I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt
“Woah. You look like shit."
Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.
The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.
"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."
And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.
The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.
If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.
"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.
"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.
"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.
The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.
He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."
There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.
"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."
Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"
"Daniel? Is that you?"
His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.
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I have been having a really weird experience this summer, which is that I fell in love for the first time. I'm 36, and if you'd asked me if I had ever been in love previously, I would have said "I don't know, maybe? I used to think so but now I'm not sure? What's it mean to be in love?? how would I know if I had or not???" I thought that because I had not experienced it myself, the people who were always saying "oh no, trust me, You Would Know" were all lying or otherwise mistaken. I DID NOT BELIEVE THEM. I was fully like "this is some sort of mass delusion, there's no way that's a thing"
Now that I know that this is something that Exists even if it doesn't always Look Like They Tell You, there's SO many things that make sense to me!!! Whenever I encountered Romance Stuff before, I had no desire to do any of it AND could not comprehend why anyone else would ever want to either. It was this really large experiential disconnect for me. Whether or not I want to do any of those things, I now understand why other people would, if they Were In Love. LIKE I GET IT NOW. IT MAKES SENSE TO ME. I still can't relate to things like people in movies falling in love instantly, but now it's like "oh right, that's a potential state of being that exists," rather than "pretty fucked up that hollywood made Being In Love up to sell more flowers or whatever."
I feel like I'm constantly 24/7 running a software update on my brain that's been overdue to be installed for years or perhaps decades. It's just like "OK YUP UPDATING ALL THESE PROGRAMS AND FOLDERS. THIS WILL TAKE SOME TIME AND DATA BYTES OR WHATEVER, BUCKLE UP!" Pretty sure there's actually one of those little rainbow spinning icons above my head the whole time I'm conscious, like I am some sort of very confused Sim.
This happened to me REALLY SLOWLY, too, so it was like a big blockage in a river, and more and more stuff was just piling up against it, and then the dam broke, and now I'm sitting in the shallows of a giant basin lake under a massive waterfall wringing my hat out and going "woah. they got never before seen types of fish in here"
Who else knew about this??? Unfortunately the answer is: a majority of human beings over a certain age DID in fact know about this, it's just that every time anyone said "this is a way people feel about each other sometimes," I said "hmm. sounds fake." In-cred-i-ble.
Turns out that being in love is just an experience that people can have!! It's just a thing that happens sometimes! Some people have had it happen to them a bunch and some people not at all. It's just A Thing That Can Happen To You. Wtf. WHAT WILL I DISCOVER NEXT????? IT COULD BE ANYTHING !!! WHAT WOULD BE THE FUNNIEST POSSIBLE NEXT THING FOR ME TO REALIZE EXISTS? ONLY TIME WILL TELL. (Can you fucking imagine having this happen to you when you are in your seventies or eighties rather than your mid thirties ????? THAT WOULD BE THE WORLD'S MOST DISORIENTING EXPERIENCE.) (I also thought that "having chemistry" was fake.) (Do not diagnose me, I PROMISE I already know)
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Part 2 to this.
He had never been so caring for another, the guard noted. Lord Scaramouche was not the caring type, after all.
Despite that, the man had watched the lord express actual worry for you, the one huddled away in his tent as he barked orders at soldiers to find medicine, make warm soup, and heat up water. One of them had had his fingers broken for making the food too cold for the harbingers liking.
On the very few occasions the guard was permitted inside the tent, he had caught glimpses of the lord knelt beside your feverish figure in bed, the back of his hand softly resting on your forehead. If they had been any longer in finding you…
The few medics in camp were situated nearby, with any and all injuries not held by you being mostly ignored for the time being. You had barely been conscious for the past few days, slipping in and out, with some mumbled and confusing phrases leaving chapped lips.
The guard is brought out of his memories when Lord Scaramouche passes him, dramatically parting the tent covering and entering with a few quick strides. He immediately makes a beeline for your cold, limp body tucked away in bed.
Scaramouche places a hand to your cheek. His frown deepens, and you groan, glazed over eyes opening only a fraction.
“M…Mother?”
A sigh escapes him. His soulmate really is pitiful… and weak.
“… You’re safe now,” he mutters, surprised for a moment at the tinge of emotion in his own voice.
“Do… I have to help c…cook dinner?”
“No. You’ll never be doing that again.”
“Oh… okay…” A yawn leaves your throat.
“Go to sleep.”
“Can we have… chocolate later? I bought some… to share,” you murmur, trailing off until your breathing becomes light, and your eyes fully close.
The lord sighs. A shiver wracks through your body, despite the multiple animal hides you have on. He’s certain that his men have destroyed the surrounding ecosystem just to keep you warm, but, oh well.
He stands, hesitantly turning away from you. You need more blankets, maybe some more soup, anything to keep the fever from taking you away from-
Oh. His eyes widen, and he glances back to you, and then at the shaking hand pulling on his fingers.
“Don’t… leave me…”
You’re still asleep. It’s not as though you’re conscious and would know if he left, is it? It’s not as though your plea is anything more than some deluded fairytale in your mind, is it?
“I won’t.”
Curses.
Curse him, and curse you for awakening something he didn’t think he had, something in his chest that for centuries he was sure was simply an empty void of nothing.
He wants to scoff and leave you here, to tell you that he has no need for someone as weak as you in his life. He wishes he had left you tied to that tree and just kept moving, that he had never felt the touch of your skin against his own. That he had felt absolutely nothing, that he hadn’t felt a stab of fear for the first time in a long time when carrying your freezing cold body back to camp. It would’ve saved him a lot of trouble.
He doesn’t let go of your hand for a long, long while.
The next morning he leaves you alone for a short time, an hour at most. He regrets it when he comes back to you standing on two wobbly knees, the parts that make him up jolting at the sight.
“What are you doing?!”
You flinch, yelping when you abruptly turn to him and lose your balance. Hands, ones that send a feeling of static and electricity straight to your very core, are soon grasping onto you, holding you up before you can hit the ground.
“Are you daft?” The man spits out, visibly aggravated.
“Wh-What? What?”
“Get back in bed. I won’t ask you again.”
You don’t move, the sensation that comes with his touch only growing the longer the two of you stand.
“You’re… you’re…?” You whisper, eyes widening.
He pauses, the irritation in his expression dropping a little. After a beat, his lips part.
“… Yes.”
“We were in the woods, right? My village, they…”
Any softness on his face is wiped away the moment you mention your old home, and the people that resided in it. No longer waiting, he lightly pushes you back, leading you into the makeshift bed below. A blanket is soon wrapped around your quivering shoulders.
“Eat this,” he orders, pulling something out of his pocket and holding it close to your lips.
Chocolate.
“I’m not-“
“Eat.”
You tentatively take it from him, and the atmosphere grows awkward, at least for you, while he watches you chew on the rest of it.
“Thank you, it was delicious,” you tell him, truthfully. You haven’t had chocolate in a long time, as it was simply too expensive for your family to afford. Your mouth curves downwards into a frown.
“Rest.”
You don’t. You’re not sure if you can.
“My family, they let them take me. They didn’t… they didn’t stop them. They must…” A gasp is torn from you, and you meet his eyes once more. “How long has it been?”
“… Three days.”
You begin rise to your shaky feet, “I-I must go back, they’ll think that I’m-!”
He pushes you back down effortlessly.
“Are you a fucking fool?”
You can’t help but flinch at the absolute venom in his tone, but he isn’t done yet, towering over you.
“What do you think will happen if you go back, hm? That they’ll accept you with open arms, or they’ll send you right back to where I found you? Or, better yet, maybe they’ll set you alight there and then, rather than troubling themselves in having you freeze to death, they’ll instead watch you burn. Would you like to test if your family would spare you from that? Hm?”
You have never felt this small in your entire life.
“I-“
“Enough.” It appears the question was rhetorical, and your mouth closes, quickly feeling very dry.
His chest shudders with each deep breath he draws in, and he closes his eyes shut for a moment, seemingly trying to calm himself.
“Sleep. We have a long journey ahead of us. Don’t ask me anymore stupid questions,” he turns on his heel, most likely deciding that he has something better to do. However, before he fully departs, he pauses at the entrance to the tent, still not looking back at you.
“You deserve better than that village, than that family who threw you out as though you were nothing to them. Know that I do not plan on doing the same, and that you… aren’t nothing to me.”
The intimidation you feel from him dimishes when you catch sight of the pinkish tinge to the tips of his ears. He doesn’t wait for your response, swiftly departing. You miss the few words of parting he gives you, as you tuck yourself into bed.
“Besides, it’s not as though you have anything to go back to, anymore.”
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