#but anime anon kept me company for so long and our talks were really nice and made me really happy

[wonhuis]

@ anime anon if you're still here i just thought of u and i wanted to thank you for all those asks/essays and time u spent talking about anime with me all those years ago

and if you're not here anymore i still send the thanks and hope something good happens to you and you're living well

[mytsukkishine]

udgdh maybe long request? so damien haas x reader where when ver the smosh gang go out to drink, damien and y/n are the sober ones that'll keep each other company but recently y/n has been drifting away bc she's in love with him. and one day damien gets hella drunk so y/n has to take him to her apt (which is roommates with Courtney) -maybe some drunk damien singing and giving y/n little kisses and he gets super hungover?? as well as angst/soft shiz?? sorry for the long request!! love yur fics!

A/n: whoa okay anon, I enjoyed myself too much in writing this and I hope this will be to your expectation. *wink wonk* u can anon me again if u liked it pls hahaha enjoy! Though I’m sorry because reader and Courtney aren’t roommates here sorrryyy!!!

summary: Drunk you accidentally kissed Damien. Then you avoid him for days until Courtney invited you out for a drink again. Feelings, kisses and drunk singing. What could go wrong?

a/n2: fluff and angstyy. ya’ll like hurting huh? haha

a/n3: hello, i made a Kofi account and I hope you would support me! I needed a little help with my financial shits and I hope my fanfics can be a little help. 

buy me coffee please, senpais

words: 2.4k

Also a little mature because of alcohol and kissing? lmao can u all guess the songs? it’s only two (I chose those songs because their voices suit Damien soooo much)

You sighed, empty beer bottle in hand as you looked aroundyou. Everyone was drunk. You saw Keith laying on top of Noah on the couch, bothguys in deep slumber. Courtney, Olivia, and Sarah were nowhere to be found, youjust assumed they had taken control over Shayne’s bed right now.

Oh right, the squad was at Shayne’s apartment. They had alittle drinking session, celebrated Shayne’s graduation. Speaking of Shayne,you saw him already fast asleep on the bean bag, empty drinks on the floor andhis Switch console in hand.

You slowly stood up, your head spinning a little and youstopped for a moment, eyes adjusting to the light that came from the kitchen.

You thought about turning the TV off but you scoffed, notwanting to step on Shayne because you knew your balance right now was not atits best.

As soon as you stepped on the kitchen- “Jesus!” You said alittle too loud, hand on your chest as you saw Damien on the floor, completelyhidden by the counters.

He smiled and waved, his cheeks pink and in his hand was abottle of beer.

You groaned, frowned at him but walked towards him. You tooka sit beside him, sliding down on the floor slowly as you cursed your back forhurting a little.

“Hey,”

“Hey,” You rested your head on his shoulder and took thedrink from his hand and chugged down its contents.

You felt the warmth radiating through Damien and you can’thelp but to get emotional. Was it from the alcohol? Might as well blame it ifgiven the chance.

You have liked Damien since the first time he told you hewatches anime. You were smitten, you were pulled towards his radiance that noone can escape.

Damien was the light that managed to blind you.

And now, seated side by side, with your feelings jumbled up.You can’t help but to want to hug him and maybe confess your feelings so theitching in your heart can stop.

He was a dream. Really. He’s a gentleman, loves anime,gaming, a very nice person, and funny. Ever since he became part of the Smoshfam, many people adored him. And you thought to yourself, you were lucky enoughto be his friend, might as well stay as friends than confessing your feelingsand turning into strangers.

Damien may be kind but you don’t know if he was the type ofperson that would avoid you if you confess.

“Y/N,”

“What?” You didn’t realize that you spaced out for a momentbecause Damien was chuckling as he took the bottle away from you.

Another thing that was stopping you from confessing wasbecause you heard something going on between Damien and his friend outsidework.

Of course, who were you to compete against a long-timefriend? One time you have seen Damien with this girl, she was pretty. Longblack hair and thin waist. They were talking animatedly as they walked towardsthe mall—and that pretty much hurt you.

They look so perfect.

“Hey are you okay?” Damien suddenly, his hands on yourcheeks. You realized you were looking at him with tears pooling in your eyes.You felt our insides churn as Damien wiped your tears away.

Your head was slowly spinning but you kept your focus onhim.

“Dames,” You murmured and Damien’s pink cheeks looked likethey were glowing. Maybe because of the alcohol. Yeah, the alcohol.

“I want a drink,”

Damien chuckled, tapping your forehead in the process. “Silly,you’re drunk.”

“No. I can still drink, hell I can even recite the company’smission and vision.”

“Really? Damien raised his brow as he looked down at you,then that’s when you realized your faces were to close. You were resting yourchin on his shoulder as you looked up at him with wide eyes, your noses almosttouching.

You were used to this. The closure. You were known for beingthe clingy, cuddly friend. You always hug your friends or cuddle with them.Whether it was Keith or Courtney, Shayne or Wes. Of course, Damien received themost cuddles from you.

“Damien,”

Your eyes were getting blurry, the spinning in your headintensified as you glanced down at Damien’s lips.

Blame the alcohol.

Your lips landed on his and it was so soft and—his lips werestill, you pulled back only to land a peck on his lips again.

You felt his hand on your cheeks and you wanted to kiss himagain but your eyes failed you as you closed them and drifted to sleep.

~

You groaned, the sunglasses you wore were not doing its jobbecause the sun was still blaring down on you, shaming you from what you havedone last night. After you woke up by 5AM, you found yourself on the couch,Noah and Keith on the floor sleeping soundly and no Damien to be found. Thenyou remembered what you have done and you immediately went home to find thenearest Starbucks.

You threw your empty cup in the trash nearby and sighed.

You have kissed Damien. Your friend.

Now he knew how you felt.

You felt a bile building up your throat but ignored it, theitching in your heart was worse. Maybe this was it, you thought, you hadpracticed what it would be like if you ended your friendship with Damien andthe time has come where your practice won’t go to waste.

Even though you were sobered up, your head still hurts. Andyou’re freaking nervous. It was a Sunday today, and tomorrow you will have togo to work and face Damien.

“Ugh!” You cursed up at the sun, wishing the ground belowwould just swallow you up.

~

The whole afternoon you managed to stay in your cubicle.With some short trips to the bathroom and pantry, you achieved to avoid anySmosh Squad.

It was going all too well when—

“Y/N!”

You squeaked as you looked up from your computer, only tosee Olivia, Courtney and of course Damien. You immediately avoided eye-contactto Damien.

“You startled me, Olivia,”

“Sorry! Just wanted to make sure how you were,”

“Sobered up.” You answered truthfully, eyes now back to thecomputer. You were glad you were wearing your hoodie over so they weren’t ableto see your blushing cheeks.

“You left before we all woke up,” Olivia whined followed byCourtney. “I’m sorry, I was in a hurry,”

“For what?” You just grinned at them. You all chatted for awhile, Damien remained quiet at the side before Courtney said goodbye andwalked away together with Olivia.

Now it was you and Damien.

You sink in your chair as you looked up at Damien.

“Can we talk—”

“I—”

“Y/N, can you come to my office for a while?” One of theproducers asked you, looking up at the file he was holding and gave a smallgreeting to Damien.

“Ah sure…” You gave Damien an apologetic look then left.

Not yet. You can’t handle the rejection yet.

~

It has been three days since you have hanged out with thesquad, and it has been three days since you have seen Damien. The first day wasyou plainly avoiding him and now it seemed that fate was on your side becauseyou haven’t really seen him.

It was a Friday, and the office was buzzing out of peoplewhen Courtney stopped you from leaving your cubicle.

“Hey pretty lady, care to have a night out with us?” She wasgrinning slyly and you rolled your eyes. “What’s in it for me?” You playedalong and Courtney wrapped her arm around your shoulder. “A very good time,”Both of you laughed out loud but you agreed anyway.

Even though you were cautious around Damien, it doesn’t meanyou would stop hanging out with the squad. They are also a friend of yours andyou kind of miss them.

When Courtney said that Olivia and the rest were already atIan’s place, you immediately raised your brow. “We’re not going to a bar?”

“Silly Y/N. Ian has offered free drinks!” She exclaimedexcitedly and you just shook your head, heading to the parking lot and in toCourtney’s car.

~

Three drinks in and the rest of the squad were singing alongthe karaoke Ian has set up in his living room. It was a mess, Shayne wassinging loudly with Olivia and Keith—he was using his CFM voice, Ian was alreadyhalf-drunk and Damien—Damien was on the loveseat, just drinking.

You sighed. When you and Courtney had arrived, you didn’tgreet each other and it honestly killed you. Courtney seemed to have noticedthe atmosphere and asked you what’s up, but being the introvert you were, youjust reasoned out that you were kind of tired.

It was this again. Alcohol.

You guessed since alcohol was involved right now, it wasthe right time for you and Damien to have that talk.

However, being the stubborn you, it was now past midnightand the squad was asleep, all through the night you didn’t get the chance totalk to him.

Courtney and Shayne were on separate bean bags, bothasleep next to each other, the TV still on. Ian was nowhere to be found, youguessed he was in his room. Keith was on the couch, drooling.

It was like d��jà vu. Except you weren’t that drunk. You onlyhad three drinks and stopped as soon as you saw Damien drinking alone. Speakingof Damien, you looked at the seat where he was previously in and saw it wasempty.

You sighed.

Maybe he left.

You decided to maybe grab some water from Ian’s kitchen, andthen maybe sleep on the guestroom Ian mentioned to you earlier that that wasvacant.

You slowly stood up and stretch. You sluggishly walkedtowards the kitchen and gasped a little as you saw Damien hunched over thesink.

“Goddamnit Dames, you scared me,” He didn’t answer but youcan see that the tip of his ears was red. You walked up to him and tapped hisshoulders lightly, “Damien?”

“Hm?” He was obviously drunk because when he looked at you,he was sporting a wide smile, cheeks red and eyes squinted together. “Oh hey,Y/N,” He waved but lost his balance. You quickly took hold of his arm andpulled him towards you.

“Dames, how much did ya drink huh?” You got no reply asDamien draped his arm around your shoulder, “We should—sing!” He hiccupped andyou can smell the alcohol off of him. You decided that since you have been abad friend to Damien these past few days, you’ll settle him down on Ian’s spareroom.

“Come on big boy, let’s get you to bed,” You looked at thesink and saw it was clean, meaning Damien didn’t throw up. His hair was wet somaybe he washed his face.

“Whaaat? But we’re singing,” You just shook your head andguided him, thankful that he wasn’t putting all his weight on you. When youreached the spare room, you gently laid him to sit down but he fell on his backcausing you to lose your own balance, and you found yourself in Damien’s arms.

“Y/N,” He called out softly, his eyes closed and youremained still.

“Called her for thefirst time yesterday~” Damien started, even though he’s drunk, he was stillsinging beautifully. “Finally found themissing…. Part of me,” he stopped in the middle but he continued, he hashis other hand in the air, swinging with the song he was singing.

“Felt so close but youwere far away~ Left me without anything to say~~”

With hands on his chest, you pushed yourself up gently untilhis other hand stopped you.

“Y/N,” He called softly.

“Have you been avoiding me?”

Okay, the million-dollar question you weren’t expectingright now.

You were about to answer when Damien released a chuckle.

He released a sighed as he now sang another song, “To be drunk~” Damien started, eyesclosed but he pressed his forehead against yours. “And in love in New York City~” He sang, missing some notes butyou knew that song very well.

“Mmm into morningcoffee,” He murmured but still in tune, “Burning mmhm the hours talking,” he stopped and he opened his eyes.

You both stared at each other.

“Damn…” Hewhispered before leaning in and capturing your lips in a sweet, short kiss.

You instantly closed your eyes and savored the kiss.Damien’s lips were as soft as what you remembered and you want to cry.

Damien’s drunk and you shouldn’t—Damien pulled back, a shysmile etched on his lips as he continued to stare at you.

“Please don’t avoid me… I like you,” Your heart fluttered fora moment, fat tears pouring down your eyes as Damien pulled you in closer for ahug.

You stayed there, both of your feet still on the edge of thebed and you were sure it would hurt in the morning but you don’t care.

Damien likes you. And was hurting because of you.

Boy, you two have a lot to talk about tomorrow morning.

~

You heard a groan beside you and you squinted your eyes, themorning light through the window greeted you so harshly that caused you to buryyour face in a strong, warm chest.

“Y/N…” A surprised voice of Damien welcomed you, and youremembered that both of you fell asleep hugging each other. “Hey,” Yougreeted with a smile and Damien was confused. Confused because he woke up withyou in his arms.

“H-how? I’m s-sorry,” He stuttered but you just hugged him.

“No, it’s okay. I-…” You started, Damien visibly relaxing inyour hug.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you, Damien. After that kiss… I… Iwas a coward,”

“No, Y/N,”

“And I like you…”

Silence. You buried your face on his chest and you heard himsigh.

“If only we talked sooner, we would’ve been kissing,” Damiencommented and you laughed, hitting his stomach softly.

Silence covered the both of you before Damien cleared histhroat, “I… I remember singing last night,” You laughed out loud, hugging himtighter. “Yeah, drunk singing. It was adorable,”

Damien grinned, “Would you allow me to sing to you in thefuture?” You felt your cheeks heating up and you just nodded. You felt Damien’slips on your head.

Now, this wasn’t what you practiced for but you ain’tcomplaining.

[goddamnitaisha]

Hey dear @asreoninfusion,

remember a time before you were a popular blog Sefikura BDSM Kink Queen? 

When you were too afraid to make a blog? And were too afraid to message me because you worried you would annoy me? Before we met in real life. 

Hahaha you sent me anon messages in a time I received multiple anons a day. I had to give you a nickname because I wanted you to sign your posts. I gave you name options, you chose the name anon-sundown. I wanted you to continue talking to me, because you were cute enough to be adopted. You suggested writing about your funny life experiences.

Now, I kept all these messages for years. READ THEM BOTTOM TO TOP. You might want to copy them and put them on your own blog.

Love,

your friend Aisha

anon-sundown asked you: 10 hours ago You couldn't actually see the driver; all that was visible were two hands sticking out through this massive bunch of bananas, clutching the handlebars with a white-knuckled grip, and a little face peering round the edge.

anon-sundown asked you: 10 hours ago But the favourite two-wheeler incident was the banana man. People would often cart around huge amounts of food or stock for the local shops they owned; this man was transporting bananas. A /lot/ of bananas. To this day I have no idea how he managed to balance them all on there, but it is safe to say there was significantly more banana than man.

anon-sundown asked you: 10 hours ago We used to see all sorts of insane things on two-wheelers. Across the road from the Croc Bank there lived a man who would regularly drive a fully grown goat around on his bike, with the animal casually draped over the back. One time we saw two men driving along with an eight foot length of PVC pipe... lengthways. They were holding it /across/ the bike, taking up almost the entire road and forcing everyone to swerve all over the place to avoid them! (Fairly standard driving for India, then.)

anon-sundown asked you: 10 hours ago Let's have a non-animal related story for a change. In India they were big on their motorbikes - or two-wheelers, as they call them. They tend to be a lot cheaper and more accessible for most people, so they made up about 40% of the traffic. And the amount of stuff people would cram onto those things! It wasn't at all uncommon to see a family of four or five squashed onto the one bike.

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago One other thing the macaques used to do - and I have no idea where they learnt to do this, if it was instictive or they had learnt it from someone - was floss their teeth. The zookeeper would pull out a strand of their hair and hand it to the monkeys, and they'd start flossing! That soon became an integral part of the feeding show, getting them to clean their teeth afterwards for the visitors to see. We were often the ones doing that, so it's a good thing both my mum and I have very thick hair!

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago Even if they weren't playing with the hose, most of the monkeys would still stop and stare while you cleaned, then try to imitate what you were doing. My mum once brought in a little toy broom to give to them while she was sweeping, see if she could get them to copy her and do some of the work! (They weren't buying it.)

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago In the complete opposite of the spider monkeys, the macaques loved water. The cleaning always took twice as long as it should have, as the monkeys would come and play in the spray when you were trying to hose down the floor and rocks. On more than one occasion a zookeeper (usually my mum) was caught playing skipping rope with the monkeys and a stream of water.

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago Cleaning their enclosure was always a two person job; one to do the cleaning, and the other would stand there with a hose, keeping the monkeys at bay. Fortunately, the macaques monkeys were much friendlier. You had to make sure not to get too near to any of the babies - the mothers were very protective of their young - but other than that they were quite happy to have company in their enclosure.

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago Most of the time the spider monkeys would grudgingly accept an intrusion at feeding time. They weren't pleased that someone was in their space, but they knew that they got food out of it. Even so, they could be vicious buggers, so the zookeeper would always carry a water pistol in with them. If the spider monkeys got too close or too aggressive, you just squirted them with the water pistol and they would back off!

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago At the Hunter Valley Zoo in Australia there were also monkeys, although these were part of the zoo rather than the local wildlife! We had two species; macaques and spider monkeys. The macaques were a big friendly group, playful and generally very nice. The spider monkeys, on the other hand, were not. Their enclosure was /their/ territory, and hoo boy, they did not like their territory invaded. Oddly enough, the only thing they liked less than having someone in their territory was... water.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago Fortunately, he missed the food. But he did knock over a bottle of milk belonging my little sister (who was very little then). Somehow he managed to set it spinning right around, squirting milk out in every direction at everyone while we dove for cover. Having very successfully got our attention, the goat then hopped back down and made for his balcony, only to run straight into the closed glass door. We let him out there just to get some peace!

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago He's obviously gone for my apple cores, sticking his head into the bin to get at them... but then his horns had got caught, and he couldn't get himself back out past the swing lid. So he just pulled the whole thing off. and then, flailing around like a mad thing trying to dislodge the lid, charged upstairs and jumped right up onto the dinner table.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago One final piece of background information; I like eating apples. I used to sit at the computer in the front room downstairs, happily munching away, and throw the cores into a little bin with a swing lid just by the desk. This is relevant. So, the goat sneaks into the house. The family is all sat down for dinner, minding our own business, and the first we know of it is hearing a huge ka-clop, ka-clop, ka-clop as the goat comes absolutely flying up the stairs with a bin lid stuck around his neck.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago As it turned out, we needn't have worried. The goat's reaction to the big scary dogs was to headbutt them, full in the face. The German Shepherd was the one scared of the goat! After the goat had grown a bit and become too big for the balcony, he was relocated to a nice little shed outside. But he still believed the balcony was /his/ balcony and his home, and thus would regularly sneak into the house and charge upstairs to try to get back there.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago When the goat was just a little thing, it used to live out on the balcony on the second floor of our house. This was because we also had two dogs, an Australian Cattle dog and a fully grown German Shepherd. The former was about twice the size of the goat, and the latter three or four times bigger. We introduced them regularly, but didn't want them to share the same living space until the goat was a bit more grown up and less likely to be intimidated by the big scary dogs.

anon-sundown answered you: a day ago rp-sephiroth asked:

Hahahahaha, I loved the story of the goat. It made me really happy on a less than happy day! xD You're so full of good things, I can't imagine why you still hide. Over the past few weeks you've come across as a pretty rad friend. xD <3 Yes, you make me happy!

Ahhh, thank you! I’m so happy I can make you happy. ^_^ I have another tale of the goat for today’s silly story.

anon-sundown asked rp-writer-aisha: 2 days ago Oh! And just out of curiosity, how are you making the keyblade? I cosplayed Aqua one time and made Stormfall for her. It came out... okay, I guess, but a bit fragile. Someone leant on it and snapped it. orz So anyway, I'm interested to see what method/materials you're going to use. :)

anon-sundown asked rp-writer-aisha: 2 days ago I know what you mean about the self-acceptance thing. v_v And for me it never seemed reasonable or fair to expect anyone else to like you when you don't even like yourself. (This thinking is a significant part of why I'm always so terrified to talk to anyone new; it just seems so rude to impose my shitty self on them. orz) But I like you, and I'm sure the other people you mentioned who send you messages like and accept you too! It's probably not worth much, but there's that at least. ^^'

anon-sundown asked you: 3 days ago Then the goat came trotting along, looking pleased as punch with himself, with three or four cigarettes hanging out of his mouth. Ah, of course. The builder took off after the goat to try and get them back, but alas, it was too late for the cigarettes. They were chewed to pieces and covered in goat slobber. And the poor builder never did get to have a smoke that day.

anon-sundown asked you: 3 days ago The goat was also around. And goats, as you may know, will eat just about anything. On this particular day, 'anything' was the builder's entire packet of cigarettes that he had left out. He came asking us if we knew where his cigarettes had gone, and for a good while we were all searching around the area he'd misplaced them, scratching our heads.

anon-sundown asked you: 3 days ago Originally, Avoca Drive was bought as a plot of land, and my mum and stepdad had a house built on it. We moved in as soon as we could, with just a few finishing touches like carpets to go down and a concrete path to lay outside the front door (the latter of which meant we had to climb out a ground floor window to get out the house for a day or two while the concrete set, that was fun). So there were a few builders around, just finishing up whatever they needed to do.

anon-sundown asked you: 3 days ago While we were in the same house as the wombat incident (henceforth to be known as Avoca Drive, if I need to reference it again) we also owned a goat. And this goat-- oh Goddess, this goat. It was a donation from another family; they had won the goat in a charity auction, raising money for African villages and 'Give a Goat' sort of projects (hence why they were auctioning a goat, I suppose). But they discovered after the fact they didn't have the time/space to look after a goat, so it came to us.

I perched on the back of the sofa (up out of reach of marauding wombats; I wasn't taking on that thing either) and laughed at everyone. Eventually my brother joined me up on the sofa, and the wombat was led away to its overnight bunk in the cupboard under the house, where it the proceeded to keep everyone up all night trying to dig through the foundations.

anon-sundown asked you: 2 minutes ago He tried to shake the wombat off, changing direction and speeding up. The wombat only sped up after him. They ended up running round the room in panicked circles with my brother shouting for mummy. Mum swept in for a rescue attempt, but was not very successful. They /both/ ended up running round the room being chased by the wombat.

anon-sundown asked you: 3 minutes ago Now, this wombat had been trained at Taronga Zoo to follow people around, so the zoo keepers could easily get it to go where they wanted. So when we let it out to have a wander in the front room it began to follow around my brother. He was only ten at the time, and not terribly pleased by the large hairy creature tailing him at a distance far to close for comfort.

anon-sundown asked you: 5 minutes ago Okay, so back when we lived in Australia (as my stepdad is Australian; everything is always his fault), he and my mum owned a zoo in the Hunter Valley, several hours drive north of Sydney. We had acquired a wombat, a transfer from Taronga Zoo. Since our house was directly along and right in the middle of the route between Taronga in Sydney and the Hunter Valley, it was decided the wombat would stay a night at home to break up the journey.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago We eventually got the noodles back after my mum went and yelled at the monkeys, though it wasn't terribly effective until the monkeys hissed back and scared my little sister. Then my mum actually got angry with them, and she is rather scary when angry. The monkeys dropped the jar and ran off, and thus victory was ours.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago One time the door to the house was left open and two monkeys broke in. One stood guard at the door while other darted into the kitchen, jumped up on to the counter and proceeded to raid the cupboard. They made off with a jar of pot noodles and took to a nearby tree to try and prise the thing open (without much succes).

[iphoenixrising]

Dr!Tim: London Bridge is Falling Down

Anon asked: How would his vigilante boyfriends react were Doctor!Tim to actually get hurt at some point? Be it just by a simple mugger or even accidentally via their own hands? Up for any more of your lovely drabbles?

Second Anon asked: Up for some more Doctor!Tim? Maybe something soft and fluffy this time? If Tim came home from a long, long shift and just crawled over into his boyfriends laps asking for a bath and some warm cuddles? Where could it go..? 

Arkaedia wanted Dr. Tim in the field a bit and totally had the bridge idea, so I’m covering three in one with this little thing. We needed bad ass Tim, some hurt!Tim, and some soft and fluffy. Welp, here’s my attempt and making it all come out in the wash.

(FYI: @satire-please, @poison-basil, and @the-sky-is-a-lie are all my babes to read this when the muse was being mean)

**

Ride-alongs are his and now for something completely different.

It’s a chance to get out of the hospital, to ride with the EMTs, to take a chance looking for bolt holes and hidey places where criminals, victims, and nice vigilantes might, you know, hang out. (And if he totally has those spots mapped from his time running the streets of Gotham, well, then there’s that.) Besides, Kerry and Hailey, his partners for the night (and the same EMTs that kind of knew the night company he kept since that one time with Robin almost dying had him flagging down the ambulance for a bag of O pos), were so on to him about having a boyfriend that he’s having fun making them guess all the deets.

(But, he did tell them it’s “boyfriends” just to hear Kerry’s mad cackle and get a high-five from Hailey.)

There had been a few instances of need, shortness of breath with a little chest pain and numbness on the side down in the Narrows (yeah, he knows meth when he sees the effects, thanks). A kitchen fire in the Upper East Side neighborhood (his parents had lived here once, lived this life) with a bewildered housewife looking ashamed at leaving the oven on while he bandaged her hand and suggested a trip to the ER for just in case. (Of course not, Harold wouldn’t hear of it).

Even cooler, they’d received a call to swing by Arkham Asylum to check up on Nora Fries (even though he’s been one of the doctors permitted inside the Asylum, and one of the fewer that has taken the weak vitals of Mr. Freeze’s wife, it’s still a creepy place to go) when the power grid blipped for a few seconds. Any time the complex machinery keeping Nora alive in suspended animation has any kind of issues, the administration contacted one of four physicians in the Tri-State area Fries will allow anywhere near her.

Luckily, Dr. Drake is already en route.

Kerry is talking over the radio to the on-call guards at Arkham as they’re half-way across Trigate Bridge, and Hailey is detailing her Princess Serenity Cosplay for this year (and yes, she has the wig because some people do it right. He used to LARP when he had time, so they have plenty to bond about)—

When the first explosion rocks the ambulance, Kerry jerks the wheel hard, the instincts bred from running headlong into typical Gotham catastrophes shown when the ambulance balances precariously on two wheels for long, heart-stopping moments before slamming back down on the pavement, bouncing all three of them around.

The consistent traffic around them, however, not so lucky.

“Hold on!” Kerry turns around to the doctor and second EMT, eyes wide and knuckles white on the wheel.

The first car slamming into the side is poor timing, hitting hard enough to throw the ambulance into oncoming traffic in the other lane, supplies flying all over the place. The next hit is enough to break the windshield, which lets in the sound of screaming and shit just breaking on the bridge all around them.

Even after a toss into some very painful metal cabinets with supplies, Tim is just dazed enough to pick out some very, very not good sounds of heavy iron bending. He sucks in a breath because all the evidence is there.

So many people are going to die (and they might be thrown in that mix). The ambulance is five miles out from Gotham and another three from the island housing Arkham with a whole lot of Atlantic right under them. If supports have been blown, then it’s only a matter of time how long the structure would hold.

They had to get people off as fast as possible; they had to assess as many wounded as they could and get off this fucking bridge.

“Everyone all right?! Kerry! Tim!” Hailey shoves the gurney off her legs, swimming up from a pile of gauze pads. Dazed but functional because he’s the only one in the ambulance that’s come to realize oh shit time has kicked in.

(Then again, he is the pet doctor to a horde of terrifying vigilantes. That just gives him an edge in the ‘blow shit up’ department.)

He climbs up and over the front seat, looking at the blood on Kerry’s face from the glass.

“We need to get out there,” the EMT is saying, hands shaky. “Whatever happened, people are going to be hurt—”

“Explosion,” he fills in both EMTs in while flicking a penlight in her eyes, happy for no concussion and, you know, being alive (for now). “Something exploded on or under the bridge. We need to assess who we can, load up, and get the hell off as soon as possible.”

“I’ll phone Dispatch, but I have no idea how the mainland wouldn’t have heard it already,” Kerry shakes herself, finally lets go of the wheel. The soft burr of accent soothes over the resounds crash and sharp, biting sound of twisting metal. He grins a little and quickly puts a few pieces of tape against the cut high on her forehead, glad there was no concussion to worry about. Once they get outside the ambulance doors, though, all bets are off.

“Supplies,” Hailey mutters to herself, snatches up satchels, stuffing them full so each EMT can carry two-at-a-time. As usual, Doc Drake has his own bag around his shoulders, impressively staying with him through that little shift in gravity. “Okay! We get out and start prelims. What’s our radius? I mean, we can’t cover the whole bridge.”

“As far as we can,” he takes his time to scan outside the broken windshield, already reaching for the door, “I’m going to take off, get as far as I can, so don’t wait for me. You two take as many as this rig can hold and get to safety. I’ll hitch a ride with someone before it goes.”

“I don’t like that idea,” Hailey fills in, coming up between the chairs to give her partner a once-over, handing over supplies.

Kerry seconds that sentiment, “there’s no guarantee you’ll get another ride, Tim!”

“Someone needs to get between both points.” And yes, it’s reasonable considering half the bridge if pretty much gone and the other half is full of overturned cars, people panicking, broken concrete, and more chaos than he’s ever seen (and that? Is saying something). “There’s probably another ambulance somewhere further down anyway, so it’s fine. If not, then there’s plenty of functional cars already on the road.” His jaw tight, tingling with get ready, Tim eyes the two EMTs also with game faces on. (Really, all the fuckery that goes on in Gotham bonds people.) “We get out, get who we can, hit up as much trauma care as possible, and get the hell gone. Agreed?”

Hailey grins at him, heads to the back of the rig, readying the gurney to pull out. Kerry just sighs a little and gives him a decidedly arched brow, “sorry, Doc, doesn’t look like you’ll be gettin’ that easy night after all.”

“Believe it or not, I’m okay being busy,” he banters back so they both have a second of normal before the time to rock, and lets her call in to dispatch.

He takes a breath to prepare himself for whatever he’s going to face, and finally rips open the passenger side door as Hailey knuckles-down and shoves the damaged back doors open right with him, throwing themselves into the fray.

As expected, it’s fucking chaos.

The Trigate Bridge is the third longest on the East Coast, spanning from Gotham, breaking off to have a double-lane highway to the smaller island housing Arkham, and continuing on to the mainland near Somerset (thus Trigate, three directions). The explosion(s) were apparently meant to take out key supports and maybe send thousands of people into the water below with a mass of debris and oncoming death. As far as he can see, spans of the bridge on the north side and east have felt the burn. (Two sides the bridge were set with explosive charges…) Literally. Hunks of bridge and probably crucial structure have already been sacrificed to the murky water below, and the loud, creaking groan is only a punctuation on how close the whole thing is from giving way. There’s no way to assess how close they were to impending doom.

However, the next layer of oh shit are the vehicular accidents lining the bridge due of the explosion. On both sides of the ambulance, there’s screaming, burning, crumbling holy fuck going on.

Tim takes in a deep breath, the smoke starting to fill the air, gauging the areas of most need that he can immediately see. The plan starts to form even as he’s tapping the special clip on his name tag.  (The one Dick switched out last week and thought he wouldn’t, you know, notice.)

“Okay, Kerry gets to stay close and prep as much room as we’ve got,” the doctor turns in a circle, trying to place the immediate need during their very critical time window. “Hailey, take north. I’m going down the east side toward Arkham. Try to get anyone that can drive to start heading back to Gotham. Take anyone that needs transport, stabilize as you can.”

The two EMTs are wide-eyed, looking at the aftermath with professional assessment since horror and fear have to be on the backburner. Hailey squeezes his shoulder before she’s off to the blue SUV turned on it’s top and a teenagers trying to get out the window.

“Promise me!” Kerry snatches his arm before he even moves, “get off this bloody thing before it goes!”

“Scouts honor,” his vision narrows down, mind working with all the evidence and perceptions.

���All right! See you on the other side,” and Kerry is off too, slinging the satchel securely over her shoulder and moving, already gloving up, fast and efficient even with the owfuck. She’s checking on the driver of the car that hit the ambulance in the first place, taking his vitals and pulling the crushed door open with strength alone. A grim smirk is the last thing he’s got, and Tim takes off in the opposite direction, running full tilt through the wreckage, climbing over busted concrete and overturned, empty cars, checking them out before he moves on.

With the blood pounding in his ears and screams echoing all around them on the open water, he’s trying to keep an eye on the damaged bridge, check structural failure so he know about how much time he’s got before more important pieces would start breaking off. (Far out he sees the line of white ships that could very well be the Coast Guard on the way because a little bit of help here would be just fucking stellar).  

He’s already gloved up by the time he gets to the car hanging perilously close to the edge of the damaged bridge, the skid marks telling the story on how that happened. A bigger sedan had knocked into the little car, sending it skittering through the protective barriers and almost over. The thing is only precariously out of the water by sheer willpower and the rusty bumper snagged on a broken support line. The driver is terrified, one hand extended over the back where a small, blonde child (like Layla) is clutching a worn-out teddy.

(Cass is on after school babysitting duty. It’s fine, they’re fine. Dick is probably going to be called in to the Police Station once they hear about this. Jay might have woken up with the explosions. Steph is at Mercy and everyone is fine.)

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he talks fast, stepping carefully, already reaching the back door. “I’m right here, and I’m going to get you out. I need you to hurry, okay?”

“Mommy!” The child screams out when the car inches forward, tilting down more to the churning waters below.

“Karmen,” the wide-eyed mother puts on the voice, “take his hand and get out of the car. You need to get out Right. Now.”

The kid is panicking, and he completely understands, but, well, impending doom. The wrong move, the wrong breath, and the thing is going over, taking them and him with it. He moves carefully, gingerly, sweat making its way down his back with how he maps out the right way to keep the thing from going over. “It’s okay, Karmen, right? Hi, my name’s Tim.”

“H-Hi, Doctor Tim,” the child whimpers with tears in her eyes as she’s squishing further back in the leather seat, looking from him to the Atlantic Ocean through the windshield.

“What’s your buddy’s name, Karm?” He gestures to the stuffed animal she’s clutching like a lifeline.

“C-Carl. He’s Carl the Bear.”

“That’s cool. I used to have a Bear I called Robin. Made him a mask and everything.”

She blinks at him and her expressions changes into something like Steph’s right before she calls him the Nerd-Wonder (and yes, he’ll take that title, thank-you very much).

But it’s fine. It’ll be easier to her to jump if she’s laughing at him instead of terrified.

He gingerly pops open both doors on the driver’s side, tries to keep the weight dispersed to the back of the car, “Okay, Karm, time to listen up. I want you, Carl, and your mom to jump out when I give you the signal. I bet you can jump really good, right?”

“Y-Yes. I-I’m a good jumper.”

“Awesome. I need you to jump the very best jump ever, okay? Can you try that for me?”

But her eyes are filling up again, going from her mom to the churning water and back to him. “I-I’m scared, Tim! I’m too scared.”

“I know you are, but it’s okay. As long as you do what I say, you’re going to be fine.” And it’s a crazy balancing act to keep the doors open, try to make sure the weight doesn’t shift enough to send the car plummeting the long and painful way down into the water.

“Please,” the mother gasps out, eyes wet and dazed from fear, “please save my baby girl. Please don’t let her drown.”

“We’re working on saving you both. So when she jumps, so do you. I’m right here, and I’m going to grab you, so just Get. Ready.”

His hands are out, his other eye on the mother’s trembling hands as she gingerly unclicks her seatbelt.

“Mommy,” Karmen whimpers again, a terrified little girl.

“I love you, sweetheart. I love you so much,” and the crack in her voice is enough to make his chest tight, to make sure he’s got them. “Get ready to jump to Tim, okay? Mommy’s so proud of you, my brave girl.”

When those eyes came back to him, wet but resolute, he knew they found the next kick-ass vigilante someday.

“Okay… Jump!”

He snatches with both hands, fast, pulling, throwing the three of them away. Mother and daughter watch as the car goes over, gripping each other tight, and Tim is absurdly glad for quick thinking and shit like gravity.

A rudimentary line of cars is flowing off the bridge at slow speeds, pausing to let others on foot get in. Carrying Karmen and gripping her mother’s arm, Tim flags down a truck with a few people already in the back. He lowers the tailgate and holds his charges up for waiting hands to pull the small family to safety.

“Tim!” Karmen calls as the truck pulls off, the strangers checking over her and her mother for serious injuries, “Tim! Thank-you! Thank-you!”

But her hero disappears into the smoke from the burning bridge, she only catches his back as he runs further into the crisis, one hand thrown up over a shoulder in a bye-bye, before he’s out of sight.

Four people are trying to push back a car pinning a young woman to concrete debris. He’s one of those people, muscles straining with effort. When she’s free, one of them has a working vehicle ready for transport.

(Gotham never ceases to amaze him. In a city usually overrun with every flavor of psychopath, you have to be resilient and adaptable. The people, however, always seem to come together in times of crisis and crazy assholes trying to demolish the city. It’s amazing when things like kicking bad guy ass brings out the best in people.)

Tim does as much trauma care as he realistically can, talking quickly to one of the people riding with her, giving rapid instructions for her to tell responders off the bridge.

The next breath, he’s pulling up metal and concrete, yelling with the effort, forcing his tired muscles to give more when some relatively unharmed civilians attack him with thank God hugs. The little blonde boy looks dazed, blinking with blood in his eyes from a nasty scalp wound, but remembers his name is Leo and he’s ten, Dr. Tim.

It takes a second to lift the kid up and brace the Father with his other arm, the group making a beeline for an empty vehicle that might still have keys in it. (None of them judge him when he cracks into the steering column and hot wires the damn thing. Because, you know, he has other hobbies.)

In no time, he’s using some pieces off a ‘79 Honda Civic to immobilize a broken leg, splints it like a boss.

Charlie is seven and has a better iPhone than he does. The bus full of first graders on their field trip out of Gotham are calm, but the bus is done for. He manages to rope three transports, checking quickly over the class, and helping their shaky teacher get on the flatbed. Charlie give him a low five and they’re gone while he pulls the first aid kit out of the bus for just in case.

Streams of cars are passing him by, some stragglers helping others, and it’s moving fluidly enough that he can guess emergency crews are on the other end, flagging traffic to get the evacuation moving. He’s caught by the arm a few times, but just puts the usual amount of authority to make people thinks he’s in charge of something before he takes off to the next cry for help.

Climbing over a ten car pile-up is a tricky enough business with things pretty much holy unstable, Batman.

He slices his damn hand open on a broken window, loses his grip for a breathless, heart-pounding second. On the way down, he manages to tape gauze over the bleeder and see that his phone—

The screen is cracked to all hell.

Fuck. He can’t even call for a very nice pick-up right about now.

The bridge gives an abrupt groan, a sound reverberating down his spine, making the oh shit feeling swell in his gut, the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, and every instinct in his body screaming to run. He tries to move (but there’s nowhere to go). The hard twang echoes when a few of the supporting cables lining the bridge snap, iron bending dangerously, concrete on either side starting to crumble and break.

He can’t throw himself out of the way fast enough, gets knocked off his feet, slams into crumbling debris while more falls around and on top him. A hard chunk pins him, agonizing, terrifying. His leg is wedged by iron, sharp, biting pain from his calf and the torn, jagged bicep trying to lever enough strength to shift something to free him without bringing more down on him. With other frightened screams and groans of almost giving up happening further down the bridge, he doesn’t have time for a whole lot of this bullshit.

He calculates fast and furious, gauging the stability of the pile he’s under and starts kicking at the concrete with his other foot viciously. Sweat and blood makes his gloves slippery, makes him pant with a strike of panic while he pushes harder against the shit blocking out the light.

Tim has to shake himself, yell at the stupid fucking debris (Damian will never let him live it down if this is how he dies. Seriously). One more hard kick and a piece crumbles enough to get his damn calf through, gives him the leverage to shove the piece at his back away, climb up and out, to cough and gasp in a breath of dirty Gotham air.

There’s a few sparse people still running. One stops long enough to help him out, pulling him quickly with both arms locked around Tim’s upper chest. “It’s going to collapse! You’ve got to get out of here!”

“I have to see if there’s anyone else. Get going!” Tim gives him a shove and takes a long moment to assess. He still has time. Dammit, he still has time. So he takes off again, making his leg work, holding the bag to his side, unconsciously fishing out a new pair of gloves.

He hits the halfway point where the bridge bisects, going toward Arkham or toward Somerset, glad he can’t see anyone in the long, damaged span of twisted, falling iron and crumbling supports.

Still, he’s limping, dropping some random blood spots from his shredded calf while he checks abandoned cars and piles of debris for a last, frantic attempt. Even with the leg as it is, he can start back now and make it in less than fifteen minutes, maybe even get one or two more that might have been missed. He can still try, dammit—

But as luck would have it, his calculations are off, and he runs out of time.

His heart takes an abrupt journey to the back of his throat when the heavy twang from earlier echoes again. Faster, heavier as the support cables give way in rapid succession. The tension finally enough to start the unavoidable collapse. Helpless, he’s alone for a far as he can see, watching the cables snap, each one flipping sharply out of control because of the tension, slamming into remaining cars and breaking up more concrete. The echo makes a roll of dread hit him stomach, the things snapping all the way back to main Gotham and the inevitable destruction ensues as sections of the bridge start to crumble at the lack of support. A large section twenty feet in front of him gives a sick, metallic scream before the whole damn thing drops a foot down, and the loud snap catches cottony as all he can do is watch the section break apart and drop down into the ocean.

Can’t go that way.

Swallowing down his thundering pulse, his hearing goes wonky even before he’s spinning, throwing up his arms when the progression keeps going, snapping cables right past him. He’s not fast enough to dodge a mess of concrete from a flying cable, taking the heavy hits to his back, trying to keep his feet under him.

The horror movie moment when he looks over his shoulder and sees the rest of the bridge for the next mile finally give way, the concrete and supports under the thing cracking, crumbling, falling into the ocean (no way for the Coast Guard to make it anywhere near here), puts enough fear that he can keep his feet under him. The only way to go is toward Arkham (the horrible irony, being safe at the asylum known to house crazies of all flavors), and he makes himself run. He has to try staying ahead of the crumbling concrete quickly gaining on him. And even with the pain in his calf, the agony in his back, the burn in his lungs and thighs, the way his eyes are getting wet, making the way blurry and unfocused, even if it is so pathetically, sadly useless because there’s no way he’s going to outrun this.

He’s going down in the murky Atlantic, buried under cars and shopping bags with milk and eggs, under girders and cables and concrete. He’s going to be down there with anyone else that didn’t make it off, and he couldn’t even say goodbye to Dick or Jay or Steph or Ives because his goddamn phone is busted. He couldn’t say he is so fucking sorry about this. That no matter what, he loves them. They are his family, all he has in the world, and they are the best. And if he could only—

There isn’t time now, and the realization, the fucking agony of it strikes him as the ground under him gives a sick lurch, slamming down abruptly on the weakening lower support beams, giving him some kind of false hope while at the same time, bringing him to his knees.  

He holds his breath, shaking, bent over, eyes wet, and just please, please.

He doesn’t want to leave them.

A drop of blood from his cut cheek hits the pavement and groaning metal tells him it’s so far past too late. Gravity falls out from under him as the supports under this section of the bridge finally give way. The immediate weightlessness makes his stomach lurch sharply and fear strikes in his spine, getting him on his feet for the last-ditch attempt from his brain pan has him leaping up on a bumper, breaking the windshield in his mad dash without enough breath to really make it.

But again, he’s got nowhere left to go when the world falls out from under him, and his heart gives a hard, painful beat.

His brain blanks out when he’s hanging suspended in mid-air for terrifyingly still moments caught in time, and everything is in a crazy kind of slow motion; the sounds of the world around and under him are muted and cottony, only his panting breaths echoing in his ears. The only thing he can see is Dick’s face relaxed in sleep, and Jay’s eyes, so blue, when he’s laughing—

The choking sob makes it up out of his throat, spilling out instead of I love you, I love you and I’m sorry.

Because he is. Fuck, he is.

Somewhere along the way, somewhere between a dying vigilante on his fire escape and now, he’d come to believe in them wholeheartedly. Knew they’d never abandon him, never hurt him, never die on him even if they risked their lives every night. He believed in their strength and their convictions, believed they would fight through Hell itself to make it back to him.

They would never leave him the last one left standing.

(And how fucking ironic is it that he’s the one going to leave them? The Joker would really get a kick out of it.)

His chest aches with the revelation (or the fact he literally can’t get enough air), and God, he only wanted to a few minutes, a few seconds even, just so they would know, so he could just tell them—

(Even though they were both his Robins, he’s in love with Jason and Dick, not Robin, not Red Hood, not Nightwing...and now they’ll never know. It’s too fucking late.)

Everything.

The world comes back abruptly when the weight of his body takes over and he starts to drop, his medical bag caught up at his side.

Already grieving for them, for his only family, Tim closes his eyes while the sounds of cars and debris, of shit breaking and falling, of the fucking world ending in the depths of the ocean, all of it infiltrate, give him a sense of how fast it’s going to be over. There’s always a chance, always a plan, but with his leg torn up, he won’t be able to swim with enough strength to get back to the surface before his air runs out, taking into account he doesn’t get crushed by the pressure and debris already down there—

(But...but at least, his brain does him a solid in the seconds before he’s going to die, just a little reminder that he should be grateful he’s had them, to think about all of them, and all the good times, all the love and laughter, all the things they gave him with hearts open. At least....at least he had that much.)

And he’s not sure if his eyes are wet because he’s crying or because of the air, but the pain, the fear, the sensation of falling, it’s Death opening up its’ great maw, ready to chew him up and spit out his slightly damaged soul.

(I love you. I’ve never had anyone to love like this. I’ve never wanted to love like this, but now that I have, you two are all I never knew I needed.)

He hopes they don’t mourn, he hopes they keep moving, he hopes they take care of each other. He hopes they remember him without remorse or regret. He hopes he doesn’t make some imaginary list of things they never finished.

He hopes they know without hearing the words one last time.

(And fuck, now that is him crying, isn’t it?)

The rapid blast, a sonic boom, hits his senses, cutting through the thousand things in his head, even with the air rushing around him dampen everything.

Tim doesn’t open his eyes until the last second (because who really wants his last sight to be of his family), gasping in hard enough to be fucking painful because it’s like he’s a nine-year-old kid again, standing down in alleys or crouched on roof tops clutching his camera. It’s the same awe and amazement because at this very second, he’s watching the Dark Knight in all his fearsome power fly.

The silhouette has dropped out of the dark shadow against the sun, thrown himself out of the plane without a thought, the tracking signal bringing him right here where he feared the young doctor would be in the middle of the mass crisis.  

(He didn’t need Dick’s panicking tone to get his ass in gear because Tim’s signal wasn’t moving off the bridge by the time the first sections broke apart.)

Tim’s lungs scream for air he can’t seem to get, his eyes going wide as the Batman swoops down a flawless arch, arms tight at his sides to be even more aerodynamic and forces the speed of the fall, determined Tim isn’t going to hit the damn water.  (Hold on, Tim. Hold on.)

He’d yell if he could, tell B it’s too close, there’s no way he could pull up in time, to save himself. (Gotham would always need saved, would always need him.) But no words can escape and his eyes are blurry enough that the dark shadow is fuzzy, the whiteouts gone for electric blue eyes. He can’t even gasp as the Batman reaches him mid-death drop, catches him with an arm that has to be made of iron.

The abrupt change in direction almost makes him vomit, only strength of will keeping him from painting the vigilante’s back with stomach juice.

Even though his brain pan is fried, he gets handfuls of leather and Kevlar, fists tight his shaky hands into the cape while he tries to get his air back and hides himself, huddled against all that strength.

He might have been more terrified (since, you know, imminent death) than he let on because he has no clue how they’re just suddenly in a plane, sitting his shaky ass down on one of the seats in the back while B is kneeling down with his leg in both gloved hands. B must have taken his satchel off, laid it down somewhere, and the arm of his scrubs is torn open to the bleeder on his bicep.

His mouth opens, closes wordlessly because he’s trying so hard to say it, “thank-you for coming for me.”

“Calm down,” is a little less the night than in his usual dealings with the Batman, “you’re going into shock.” And B doesn’t wince for the obvious damage done to Tim’s leg, but it’s a close thing. Instead, he is very relieved he’s not going to have to be the one to tell his sons their significant other met his end at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.

The Batman’s (Bruce’s) voice gives him a little bit of air back, just enough to wheeze, “th-thanks...for the save.”

Still, he’s blinking rapidly, shaking too much, hitting the wrong side of adrenaline and fear, wrapping his arms around himself to try and stop it.

“The Coast Guard is already on site, taking care of people. So far, the fatality numbers are incredibly low for an incident of this magnitude. I’m sure you played a hell of a part in that.”

But Tim’s still on the mindblown side of things, woozy and light-headed, still not feeling the real owfuck of the sitch yet to say much. The leg of his scrubs is finally just ripped away so they can both look at the raw hamburger he’d been trying to run with. “Hn. The boys aren’t going to be happy about this, Tim.”

“I…” The boys. Oh God, he’s going to see Dick and Jay and flip the utter fuck out. “I-It’s-it’s okay.”

Inside the cowl, B arches a brow (oddly enough, that’s what Robin might say. Any of them.) “That’s the adrenaline talking. You’ll feel it soon enough.” B turns just slightly, “Bat Computer. Alert Agent A. We need prep for an incoming.”

He gets a little less fuzzy as the whole alive thing sinks in. So, time to make his brain switch gears from perpetual screaming to oh, who’s the bad guy of the week again?

“Anniversary,” he tells the kneeling vigilante, “B, it’s the anniversary.”

The cowl pauses in looking over his injured leg and slowly moves up until those eyes are on him, gears turning.

“Sal Maroni’s trial was ten years ago today.” His voice is hoarse, but dammit, he’s right on this one, leans forward enough to grip the dangerous gauntlets in one shaking hand. “It’s...it’s too good for Harvey Dent to pass up. He had the bridge set with charges, and there’s another one. He’s going to set a second one because that’s how he works with his shitty traps, and you have to find it, B. You have to...”

And it’s a crazy thing, seeing the Batman smile.

“Dick told me you were good,” is a calmer voice, one laced with amusement. “I contacted Gordon hours ago when I suspected Two-Face would have something devastating on the roster for tonight. Police crews have been combing the city and all his old hideouts while I’ve been researching in the Cave. He only sent the clue to GCPD an hour ago, and if Dick hadn’t been on shift, I wouldn’t have gotten it in time to stop the Robinson Bridge from blowing up already.”

Tim blinks, leaning down almost in B’s face, staring into those eyes while his brain catches up.

No other hurt civilians. Damn...the day is starting to look up. Well, you know, World’s Greatest Detective, of course he would have figured it out in time.

“O...Oh.”

B presses his shoulder, casual strength making him sink back into the chair.

“Again, good work, Tim... I’m not going to stop being surprised about your “hobbies,” am I?”

“I’ll try to keep you riveted.” But he’s sinking down with things like blood loss, trauma, and utter fucking relief, tongue getting too thick in his mouth to be especially witty.

“Do that. It’s a nice departure from the normal psychos I deal with. And by the way, don’t move. We’re going to do a full assessment once we land. I’m sure Alfred is already wearing a path in my Cave.”

Tim blinks, tries to nod but the motion is a little jerky and uncoordinated. Conversation apparently over because the Doctor is sinking deeper into shock and has lost enough blood (for a civilian) that the vigilante is concerned, B stands up and fishes a blanket out of a storage compartment, wraps it around Tim’s shaking form.

“Just relax and try to stay awake. We’ll be home soon.” And the cape swishes with a sigh of sound, being easy while the plane rumbles under his ass.

(He probably imagines a gloved hand resting on the top of his head before B strides back to the controls and takes the plane off autopilot. Not that it matters because his brain is pleasantly all about white noise when he starts to crash from the adrenaline overdose.)

And since he’s very, very safe in the plane, by himself while B’s back is turned, he fades in and out, holding the blanket to his chest tightly, his eyes filling up and clearing out at odd intervals. He’s about forty percent with it, drifting in and out with calculations and diagnosis from the bridge skimming over his thoughts, taking completely by surprise when the cockpit is invaded by whirling tornados of concerned boyfriends.

(His heart picks up, and Tim tries to shake off lethargy and strain because they’re both so fucking beautiful right now.)

“Tim! Timmy!!” Dick looks haggard, his eyes astoundingly blue.

Jay is right on his ass, jaw tight with obvious worry, “JesusfuckingChrist, Sugar.”

Dick is still in his uniform, tilting Tim’s face up to look in his dazed eyes with such utter relief he shakes a little with it, those steady hands weak for just a moment in time (I love you. God, I love you). Jay leans in around that hand and presses a fast, hard kiss to the top of his head, and goes for the blanket, knows he’s looking for something. He gets jackpot when the scrubs beneath are blood-stained, torn and dirty, making Jay’s heart beat just a little faster.

“B, what the fuck? Couldn’t cha at least bandage our boy up a lil bit?!” He bites it out sharper than intended, but his boy ain’t looking good, and the last images O managed to get off the bridge cameras as they went down is the mound of debris falling right on top a kid in scrubs. He and Dick had only been reined in by Dami and Alfred with appropriate threats of tying them down should they even try it. (He can take Demon, but Alf? Nope. That’s a fight he’s always gonna lose.)

“We weren’t far.” B defends lightly, pushing his cowl off and kneeling by Tim’s feet again, unabashedly gripping an ankle to stretch the leg out of the blanket so the owfuck can air out. “I also wanted Alfred to look at this before I did anything.”

“Oh my God, that’s a lot of blood.” Dick is now even more concerned, latching on tight and pressing him close.

“Damn right it is.” Jay and B exchange the look.

“It’s okay,” he mumbles against Dick’s hand on his jaw, staring dazedly up, eyes sluggishly sliding to Jay. “I’m okay.” Because, dammit, looking at them, being absurdly fucking grateful for this, for them, everything is really just…

Fine.

“Yeah, Timmy, just fine. Right here with us, ain’t cha?” Jay crouches down, and he’s careful, easy about it when he takes a wrist and gently unwinds the dirty, frayed gauze to the nice slice taken out of his hand.

“Fuck.” Because that ain’t good. Timmy’s a surgeon, lives by his damn hands. “We need ta getcha bandaged up. Let Alf gedda lookit that leg.”  Jay shoos Dick back so he can wind both arms around their civilian sweetie and lift him, blanket and all while B holds the leg up and stable, walking back without a hitch with the doctor between them.

And laying there in Jason’s arms, it gives Tim plenty of time to stare up at his profile, trace the line of jaw and the crooked line of nose with his eyes and be utterly grateful. So, so grateful.

(I’ll never deserve you, but I’ll never stop trying either.)

Alfred and Damian are monitoring the clean-up from the bridge, leaving the live footage as Jay and B ease Tim down to the medical gurney. It’s second nature to press his mouth to the top of the doctor’s head while B just smirks to himself and lets Dick slide around them to be on Tim’s other side.

Jason steps away to scrub and glove fast while Dick stays holding on a little too desperately and Alfred begins preliminaries. Dami does his usual, “tt,” and goes back to monitor the sitch (but the little asshole always looks back when he thinks they don’t know any better.)

Once B is satisfied Timmy is in good hands, he starts up with the search for Harvey himself and tracks the police reports Dick happened to copy while they were hot off the printer.

Jay is absurdly careful, even by Alfred’s standards as he stitches the slice in that precise hand and fervently hopes he’s not doing more damage.

Slightly slurry, tired with strain now that the adrenaline and other stimulants in his system have worn off (chemicals balancing, he thinks slowly, and added opioids because it took a bridge collapsing to admit he was completely in love with these two. Fuck, is he really that dense?), he answers Dick’s careful questions as well as he can, rambles on about the car pile-up, the people he hoped were able to get help, the sound of the cables snapping (that’s a sound he’s never going to forget), the new iPhone he is going to get. To try staying out of the way without going too far, Dick lays his head beside Tim’s on the pillow and listens, squeezes his hand at the hard parts.

He vaguely remembers, “need...need to know if my EMTs...made it.”

“B is looking into it. We’ll have an update soon, okay? Just relax, baby.” It’s something soft and sweet to his muddled brain (Alfred...must have given him something before starting on his leg. It’s a distant, dull thing.)

“I should...I should go to the hospital—”

Jay pauses in finishing up with his bicep, raises a gloved finger to wag close to his face, “don’t cha even try it, pal. Steph already said they got the sitch under control.”

“Nu-uh, Timmy. You can’t even stand right now, so you’re going about as far as the main floor.”

“But…”

There’s no use in trying to argue. He’s one against four (and dammit, five because Damian is standing right by Dick’s hip, arms crossed over his chest and glaring at him for upsetting Grayson. Dammit, Drake, he’s a Robin that needs Peace and Quiet. Shut these fools up and give in.) Still, he says he can walk, really it’s fine, but Dick gives no shits getting to be the Bat carrying him this time, talking low and soothing while taking him upstairs in the Manor and pretty much deposits him in the utterly comfortable sitting room on the First Floor.  

There are blankets and food, intermittent sleep between episodes of some reality show, and one or the other of his significant others close while the sedatives and antibiotics run their course in the first few hours post-injury hours.

Night must be falling because at some point, they’re talking about Two-Face and the second stage of his dastardly plan.

Later, he’ll vaguely remember his leg and other bandages taken off, being held in warm water while the dirt and dried blood is washed off with careful, patient hands (someone is holding his leg out of the bathtub and being so absurdly gentle). Hands in his hair to get the worst out, but the sedatives and painkillers make him useless to do much more than lay there and let it happen.

Time skips and he wakes up in the middle of a massive bed, half-aware enough to know his leg is on fire and just, fuck it all hurts.

There’s cameras apparently everywhere because Alfred and Jason are through the door before he even makes it to the edge of the bed. He gets one vigilante boyfriend crawling in with him to keep him down, pills to swallow and tucked back in (after the butler quickly assesses under the bandages).

Jay talks low and soothing against his temple, while the pain eases and things are just… good. So, so good.

**

A few days later, Tim Drake is laid up on his couch with his healing leg wrapped up and elevated on a few pillows (even though the thing is really much better, Alfred, you don’t have to call for an update every day anymore. It’s...it’s really thoughtful though). Since his significant others have that kind of humor, Scrubs is playing on the television and a scattering of things are literally everywhere. A laptop is open on the floor with half a dissertation on the effects of Joker venom on cellular growth, a copy of Catcher in the Rye is stuffed between the cushions, a knitting project pokes him from a corner in odd moments, a manila file folder with notes from the recent bout of tainted heroin is dangling just oh so enticingly on the stand closest to him (dammit, Dick. Touché).

Tim gives it ten minutes after his significant others leave for patrol (finally) before he looks around his empty living room with narrowed eyes and gingerly pulls his foot down off the cushions and plants it on the floor for literally the first time in a week.

(The first three days of being carried—even by Damian, believe it or not—were actually kind of nice. By day six, however, the novelty had worn very, very thin.)

So he might be grinning a little to himself since he sounded completely sincere when he promised Jay he was not going to get up while they were on patrol, that he had everything he could possibly want right here, and they had to get going because Gotham needed them. He made sure to catch the shadows falling from his fire escape before he even turned in his seat, gave it an extra few minutes for, you know, just in case.

So he’s got a hand on the arm of the couch, ready to shove himself to his feet and just go into his kitchen to make a damn cup of coffee himself thank-you very fucking much, ready to put weight on the injury.

(Really. He should have known better.)

The abrupt, jarring slam followed by the mini-tornado doesn’t even give him a chance.

The move is too fast for him to counter, but he’s just suddenly held high up against a broad chest, staring up in the blue eyes of Superboy, noting the obvious displeasure by his frown and drawn brows.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” is more deadpan than he imagined, which just makes Superboy frown that much harder.

“Yo! Doc Drake!” Kid Flash is right there, holding a hand out for a serious high-five. “Totally nice digs, man. You? Are so obviously in the mode.”

The annoyed noise comes all the way up from his toes because this? This is just not even necessary.

“I can’t believe they’re wasting your time with this,” Tim groans aloud, doing such an epic facepalm the sound echoes. “It was just...a collapsing bridge, okay? I’m really fine.”

But when he looks up, really looks, something is just off because—

Superboy is in jeans and a plaid shirt, sporting a pair of wire-framed glasses. Kid Flash has no mask or body suit, but huge sneaker and—

They’re not in the masks.

He sucks in an abrupt breath and almost chokes.

“Oh yeah,” Superboy looks at KF all nonchalant. Just, you know, NBD man, here’s our secret idents.

“It’s cool.” KF shoos the shock away, “Dick said you were totally on the level, so we’re good showing you the real faces, you dig?”

“I...Are...are you sure you’re okay with this?” He can’t help but ask, looking from one to the other.

The super clone just shifts his weight to hold him up by one arm and stick the other by his chest, “Conner Kent.”

Dumbly, he shakes the hand, staring up at the blue eyes crinkling with mirth.

“Bart Allen. Time traveler extraordinaire.” Bart completely takes the initiative and shakes his hand super-fast.

“Ah, yeah, wow...this is- this is kick ass. Welcome to my humble abode. Make yourselves comfortable.”

Both Titans give him wide grins and Conner turns to gently put him back down on the couch. Bart fluffs the pillows before his legs goes right back where it was before.

“I’m going to make some coffee,” he hedges, “you know, my leg is just stellar, and I should start putting weight on it—”

“Dick and Jason would probably kill us in horrible ways if we let you do that,” Conner shrugs easily, “so it’s okay, I’ll make you some coffee.”

The loud gasp by his television makes both of them crane around to see Bart going through his X-Box One games with huge eyes.

“I want to play this one right now,” the speedster bellows, swinging Arkham Knights around in one hand.

His inner nerd sparked, Tim grins a little viciously, “I already beat it, so all the cheats are unlocked.”

“Holy shit, man! I totally call Batman!”

“I want Harley Quinn,” Conner calls on his way to the kitchen, “if I’m going to watch someone run for an hour, I want it to be someone with a sweet ass.”

“Totally feel that,” Bart nods while he sets up the game. “How about you, Tim?”

“Robin,” he says quietly, “I’m usually Robin.”

He gives them both a hundred vigilante points because neither of them say a word.

[thefanficmonster]

Guidance For The Lost

Emily Davis x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Mentions of death, Dealing with the loss of loved ones, Grieving, Alcohol Abuse (Mentioned)

Genre: Angst, Romance

Summary: How much does a person have to lose before they are finally shown the light that’s supposed to lead them to a better place? Y/N and Emily never knew they were even looking for that guidance in their life until they lost everything but that one need - finding guidance, finding closure, finding who they are and embracing. Preferably together.

Requested by my dear Until Dawn Genius Anon. You are the absolute best. This idea is golden and you take all the credit for it, darling. (Unless the fic is bad, then blame it on me 😋) Hope you enjoy, XOXO

Sorry I went overboard again. I just love writing for this fandom so much 💙

Once upon a time I was happy. I had it all.

A best friend who was always by my side. A best friend whose family accepted me as one of them.

A girlfriend that nothing and no one can compare with. It would be inaccurate of me to describe her with words. The English language doesn’t have adjectives I could use to paint you the picture of who she was and how I felt and still feel about her.

But I can tell you our story, at least the ending portion of it. I can’t recall the beginning cause it will hurt too badly. I can’t bare the pain nor the guilt of being so helpless. 

So here’s how our story ended.

“Where did everyone go all of a sudden?“ I ask no one in particular as I finally look up to take notice of my now vacant surroundings. The living room was buzzing with Josh’s friends just minutes ago, their chatter and laughter not bothering me while I read some interesting Blackwood Pines facts from a booklet Beth showed me.

“No idea!“ I hear my girlfriend call out to me from somewhere near by. “Probably upstairs, no one’s dumb enough to go outside in this weather.”

I get up from the couch and walk into the kitchen where Josh and his best friend Chris are passed out on the kitchen island.

“Dumb and Dumber are out, huh?“ I shake Josh’s shoulder but he doesn’t budge.

Beth is by the kitchen sink, doing the dishes. She turns to look at me, a bright smile on her face, mesmerizing me. “Surprised it took them so long. At the very least they are unconscious so they won’t cause troubles.” Her eyes suddenly widen, “Shit! The others could be destroying the upstairs rooms!”

I frown and shake my head, “They weren’t that drunk when I last saw them.“ I try to assure her.

“The atmosphere can get you carried away and I don’t wanna take any risks.“ This is Momma Beth speaking. Her and Sam are the most responsible of our bunch. They can go from partying to parenting in the blink of an eye. I find it adorable when Beth does it.

“Ok, ok, I’ll go check on them. You stay with these two just in case they wake up.“ I walk through the wooden doors to the staircase area of the lodge. I’ve been here countless times now and I still only know the main points - kitchen, bathroom, living room and the bedroom I always stay in. The rest is a maze if you ask me.

I hear a commotion upstairs and quicken my pace. I follow the voices, not really sure where I’m headed when I see Hannah running in my direction. She looks like she’s been crying and her shirt isn’t completely buttoned up. My mind races with the worst of scenarios, a pit opening in my stomach.

“Hey! Hannah, what’s wrong?!“ I call after her when she passes me without even sparing me a glance.

I’m about to go after her when the rest of the group catches up, all of them running as well.

“Guys, what’s going on?!“ I’m getting kind of scared now, seeing as how all of them have worry and something alike guilt painted on their faces.

“I’ll tell you later. We need to get Hannah.“ Matt tells me as he briefly slows his pace to answer my question.

I stand there confused, but only for a second. Next thing I know, I’ve already outrun the group and I make it outside the lodge first. Well, not really first. I can barely see Beth because of the color of her jacket, the pink dot in the white ongoing snowstorm slowly fading as she keeps heading further into the woods.

“Beth, wait!“ I try to yell but my voice is muffled by the raging wind.

“It was just a prank, Han!“ I hear Emily’s voice, but don’t plan on sticking around to find out what prank she’s talking about.

Just as I’m about to take off after Beth, a hard grips my arm tightly. 

“Where do you think you’re going? We don’t need another person running into the storm.“ Emily says in her typical bitchy way, her tone suggesting how dumb my move would’ve been.

“What if they get hurt, huh? You thought of that?“ I bark at her, narrowing my eyes and shaking my arm out of grasp.

“Oh, you’ll protect them?“ She scoffs, “Give me a break.“

“Guys, cut it out. This is the worst possible time to go at each other’s throats.“ Sam scolds us, breaking up our disagreement.

“What did you do?“ My gaze travels to each of the six guilty and worried faces in front of me. Well, four. Jess and Emily don’t seem too concerned.

I still can’t believe it. A prank. A goddamn prank is the reason why my girlfriend and a really good friend of mine are missing and presumably dead. These people apparently don’t have a shred of a conscience. Not all, but I’m surprised by how easily some took the loss of two friends of ours. 

It’s more than obvious Matt and Ashley will regret participating in that ‘prank’ for the rest of their lives, but Mike, Jess and Emily aren’t too troubled. Then there’s Sam...she regrets not preventing it. Josh regrets not being in the state to run after his sisters and protect them. I regret letting Emily keep me in that spot I was about to take off from to go after Beth. 

We all have regrets. We’ll all carry this and let it weigh us down cause we know how much we could’ve done but didn’t. Or...for some, how wrong much they did.

Believe it or not, it gets worse. And the guilt just keeps piling up. It doesn’t stop hurting, I’m afraid it never will. It. Keeps. Getting. Worse.

“It’s all over now. But it wouldn’t have even started had I spoken up about how uneasy the whole thing made me and everyone else feel. If I had just told him.....if I had just tried to stop him from.....non of this would’ve happened.”

I am being interrogated about the events of the most terrifying night I have ever and will ever experience. I can’t recollect what’s real and what’s not. For all my mind can comprehend I’m still in that lodge. Or I’m dead and this is my brain projecting the moments I thought I’d live through if I survived.

“He would have been ok. All of us would have been ok. I wouldn’t have lost him.“ I don’t try to stop my tears. Why would I? I’m not even sure these are real people in front of me. I’m not sure any of the past 24 hours is real. I’m not sure the specific reason why I’m crying either. It could be because my best friend is dead. It could be because I wasn’t there to prevent it from happening. Or maybe because I didn’t prevent anything. Had I just convinced, or at least tried to, we wouldn’t be here. Nor would we be like this. Broken. Petrified. Traumatized. “He’s fucking gone and I fucking let it happen! It’s all my fault!”

I believe that. It’s the truth that will forever remain an open wound for me. The crack in the broken mirror I’ve turned into.

I lost Beth. I lost Josh. I lost Hannah. All on the same date with just a year difference. I lost the people that defined who I am and who kept me together, reminding me that loneliness is temporary and curable. The cure? - good company. They were my company. They were my family. And now, the affliction is back, ready to kick my teeth in.

Worst part is - I could’ve done something. I should’ve done something, anything to at least try and prevent it all. 

It’s been about two hours since Ashley and Sam left my apartment. I haven’t stepped foot outside since we got back from the mountain which was a month ago. They come and check on me about twice a week to make sure I haven’t died of malnutrition or in my sleep after drinking too much.

I’m not exaggerating. I often forget or just don’t feel like eating. My body is 70% alcohol at all times. Sam, Ashley and Chris thought that if they refused to supply me with my only support I’d stop relying on it. The sad truth is - an addict always finds their way to the substance of their addiction. My neighbor is an addict so he understands me which is why he runs to the convenience store to get me a fix whenever I ask him to. 

Why I don’t leave my home? It’s a ridiculous and unsupported theory, but I’m afraid I might lose it and break down. I have small sprinkles of memories with my Josh and Beth all over the place, not only at home. I mean, I still sleep in the living room cause I can’t go in my bedroom. 

When I bought this apartment I got most of the décor with Beth’s help. I was actually planning to ask her to move in with me when on her birthday, after we got back from the getaway. I did, she didn’t, and despite living alone for the past four or so years, my apartment has felt empty ever since. When I told Josh that I didn’t like sleeping in my room because of all the flashbacks, he offered to help me redecorate. Now that has backfired as well.

I feel too exhausted to attempt redecorating again so I just keep out of my room unless it’s absolutely necessary. 

As I’m reaching for my cheap liquor in the kitchen cabinet the doorbell rings, sending a shock throughout my body that causes my arm to jerk away from the bottle. I’ve become a lot more responsive to sounds - even the tiniest noise gets me on edge and has me looking around like a terrified animal.

“Nice one, guys.“ I mumble to myself as I walk over to open the front door. It’s so much like Sam and Ashley to do a double visit to make sure I’m not half gone in a matter of two hours.

The big surprise I come face to face with is Emily standing on my doorstep. Emily of all people. 

If it’s not yet clear, we aren’t too fond of each other. I’m still holding the incident from two years ago against her. I try to steer clear of her and be as passive aggressive with her as possible. I know that if I spend too much time around her, paying attention to whatever bullshit comes out of her mouth I’ll lose my passiveness and turn to straight aggression. And I don’t wanna be that person. I mean, I am that person, but I don’t wanna act on it. It’s more real if others see how I feel.

“Hey...“ she says, shifting from one foot to the other awkwardly

“What’s up?“ I ask in my monotone, I-don’t-feel-like-talking voice. Honestly, I would’ve put in more effort if it was someone of the gang I’m actually close with, but Emily isn’t getting a crumb of enthusiasm out of me.

“Can I come in?“ she asks hesitantly, pointing at the hallway behind me

It’s an odd move on her part - both out of character and with an odd timing. Though, I don’t have a valid reason to say no. What can I say? ‘Sorry, no. I’m busy getting drunk so I don’t cry.’

“Um, sure.“ I shrug and step aside, allowing her room to pass by me and enter my apartment

She nods and walks in the living room, putting her jacket over the backrest of my reading chair. 

Emily in my apartment, especially on her own, is a bizarre sight. She’s only stepped foot in my place once and that was on the housewarming dinner party I held when I bought it, aka three years ago. 

As though she has read my mind, she says, “It’s been a while since I’ve been here. Not much has changed.”

“Yeah, I don’t like redecorating“ A pang in my chest makes me wince almost obviously. “Have a seat. Want something to drink?“

She shakes her head, settling down on the couch. “No, I’m good. Um...” she pauses. I can tell she’s struggling to say whatever’s troubling her. I can’t guess what it might be, but the least I can do is give her time to put the words together and then spit them out. Her nerves are clearly in overdrive as evidenced by her fidgety hands and lip-biting. “How are you holding up?”

Understanding aside, I feel a dose of anger start coursing my veins. My passiveness is giving way, I guess. Without it as a neutralizer for my powerful rage mixed with grief and guilt, I am a senseless person. I’m afraid of becoming that person. I can truly hurt someone and that’s the last thing I ever wish to do.

I shrug, “Better than Josh.“ The words are cold, giving off the vibe that I’m no longer bothered by any of what happened. We both know that’s not true. It’s just my way of getting the angry message across.

I notice her get even more nervous, her body stiffening. “Um...I know how it is...” My grip’s starting to slip. I can no longer contain it. All that’s been piling up, the water’s rising, spilling over the top of the dam that’s my composure. “I remember what you said...”

Momentarily, my nails stop digging into the flesh of my palms, my brows furrowing in confusion, “What did I say?”

“Uh, I...um...overheard what you said to Chris while we were in the basement.“ She stutters.

Oh, now I remember too.

“How are you keeping it all together?! How are you so calm?! Why aren’t you panicking more?!“ Chris is freaking out, his calm exterior is finally crumbling after so many long hours of terror. I’m surprised he has held onto his sanity for this long. But he’s finally snapping.

“Barely, Chris. Just barely.“ I grab his wrists, hindering him from yanking on his hair any longer. He lifts his head, looking at me with tired eyes. I somehow find it in me to give him an encouraging nod and smile when I say: “Believe me, when all this is over, I’ll be the one crying the hardest.“

“I was. I was crying. I was crying to the point of exhaustion. But no one was there which is just the way I like it. Guilty people cry on their own cause they know they don’t deserve to be comforted! I’m fucking guilty! And so are you! I wouldn’t be dealing with all this bullshit! My girlfriend and best friends would still be alive if you had just been a decent human being! Decent enough to leave the poor girl alone and not play with her emotions when you knew how strongly she felt about Mike! Decent enough to let me go when I wanted to go after them! You were probably right, I would’ve probably been just as helpless as them and died right then and there! But I would’ve been there! Beth wouldn’t have felt that fear without me! I wouldn’t have to go on without her! And now Josh is gone too! All because of what you, Jessica and Michael did!“ I feel blood oozing out of the small cuts I’ve created on my palms, but I don’t care. “You say you couldn’t have known that would happen, and even though you’re right, you’re far from being justified! Friends don’t do that to each other! I’m mad on mine, Beth’s, Hannah’s and Josh’s behalf! And I think I forever will be!“

I open my hands to see the bloody mess they’ve become as a result of the overwhelming emotional pain. Something a lot like adrenaline is preventing me from feeling the stinging I should be feeling but I hate that I can’t feel anything. I want to feel physical pain, it’s better than emotional. That one you can’t bandage up and call it a day.

I look up at Emily who looks like she’s reliving everything just by looking at me and my bloodied hands. I can’t find it in me to apologize, especially not right now. Maybe in an hour or so when I will be able to hear my rational thoughts over the heart’s violent thumping. 

Tears roll down her cheeks as she reaches for my hands over the coffee table between us. I want to pull away, but the comfort I feel when her fingers make contact with mine is something I’ve been longing for, I can’t act on my instinct.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Y/N. I can’t begin to imagine how empty this world feels to you now. Non of us can even try to fill the void Josh and Beth left behind in your life. But....there’s something I want to do for you. Something I think will help you.“

I can’t look at her. It kills me knowing I’m the reason behind her tears. I keep my gaze on our touching hands instead. “What could possibly help me?” I let out a choked whisper. Pretty sure I’d be crying right now, but I have lost the ability to do so.

“I-...I didn’t tell you back at the lodge, but I found Beth’s body in the mines. I mentioned it in my interview after we were rescued. I was convincing enough to get them to agree to go and investigate. I heard back from them two days ago...“ she stops to sniffle and wipe her eyes, “They indeed found her body. They made her a proper grave close to where the lodge was. You can go say your goodbyes now. It may not be how you’d want to, but it’s better than nothing.“

A tear falls from my arm directly on a scar I have on my arm. A scar from that night. “I don’t think I can. I can’t go back there. I can’t say goodbye. I knew it was empty wishing, but I had the tiniest hope they’d be found. Saying goodbye will confirm that I’ve lost her. I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

Her grip on my hands tightens, “You don’t have to do it alone.” something about the way she says that forces me to look up and meet her eyes. “I’ll be with you every step of the way. It’s the least I can do for you.”

I shake my head, “Don’t feel like you owe me anything cause you don’t, Em. If anything, you owe it to Beth, not me.”

“I don’t feel like I owe you.“ I haven’t seen her this vulnerable and this humanly fragile before, “You mean a lot to me, Y/N. More than you realize. More than I realized. I want to do this for you because I care for you deeply. Y/N, I...“ her words die down, replaced by a sob, “It’s overwhelming. A lot like falling in love, but I don’t wanna call it that. I don’t wanna scare you or push you away. Not now that I’ve nearly lost you so many times.“

My chest tightens. There’s a lot less space for the air my lungs are desperately trying to grab ahold of. There’s only something similar to what Em just mentioned - the fear and excitement of slowly falling for someone. Not just anyone. Someone you never thought you’d fall for.

“I need time, Em. I can’t guarantee that even time will change much in me. I hope you understand and not expect much from me cause I can’t promise anything anymore.“ 

“I don’t need you to promise me anything. All I’m asking is for you to let me be there for you, now and in the long run. And...let me come with you when you say your goodbye. I don’t want you feeling so much sorrow on your own. Know that no matter what you’re feeling, you can always give half of it to me so it doesn’t break you.”

I have a tough time wrapping my head around the fact that this is the same Emily I wanted to scream at and smack across the face just ten minutes ago. Or you know, the whole time I’ve known her. But I’m a believer in chances and the power they have when it comes to positive change in a person.

“That I think I’ll be able to do.“ I nod, giving her the same smile I gave Beth, Josh and Chris back at the lodge. The ‘we’re sinking, but at least we’re not sinking alone’ smile. She gives me a similar one in return and I know my message has been sent across clear as day.