#bit OOC but who cares

[keeksybee]

Jeeves and Wooster Headcannon:

It’s one of those very rare days when there’s no great adventure to get his boss out of or mess he needs to clean up, it’s almost too quiet, before he started working for Wooster this would have been a pleasant afternoon, a respite from being condescended to by some uppity arsehole who had more money than he could have possibly dreamed of and squandered it in drink, or gambling, or girls. Hell, he reflected, the voice he used with Wooster wasn’t even his real accent, it was one he had put on when he’d been applying at first to be a gentleman’s helper, he had to pretend, the company wouldn’t take “His sort” as the first man he’d ever spoken to in the job centre had said almost twenty years ago now, that was before the war, his service medals for bravery got his foot in the door after he got back. Looking back on it now he was one of the lucky ones, many didn’t get to come back at all. He hears something drop to the floor beneath him which brings him out of the stupor he realised he’d found himself in.

Bertie’s sitting in a lounge chair staring at him with the most disconcerting look on his face, biting his lip and clearly trying to structure the question in the most casual way possible before he blurts out

“Did you grow up terribly poor Jeeves?”

His eyes go wide with shame and his cheeks pink up as he slaps a hand over his mouth in shock.

“Oh my god Jeeves, I’m so sorry, fuck” he shoves his face into his hands making sounds of humiliation and distress.

He had never imagined he’d ever hear Bertie Wooster of all people say ‘fuck’ or that he knew the word at all, it didn’t seem in his character to be crass, although he probably shouldn’t have assumed a man in his twenties was that naive.

“I take no offence to it sir”

“I shouldn’t have asked, it’s just so awful of me, can you forgive me”

He resists the urge to laugh “Honestly lovey, my skin’s a bit thicker than that, I’ve been asked far more insensitive things over my time working, there’s nothing to forgive” He didn’t even realise he’d let something so colloquial slip until it had left his mouth “and yes, I did grow up very poor”.

Bertie toys with his hands still tensed up like a jackrabbit before almost whispering

“What was it like?”

It’s a question that catches him off guard, he’d never thought about it if he was being honest, it was just how he grew up, it was how everyone from Bethnal Green grew up, poor, filthy, half starved and desperate.

“It was what it was” he says evenly “We didn’t have any choice in the matter”.

“Where are you from?”

“Bethnal Green”

“The slum?”

“You know of it?”

“There was a friend of mine in school that used to sneak out the dorms to see uhhh…ladies of the night”

“Prostitutes”

“It sounds ugly when you put it like that” Bertie hugs a cushion on the lounge to his chest.

“It can be an ugly profession, girls and boys taken in by wolves with false promises, only to be used and spit out when they get too old or too disturbed to be useful, and you’re plenty old enough to know what I mean by ‘useful’ “

“Boys?”

“Surely your friend let you in on the scandalous male on male activities of the slums”

“He neglected to mention that part”

The phrase “probably because he was seeing one instead of a bird darlin” was out his mouth before he could stop it, real voice and all, he’d never dared address a former employer like this, above all else it was horrendously unprofessional.

“Is that how you really sound?”

This had gone way too far, but now he was forced to commit.

“Fraid’ so”

“Why do you hide it from me?”

Oh Mary, Joseph, Jesus and all his carpenter friends, how was he meant to answer that?

“It’s not personal, innit, it’s just your sort looks down on my sort and that’s that”

“I don’t”

“You’re one of few”

“Oh…I’m sorry” Bertie shifted his gaze down to the floor again, crushing the cushion with his delicate, bird like hands with this wretched expression of guilt on his face.

He sighs, gently tilting Wooster’s chin to face him.

“Poppet, I’m not blaming you for being born with money, and I don’t resent you for having opportunities I didn’t, one flip of a coin and it could have been the other way round, you couldn’t control it anymore than me being born in the slums, I worked my way out, I make a comfortable living now, I survived”.

“But people treated you badly because of where you came from, regardless of how good you were at doing your job, how is that fair?” 

“The world ain’t fair but you learn how to deal with it, plus, if all the employers who treated me like a human accessory were trials for getting to work for you at the current moment, I think I’m content with that”

A rosy hue of mortification rose on Bertie’s face.

“Really?”

“Yes, you treat me like a human being instead of just ‘the help’, you’re more than generous with not only your pay but your companionship and fundamentally Wooster, you are a good person, and I am dead proud to call you my gaffer”

“You’re what?”

“Boss”

“Ahh”

“Good, now, Earl Grey or Darjeeling?”

“Darjeeling”

“I’ll get on it”

“And Jeeves”

“Yes”

“Thank you for answering me honestly”

“No prob, love”

“What?”

“No problem, I’ve got to teach you some slang”

“Looking forward to it” he giggled and if that wasn’t the cutest sound he’d heard all day.

[spitinsideme]

wamted to do vaggie drawing practice, made it into chaggie .. what can i sayb... chaggie took over . go lesbians !! vaggie is too hot charlie cant focus on killing exterminates

[black-cat-luck]

Would you be able to do how the kids react when Bruce is hurt really badly

yes!! I love this :]

༺♡♱⋆🦇⋆♱♡༻

Dick

𖥔 He panics. He’s the strong one, he tries to remain level headed to keep everyone else calm and so they don’t send themselves into a panic attack, he is always calm and collected in stressful situations.

𖥔 But oh god that’s a lot of blood. In this moment he isn’t actually sure what happened, he doesn’t even remember who they’re fighting, where they are. A pained cry escapes his throat as his hands press over the bleeding wound in Bruce’s chest. He hears yelling, the others trying to get him and Bruce somewhere safe, trying to get Dick to tell them how bad the injury is, what can they do?

𖥔 “I-I don’t know!” Dick cries, every second of training, every hour spent learning how to stay calm under stress, stay levelheaded, assess the dangers around you first and never let your guard down, it’s all left him. He can’t move, he can’t breathe, because Bruce isn’t breathing, Bruce is bleeding out in his arms.

𖥔 Thankfully for Dicks sake, this was a league mission, so he doesn’t have to be the collected one. Superman is able to get both of them out of danger, he speaks close to Dicks ear, not because the boy is listening, but because the comms are on and Alfred is already readying the batcave for their arrival.

𖥔 Bruce makes a perfectly fine recovery, and Dick is mortified by how he reacted. He knows Bruce will be disappointed, he knows he will be shamed for letting himself be so weak, risking not only his own life, but Bruce’s by leaving them vulnerable in the battle field. Instead Bruce sets his hand on Dicks head, ruffling his hair softly, before his expression becomes serious, hand gently holding his cheek. “I’m here Chum, you don’t have to be embarrassed for being scared. I’m sorry for worrying you.” He says, and Dick cries again, laughing wetly. “You nearly died and you’re apologizing to me?” He asks, it sounds ridiculous. “Yeah, cause I know I would’ve been the same if it were you.” Bruce says it effortlessly, and Dick leans over, hugging him, careful of the healing wound. They’ve both lost too much to be able to lose each other, and that’s what’s the scariest, that they wouldn’t be able to survive losing anyone else, and they can’t promise they won’t. Dick just has to remain strong, and make sure he always has Bruce’s back so this never happens again.

Jason

𖥔 Jason’s anger has always been his strong suit. He was the happy Robin, the cheerful little boy that bounced on his feet and laughed and joked even in dire situations, and that was his weakness. He would’ve been inconsolable if he had Bruce not breathing at his feet like he does right now.

𖥔 But now Jason is angry. He would never admit it in a vicinity Bruce can hear, but how dare they try and take his dad from him? It’s easy for him to let his anger take control, to be violent and bloody because Bruce can’t see him murdering right now because he himself was just almost murdered. It’s not an almost yet, he hasn’t taken a breath in three minutes. Jason can hear it all, through his own blood rushing through his ears, he hears the others talking; he wants to tune it out, he wants to ignore it but he needs to know when Bruce is okay, when he breathes again.

𖥔 Fuck Jason hates the guy, he can’t stand to even look at him but he’s fighting back the sick rising up his throat as he hears his own thoughts. What if this is it? Bruce can’t come back from this. It’s over. The last thing Jason ever said to him is I hate you.

𖥔 Jason finds the man that stopped Bruce’s heart, and screams in anguish as he tackles him to the ground. His guns are thrown aside, his mask is yanked off his head because he’s killing this man. Not a bullet, not Red Hood, Jason Todd is killing this man. He didn’t kill Batman, he killed Jason’s father. His hands shake violently as they squeeze at his throat. He can’t hear the commotion anymore, he can’t hear anyone’s words, his eyes shine green as tears fall past them.

𖥔 I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. He’ll never be able to take it back. He’ll never get to apologize, to mend what was broken, to forgive Bruce and get to be his son again. He’s just a weapon, he’s just a solider, he’s a murderer. The man’s neck snaps underneath his hands as Bruce takes in his first gasp of air.

𖥔 Jason slowly stumbles to his feet, shaking as he faces the others, there’s looks of disgust, of horror, of understanding. Bruce is struggling to his feet, looking at Jason, even with his cowl on Jason knows he’s afraid, he’s confused, worried.

𖥔 “Let’s get home Bat, you need rest.” Jason wraps Bruce’s arm around his shoulder, dragging him along. Batman doesn’t utter a word, nobody does. Jason slams the door to the Batmobile shut, bloody knuckles going white from how he grips the steering wheel. He swerves recklessly, he’s crying, his hands are shaking, he can’t breathe and he’s terrified, all of his adrenaline crashing as he swallows back sobs. He can’t forgive Bruce, he’s tried to kill him himself, why was it any different now? “Thank you, Jason. I love you son.” Bruce rasps, and that’s why. Jason can’t move on because Bruce is right next to him; and he’s alive, and breathing, and Jason is his son.

Tim

𖥔 Tim is scary. He’s seen Bruce worse than anyone ever has. He’s been through it all, he dragged Bruce up from the ground, all while Bruce clawed at him and tried to stay buried. Tim is scary when Bruce is nearly killed, because he will stop at nothing to make it right.

𖥔 Bruce is put into a coma. To the media it was a car accident. To Tim, it was watching Bane snap Bruce’s body over his leg, breaking his spine; nearly killing him. Tim was on auto pilot after it happened, quickly assessing the damage, demanding Oracle to send help, to Nightwing and Red Hood to stage an accident, they need civilian clothes, Bruce Wayne needs immediate medical attention.

𖥔 Tim Drake-Wayne sits in the hospital room, watching Bruce only able to breath because of the machines he’s connected to, body stiff, bruised and cut up, a small incision in his skull to let out the swelling. A medically induced coma to save his life. They’re not even sure if it will save him; time will only tell.

𖥔 Nightwing says he’ll handle it, he’ll get Bane dealt with. Red Hood makes it clear he’ll be killing him now that Bruce can’t stop him. When Dick and Jason visit the hospital room Tim is already gone. Tim has already set his own plan into motion.

𖥔 Robin doesn’t kill because Batman doesn’t allow it, and because Tim fears it would push him over an edge he doesn’t want to face. Tim does not directly kill. Bane’s henchmen and goons are simply in the building when Tim watches it explode from a rooftop a safe distance away.

𖥔 Tim watches as car bombs, and traps that end in blood splatter are tripped, as men stagger into deaths they could’ve easily avoided, I mean really how are these people working for Bane and falling into their own deaths so easily?

𖥔 Over the course of a week they’re all ticked off, like a grocery list. Tim moves quietly, effortlessly. He’s already gone by the time anyone thinks to look. He’s never seen by the time anyone tries to make a guess on who it might be. When Bane is the only one left Tim is reaching his breaking point. It’s been seven days, seven days his father has been comatose, teetering dangerously close to brain dead, to never waking up. Tim sees Bane and his reserves from before are slowly slipping away. He’s never been this angry before.

𖥔 Nobody would believe a witness that says Robin shot Bane point blank and disappeared. Nobody would listen to a bystander that was high off his mind when he swears he heard the kid scream that his father might never recover and it’s all his fault, before spraying the wall with brain matter. Nobody believes Robin would ever do something like that because he’s just an innocent little boy, Batman doesn’t kill, where would he even get a gun?

𖥔 On the ninth day Bruce wakes up, and Tim is beside him, he doesn’t let anyone see him cry, so he only smiles and hugs him; whispering how grateful he is that he’s okay. They call a nurse in, Bruce is groggy but coherent, there’s no damage, no risk.

𖥔 Dick arrives exhausted, having been patrolling as Batman to keep Gotham from being suspicious. He’s still got a smidge of eyeliner not fully wiped off when he hugs Bruce, eyes studying where Tim sits, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket. He smiles innocently and Dick nods. Tim knows Dick is aware of what he’d done. Tim doesn’t mind that Dick knows, because Tim knows Dick won’t tell anyone, because Tim doesn’t regret what he’s done, and he will do it again if he is pushed to that point.

Damian

𖥔 Damian is never one to be perceived as weak. He will not allow anyone to even think he could ever be weak, he is never weak. Ever. He doesn’t show emotions, he isn’t just some kid. He is a trained assassin, he is stronger than anyone that could challenge him. He is the son of the Bat. He is Robin.

𖥔 Damian’s pride gets the best of him sometimes. It was a simple mission, sure Batman is bleeding but he’s walking it off, telling Damian it’s just a flesh wound, he’ll be fine. They don’t have the Batmobile tonight, and when Bruce reaches to call for it, he falls.

𖥔 Damian is immediately racing to his side. He tries to catch him but he’s too late, and it’s probably for the best because Damian forgets how small he is, and how heavy not only his father is, but the extra hundred pounds of armor in his suit. Damian struggles to push Bruce onto his back, panting as he overlooks him.

𖥔 “Father! Where is your wound?!” Damian shouts. Bruce makes a choked noise as blood drips past his lips. Damian remembers him clutching a side, but he doesn’t know which one, he doesn’t know much right now, his heart is racing, his hands are shaking, and he finally yanks the cape back to see the blood pouring from Bruce’s side. “It probably hit a kidney father why would you insist on it being a flesh wound, do you have any idea how bad this could’ve been if you’d left it??” Damian is still yelling, despite Bruce being unconscious.

𖥔 Damian tears at their emergency gauze with his teeth, he’s applying pressure to the wound, but it’s getting slippery and he stumbles, he’s patched up wounds before, why is this one different? Why won’t the blood stop? Why is he alone with Bruce getting paler and paler with each passing second?

𖥔 Damian is not weak, he does not need help, but he is scared. The blood is not stopping, the gauze isn’t working, Bruce is not responsive. Damian stares at his bloody hands as he starts to panic, hyperventilating as he searches for his emergency beacon, for his comm, for anything. His hands are slipping, he’s covered in blood, he can’t breathe.

𖥔 “Robin I’ve received your signal what’s wrong?” Red Hood’s voice through his ear makes the tears finally fall, and Damian gasps for air. He hears other voices chiming in, everyone live on the comms, and everyone hears him crying.

𖥔 “Robin, deep breath, give us a report.” Nightwing says, they want him to breathe, but they need to know why he can’t in the first place. “Batman is down. I cannot stop the bleeding, I cannot move him on my own. I need immediate help, he is unconscious, and getting critical.” He manages out, throat rough as he tries to swallow, as he stares down at his father as the blood begins to pool to his knees.

𖥔 “I’ve sent his location, Red Robin and Red Hood are the closest. Robin they will be there in three minutes, I’ll help as I can, what happened?” Oracle asks, and Damian takes a shaky breath, relief and guilt overwhelming him, but he hears Nightwing’s voice encouraging him to breathe; and he follows his instructions.

𖥔 Damian tells her everything that happened, what rooftop they’re on, what he did to try and stop the bleeding. While he’s still steadying his breathing with Nightwing Red Hood arrives. As Jason is putting pressure on the wound and instructing Damian to grab gauze, Red Robin arrives, and Tim quickly takes over, leaving Damian sitting and watching as they patch him up in seconds, and Jason is able to lift him up and carry him effortlessly by himself. Red Robin knows him and Robin are not the closest, but Damian is still shaking, and Tim wraps his arm around him and carefully leads him down to where the Batmobile has pulled up. Damian doesn’t speak a word, and the drive is silent once it’s announced over the comms that Batman is secure and inbound to the cave.

𖥔 Damian doesn’t leave his room. He’s embarrassed, ashamed, upset. He was too weak, too defenseless. Bruce lost a lot of blood, if they were any later he might have not made it. Jason was strong enough to lift him, Tim was fast enough to stop the bleeding and wrap him up, all things Damian failed to do in ample time. Even when Alfred notifies Damian that Bruce is awake and well, and would like to see him, Damian does not leave his room.

𖥔 The others give him space, so he’s especially angry when his door creaks open. He looks up with a sharp glare, only for his expression to immediately fall when he sees Bruce slowly limp inside. He’s shirtless and wearing more gauze than skin, holding his side as he carefully steps inside. “Father what are you doing you are on bed rest!” Damian hisses, rushing to his side, he holds one of Bruce’s hands and gently leads him to his own bed; sitting him down. “You wouldn’t come to me.” Bruce smiles as Damian glares again. “I would have, I’ve been busy.” The boy huffs, walking away to distract himself, to not have to see Bruce. He keeps his back to him and pretends to shuffle through papers on his desk. “You know I once fell on Dick when he was Robin?” He suddenly says, making Damian freeze, not responding.

𖥔 “Poor little guy was smaller than you, damn near squished him like a bug. It’s not often Batman falls, but I had a rule with every Robin, if I do, step out of the way. If I’m down, call for help. I would never expect one of you to be able to gather me up on your own.” Bruce hums, and the backs of Damian’s eyes sting as he listens. “I’m sorry for worrying you, and I’m sorry you were alone.” Bruce adds, and Damian faces him, using anger to mask the tears welling in his eyes. “I’m Robin, I’m Batman’s partner, I need to be stronger, I need to be able to be alone.” He sneers, he’s only angry at himself, but he needs to get it out; and he needs to tell it to Bruce, he needs to prove he’s not weak. “You’re also my son. And eleven years old. You cannot be expected to carry a full grown man that’s bleeding out, nine miles on your own. I wouldn’t expect that of any Robin-“ “Todd and Drake seemed to be able to do it perfectly fine.” He spits, his jealously finally mixing in.

𖥔 “Neither of whom are Robin anymore. Jason who’s taller and bigger than me? Tim who’s seven years older than you? They wouldn’t have been able to do it when they were Robin either. It is not a weakness of yours, it is not a weakness of your age, it is simply that you are a boy, and you cannot lift a grown man, I couldn’t lift myself at your age.” He says, laughing as Damian swallows thickly, still not accepting it. Bruce extends his hand, and Damian takes a few steps closer, still looking anywhere but at his father. “You are not weak my son, you should not be disappointed by last night, you were able to call for help when you needed it, you saved me. I couldn’t be more proud.” He says; pulling Damian into an unwilling hug. The boy is stiff, but doesn’t move out of fear of hurting him.

𖥔 “I will be stronger next time.” He whispers; and Bruce hums, kissing the side of his head. “You will be. I will too. You are the son of Batman, hold your head high, you are not weak.” Bruce whispers, and it’s the most comforting thing he can offer Damian, speaking to him the way he knows he needs to hear. Damian will be stronger, Damian won’t let himself lose his father.

Barbara

𖥔 Babs strong suit was being behind a screen. It was what she was best at, better than anything. She loved it, she loved helping people, making a difference, getting to see it all unfold and see people saved again, and again. She held her title as Oracle with pride. Batman wouldn’t be nearly as successful as he is every mission without her. Well, he might be able to be successful, but it wouldn’t be as fast if Babs wasn’t behind him already getting it all done before he has the time to even ask. She prides herself in being a needed ally, more than just a side player that helps occasionally. Batman often offered her the same encouragements, and acknowledges her hard work, and how much she helps them all.

𖥔 It was supposed to be a quiet patrol. Bruce is by himself tonight, Damian is sleeping, Tim is with the titans, Dick is in Blüdhaven, and she’s casually finishing some case files while Bruce sits and watches the city, both of them enjoying the quiet night.

𖥔 Barbara is scared into focus by the sound of an explosion. “Bats??” She asks, quickly typing away, pulling up his footage, and zeroing in on whats in front of him. Bruce moves like he’s injured, a villain attacks him. They’re wearing a mask, she can’t tell who it is. She pulls up the nearby cameras, watching the fight from all angles. She finds where he came from, running the plates and all information on the car, but it reports stolen, and the villain doesn’t match the description as the little old lady that registered it.

𖥔 “Bats talk to me who are these guys?” She calls, pulling up everything she can, Batman hasn’t said a word, and she knows he’s injured, she sees him lose his balance, she hears the scuffle, the back and forth, and then everything goes dark. Every last camera and screen is black. “Bat!” She shouts, trying to pull it all back up. It’s not her system, everything else is working fine, but those few cameras she needs, her comm with Batman, all of it is dark.

𖥔 She stares forward in shock, what the hell happened? She tries not to panic over losing Bruce, assuring herself it’s just some alleyway goon that Bruce will have handled in minutes, so she tries to dive into who this is. She runs everything, vocal recognition, pulling up the neighboring cameras to search for who this is, where they came from, how they snuck up on Batman.

𖥔 Everything leads to a dead end. Barbara curses and slams her hands on the desk, anger overcoming her as her heart starts to beat faster. Why has Bruce still not told her he’s okay? Why hasn’t he fixed the comm, or found a way to send her a signal. Everything’s okay, bad guys apprehended, I’m fine. Where was her reassurance? Batman never goes dark like this, and the fact that everything is turned off from her is terrifying.

𖥔 She pulls up any possible lead she has, anything that could connect her to this, anything they could use. She thinks she’s finally found something when a camera pulls back up; and she gasps, Batman is laying on the floor, not moving, blood underneath him. Then the camera goes black again. Her whole screen is black and she can see her reflection in it, staring in her own eyes. Her hair is down, and the dark of the screen hides her features from her view, and she cries. If she was Batgirl she could help Bruce, she wouldn’t be here defenseless, grasping at straws as Bruce lays at a villains mercy. She doesn’t know if he’s even still alive, if he’s still breathing, she’s just sitting here while Bruce suffers.

𖥔 Barbara has never felt less than the others just because she worked from the safety of the watch tower, she never felt like she wasn’t as vital to them, to helping. But now she does. She’s scared, she’s angry, why can’t she just help him.

𖥔 “Oracle?” Jason’s voice echoes over the comms, and she sighs shakily. “Bat is down, I’ve lost all communication, and all nearby cameras went dark. I’ve just sent you his address, can you get to him?” She asks, voice weak as she stares at a map, seeing where Jason is, only a few miles from Bruce. “On my way. Who is it?” He asks, and her throat is thick as she stares at the screen. “I don’t know. I couldn’t figure it out.” She rasps, it’s humiliating to say out loud, it makes her sick. She doesn’t know, she’s supposed to know. She’s the one that always knows.

𖥔 “All done, Bats is good.” Jason’s voice shocks her. “Wait what??” She replies, and the cameras are all live again, she sees the goons unconscious on the floor. Jason has Bruce’s arm slung over his shoulder. He looks directly at a camera and waves. “They had an interceptor or whatever, knocked everything offline. B might have a headache but he’s fine, they were just some thugs trying to get a jump on him. Gcpd’s already closing in, but I’m bringing some tech back, one of ‘em had something that looks like a homemade vertigo headband, can you look into it?” He asks, and she sniffles, hastily wiping at her eyes. “Sure can; bring it on down.” She sighs, relief washing over her. Bruce is okay, she’s back online, everything is okay.

𖥔 Bruce sits with Barbara as she types everything into a file. He’s benched until his concussion heals, and she’s putting it all into files to save in the bat computer if the thugs he fought ever become a problem again. “You did good.” Bruce compliments as she saves it all. “Hm?” She responds, glancing at him. “With your system going dark, you did good, you still led Jason right to me, still got it all resolved. Thank you.” Bruce says, and she smiles, pride welling in her chest as she nods, facing the computer again. Despite her worries and fears, she didn’t need to be Batgirl to help him, Oracle was who got Red Hood to Batman and helped even when it all went dark; she still did her job, and she did damn good at it.

Steph

𖥔 Steph is an accident with a bat symbol on her chest. She doesn’t try to be, but her need to prove herself, and her fear of her fathers footsteps makes her jump the gun, it makes her so desperate for validation she cuts corners, and makes things messy. She really doesn’t try to, and because she’s so young and anxious she doesn’t realize what she’s done until it happens, and then she’s humiliated and knows she will be looked down upon even more after.

𖥔 So it’s only fitting that one time she cuts corners, it ends with Bruce unconscious, head bleeding, arms still wrapped around Steph from where he’d shielded her with his own body. Steph was not supposed to be on the ground, this was a simple mission, Robin was supposed to be his eyes in the sky, not trying to assist him, not getting herself caught, not getting stuck in an exploding building where Bruce himself gets caught in the explosion to protect her from it.

𖥔 Her need to prove herself is out the window when she shoves Bruce off of her, gasping violently as she sees the way his body rolls limply, the way he doesn’t move, the way his cowl is dripping blood and it’s begun to pool underneath him. She took on this mantle, she wanted to prove she wasn’t like her father, she wanted Bruce to see value in her, and now he might be dying because of her.

𖥔 No, no, no, no. Steph is yanking his cowl off, wincing as his head hits the ground again, making a wet noise from the blood already spilling from it. “Hey, Hey Bat? Cmon, wake up now.” She pleads, voice shaking as she presses gauze to the wound, watching it immediately turn red, she swaps it for a new piece and takes a shaky breath, looking around them. The goons left when they set the bomb, they knew Batman would be too busy trying to save Girl wonder that they could escape, so they’re alone, the Batmobile has already been called to them, so Steph stands and hooks her arms under Bruce’s, yanking upward.

𖥔 She struggles, and pants and cries, but she manages to shove him ungracefully into the car, panic beginning to overwhelm her as she jumps into the drivers seat, fiddling with the shifts and buttons she’s still not too familiar with. Thankfully it has auto-pilot, and kicks itself into gear, speeding down the road as Steph taps at the screen, blood smearing across it. “Hey A, B is hurt real bad. Are you home?” She asks it casually, laughing as her panic rises up her throat, her heart racing as she glances at Bruce.

𖥔 “Yes, I will be waiting in the cave.” Alfred responds, and she swaps the gauze on his head, tears finally starting to fall as she looks at his face. Did she really let Bruce die just because she wanted to be strong? Bruce is bleeding out just because she wanted to prove she was different, prove she could do it. “I’m sorry B.” She sobs. She just wanted to make him proud, she wanted him to care for her the way he cares for his sons, even when she keeps him at arms length and doesn’t let him view her as one of his kids. She doesn’t want a dad. She told them. She has a dad and he’s a bad person and she’s going to prove she isn’t.

𖥔 “I’m sorry dad.” She rasps, staring at Bruce’s face as they come to a screeching halt in the cave. Alfred has Bruce laid on a table and the bleeding has stopped within four minutes. Steph sits, still bloody and crying as Alfred moves fluidly around her, getting Bruce stable, assuring her he is just fine.

𖥔 When Bruce wakes up Steph hands him her Robin costume. He furrows his eyebrows and takes it, still confused. “I almost got you killed trying to prove myself.” She tells him; and he sighs, opening his mouth to respond, but she stops him. “I can’t follow orders, I endangered you, I endangered myself. I can’t be Robin, I can’t live up to what they were, and I don’t want to. I’ll prove myself to you, and I won’t let you get hurt because of me just to do it.” She sounds mature, less scared. Bruce sets the suit down and nods once. “I do not regret doing what needs to be done to save you. I would do it again.” Bruce responds. Scolding her for not following orders seems pointless now, she’s no longer Robin; and she acknowledged her own fault, he doesn’t need to double down, especially not when she’s dealing with her own regret and fears after what happened. “I’m still sorry. I’ll be better.” She rasps, and Bruce hugs her, petting her hair gently as she fights back the tears burning behind her eyes. She’ll prove herself right this time.

Cass

𖥔 Cass stops. She’s always been the quickest one, the slyest, the one to get in and get out and have it not just done, but done good. Cass is untouchable, unbreakable, an unstoppable force hell bent on saving innocent people and protecting the world from the horrors that others bring upon them. Cass is strong because other people aren’t, and they need her to be for them. Gotham needs her.

𖥔 So when she’s fighting, she’s taking out bad guys and escorting hostages out of a burning building, she ends up cornered, hiding a little girl behind her as a goon points a gun at her. “I’ll tell you what little bat, her life for yours. You wanna walk away? Give me the girl. I’ll make sure you don’t have to see.” The man taunts, something sick bubbling in Cass’ gut, fighting down her anger as she analyzes his stance, trying to figure out how to disarm him without a stray bullet possibly hitting the girl.

𖥔 Batman drops down in front of them before she can do anything, giving her a distraction so she can run. She grabs the girl and takes off, hearing them fighting as she goes. She finds an exit and rushes out it, flames dancing inches from them as she runs toward the other hostages, carefully setting the little girl down, she turns back to the building, seeing fire already blocking the exit she just came out from. She wraps her cape around herself and rushes forward, already a step back inside, the fire sizzling around her, and the building explodes. She’s thrown backward, ears ringing as she tries to get back up, adrenaline pumping faster than ever.

𖥔 She hears the people crying, arms shaking as she pushes herself up, only to fall again. Bruce was still in there. She shakily looks up, staring at the rubble ahead of her, gasping for air as she staggers to her feet. Bruce, Bruce. She’s chanting his name, she can’t find her voice, opening and closing her mouth repeatedly, and she lets out a pained cry as she falls to her knees, staring forward helplessly as the red flames dance in her eyes.

𖥔 “Batman?” The little girl from before stands in front of Cass, tears welling in her eyes as Batgirl looks up at her. Cass knows she’s needs to check the hostages, make sure everyone’s okay; count and see if anyone died in the explosion. But she knows part of that answer already, Bruce was still inside, she was too late going back in to save him, he was in there because she let herself get backed into a wall and he had to save her. He got left behind because of her.

𖥔 Cass sits back on her heels, staring at her hands blindly. Now what? What could she do? What was Gotham going to do without having a Batman, how many innocent people were going to suffer and die because Batman died for her? How much death is she going to cause? What did it matter that Batgirl survived if Batman didn’t?

𖥔 “Batman!” The little girl says again; and it only hurts Cass worse, looking up through teary eyes, she sees the girl isn’t even facing her, her back it to Cass, and her arm is extended as she points to the building still burning. Batman is walking out of the flames, holding the same goon that had attacked them. He sets the man down once they’re a safe distance, and Cass is already on her feet, running as fast as she can, and jumping into Bruce’s arms.

𖥔 “I’m sorry for worrying you Batgirl.” Batman says softly, he has to keep their identities safe, he has to watch what he says, but they both know by the way he’s hugging her. I’m sorry Cassie, I’m here. She sobs, body shaking as he holds her gently, rubbing her back through the suit. She’s gasping weakly, mouth moving but no words come out. Even though she’s hidden by her mask Bruce knows she’s trying to speak.

𖥔 “Easy, you’re alright.” He says, setting her down so they’re looking at one another, and she holds onto his arms desperately. “Dad. Safe.” She manages out, and Bruce nods, hugging her again as she cries quietly. They’ll eventually have to pull away and assess the situation, but right now the hostages are okay, and Cass needs to be held by her dad for a little while longer.

Duke

𖥔 Duke working during the day means things are a lot different for Signal than they are for the bats. He has his usual route to patrol, he knows the ins and outs of this city, he knows which places are most commonly victim to robberies and petty crimes, it’s not an easy job, but he enjoys doing it, he enjoys helping people.

𖥔 Duke hasn’t had to stop or fight anyone today. There haven’t been any robberies, no purse or car thief’s, only a stray dog begging for some of his granola bar, it was quiet. Duke sits on a rooftop checking the time and seeing his patrol is almost over, it wouldn’t hurt if he went home half an hour before usual today, nothings happened, he’s sure nothing will happen in these thirty minutes, right?

𖥔 It’s almost like the universe was waiting for him to be ready to head home, because he hears an alarm ringing from a few buildings away. He hurries that way, face falling as he sees several men running out of a bank, carrying bags full of money. He grapples to them, pulling a baton from his utility belt, he’s about to land on the ground when he hears someone scream for help.

𖥔 “He’s hurt someone help!” A woman inside the bank cries out, and Dukes face falls as he looks at them, there’s someone injured, he weighs his options of stopping the thief’s first, or helping the injured person, but as he looks at the man laying on the ground, the air is knocked out of him. “Bruce.” He gasps, rushing over, forgetting about the thief’s as they speed off and disappear, he skids to a stop at Bruce’s side.

𖥔 Bruce Wayne is unconscious on the floor of the bank, bleeding out of a bullet wound in his stomach. “Bruce!” Duke cries out, rushing to his side. This isn’t Batman injured in a fight, or hurt by a villain. This is Bruce Wayne, out in the lively hours of Gotham, getting shot in a bank robbery. “Mr. Wayne, can you hear me? Sir?” Duke yanks his gloves off and checks for a pulse. When he feels one he immediately starts applying pressure to the wound. “He stood between them and me, it’s all my fault.” The girl sobs, she’s clearly a bank teller, her hands and skirt covered in Bruce’s blood.

𖥔 Duke is in full panic, he’s Signal right now, he’s not Bruce’s newest ward, he’s not tending to an injured Batman. Signal the vigilante is helping Bruce Wayne, the prince of Gotham; a stranger. “Hang in there sir, you’re gonna be okay.” Duke forces his voice to sound controlled, despite the way something sits in his throat, tears stinging behind his eyes.

𖥔 A crowd has formed now, hushed whispers and shocked gasps surrounding him as he pushes harder on the wound, his hands begin to shake, Bruce’s skin is losing color, there really is a lot of blood around them. Getting shot isn’t nearly enough to take down Batman, he would walk it off. But Bruce Wayne hasn’t even woken up, how long has it been now? Duke feels sick, breathing shaky as he wraps the wound.

𖥔 Thankfully someone had called 911 because Duke can hear the sirens, and an ambulance pulls up seconds later. He’s gently pulled back, and Bruce is lifted onto a gurney. “Thank you kid, we’ll take it from here.” An emt tells him, and then they take off with Bruce, leaving Duke alone, leaving the vigilante standing there, covered in blood, with a hundred eyes on him. “T-Thank you, you saved him.” The bank teller whispers, Duke helps her to her feet, moving on autopilot as he stares at his own hands, skin crawling as tears sting behind his eyes. He only nods, disappearing onto the rooftop, and running away.

𖥔 He informs the others, and by that night the thieves are caught by Red Robin and Spoiler, and Duke lies in his bed, he’s in his pajamas, he’s showered, but he stares at his hands and sees the red dripping from them, he feels the weight of Bruce’s body, limp and unmoving, he feels himself clinging to his fathers body, and having to act as a stranger, having to keep their identities separate, and not knowing if he would survive. If that killed him, Dukes last moment with him would’ve been as strangers, being watched by hundreds of eyes, and thousands more from the videos circulating.

𖥔 There’s a soft knock on the door and Duke hums, watching through tired eyes as Alfred walks inside, sets down a phone, and walks out before Duke can say anything. The screen is black so Duke only stares, confused until he hears a throat clear. “Duke?” Bruce’s voice rings through the phone, and the boys tears finally fall, hands shaking as he picks up the phone. He has a moment of fear that he’s going to get blood on it, but has to remind himself that there’s no blood on his skin anymore, he’s sure there still is on Bruce’s

𖥔 “Hey kiddo.” Bruce says when Duke doesn’t respond. “Hi.” He manages to rasp, and Bruce hums at the acknowledgement. “You did really good today.” Bruce says, and Duke cries harder, holding his head in his hands as he stays quiet so Bruce can’t hear. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, and I know you’re beating yourself up, but you did exactly as you should’ve. You let the thieves go to help the victim, you kept the victim stable until medical professionals arrived, you had the situation handled so the thieves were caught. You did everything wonderfully Signal.” Bruce compliments, and then a sob escapes Dukes lips, Bruce doesn’t say anything else and Duke sniffles. “It wasn’t an innocent bystander it was you.” He huffs, a bite behind his words as his own failure weighs him down, despite the fact that he didn’t fail at anything, he did everything he was supposed to do.

𖥔 “And it was you Duke. I’m safe because of you.” Bruce says, and the boy huffs in anger. “What the hell was I supposed to do? If something worse happened? If that was the last time I saw you? I had to treat you like Bruce Wayne; I had to be a stranger.” He says, hurt bleeding through his words, and Bruce hums softly. “Your suit doesn’t mean anything Duke, it is still you inside of it. A suit will never change who we are, what you mean to me. I was comforted that my son was there, not Signal.” Bruce says, and Duke squeezes his eyes shut, letting more tears fall as Bruce takes a deep breath. “I know how you’re feeling, and I want you to know that you don’t have to feel this way, you saved me Duke, and I will never compare you to your alias.” He says, and Duke sniffles, nodding even though Bruce can’t see him.

𖥔 “They’re letting me come home tomorrow, and I’m benched until I’m healed, so we’ll spend some time together okay? Just us, no suits or names.” Bruce says, and Duke smiles small. “Sounds good.” He responds, sniffling. “Good. Get some rest Duke, everything’s going to be okay.” He assures him, and they whisper their goodnights and hang up. The weight has been lifted off of Dukes chest, and he takes a deep breath, lying back down. Bruce is okay, and so is Duke.

Bruce Wayne has a family that loves him, and doesn’t know how they’d survive losing him. And he knows he wouldn’t survive losing them. That’s what makes their family so perfect.

༺♡♱⋆🦇⋆♱♡༻

This was so fun to write thank you for the request! I love getting to write out Bruce’s relationship with the kids, and had to include all of them for this one, it turned out wayyy longer than planned, had to bring the family together :’). I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. ᡣ𐭩

[anirritant]

this is so stupid lol

edit: here's an alternate scrapped scene that isn't canon to the au anymore but i still wanted to post hehe >:)

[lemongogo]

is this the part where i say i like jaymel . bc i do

[millidew]

this is the price of befriending your senior who’s way more of a mess than you thought

[adhd-merlin]

a lesson in manners

For @merlinmicrofic. Prompt: "Then go", Arthur/Merlin/Gwen, Established Relationship, Gen. Words: 500

“Well.” Merlin rises from his chair. “If there's nothing else.”

Guinevere turns to him – her disappointment clear in her eyes, even though she tries to keep it from her voice. “You’re leaving?”

“Sorry.” Merlin smiles apologetically. “I promised Gaius I would be back in time for supper.”

Which is fair enough. Merlin’s been dining with Arthur and Guinevere more often than not, lately. They have – perhaps selfishly – grown used to his presence.

“Hardly the first time you've kept him waiting,” Arthur observes. Just to be contrary.

“Precisely. He's starting to ask questions.”

“What sort of questions?” Guinevere asks.

Merlin looks at her with a pointed raise of his eyebrows. “Ones I'd rather not answer.” Guinevere’s mouth curves into a faint smile. She closes her eyes when Merlin leans down to kiss her temple.

“I'll see you tomorrow. Good night.” Merlin nods at Arthur before going to the door.

Guinevere looks at him with a hint of sadness in her eyes – which, as a general rule, Arthur finds unacceptable. Guinevere should never look sad. Not in his presence. Not if he can help it.

“Merlin?” Arthur calls. Merlin stops, his hand on the handle. “Is that the way to take leave of your king?”

Merlin looks puzzled. “I'm sorry. Did I forget to bow?” he asks, and he does so, with a jester-like flourish.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Yes. Not that it matters. Come here.”

“Arthur…” Merlin protests, weakly, but he obeys his beckoning.

“Guinevere got a kiss. I was just wondering at the disparity of treatment,” Arthur explains – not because he cares, but just to keep Merlin there a little longer.

Merlin clicks his tongue. “She's nicer than you.”

Arthur just looks at him.

Merlin sighs, theatrically, and Guinevere giggles.

Good.

When Merlin bends down – no doubt to give Arthur a quick peck on the lips – Arthur grabs his ridiculous neckerchief and pulls. Merlin gasps, grasping one of Arthur’s arms as he tips over, and slamming his knee next to Arthur’s thigh to avoid smashing his face against the back of his chair.

“Arthur— ” The rest of his objection is rudely interrupted by Arthur’s mouth.

Arthur kisses Merlin until he’s breathless – maybe from the kiss, maybe from the cloth that’s pulled tight around his neck. Arthur doesn’t loosen his grasp. He knows Merlin likes it. 

When Arthur breaks their kiss, Merlin blinks at him vacantly. He moves his lips as if to shape a word, but seems to have forgotten what he wanted to say.

Then, he remembers. “Gaius is waiting,” he mumbles – eyes fixed on Arthur's mouth.

Arthur lets go of Merlin’s neckerchief and pats his chest. “Then go,” he says, amiably.

Merlin gets to his feet – a bit shakily. His ears are red. He walks to the door again, turns as if to say something, then frowns and closes his mouth. Wordlessly, he leaves.

Guinevere starts laughing.

Good.

“That was mean,” she says. 

Arthur takes her hand and kisses it. “Don’t worry. We’ll make it up to him.”

[gintrinsic-writing]

Mirror vs Open Closet Door: Fight!

When Sky volunteered to share a room with Time and Four, he did so with the anticipation of a peaceful evening. Part of him even imagined how nice it would be to doze off to the quiet notes of an ocarina, or to the steady, soothing rasp of a whetstone. In no way did he anticipate an open closet door. 

“Uh,” he began eloquently, wiggling his chilled toes beneath the covers. “What’s up?”

Time turned away from the now-open closet like it was the most normal thing in the world. He hadn’t even retrieved anything; he’d simply taken one look at the closet, frowned, gotten up, and opened the door all the way. Behind him, the dark closet now loomed ominously, its many hangers like a row of teeth. “Mirror’s on the outside of the door,” Time answered, throwing back his side of the sheets. 

“Ah, that makes sense,” Four said from the end of the bed. He fit perfectly lengthwise, which was something Sky had been trying very hard not to joke about. Now, he had other things to focus on. Namely—

“No it doesn’t?” He glanced between the two of them. “Now the closet’s open.”

Time pinched the room’s single candle between his fingers, plunging the room into darkness. “It’s fine. There’s no draft.”

No draft? Sky mouthed in disbelief. For a moment, that was it. Time settled on his side, apparently comfortable, and Four sighed in contentment. A chime could be heard from the grandfather clock in the common room. Sky counted to ten before he finally balked. “Okay, no, absolutely not.”

Time blinked at him, his eyes barely visible. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Sky repeated incredulously. “You left the closet door open on purpose!”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, Sky,” Four said in his most mature (read: annoying) tone. “It’s just a closet.”

Sky forced himself not to grind his teeth in frustration. “If there’s nothing to be afraid of,” he began slowly, “then there shouldn’t be any problem with the mirror.”

“That’s completely different,” Time answered in an even more mature (read: more annoying) tone. 

“No, it’s not! You’re telling me that that—” Sky waved a hand in the general direction of the closet. “—is less creepy than a mirror?”

“Yes,” Time said immediately. 

“No, it’s not.”

“Is too.”

Sky rubbed both hands down his face. “You sound like a child.”

“I am a child,” Time sighed. 

What? Sky thought, frowning open-mouthed. Before he could reply, Four finally sat up, his extra blanket pooling around him. 

“It's not completely scary. There’s plenty of moonlight in here.”

“Yeah, that makes it worse,” Sky muttered. “It’s easier to see.” He risked a glance at the closet, then did a double-take. “Sweet Hylia, I swear it’s bigger than it was before.”

Four’s head whipped around to look. “What? No, it’s not.”

“It is!” He was pretty sure. Like, seventy percent sure.

Suddenly, inspiration struck with a self-satisfied jolt. Sky could be the bigger person here; he could compromise! “Why can’t we just take the mirror down?”

“Tried,” Time said. “It’s glued to the door.”

Sky crossed his arms. “Okay, then how about… I switch rooms. I bet Wind would switch with me.”

“Then the sleeping arrangements won’t work as well,” Four explained. “We split up rooms based on an even Link-per-room ratio.”

“Then I’ll switch with someone close to my size. Warriors.” 

Time snorted. “Won’t work. He’s rooming with Legend; fifty rupees says their closet door is open, too.”

“Then I’ll switch with Legend,” Sky said brightly. It took him a second to realize he’d messed up. “Wait, no, Warriors kicks in his sleep.”

“Mmmhm,” Four answered. They’d all been victims of that unfortunate kind of abuse before. 

“Fine. Twilight’s got a weird thing about mirrors, right? I’ll switch with him.”

“Enjoy Wind’s and Wild’s snoring,” Time said wryly. 

Sky groaned. Time was right, there was no way he could sleep through their combined snores. “This sucks.”

Time snuggled further into the covers. “Too bad.”

“You’re an ass sometimes.”

“I’m so wounded,” Time said around a yawn, and Sky huffed. 

Minutes passed. The closet continued to loom. Sky was afraid he’d see a face if he kept staring inside, but he was also afraid of looking away. Goosebumps broke out across his skin. Maybe, if he was brave enough to leave the bed, he’d wait until they fell asleep and simply close the door. Maybe. 

“Four?” he whispered when he couldn’t take it anymore. “You awake?”

Four sighed. “I am now.”

The question wouldn’t leave him. It was a welcome distraction at this point. “What do you think Time meant when he called himself a child?”

“Dude, I never try to figure him out anymore.”

“...Yeah, fair.”

More minutes. More looming. Sky contemplated the worth of the Triforce of Courage in the face of mundane things. 

Somehow, he fell asleep. 

[mvrcellas]

hm

[soulstagger]

Find yourself a friend who fully understands and gets your strange worries.

[bcneheaded]

I was just thinking and... Artemis is not kind. yes, for all his friendliness, and all the fancy and amicable language and behaviors he displays outwardly to just about everyone who enters his shop... he's not genuinely nice. Artemis is a demon. in any verse of his, he used to be something akin to a spirit/god of LOVE, but was twisted into Wrath, or Hatred - which is the opposite. After leaving the pits of hell, having his little demonic tantrum and breakdown and finally growing weary and finding some semblance of clarity, he's grown out of what he was once again, and became something new. He's still wrathful, hateful, angry, and morose, but now he's so much more without even realizing. He's evolved and will continue to do so over time even if he stagnates for decades, centuries even. The friendships and relationships with other muses that he develops will influence his personality and the way he views things in time, as we've seen it happen already countless times ofc! And for those who did earn his respect and care, he does truly care for them and would gladly go out of his way for them (to what degree depends entirely on the level of closeness). But again.... Artemis is not kind, by nature and he hasn't been for a very, very long time. He was genuinely just plain and simple EVIL He was a villain - a monster, unrecognizable to how he acts now- doing horrible, unspeakable deeds for the pleasure of it. It's how he got the bones he wears in and on his body. So while he might be polite, charming even, and friendly - if he does not know you... he doesn't care about you nor what happens to you. If say for example, he sees you wandering that ruined cityside he lives in - rampant with entities that prey on the Living - and he saves you from being taken by evil spirits or demons? Chances are good that he did it for himself, or to be spiteful - to deny the other entities their prize (you / your soul). If he doesn't know you, the likelihood that he'll go out of his way for you is very low. But if there's something in it for him, some kind of reason as to why it might be worth his time and energy to actually step in... he might! But like all demons, it's good to be wary and to assume he doesn't care about you or your well-being, at least at first!! Artemis is not nice, but that doesn't mean he's malicious or cruel (anymore. not intentionally - he's quite literally under the mindset that he's just 'too old and tired for that nonsense'.) Artemis is manipulative, charming, cunning - he's everything you expect from a demon (though without a host, so he's certainly not attractive in any semblance of a conventional manner lmao - but he dresses well! and I think it's also telling just how-- *gestures at all that* --that he actually is, considering he's NOT attractive... but still puts people at ease, mostly, and can charm them to hell and back if he wanted to. He uses that not to manipulate people per say ?? like, he does not have an evil agenda by any means. He's just existing at this point, distanced from the gods and devils and just living his... life(?) if you can call it that. He's TRYING to do better. But he's still just... a demonic entity. A greater demon, for sure, if he had to be equated to some kind of level or whatever, but a demon nonetheless. But even for demons, there can be growth! and he is growing, very very slowly.

[nyanfish]

(WIP)

it's so important to me that tsuge is a gay loser w no game.

[rakkuntoast]

I'm in love with the idea of q!Phil and c!Phil being potentially the same person

and just this centuries old man who got his wings fucked up AGAIN now has to face horrors that don't even COMPARE to the ones he faced before

but he doesn't really bat an eye on the federation, he has seen multiple times how things like this go to the top and crumble down beneath his feet. eventually if Chayanne and/or Tallulah die this man got nothing else to lose, we've seen him tear down countries down to bedrock, murder people constantly on cold blood, the federation it's just another one that will bite the dust

"I've seen many like them fail. they wont be the last one"

[oneiroy]

(after a tourney in an alternative universe)

Mae belongs to @merlwybs-wife

[ebitenpura]

what's your agent's relationship with shara/watcher 2 (curious)

[fiendishartist2]

too alien to take you home– mp100

Once the dust settled over Seasoning City, and Toichiro Suzuki was finally taken away, Shou found himself with nowhere to go.

For a few hours, he wandered. He scaled rubble, looking for anything to occupy his mind with. Anything that could push away the static in his brain– that could stop the leftover shockwaves of adrenaline shooting through his restless limbs.

Eventually, he found himself perched on an upside-down park bench. Over and over, he spread his aura thin over the city, marking names and faces on a mental map. He counted them on his hands, making sure to take stock of every single Claw member first, then smaller, less familiar auras second.

There, on the outskirts of the city, in an apartment carefully crafted to be inconspicuous, were Fukuda, Higashio, and Ootsuki. Another familiar aura– Serizawa, in the lower-end suburban area. Minegishi and Hatori were together, picking apart what remained of the centre of the city. A few Scars were scattered around as well; Tsuchiya and that little girl Shou never got along with were near the train station, while Sakurai and Koyama were in a restaurant. Joseph and his father were long gone, but their auras left behind a trail of power in their wake.

He ran over them all in his head, dwelling on his father's violent red explosion in the centre of the city, where a giant broccoli now grew out of the ground. It hurt, deep and sharp like a hole in his gums where a tooth used to be– but he kept running his tongue over the bloody spot regardless. It loosened something in his chest, the constant reminder that Claw was over for good. His father left his mark on the city, but that mark was an outright confirmation that he wasn't coming back.

Then something else caught his attention; something cold, in deep indigoes and bubbly cyans. Glittering, like it wanted nothing more than to distract him. Next to it, two more auras sparkled, overpowering to anyone else, but just background noise to Shou compared to the alluring blue.

"Ritsu…?" Shou mumbled to the empty air. That's not his house, Shou thought, icy trepidation spider-webbing through his gut. Goosebumps spread across his grimy skin, and Shou was overcome with the sudden need to find his newfound best friend.

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

Shou landed roughly on the fire escape of an apartment. Through the haze of his brain, he remembered vague definitely-illegally-dug-up information he studied for weeks before his coup. This shitty little flat on the bad side of the city belonged to Reigen Arataka. He only really bothered to look into ways to get Ritsu's brother to flip out, which lead him to Spirits and Such and eventually, this apartment. Other than what he saw of him on the Culture Tower through the pain of being thrown around by his father, Shou didn’t know anything about Reigen.

He perched on the windowsill, willing his double vision to come back– if only to stop the sharp tunnel-vision of his gaze giving him a headache. Pain pounded behind his eyes in time with his racing heart.

He squinted through the window, trying to parse out what was what. And more importantly, where Ritsu was.

Soft, orange light filtered in from a side room no bigger than a closet, illuminating everything inside. The single room apartment was cramped, furniture packed together to give just enough space to walk between them. The couch and desk were unoccupied, but if Shou squinted, he could see three distinct lumps curled up on the bed. Ritsu's brother, flat on his back and dead to the world, was the most distinct, due to his whole face being visible above the blankets. Ritsu laid sprawled out next to him, clutching onto his brother with an iron-grip. Only his untameable, sea urchin hair poked out of the top of the blankets. Shou wheezed the closest thing to a laugh he could manage without aggravating his ribs. On the other end of the bed– someone Shou only recognised as the guy Shimizaki nearly killed– was starfished over both of them, barely covered in the wrinkled duvet he was wrapped in.

A lanky young man came into view and Shou zeroed in on him. He manoeuvred around the closely packed furniture, with a laundry basket balanced on his hip. Shou wrinkled his nose at the pretty ugly bear graphic on his sweatshirt.

He was padding around the apartment as quietly as possible, picking up clothing from the floor and placing it in his basket. It made Shou a little nauseous, the amount of blood on some of them.

Shou leaned in closer, nose nearly touching the window as he studied the man.

Absolutely no psychic power emanated off of him. Reigen didn't even have a visible aura, just the traces of someone who spent a lot of time with very powerful espers. But that just served to make Shou more confused.

Espers with as much power as Shou was convinced Reigen had couldn't suppress their auras to that degree. Shimazaki, Kageyama, even his own father– they could do nothing about the halo of pure psychic energy that surrounded them at all times.

But Shou was convinced he had to have some kind of psychic abilities. Otherwise, why would he have shown up at the Culture Tower and attempted to stop Ritsu's brother from fighting Shou's father? If he didn't have a way to defend himself, why did he try to go toe-to-toe with a man who could render him a stain on the floor, armed with only a small handgun? Kageyama could handle himself, even if he was losing to his father because he was too much of a saint to fight back. So why step in unless he's more powerful than the both of them?

Shou focused harder; there had to be something he missed. Some detail he had forgotten to look into that made this frankly weak looking guy make sense-

With a loud resounding thunk, Shou smacked his face on the window he was spying through.

He froze as a muffled squeak came from inside the apartment. The man he was essentially stalking had heard him and knew he was there.

Shou's instincts screamed at him to run. His rational brain wanted nothing more than to jump into the alleyway and hide from the man approaching the window who, for all he knew, could be double the esper his father was. But his body was so tired. For once in his life, Shou couldn't muster up enough energy to fight. Maybe it was the way his ribs ached with every breath, or how despite his open wounds all healing over with Kageyama's explosion of light, fresh blood still dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. And despite himself, maybe it was the relief in knowing that his father couldn't hurt anyone anymore and it didn't have to be through death. For all he talked of putting a stop to his father by any means necessary, Shou didn’t know if he could kill him. Even if that meant he lost.

Either way, Shou couldn't move from his spot slumped against the glass.

Reigen roved across his apartment slowly, picking up his TV remote and brandishing it like a weapon. Enough crazy shit had happened today and he would rather die than let anything else happen to the three boys crashing on his bed. Logically, he knew that if it was any of the nutjobs they ran into today, a remote and his own scrawny, tired body wouldn’t last in a fight. But he was ready to die on that tower for Mob, and that same protective adrenaline was still burning inside of him.

Stepping around the couch, Reigen set down the laundry basket under his arm. He wielded the remote in both of his shaking hands. The floors creaked as he prowled closer and he thanked his unbelievable luck that the kids were still fast asleep. Just as he raised the remote over his head, ready to strike, he got close enough to see through the window and-

And he sighed, nearly collapsing with relief. He was less relieved to see the little redhead boy from the Culture Tower slumped and unconscious on the windowsill, but anything was better than a Claw grunt coming to finish them off.

Reigen tossed the TV remote back onto the couch with the basket. He pushed open the window, holding out his arms as the boy nearly tumbled out.

“Woah-!” Reigen stared back at the boy’s wide, electric blue eyes. He braced himself on the window, gripping the frame with his knobby knuckles. Reigen tried to ease the tension in his trembling shoulders with an easygoing smile.

“Don’t you know spying on others is illegal, kid?” He said before he could stop himself. The boy wasn't deterred by his bluntness– in fact his expression hadn't changed at all. His piercing blue eyes shot holes into Reigen. Now that they were face to face in the light of his apartment, Reigen could clearly see the blood splattered all over his face. His stomach turned.

"Do you need help down?" Reigen subtly invited the boy in, trying for a gentle tone. He didn't move.

"Are you hurt?" He didn't even blink. Reigen swallowed the urge to groan, "You got brain damage or something, kid? C'mon in before I kick you out." He didn't mean to be so short, but it had been a long day and the weight of it all was making him a little high-strung. This kid's unwavering stare in place of any actual answer was grating on his nerves.

All of Shou hurt, a bone-deep soreness that couldn't be attributed to any visible injury. But, he couldn't admit that to anyone, especially not a potentially dangerous adult esper like Reigen. He shook his head and grit his teeth against the way the room spun.

Carefully, Shou lowered himself down from the windowsill, until his tattered sneakers hit the floor. He let his white-knuckle grip loosen, causing him to stumble back into the wall with a soft thump. A hiss escaped past his clenched teeth.

"M'fine," he slurred. He shoved his trembling hands deep into his pockets, "Jus' need a min- m'nute…"

"Uh-huh." Reigen scoffed, eyebrow raised. It made Shou want to punch him in his smart mouth.

Reigen sighed, "How about you sit down before you faint?"

Shou crossed his arms. The impact of his glare was hindered severely when he winced. Something twinged violently in his ribs.

"I said… I'm fine." His breath came out in bursts, exhaustion pulling at his wobbling knees, "Leave me alone. I don'-don't need your help…"

Shou leaned his head back to rest on the wall, closing his eyes. It soothed his nauseating headache and his vision stopped swimming for a moment.

"Well, at least I know you're well enough to sass me." Reigen's voice floated around in the blackness behind his eyelids. He walked away with soft footsteps. The distance between them eased a little tension in Shou's shoulders.

Shou cracked an eye open at the sound of a drawer opening. His eyes narrowed in on Reigen's hands on instinct, watching as he pulled something out of the tall dresser. He kneeled down to rummage in the bottom drawer, holding up clothing and checking the tags. This went on for a while; Reigen pulled out a shirt or pair of pants, checked the tag, glanced at Shou, then grimaced as he put it back. Eventually, Shou felt his eyelids grow heavier and he couldn't fight to keep them open anymore. Sounds fizzled out the longer he spent with his head ducked down and his eyes squeezed shut.

Something soft was shoved into his chest in the darkness and Shou gasped. His heart caught in his throat as he brought his aching arms up to block his face.

Except, no other attacks followed, and Shou was left reeling with the anticipation. He chanced a peek at what had startled him, finding a stack of clothes and a towel in Reigen's outstretched arm.

Reigen was giving him a weird look– eyebrows furrowed and eyes crinkled in a mock wince, mouth pulled into a deep frown. Shou's staring must have made him uncomfortable, because Reigen started to ramble.

He cleared his throat, "Uh- I got you a change of clothes. Y'know," Reigen's other hand started flopping around, landing on a thumb pointed over his shoulder, "So you can take a shower and stop tracking dirt all over my house." Sluggishly, Shou realised it must have been some kind of joke because Reigen was laughing, high-pitched and stilted. He scowled.

Shou's heart was still stuttering in his chest, adrenaline pumping with every short panicked breath he took. He pinned himself back to the wall, trying to get as far away from Reigen as he could without his knees giving out. His vision blinked out every few seconds.

None of this should be happening. Someone like Reigen shouldn't be helping him. It wasn't normal for an adult with as much supposed power as him to be here, speaking softly to Shou and trying to coax him into taking care of himself.

Maybe, Shou reasoned, he's trying to get my guard down. If I listen to him, he'll just double cross me. I mean, it wouldn't make any sense for him to be so nice to me. Shou didn't know why, but the thought comforted him a little. At least if he was tricked into thinking he was safe, he wouldn't be in uncharted territory anymore.

Reigen started sweating under Shou's glare. For a kid who looked like the wind could knock him over, Shou was incredibly intimidating.

"C'mon Suzuki, I'm not gonna bite." That broke Shou out of his one-sided staring contest. He ripped the stack of clothes out of Reigen's hands.

"It's Shou." He bit out, stomping across the apartment and shutting himself in the bathroom.

Once Shou had locked himself away in Reigen's dingy bathroom, he realised his mistake. He just trapped himself in a room with no exits, where he would be a sitting duck to anything Reigen was planning to do. If he was ambushed in here, that would be it.

With wheezing breaths, Shou encased the door with the strongest barrier he could muster. He braced himself on the counter, too occupied with the door to care about how it dug painfully into his back.

He waited there for a few minutes, carefully trained ears straining to make out any sounds outside of the bathroom. Once in a while, a floorboard would creak or blankets would shift and Shou's whole body would tense. It was agony, knowing something was coming and just waiting for it to happen.

Ten more minutes passed and Shou's barrier was starting to flicker away. His raised arms shook with exhaustion, but he couldn't let them drop. Not if Reigen was playing the waiting game, tiring him out before deciding to strike. Not if Reigen was going to barge in and reveal himself to be another Toichiro Suzuki.

Except– except, if he was just like Toichiro, why would he be here, watching over the Kageyamas and their blond friend? Shou's father hadn't ever shown that level of care, at least since Claw started getting big. Shouldn't he be on top of that weird broccoli tree, claiming the remains of Seasoning City for himself?

Irrationally, Shou wanted to believe in this idea; there was stability in someone he could hate, someone he could fight back against. Honestly, he didn't know what to do with being shown genuine kindness. It wasn't normal.

Again, his barrier wavered as his thoughts pooled around the fight with his father. Reigen had put his life on the line for Ritsu's brother, promising to protect him even when Toichiro was ready to kill them both. When he shut his eyes against the memory, all he could see behind his eyelids was Kageyama's subtly grateful expression. His trust that Reigen would take care of it. The way he relaxed for a moment, relieved at the sight of Reigen strolling up to a losing battle with the arrogance of someone who had the world in the palm of his hand.

This is so stupid.

Shou let his barrier fall as he slumped on the floor.

If Ritsu's brother trusts him, then that's going to have to be enough for me too.

It took a long time for the water to run clear, but eventually Shou had scrubbed all of the grime and blood (both dried and fresh) caked on his skin and hair. Now, under the lukewarm water spewing unevenly out of the dinky showerhead, Shou felt the full force of his exhaustion. He could have fallen asleep right there, leaning against the yellowing shower tiles. Instead, Shou got out and dried himself off, shivering against the stale, chilly air.

The clothes Reigen gave him definitely belonged to a kid, which surprised him. He didn't remember his guys telling him about Reigen having any children. The matching pyjama shirt and pants were adorned with cats, each with a speech bubble telling a horrible cat-themed pun. Their only saving grace was the fact that they were a peaceful blue, not unlike a certain best-friend's aura (which was quickly becoming Shou's favourite colour, incidentally). Shou wrinkled his nose at them, his cheeks growing warm with embarrassment at the thought of putting them on. If anyone caught him wearing these– god forbid if Ritsu saw these– he would die of mortification on the spot. He eyed the bloodied and ripped jacket he shucked off, but dismissed the thought of putting it back on. Reigen told him he was making a mess and Shou's stomach squirmed at the prospect of angering him.

Despite probably belonging to someone a few years younger than him, the pyjamas swallowed Shou's meagre frame. He floated a little to reach the small mirror hung up for someone much taller than him. As he poked and prodded at his ribs in his reflection, Shou realised just how prominently they stuck out. It was normal for Shou, but alongside the twinge in his stomach, he couldn't ignore it. He grimaced, trying to remember when his last meal was. Fukuda might have made him choke down a few spoonfuls of rice the day before he met up with Ritsu. He couldn't remember; Shou could barely keep the days straight in his head in this state.

At least his ribs weren't broken like he thought they were. They definitely cracked during the fight, probably when his father blasted him into a wall. Silently, he thanked Ritsu's brother, not for the first time that day. Before he healed everyone, Shou was sure he was going to die on that tower, with broken ribs and a few missing teeth to show for it.

He was paler than usual and his eyes were still a little unfocused. But, judging by how most of his dizziness had gone away and his head splitting headache was reduced to a low thrum, Shou didn't have a concussion. That stumped him, since Toichiro had fought him without mercy, incapacitating him to an extent that coming out of it without irreparable damage was shocking. Shou snorted; not like he hadn't tried.

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

Reigen paced around the apartment as quietly as possible. He couldn't stop, even when he kept bumping into the corner of his couch. Everytime he knocked his shins into something he froze, whipping around to make sure he didn't wake the kids. He was buzzing with nervous energy and continued his pacing anyways.

Reigen had been on his feet since they made the long trek to his apartment. The last few hours were spent cleaning up after the boys and watching them like a hawk, even after they had long since fallen asleep. It was irrational, but Reigen didn't want to shut his eyes for a second. The thought of leaving these kids vulnerable when he was supposed to be responsible for them again filled him with dread.

This was a different kind of restlessness now though; Shou was obviously tired and hurting and Reigen couldn't help but worry for him. He was even younger looking than Ritsu– shorter than Mob and with a frame so underweight, Reigen wondered if he was malnourished. Everytime he looked at the boy, Reigen's heart rate spiked thinking about what that meant for Toichiro. Yeah, beating up middle schoolers was awful, but a kid younger than that? Now that was deplorable. Seeing the small teen tattered and nearly falling asleep standing up left a sour taste in his mouth.

It took Shou so long to start his shower that Reigen wondered if he was even in the apartment anymore at all. Was he the one that could turn invisible? Reigen couldn't keep all these espers and their different powers straight. A few months ago he didn't even know espers other than Mob existed. He stopped his pacing, waiting for the water to start. After a few moments, the sound of his shower filled the silent apartment and he sighed with relief.

Eventually, Shou finished his hour-long shower. He finally creeped out of the bathroom and Reigen could see the full extent of his fatigue.

He limped across Reigen's cheap flooring, favouring one of his legs and walking stiffly, trying to move his hip as little as possible. An arm rested around his chest protectively; he was hunched over it and breathing shallowly, breath stuttering every few seconds as he rubbed circles into his ribs. His nose was crooked, like it had been broken and set wrong, and when he grimaced, Reigen spotted a few missing teeth. He really hoped they were baby teeth.

Reigen knew that if he looked, he wouldn't find any evidence of injury at all– Mob's powers took care of that. Where they failed however, was the details; broken bones set imperfectly or leftover pain where no cuts or bruises lie. He saw it in the kids already, when he looked them over for the source of their soreness. Teruki complained the whole way home about his chest, until Ritsu shut him up with his own grumblings about the twinge in his back. Mob was completely out of commission, barely able to keep his head up as they floated him to the apartment, but he too complained about various aches and pains in due time. But when he sat them all down after their showers, he couldn't find a single scratch on any of them.

The quiet rage that had been simmering beneath his skin since he met Toichiro on the Culture Tower was near impossible to set aside now. Reigen couldn't imagine the type of person you would have to be to see literal children as fair game to fight. That cold, merciless look in Toichiro's eyes– different, yet just as immature as the ones reflected in the 7th Division members'– set something dangerous aflame inside of Reigen. That same something that let him aim Sakurai's gun at another person without hesitation.

While Reigen seethed, Shou shuffled over to the couch. He tried to sit as far away from Reigen as possible, crossing his arms and eyeing him with blatant suspicion.

"Where does it hurt?" Reigen asked without preamble, "I've got painkillers, but I want to make sure nothing else is wrong before I give them to you. No concussion or anything, right? I don't actually know how to check for those…" He rambled, trying to fill the gap in conversation. Shou's heart pounded in his ears, and his mouth was wired shut. He didn't want to answer, but Reigen was getting more animated by the minute and each fast, sudden movement made Shou's want to scream.

"No." He stated, emotionless. Sweat gathered under his wet hair laying limp against his forehead.

"Oh, well, that's good then. Great. Let me just-" Reigen scrambled into a side room, emerging with a squat bottle of liquid medicine and a glass of water. He handed them to Shou, watching him expectantly.

The bottle of generic kid's painkillers was nearly full and obviously old. He could see a layer of dust on it and the label was yellowing with age. Shou tried very hard not to crinkle his nose at it.

"I know it's ah- not brand new or anything. But it's not expired! Don't worry, I checked." The smirk he sent Shou was not reassuring, which must be why he continued despite getting no acknowledgement, "Sorry, I just haven't had to buy medicine for kids in a little bit," he laughed, "Mob outgrew that stuff pretty soon, so I stopped stocking up on it."

"...How old do you think I am?"

Reigen paused. He wasn't sure what the right answer to this question was.

"Um… like ten? Eleven, maybe?" He said, tentatively.

This 'totally harmless' front Reigen was putting on was pretty convincing, because Shou contemplated throttling him for a moment before he caught himself.

He handed the bottle back to Reigen. It was probably– no, definitely– laced with something.

"No thanks." Shou's patience was growing thin. The urge to escape back out the window itched just under his skin.

Reigen blew out a long sigh, "Alright, guess we're doing this the hard way. No medicine." He ran a hand through his hair, "You hungry, then?"

He didn't wait for a response, already halfway to the side room (which Shou could now see was a tiny kitchen) that he got the medicine from. Shou sat rigidly on the edge of his seat, hands balled by his sides just in case. He was spring-loaded, ready for anything, like always.

The microwave beeped. Shou scolded himself for flinching at it.

Reigen was soon sitting in front of Shou on the coffee table. Once again, he handed Shou something he had long since learned to never accept.

Shou took the plate, staring down at the food Reigen reheated for him. The smell of barely seasoned rice and eggs, scrambled together haphazardly, attacked his senses. His hands trembled as he fought with himself to refuse it, just like the medicine.

He looked up at Reigen, venom in his voice betraying the shaky smirk on his face, "How do I know you didn't do anything to it?" He challenged. Reigen visibly paled.

"Wh- you think I'm trying to poison you?! What kind of person do you think I am?" He whisper-shouted.

Shou shrugged, "I don't know, you tell me." His stomach turned– whether from the nearly irresistable temptation of the food sitting in his lap or from the frustrated pinch of Reigen's face, he didn't know.

"Just eat, kid. You look like you're going to faint if you don't. I promise I'm not plotting to kill you– I can't believe I even have to say that." He said, exasperation clear in the way he buried his face in his hands. When that didn't convince Shou, Reigen moved to stand up. He might as well get some laundry done while the boy sulked.

Shou jumped back with a choked shriek. He threw up a bright orange barrier at the abrupt action, flinching away. Reigen sat down just as fast.

"Hey- hey! It's okay– look I'm sitting, don't worry just- kiddo, just calm down!" He babbled, hands up in a placating manner as he tried to reassure Shou. His teeth were chattering, but by the strain in his jaw, he was desperately trying to hide it. His eyes, wide as saucers, were trained on Reigen. The rest of his face was tense, trying to keep a mask of aloofness over his fear. It looked wrong on a face so young.

He kept rambling until Shou stopped tracking his hands with his eyes. The crackling barrier between them fizzled out soon after.

"Sh-shut up." Shou mumbled, voice shaking. He picked up his spoon and took a bite of the first full meal he's had all day.

"Woah- slow down! You'll make yourself sick!" Reigen exclaimed. Shou tuned him out, continuing to shovel mediocre rice and eggs into his mouth with reckless abandon. He barely took a breath between bites. Now that food was in front of him, the ravenous hunger tearing through him was making itself known.

Shou got up from the couch and mindlessly walked into the kitchen.

Reigen blinked, "Where are you going?" He asked dumbly. Shou could barely stand just moments ago, so why was he suddenly keen on stumbling around Reigen's apartment?

Shou rummaged through Reigen's barren fridge. He spotted the rest of the leftovers immediately, popping open the container and helping himself to its contents. He didn't even heat it up.

Alarms were going off in Shou's head; he was seriously pushing his luck acting like this. No matter how nice Reigen seemed to Ritsu's brother and how strangely accommodating he was being to Shou, there was no telling how much annoyance he would take before lashing out. But Shou couldn't help it– this newfound instability was like a rug pulled from under his feet and he needed something familiar to hang on to. And being a smartass was unfortunately very familiar to him.

"I'm getting more obviously." Shou grumbled in between bites.

"Please don't overeat. I am not cleaning up vomit tonight." Shou padded back into the main room, crashing on the couch and curling into the arm.

"Whatever, old man. I'm not g'nna barf…" He drifted off, finally giving into the tired itch behind his eyes.

He shook his head, suppressing a sigh. Slowly this time, Reigen stood again. He tip-toed around the apartment, searching for something to lay on top of Shou. Reluctantly, he nabbed one of the blankets he piled onto the boys. He hovered in front of Shou. Will he freak out if I tuck him in? He's kinda jumpy… Reigen thought. He didn't want to think of why the kid was so skittish– it was too late for that kind of rumination.

After a few awkward moments of shuffling, Shou started snoring and Reigen gave up. He threw the thin fleece blanket over the boy.

God, finally, they're all down. He scanned his apartment, chuckling softly to himself. How did I manage to become a temporary guardian to four kids? What the hell are their parents doing instead of watching their kids?

Reigen had asked after they found Mob if the boys all had somewhere to stay, which was met with a resounding (and reluctant, in some cases) no. Apparently, their houses had all been destroyed right before their attack on Claw. He decided to ask more about that later, unease settling in the back of his mind at Mob's faintly haunted expression. Teru skirted around the issue, but Mob chimed in absentmindedly that he lived alone and Reigen decided right then that they would all be staying at his place.

Suddenly, he realised that with the boys taking his bed and Shou passed out on his couch, there was nowhere for Reigen to sleep. Although, after the day's events, Reigen didn't even know if he wanted to. He settled into his squeaky desk chair, crossing his arms over his chest and reluctantly shutting his eyes.