Because of this, it’s possible that he comes off as unfriendly and aloof to those unaccustomed to straight-talk and unfamiliar with him personally. 

In regards to morality-- Titus is a good liar. He’s a really good liar in the sense that he rarely tells lies, if that makes sense?? His untruths come in the form of omitted information, and neglecting to share secrets rather than outright telling someone a lie. And situations requiring him to lie outright are usually few and far in between ( if he and his accomplices have been playing their roles without issue ). This is more or less how he continues to operate undetected under the crown for so long. He avoids having to spin an elaborate web of lies so that they are unlikely to backfire on him. Of course that would be a massive source of contention if it ever gets found out.

TL;DR: Watch Kingsglaive. Most of the things he does to those who trusted him is bullshit.

━ HOW THEY CHANGE: Throughout Kingsglaive, Titus doesn’t change fundamentally. Sure, there’s the big reveal in the final quarter of the movie that he was a massive traitor, but every action Titus takes plays some role in furthering his cause and right up until Nyx stabbed him, he had no regrets for why he did the things he’s done. I do have character arcs planned for my portrayal and headcanon regarding his past and the future, but those are all essentially canon-divergent because we don’t hear shit from Titus after like the first 5 minutes of Final Fantasy XV ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

━ WHY YOU LOVE THEM: I adore Titus for a myriad of reasons, despite the fact that he could have been handled way better from a development/writing standpoint by SE, but my absolute favorite thing about him is the fact that he is a collection of contradictions: he is is simultaneously loyal and disloyal; he is both truthful and a deceiver; he is both selfish and selfless. He is a well-intentioned anti-villain who sells out his king for the sake of his people and anyone that knows me, knows that generally I am a slut for exploring the philosophical duality of morally ambiguous characters like Titus. Also, I’m not going to lie, he’s got a pretty cool uniform and a cool face, so who am I to not instantly want to poke around and see what makes him tick?

TAGGING: @glaiv @cafveinated @amiiciitia @codeprint @regalialover @wareign @valorguard @arvious & whoever else wants to swoop in from the dashboard. Put me in your tagged by.

[biofunmy]

4 Ways to Travel Better in 2020

As the Tripped Up columnist, I’ve fielded hundreds of emails about the ways in which Times readers have spent their time off, whether it’s for a 90th birthday trip or a family vacation with five children, and how things frustratingly went wrong. For the final column of the year, I took inspiration from several stories in my inbox to suggest four ways to travel smarter — and happier — in the decade to come.

Book directly

The Minnesota reader Kathleen canceled a Booking.com hotel reservation, only to realize the reservation had actually been made on another site — and that it wasn’t actually canceled. Jenny, a California reader, used Getaroom.com to book two nights at a Brooklyn hotel, paying $738 for the room itself and a nonrefundable $328 fee, which she was told that “we, the hotel supplier and/or the website you booked on, retain as part of the compensation for our and/or their services.”

Two other readers hit similar walls when they booked flights using online travel agencies: Cat, while trying to correct her name on a China Airlines ticket (via Expedia), and Marsha, while fighting for a refund for a canceled Hahn Air ticket (via Priceline).

For several reasons, booking directly is usually smart; for example, better rooms at hotels and the ability to choose seats in advance on flights. Although online travel agency pricing can be tempting, airlines and hotels will usually match those rates through programs like Marriott’s Best Rate Guarantee (which throws in a 25 discount and 5,000 Bonvoy points) and Delta’s Best Fare Guarantee (which ups the ante with a $100 voucher).

Above all, though, booking hotels and flights directly means you are only bound by one set of terms and conditions — meaning no additional fees from a third-party site. And should you need to make changes to your reservation, you won’t be jockeying for help from a middleman.

Organize your points, miles and credit cards

Jodi, an Arizona reader, asked how to get started in “the points game” — her terminology. I’ll refrain from using a Marie Kondo analogy here, but there’s no better time than New Year’s to organize some of the most powerful tools in your travel tool kit: your credit cards and loyalty programs.

I never book flights or hotels without first registering for the appropriate loyalty program. Points-earning potential aside, simply having an account can yield perks, including free Wi-Fi at certain hotels and sign-up bonuses (often in miles) on airlines. Miles are so easily transferred — to other airlines, to hotels, to other people — that even one-off flights on one-off airlines reap rewards.

Some people can’t deal with another login. I get that. That’s why I’m a fan of eWallet to store passwords and AwardWallet to track points.

Finally, take stock of your travel insurance, whether it’s embedded into credit card benefits or offered by an independent provider. As Paul, another reader, pointed out, these can change. In January, for instance, American Express will roll out new protections — meant to soften the blow of trip cancellations and delays — to some of its cards.

Mitigate bad hotel stays

Howard encountered bugs at a $561-a-night hotel in Israel. A microwave caught fire in Carole’s room in Miami Beach ($419 a night). Heck, last year I stayed at a much-gushed-about hotel in St. Kitts that disappointed on nearly every level, from food to stroller accessibility.

Scenarios like these are hard to resolve, but there are still ways to be proactive. Before booking, scan the hotel’s Instagram tag; real photos are more revealing than glossy marketing imagery. After something goes wrong, contact the manager, document the incident with photos and screen-grab written correspondence. Pressure the hotel on social media, tagging its handles. If you’ve booked your stay through a travel agent, ask them to parallel-track efforts.

Finally, raise a stink again at checkout in an effort to lower the final bill as much as possible. Several readers have asked whether there’s wisdom in disputing the credit card charge after the fact. The short answer: Yes, but it’s a real Hail Mary.

Understand value-fare plane tickets

Kelly purchased Basic Economy seats on an American Airlines flight that was moved up by three hours — an itinerary change that derailed her vacation plans.

“It strikes me as fundamentally unfair: I can’t change my flight because I bought a cheaper fare, but the airline can just switch me to a different flight and I have no recourse,” she emailed.

Basic economy tickets, generally the least expensive tickets on any flight, are to economy tickets just as a Gap Factory sweater is to a sweater from the regular Gap: They look and feel sort of the same, but you can’t deny the difference in price — and quality.

Most basic economy tickets are unchangeable, even for a fee. And because airlines (including American) reserve the right to change their departure times, Kelly landed squat in caveat emptor territory. I agree, though: fundamentally unfair.

An edition last month of Tripped Up, which addressed complaints against Europcar, inspired a flurry of reader reactions. Some sympathized; others, like Kristin F., shared divergent experiences. “I have rented from Europcar for 15 years,” she wrote in an email. “There was only one issue, which was taken care of quickly and politely. The people were so kind and helpful that I brought them chocolate when I returned my car.”

Sarah Firshein formerly held staff positions at Travel + Leisure and Vox Media, and has also contributed to Condé Nast Traveler, Bloomberg, Eater and other publications. If you need advice about a best-laid travel plan that went awry, send an email to travel@nytimes.com.

52 PLACES AND MUCH, MUCH MORE Follow our 52 Places traveler, Sebastian Modak, on Instagram as he travels the world, and discover more Travel coverage by following us on Twitter and Facebook. And sign up for our Travel Dispatch newsletter: Each week you’ll receive tips on traveling smarter, stories on hot destinations and access to photos from all over the world.

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