#but not because I think he's innocent

[erikiara80]

I like Owens, but he’s so sketchy. The things he says...

Didn’t you really think we were working out of a shed, did you?

And you say that so casually? 

Yeah, doctor, tell us about how it is working out of a shed. Maybe you’re thinking about a shed in particular. Like that little shed in Hawkins where lights flicker and scared kids disappear. 

I keep thinking about it. He really said that, lmao. The writers really left such a huge hint there.

And his son’s name (if he really has one) is Peter, like Henry’s name at the lab. And what about this parallel with Hopper, doc?

What were you thinking about here?

Ok, this is scary. Again, he just says things so casually. Yeah, let’s put kids in a coma. I know he said that to save El, but wow. The implications.

Not sus at all, Sam

[barawrah]

i think they should sit together and drink tea . maybe the grief of not saying goodbye to your most important person before they died will ebb away a little bit

[copia]

not to get dramatic but one of copia’s dissociative translations in his troubled head was seeing sister imperator’s saucer of pills as a mug of tea and biscuits. he’s clearly an unreliable narrator who sees things we can’t trust to be true; going off of this, can we trust that the mug of tea he was handed before the encore was actually that? who’s got time to down a whole mug of hot tea when you’ve still got three songs to perform? isn’t it a strange beverage to give him out of all the other options? don't get me wrong i'm absolutely not being serious here (also not insinuating that copia is ill like seestor, i'm going down the psychological route) but what i'm saying is he could have been handed medication he didn't want to acknowledge

[justanartistiguess]

Fanon vs Canon Kyle, as I've seen on Tumblr dot com

[juniemunie]

"Why am I still doing this?"

"Don't you get it?"

"This is all just a show... and we're playing parts~"

[mccromy]

TGCF/SVSSS crossover in which Jun Wu transmigrates into the former CQM sect leader (let's pretend they look alike too) who died by botching a Heavenly Calamity and now Jun Wu wakes up in his body in the aftermath.

He realizes this world is very different from his own and then while he tries to figure out what actually happened, takes over sect leader duties. Which is very easy with his experience as Heavenly Emperor. Also, this sect has a peak filled with Ling Wens! :D (An Ding Peak) easy peasy.

He assists the disciple trials and takes notice of a malnourished boy, just at the age limit for starting cultivation, working diligently with the barest hint of desperation under an otherwise determined face. He invites him to Qiong Ding Peak, and while they perform the acceptance ceremony he asks his favorite question (2 men 1 cup.... lost in the desert)

And the boy instead of answering asks:

"Who are these men?"

Jun Wu hums.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

Jun Wu stares at him but the boy doesn't squirm or look away. The desperation suddenly stark.

"Would their identity change your answer?" The boy nods. "Very well, let's say you don't know either of them. You can't tell if they're rich or poor, neither is ugly, neither is handsome. You stand in front of them holding a cup filled with fresh water and the knowledge that if they don't drink from your cup they'll die. How would you fix this problem?" He smiles placidly as the boy thinks.

He doesn't think too long.

"I drink the cup."

Jun Wu is surprised, even the most selfish and entitled try to at least give the appearance of caring.

"Even if they died?"

"As long as I don't."

Jun Wu realized his mistake, this boy, dirty and thin as he was, was probably used to fighting for his food. Survival of the fittest and all that.

"Even if you knew one of them, what if they had a family? What would you do then?"

"I drink the cup."

"I see... Is there any scenario in which you don't drink the cup?" Jun Wu is amused enough he starts preparing the tea himself. He's already decided he'd take the boy in. He could do with someone unapologetically ruthless.

"If my brother is with me, I'd give him the cup."

Suddenly, Jun Wu doesn't like the boy anymore.

"I see. If one of the men in the desert is your brother, you'll give the cup to him, even if you die." Typical. Idealistic boys, who think they'll still know themselves at their worst.

"Yes, but I meant, if it's my brother, me, and two men in the desert, the cup goes to my brother."

"Hm."

He lets the tea steep, he's angry. He realized he might kill this boy if they keep talking. As he's about to dismiss him, acceptance ceremony be damned, the boy speaks again.

"And if there were a cup for each of us, then all would go to my brother."

Jun Wu stills. Then places a cup in front of the boy, pours tea, sits back.

"And why is that? only one cup would be enough to survive."

"To survive, yes, but he might still be thirsty after. Maybe he'd want to wash off some sweat, he's very fussy."

Ah, like Shi Wudu then. Jun Wu might have an useful piece in his hands after all.

The wicked always think that as long as they're acting on behalf of the truly virtuous, every action is justified and therefore merit no punishment. Everything goes, if it's to let the innocent remain ignorant.

It might've been fun had he not met this type before.

"Is he older or younger?"

"Younger."

"I see. And, if your brother wouldn't die from thirst, and you had five cups in your hand."

"Four would go to him, and one for me."

A bit more selfless than Shi Wudu. Which makes him a bit more boring. This boy probably wouldn't even try to strangle his brother before he was killed.

"And let the other two die?" The boy nods again, though now there's something his mannerisms are coated in embarrassment.

Well, since he already went down memory lane, Jun Wu simply must ask: "And if the price was to let a kingdom burn for getting that brother a cup of water even if he wouldn't die without it. Or let a kingdom thrive, while your brother stays as he is. What would you do?"

"Is my brother thirsty?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll give him the cup."

"He would not die."

"He would be thirsty."

Disappointing, this new disciple of his, but the boy might just live.

"Is your brother so righteous and kind that his life is worth more than the lives of the people of this kingdom?"

"My brother's life is worth two cups of rice, and as of late, a gold coin."

Jun Wu paused in confusion. What a horrible thing to say. Stated as a fact, hard as a stone. Is his brother's life not worth other's? How can he be so certain of the needed currency to bargain his brother's soul.

"And would he be happy? All those lives lost just for temporary comfort?"

"He wouldn't be happy."

With strong morals yet not worth enough to buy more than a few meals. At some point worth only two meals? What sort of contradictory creature is this boy related to?

"He would hate you for it."

"No, he wouldn't be happy either way. But if I did give him the water, he would not be sad. Just upset."

"Upset at the deaths?"

"Upset at all the smoke."

Jun Wu bursts out laughing. He laughs and laughs so hard he starts crying. The boy remains still as a statue, confused, scared.

And Jun Wu laughs, laughs as he wipes tears, laughs as he pours himself a cup and drinks, tea spilling on his robes. The boy quickly copies him, studies him as if to decide whether he's a threat or not.

Jun Wu forces himself to stop, his smile uncontrollably pulling at his skin.

Oh what a nasty, selfish child must this mysterious brother be. And yet, this soft spoken boy would doom hundreds for his ephemeral comfort.

"Where is that brother of yours? Was he at the disciple selection trial?"

The boy looks away for the first time, shakes his head.

"No... He's in a bad place. I need to go get him, this is why I need to become a cultivator, so I can help him."

"How noble, he needs rescue, hm?"

"Yes."

Jun Wu smiles, eyes gleaming.

"Then you're in the right place to achieve the power to do so. Welcome, Disciple Yue, to Qiong Ding. From now on you will refer to me as Shizun, and you'll work hard to do our sect proud."

The boy perked up, shoulders sagging in relief.

"Yes, Shizun."

"I see great promise in you, Yue Qi, and a good heart."

"Thank you, Shizun."

"It would be nothing less than tragic to see it break. Because of that, when you're ready, I'll go with you to retrieve your brother, and we'll find a place for him in our sect."

The boy's face illuminated, eyes wet and hopeful. His lower lip trembled, but he did not cry. Yue Qi took a deep breath, and then let it go. He regarded Jun Wu as if he knew the true identity of the man he was facing, as if he had been given the most marvellous of blessings.

"Shizun will help me save Xiao Jiu?"

Jun Wu nodded with a serene smile as the seed of worship was planted in the soul of such an unlucky boy.

Worship would not do it, not anymore. Worship was conditional to what miracles he could perform, and Jun Wu was no longer a god.

Love though. Love could bring down empires, change fates. Worship could never compare to love. Being worshipped wasn't enough.

"This Shizun swears. We'll rescue Xiao Jiu, Yue Qi."

Not likely, but who knows what the future holds.

"It all depends on you, my disciple. I have put all my faith in your hands. I know you won't disappoint your brother, and you won't disappoint me."

Yue Qi bowed as tears finally started pouring down his sweet, dirty face.

"Thank you, Shizun. This disciple promises to exceed Shizun's expectations." His voice wobbled but his speech was clear. Jun Wu rested a reassuring hand on the poor child's shoulder.

"I'm certain. I have been waiting a long time for a disciple like you,"

Jun Wu made the mistake of trying to mould Xie Lian to his image, and it ended with that boy proving Jun Wu rotten and weak.

Jun Wu would not try the same with Yue Qi. That was not what he truly wanted, what he actually needed.

He needed a ruthless, devout, unlucky, little tragedy of a boy who would never, ever leave.

Someone who could love nasty, rotten, selfish, creatures who only get upset at the smell of the bodies at their feet.

[jichanxo]

Help me, Lord, from these fantasies in my head / They ain't ever been safe ones

[kittyandco]

does anyone else get so upset when you think about all the things that happened to your f/o... all the things they went through? all the things they haven't healed from? the pain that they may still be enduring? how you can do your best to help them but you can't protect them from everything. so you just love them the ways they needed before, how they deserved. and you see them happy because they finally accept, at least in some ways, that they do deserve it. they deserve love like all beings do

[ghost-bxrd]

Tim can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

He thought— the Tower was bad enough. He hates being kept out of the loop, especially for “his own protection”, but he never thought—

It is Robin who had been threatened. Robin that Batman had been taunted with. Enough times, and with grisly enough descriptions of what might happen to him, that Bruce sent Tim to the Titans as a last ditch effort to keep him well out of reach of Gotham and its newly minted crime lord.

But Hood took Bernard, and Tim can’t breathe. Can only stare at the grainy picture from an unknown number, showing his boyfriend tied up and gagged in someone’s— Hood’s, probably, oh god— bed.

Tim wants to throw up.

Please god, please no.

— sneak peek of “Modern Day Cain”

[creeps-and-pasta]

If Jack's colors are tied to his mental state do you think there's a world where he gets his colors back. I think there is.

[twstjam]

Fuck the timeline, everyone please consider an au where the Knight of Dawn narrowly escapes from a fight that almost kills him and as he's limping through a forest to find somewhere to hide and recover, the woodland creatures find him and lead him somewhere. He follows, assuming they're leading him somewhere safe, but before he can reach it he collapses from his injuries. As his consciousness begins to fade, he sees Princess Meleanor looking down at him and he isn't surprised that she'd been waiting for his end, waiting for him to join her in the Underworld where he'd sent her.

Later in the evening, Lilia Vanrouge is startled by the door to his quiet little cottage bursting open. His prince and pupils have returned... and they have dragged the injured Knight of Dawn back with them. Silver runs up to Lilia and begs "Papa" to help the poor injured man they'd found in the woods, completely oblivious to how Lilia's blood chills and his mouth goes dry because his son this human child had so cluelessly brought an old enemy into their home who also happens to be his father.

[fictionadventurer]

I'm fascinated by the ways in which the things a creator is good at making don't necessarily line up with the kind of art that they respect or even enjoy.

This has haunted me ever since I saw a Youtube video about the downfall of The Band Perry, a country band that I had liked until their music got weird and they kind of fell off the face of the earth. Well, it turns out that they tried to reinvent their image and their style of music several times before the band finally fell apart. When they started, they had this weird Southern Gothic homeschooler style that really worked for them and was reasonably popular, but then they tried to switch to a cooler type of pop music--a style they supposedly admired and enjoyed--and it just did not work at all. They failed because they chased what they wanted to make instead of sticking with the style that they were good at.

It's a tension that's present in all creative work. At one point does "going outside the box" go too far? Can one be happy making good work even if it's not the kind of stuff they like or admire? Are the techniques and styles that are most appealing to us appealing because they're things that we can't create ourselves? As in, our minds don't work that way, so seeing these things from other creators is exciting, but the fact that our minds don't work that way is exactly why we can't imitate those things. Where's the line between creative integrity--pushing yourself to make better things--and pride--wanting to make something more prestigious and impressive instead of humbly making the type of art you're best suited to make? Can one even clearly see what they're best at making, and appreciate the good that's there rather than chasing after styles and techniques that seem better? There are no solid answers, which is why I'm going to be endlessly thinking about this.

[hollowwish]

Biggest pet peeve is when someone says jimmy needs to be portrayed as a pathetic wet cat and not too badass or whatever. Like do u guys know the wet cat behavior is a bit sometimes. Do you guys know he's played into before and will do so again. Do you guys know jimmy has his competent moments and really well roleplayed ones and that's he's not just stupid and bullied and little wet cat all the time. Do we even watch the same damn youtuber

He can be both wet cat and badass and competent. People just don't see the badass moments because theyre probably buried under the "jimmy is only sad bullied wet cat" belief

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

Maedhros built up a high pain resistance from Angband; particularly to the burning sensation. Considering how low he thinks of himself, it’s likely he expected the Silmaril to burn him. He didn’t think he was redemptive, he thought I can take it.

Part of why Maedhros acts so viciously is because that’s how life treated him. I can take it if my brothers die. I can take it if I’m damned for eternity. I can take it if everybody thinks I’m a monster.

He’s proud, and he’s suffering. He won’t back down, he will succeed or be martyred.

[superbat-lmao]

Jason Todd Fic (De-aged?)

(INCOMPLETE/UNFINISHED)

Of all the kinds of magic, Jason Todd hates death magic the most.

So when the call comes through about Grave Affair, he tells Oracle where she can shove it.

“Hood, if there was anyone else available I’d have called them. Believe me, you’re beyond my last choice for this.”

And he’s standing on a rooftop, firing rubber bullets at a guy wielding a magic scythe. He’s ranting about final words, last confessions, things Jason never had.

He’s trying not to think of dirt and starched sleeves and silk linings.

When he’s finally close enough, Jason disarms the guy, but not without the blade touching him.

There’s a thud behind him but he’s already got the wannabe reaper in cuffs by the time he turns around.

And is met with his 15 year old self, wearing an outfit he knows. An outfit that never made it back to his closet.

The boy’s in shock, momentarily disoriented and Jason’s lucky the kid isn’t running, but Oracle is in his ear, awaiting confirmation of something Jason doesn’t think he can say out loud.

He takes off the helmet, holsters his guns, and crouches as low as he can. The kid is squinting at him but he isn’t running.

“You’ve been displaced in time.” He jerks a thumb at the knock off grave digger behind him. “The scythe cut me and brought you here. I’m you, but older.”

The kid squints harder, if that’s possible. Jason uses a couple of the old bat-signs, and doesn’t remove his domino.

“Prove it.”

God, every time he’d tried to seem intimidating, that’s how he’d sounded?

Jason tilts his head and thinks a moment. His old scars are gone, it can’t be anything Jason would willingly volunteer, but even now he doesn’t want to say those things out loud.

“We never told Bruce about Catherine’s last dealer.” The kid stopped squinting. “Or, or about. Well, we never told anyone about Tommy.” The kid flinched. It was a name neither of them had spoken since he died.

“Are we going back to the manor?” Jason shrugged at him. He didn’t want to, but this wasn’t about what he wanted anymore. He wanted to take the kid back to his safe house and burn those clothes. He wanted to cut out his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at him. He wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Depends. Let me call in the calvary to come pick this guy up and you can decide. It’s the manor, or my safe house.”

He put the helmet on to be met with silence, either Babs was finally at a loss for words or had muted his channel. He sent his location and the pick-up signal. There was no confirmation and Jason decided he had hit his limit on dealing with bats before physically disconnecting himself from the comms network.

“If I pick the manor, how upset will they be?”

And wasn’t that just a crowbar to the gut?

“Not in the way you’re thinking, but a lot. I’ll be honest, it’s going to be worse than when [insert]. I know what you think they’re upset about and for them, it was years ago. But you going back will be like a bomb going off for them. I’ll take you, but you’ve gotta know it’ll probably overwhelm you.”

“And the safe house?”

“I’ll take the couch. And make you wear a different set of clothes because just looking at you hurts. But um, you can ask questions or don’t. Eat, read, ignore me. It’ll be a breather until the manor, or until the spell ends and you go back.”

“Go back?”

Jason wanted to throw up.

“To Ethiopia.”

——

True to his word, Jason burned those clothes the second they were in his safe house.

The kid, because he wasn’t willing to think of him as himself, had locked himself in Jason’s bedroom with a couple paperback copies of things he said he hadn’t read yet. Jason was making a sort of pasta bake in the oven and cleaning his guns on the coffee table.

His gear, except for the helmet, was stashed away properly, but he hadn’t turned the comms back on. He was sure that Oracle had been alerting all of the bats to the presence of his 15 year old self and watching live feeds of the interrogation to see what spell was cast, or how the scythe worked, but Jason was trying to avoid thinking about it.

Because if it was him, if he was 15 instead of 23 and in an apartment with an adult man claiming to be himself but built like Bruce, he’d fucking lock himself in and refuse to come out. Sure, he wouldn’t want to see the bats, all the people he remembers letting down by running away and at the peak of their fighting where Jason had believed none of them actually cared about him, but that doesn’t mean he’d really want to be alone with the veritable stranger of himself either.

He has his phone shut off, his comms are physically disabled, and this particular safe house is one he hasn’t had the chance to use yet since it’s a sort of last resort. It’s kept in a spot with few to no cameras and hasn’t been around long. Jason makes a point of keeping one safe house as a last resort, so that if he really does fuck up beyond what the bats can tolerate, there will be one place they can’t immediately find him.

He’ll have to burn this one soon, but it gives them a couple hours, if not about two days.

He’s trying not to remember the fight, the hasty decision to leave, being told there wasn’t enough room in the helicopter. God, he doesn’t even know at what point the kid was taken from, but Ethiopia hadn’t surprised him. He must not have made it into the warehouse yet.

When the oven goes off, Jason is trying hard not to picture cigarette smoke and eyes in the dark.

He makes two plates, sets one on the counter and the other on the coffee table, and goes to knock on the door to the bedroom.

When the younger Jason emerges, he looks wary, but not frightened. There’s also a calculating look in his eye that Jason knows others assume he got from Bruce, but was present while he was on the streets.

“Do you mind if I eat out here?”

“Knock yourself out.”

They’re almost finished eating when the boy finally speaks up.

“I’ve got questions for you.”

“Sure, but I have one for you too. Only one, so you pick what you wanna do first. Ask or answer.”

“Ask.”

“Go ahead.”

“The guy that brought me here, what does the magic entail?”

“I’m not a hundred percent sure. He was doing his little speech while we were fighting, something about meeting yourself and seeking absolution I think. It sounded like a chance to ask yourself questions or have a conversation with a different version of yourself but I don’t exactly know why. I also don’t know how long it lasts. I got the call about him pretty late and walked in without a full picture. One of the other bats is probably looking more into it right now and we’ll get an update at some point.”

“Other bats?”

Jason doesn’t envy Talia for having to explain to him Bruce’s knack for acquiring orphans.

“Remember when Bruce first took us in and we couldn’t understand what he wanted from us? Well, it’s morphed into a bit of a habit of picking up orphans. It isn’t just Dick, Alfred and us anymore. There’s a couple others and all the explanations are kinda long, so I’ll wait till the end to really get into that if it’s alright. In terms of how many are important for you to keep track of and you might come across at the manor, at least six, excluding the three you know.”

“Why aren’t you living at the manor? Why do you have a safe house?”

“A couple years from how old you are now, Bruce and I have a fight. We’re still kind of working on it, but it’s easier for me to have my own place than have to deal with all the riff raff. The manor isn’t as quiet as it used to be, and it’s too many variables.”

God, he’s really trying to be vague here instead of having to tell the kid he’s right and his Dad doesn’t love him. That his Dad doesn’t save him and that he’ll try to kill him. Jason doesn’t know if he can look his younger self in the eye and tell him everything he’s done. But he remembers being overwhelmed by too many people, too many emotions to try and navigate in conversations. It’s still something he struggles with, not that he’s told anyone about it.

“What was the fight about?”

“Since we don’t know how much of this you’ll remember when you get sent back, I don’t really want to get into specifics, in case we create some sort of paradox. Once we know for sure I’ll give you more details but basically, appropriate levels of consequence alongside a heavy dose of blame for shit Bruce fucked up.”

“What about Dick and Alfred?”

“What about them?”

“What do they think? Do they agree with you or Bruce?”

“They’re a little more complicated. Alfred loves us, has made sure we know it, but abstains from voicing his true opinions on it. I think he disagrees with us, but doesn’t want to push. Dick is vocal about disagreeing with us, but doesn’t think Bruce is completely in the clear either. He’s harder to predict in conversation and his goals are less obvious than Alfred’s.”

“What’s your question for me?”

“What’s the last thing you remember before coming here?”

“Bruce getting in a helicopter and telling me to stay put.”

“Alright.”

“That’s it?”

“All the useful information will come from this time, not yours. I just wanted to make sure I knew what part of the day you’d already been through.”

His younger self appears to think this over.

It’s almost a relief talking to him. Jason’s goals have always been pretty straight forward. Stay fed, stay warm, protect himself against adults, and stay alert. There are no mind games, or unspoken rules, or demands, or debts for his actions. As an adult, there is nothing he would want from a kid and as a kid, he’s found probably the only adult he’ll believe doesn’t want anything from him.

“Can you tell me about the other bats?”

“Sure, but I’m starting on dishes and you’re filling tupperware while I’m talking.”

So Jason explains Tim and Damian and Cass and Steph and Duke and Babs. He’s careful to avoid his own history and how he met them, only really stating how they each got taken in. How they met Bruce. His younger self doesn’t seem to mind the vague information, it’s been a long day and Jason doesn’t have much to hide from him except the obvious, his death and resurrection. So by the time the kitchen is clean, there’s little left to say except a brief rundown of what’s stocked where, what parts of the apartment have traps set, and what weapons are allowed to be kept in the bedroom.

He tells the kid he’ll be doing a short patrol tonight. They have a code for “all clear” that predates the bats, so they’ll stick to it. And he gives the kid a burner in case his training isn’t enough. He shows him how to contact himself, and if it’s really bad, the emergency beacon.

Nightwing is the one who finds him, but he isn’t stupid enough to recognize the others are likely on hand but just out of reach so that when he runs, they minimize his head start.

“Oracle says you shut off your phone, comms, tracker, and is locating your safe house as we speak.”

“And you’re telling me because?”

“Because we need to bring him to the cave. Because he won’t cooperate with any of us. Because we don’t want either of you to be alone and you damn well scared the hell out of all of us by disappearing like that.”

“You guys figure out the scythe and how long before he’s sent back?”

“Lantern figured it out. About 7 more days, from what we can tell.”

“How long until B’s planet side again?”

“About 3 days.”

There’s math somewhere in that sentence that Jason can’t calculate. A problem he doesn’t have the answer for. He refuses to acknowledge what’s about to happen, because if he does, he’ll step off the roof without his grapple.

“Tell the calvary to stop hiding and meet us here. I need everyone to agree to ground rules.”

Cass is the most proficient at B’s trick of appearing from the shadows, but the rest of the bats are a fair hand at it too. And suddenly, everyone who had been out of town slightly over a day ago, was congregated on a single roof. If Jason couldn’t solve the problem of seven days and Bruce Wayne, he’s not sure he really has a chance with so many more variables thrown in. Especially with the least predictable ones.

“We will meet you all at the cave tomorrow, in the morning. You are not crowding my safe house.”

There is some shuffling, but no objections.

“I have told him all of your names. He does not know more than how each of you loosely came to meet B. He does not know my vigilante name, the new kids vigilante names, except Oracle, or how I met any of you. Or when.”

The shuffling has stopped. It’s just the dark, silence, Jason, and everyone he’s spent what amounts to his current life avoiding.

“He is 15 and for him, Batman just got on a helicopter in Ethiopia.”

If there’s silence now, Jason can’t hear it over the rushing in his ears.

“For as long as he is in this timeline, I will remain close enough to get him out of any situation you put him in.”

He’s focusing on a spot in the middle distance. Jason is afraid he might black out.

“He will know that we are lying to him soon, although I can’t guess how quick he’ll catch on. When he asks about it, about our - death.”

It takes almost a full minute for Jason to keep speaking.

“You will direct him to me.”

Jason sweeps his unfocused eyes over a mismatched group of vigilantes in the dark. They are rigid and unflinching. Jason wants more than anything in the world to be somewhere, anywhere else.

“You will not leave him and B alone in the same room together.”

This time, his eyes are focused and he meets each of their gazes.

He looks to Cass last, and at her nod, Jason steps off the roof and swings away.

——

Jason gives himself ground rules the next morning.

“You can ask questions. You might not always get an answer.”

“If someone will not give you an answer, come find me.”

“If you want out, of anything, you press the button I gave you.”

“I will remain in the same building as you at all times. If you need space from me, say so. If you want me in the next room, signal. I will stay as close or as far as you prefer.”

“There are things that the others will know that you have not shared. I cannot undo that, and I am sorry. However, both things that I told you as proof of myself are, to my knowledge, things they remain unaware of.”

“I will respect whatever decision you make in what you choose to share with them.”

“I will not, under any circumstances, allow you and B to be alone in the same room.”

The final rule gets him a raised eyebrow, one that he stares unflinchingly at.

“Why not?”

“I do not trust his emotional regulation when it comes to you. He is still safe, still Bruce or Batman or B. But he has made far too many mistakes for me to allow him to make decisions regarding you. I believe him to be, emotionally compromised.”

There is still skepticism in his own face. The face of a child that will never become an adult. Not the way he should have.

“And you won’t tell me why?”

“Not until we know for sure about eh paradox thing. And we both know there are some things neither of us are ever gonna want to talk about - for me, this is one of them. So, for now, no.”

The kid seems to accept this and they pack a small bag of Jason’s gear and books. They’re on his motorcycle in less than half an hour and are pulling up to the cave entrance in less than two hours.

There is no welcome party. Just the cave, and Alfred.

There is no glass case.

When Jason cuts the engine on the bike, he feels pins and needles down his spine.

He takes his gear out of his bag and moves towards the lockers to store it. He can’t watch this. Can’t watch his younger self approach Alfred. He tries not to hear what they say to each other. He fails.

Jason doesn’t have to imagine what he would have said to Alfred when he was 15, if he had gotten home. The conversation is eerily similar to his own nightmares.

“Hey Alfie.”

“Master Jason, it has been a long time since I have seen you, although I suspect the reverse is not quite true for you.”

He hears a huffed laugh behind him and squeezes his eyes shut.

“I’m sorry I ran away.”

Jason knows he must have steeled himself to the words, to say them now or risk not saying them at all.

“Master Ja-“

“And I know that I shouldn’t have done it. And that he, I said that it’s been years since you’ve probably thought about it, since I ran away, so maybe you’ve already gotten the apology but for me it was yesterday. And I don’t know how I’m going to go home and tell you that I’m sorry, and I know I will never get to skip chores for the rest of my life but Alfie I just need to know that you don’t hate me too.”

Jason remembers being 15 and thinking that Bruce didn’t trust him anymore, thinking that he killed a man, and that Dick was never really his older brother and that he just wanted a parent. Someone normal who could love him normally without it being twisted up into expectations and disappointment. He remembers the polite distance that he thought Alfred was using every time he called him Master Jason, and how it had felt like a barrier to one of the only adults he was almost convinced loved him. How he all but threw it back in the man’s face by running away to another continent to chase down a woman who sold him out.

Jason doesn’t know what Alfred’s face looks like. Doesn’t want to know.

Because he knows the tension in his own voice, the way it spells out tears. Knows that his younger self if already crying even if he can’t hear it at this distance. Cannot allow himself to picture what Alfred must look like.

“Oh Jason, my boy.”

And there is a soft sound behind him, a rustle of fabric and a hiccup pressed into a shirt.

He’s sure Alfred has bundled him up and carried him over to one of the cots, or chairs, or even the training mats. He doesn’t turn around. He wasn’t meant to hear this.

Because Alfred is murmuring nonsense into his hair. And holding him while he cries. And Jason forces himself to walk upstairs to the kitchen, to sit at the counter and wait.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed by the time he calls Babs.

“Oracle.”

“Jason, what do you want?”

“I need an alert set up. One that will go straight to my phone the second B is planet side. One that tells me when he is within 100 yards of the manor, even if he comes by Kryptonian.”

There’s a silence on the line. Either the bats were broadcasting to her through an open comm during his little speech the night before, or Dick filled her in. Either way, they both know she knows his last rule.

“Alright.”

“Thank you.”

Jason drifts for a while. At least until he hears footsteps closing the familiar distance between the cave and the kitchen.

Jason gives them both a small nod when the come in, and the younger Jason takes a seat right next to him, without a buffer, but they don’t speak much as Alfred starts his prep work on lunch.

It’s obvious the kid has a question when his shoulders start to tense.

“What’s your question?”

“What room am I staying in?”

Jason glances over to Alfred, and he looks about as calm as to be expected. He’d never expected to see Alfred cry, but he feels a dulled shock at the sight of his reddened eyes.

“You are welcome to your old room, or I can prepare a guest room for you.”

“Why wouldn’t you be using our room?”

“That fight I mentioned? Well, I was - hurt a while after. It was easier for me to stay on the first floor than to take the stairs. I’m not here as often anymore, so I mostly stick to the guest room if I am. You can take our room if you want it.”

There’s a small part of him that wants to pray that Alfred made the room look less like a shrine, or a time capsule, because the kid knows several years have passed for Jason and if he walks into the same room he remembers from earlier “that day” Jason isn’t sure how he’ll face those questions right now.

“I had some time to prepare it this morning, it might be close to what you remember and I took the liberty of stocking it with your old clothes that fit you now.”

“Thanks Alfie.”

After a while, the kid glances at him and Jason supposes he’s got a fair guess as to where he wants to go. He clears his throat.

“We’ll be in the library until lunch. And um, thank you.”

He doesn’t want to read the look on Alfred’s face. He doesn’t want to be in this kitchen. In this building. The look on Alfred’s face is kinder than he deserves.

“Of course, Master Jason. Do enjoy yourselves.”

They aren’t ambushed on the way to the library, but they aren’t alone when they enter.

The kid stiffens beside him and shoots a glance at Jason’s left hand. Counts the taps, and then relaxes.

Jason knows Cass also probably counted the taps, and might be able to figure out what they mean, but they’ve never talked about it.

“Hello, Cass.”

“Hello, Jasons.”

There’s a snort from the kid and Jason is grateful that she staged their meeting like this. Of everyone else in the manor, Cass is the one who hates seeing anyone, including Jason, in pain. She’s the only one aside from Alfred who seems to understand when he needs to leave and lets him.

“Want me to read in here or go put books in your room?”

The kid eyes Cass for a moment, and then Jason.

“You can take the books. But if you want to read too I won’t stop you.”

Jason takes that for what it is, that the kid will be alright for a few minutes, but doesn’t want more than 20 by himself.

Dick is waiting for him outside the door to his old bedroom.

“You didn’t say the rest of us couldn’t see him alone, just Bruce.”

Jason’s mouth is dry. He pushes the door open and is off kilter. It looks like when he was 15. It looks like he never went to high school. It looks just enough like his old room and yet everything that had made it his, was gone.

“It’s up to him. Bruce is the only one I won’t allow to be alone with him. It doesn’t have to be me in the room if the kid doesn’t want, but they won’t be alone.”

“You think he’ll hurt him?”

That startles Jason, badly enough that he laughs. It’s a broken sound, scratches all the edges of his throat and teeth as it leaves his mouth. Dick tenses behind him.

“You don’t want to know what I think.”

“Jason, I don’t know how to fix this.”

Jason sets the books down on his old desk and turns. He doesn’t want this conversation. He doesn’t want to keep talking to these people. He’s sick of the echoes of his old life, the one he can’t return to. He can’t sew himself back into belonging, he doesn’t have enough of the fabric of himself to try.

“You don’t have to try.”

Dick makes a sound like he’s been punched.

“Of course I do -“ Jason cuts him off.

“We weren’t brothers, Dick. You made that clear, not just to me, but to him. I don’t know what you’re trying to do now, but you don’t have to. I’m not asking you to. It’s not your job to try and clean up B’s mistakes. You’re running yourself into the ground trying to play clean up crew for him. Just stop.”

“I’m trying to fix my own mistakes Jason, not his. I shouldn’t have treated you like you weren’t my brother. I want you to be my brother now. But I don’t know how. I don’t know what you want, but I want to try. It’s the only regret I can’t live with.”

Dick looks close to tears. Scratch that, Jason can see them, running silently down his face. His breath just isn’t hitching and he can’t seem to decide if Jason will be more or less upset if he keeps up the eye contact, but he continues to stand outside Jason’s childhood bedroom. Waiting. Asking for permission. Asking to be let in.

“Is this your dry run of the speech you’re gonna give the kid?”

“This is the first time you’ve been in one place long enough for me to get the words out. You’ve bolted long before I had worked up the nerve to say it to you before.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I’d like to.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then tell me how to prove it to you.”

Jason thinks it over. He thinks about himself, about a kid sitting on a roof and squinting at him, asking for proof. He’d known how to convince his 15 year old self. He’s not sure how to convince himself now. He wishes the dull ache in his chest would go away. That he could stop wanting people, stop remembering the familiarity they used to share, even if it wasn’t always happy.

It never stopped him, even when it should have. He would still run jobs for Willis, or get a fix for Catherine. He still tried to save Shelia. He wasn’t sure if he could survive it again. He didn’t last time.

But the part of him that he couldn’t avoid thinking about anymore, the part of him standing in his favorite room on the planet, just down the hall, felt like it was clawing through his ribcage. The part of him that would always be 15 and desperate to have an older brother, to have a family, someone who could just make the world go away for a minute. Not another fucked up parental figure, but someone else. That part of him was trying to escape himself and curl up inside the person who wouldn’t even cross the threshold of his door without permission.

“Ask me again in two weeks.”

“What?”

“Once the kid is gone, give me a week. If you’re serious.”

“I am. In two weeks, what then?”

Maybe more of his composure had cracked than he was willing to admit. Because the look he was giving Dick made the man crumple.

“I don’t know, but. I’d be willing to try.”

“Can I - please, Jason I won’t. Right now I just. Please come here. Just for a minute, please Jay.”

And maybe in two weeks Jason would be able to let him in, maybe he wouldn’t have to wait outside the door. But he knows the week he’s in for. It’s going to be long, and worse than any torture Jason’s been through so far. He isn’t sure he’ll be able to get through it.

To look a 15 year old in the eyes and send him to his death.

Jason fucking hates death magic.

So he takes a step forward, and another and another until the door is shut behind him. Until Dick has a death grip around his waist and forces Jason’s arms over his shoulders. His face is jammed right into his chest and Jason rests his own against Dick’s shoulder.

“I am so glad you’re alive, little wing.”

Jason allows himself five minutes. To memorize the sensation in a way that he wouldn’t be able to forget. Sometimes, when he would try to think back and picture Catherine, he would wish he had been able to memorize the hugs she gave him more clearly.

When he steps back, Dick’s hands spasm beneath him for a minute before seeming to remember himself and let go. He doesn’t try to wipe at his eyes and the smile he tries to give Jason is shaky. Jason doesn’t know what his face looks like. He’s not surprised when Dick’s hands brush tears from the undersides of his eyes.

He doesn’t think he can say anything else. And Dick seems to understand, because he gently turns them both in the direction of the library and walks with him until Jason’s steps are more sure.

When he turns to go in, Jason knows he’s damming himself. Because the glance he risks behind him, not quite turning back, but not not tuning back, is met with a smile he’s never seen before. One that makes his chest seize painfully because it’s full of something Jason can’t believe is still in him. That hasn’t been drowned out by the relentless wave that Jason has struggled to keep his head above. The one thing he hadn’t parted with even in his final moments.

Hope.

——

From the looks of it, the kid’s conversation with Cass had gone better than his own with Dick. He looks weary, and still a bit on edge, but he hasn’t been crying, nothings broken, no one’s yelling, and Cass has a small smile that is usually reserved for Steph on her face.

Whatever Cass can read in his own posture doesn’t seem to alter her stance, but the kid looks slightly more alarmed when he meets his eyes.

He taps his leg four times and gets a look of utter disbelief, but the subject is dropped before it’s even picked up.

“What’re you reading?”

“The Brothers Karamazov.”

Huh. Jason’s not sure what to say to that. Not without spoiling more than a book.

“Let me know if it’s any good.”

That gets him a laugh. Small, but there. And yeah, he wouldn’t believe he hadn’t read it either.

Cass looks like she’s said all she wanted to, so he sets up shop, cracks open something at random, and settles in. She briefly squeezes his shoulder, and then is gone.

It’s maybe 20 minutes before Jason hears the pages of a book not in his own hands stop turning.

“Are you sure about the four?”

One meant danger. Two meant stay alert. Three meant “safe enough.”

Four meant safe.

They’ve never used four taps for anyone. If Jason had to hazard a guess, the only person that would come close is Alfred, but he’d hadn’t shared the street code with the Bats back then, so it wouldn’t have meant anything to them.

“Yeah, Dickface wanted a quick chat. I’m not sure when he’ll try and drop by to talk to you, but I’d guess before lunch. Once he settles down a bit.”

“Cass said she’s new to learning English, that she doesn’t have much practice speaking yet. Said she reads posture better than words.”

“She gives the old man a run for his money in combat. Of all of us, she’s the best at hand to hand.”

“You didn’t try and school your posture when you came in.”

“Figured out pretty early on it’s not really worth it. And with multiple people in a room, trying to sort out all the contradictions can give her a headache. She’s never used it against us in a way we didn’t deserve, so I don’t hold it against her.”

“What did Dick want?”

“My fight with B is a bit bigger than I really wanted to concern you with. Dick wanted to talk to me before speaking with you so that I don’t complicate what he has to say to you with what he has to say to me.”

“Can we please figure out quicker whether or not there will be some sort of paradox once I’m sent back? Because I’ve been pretty good at rolling with your vague fucking answers, but I’m reaching my limit for bullshit.”

“Noted. After lunch I’ll try and get in touch with Lantern and see what the full deal is.”

“Do you want to be in here when Dick comes to talk to me?”

“Not about me kid. It’s up to you.”

“You didn’t stick around for Alfred.”

Jason doesn’t have anything to say to that. The kid’s right, it was the only break he was willing to give himself.

“You’ve done alright with him and Cass so far. Do you want me in here when Dick drops by?”

“I don’t know.”

It should surprise him more that this version of himself is giving him such direct answers. But then again, after reorienting, he supposes that out of everyone, Jason really had only trusted himself. He knew the lengths he would go to to protect himself, to stay alive. And if the kid knows he uses guns now, then maybe it really has settled in that nothing has changed except the knowledge of how far he’d really be willing to go.

“God, what is it with all of them and talking?”

Jason laughs a little at the frustration. It’s one he shares.

“One and I’ll get you out. Two and I’ll stay but Dick will leave. Three and we’ll both stay. Four and I’ll leave.”

He gets a brief nod, and then they’re both absorbed in their books for at least an hour.

He notices Dick in the doorway a full 15 seconds before the kid does. Neither startles, but he can see the kid roll his eyes from behind his book.

When he seems to catch himself with what he’s doing. He tenses.

Dick looks different from when he was 18. To Jason he’d seemed like an adult, but it’s obvious to him now that he’s a far cry from the adult he is now. He’s steadier, less volatile. Less teenage angst, more adult grief.

“Hey, Dick.”

There’s a small smile on Dick’s face and Jason tries to tell himself to focus on his book. He doesn’t succeed.

“Hey, Jason. I wanted to come and see you before lunch. It’s going to be pretty hectic and you’ll probably meet most of the new kids. But, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you at 15, and from what Jason tells me of the day you came from, I figured we should talk just between us.”

“I - you’re off world right now. Um, I left a note for B and Alfred but yeah. I kinda ran away. And, I don’t know if it’s different now because Jason said B adopted like a million people, but I did try and call you before I realized you were off world. I left a voice mail and. And maybe we’re not really brothers right now. But, I’m still sorry. I don’t know how I said it in the future, or when you got back, but -“

Jason doesn’t know what his own face is doing. But he can’t look at the kid. All he sees is Dick, who had already cried himself out earlier, get a fresh sheen of tears in his eyes.

It would have been kinder for Jason to shoot him.

The younger Jason risks a glance at Dick and then shoots Jason a look with far more panic in it than he feels equipped to handle. Jason taps three times.

Dick sucks in a long breath, trying to recenter himself under the scrutiny.

“It’s alright, little wing, I know I wasn’t a very good brother when you came to the manor. I couldn’t set aside my problems with Bruce and it wasn’t fair to you. I promise you none of that was your fault, or about you at all. You don’t have to apologize.”

There’s a look on younger Jason’s face that he’s trying and failing to school away. Of all the traits of Bruce he’s been told to have, Dick was the only one of them that ever properly managed that blank and unreadable look. Jason has always been too expressive.

It’s longing and a whole lot of distrust.

“B thinks I killed Garzonas, Dick.”

Dick does take a step forward then. Jason seems to realize that the couch he’s sitting on really is big enough for two, because he scoots over just a bit.

“B says a lot of things he regrets, little wing. I know for a fact that you didn’t kill him, that B’s wrong and it wasn’t fair of him to accuse you of that.”

“You know now maybe, but you’re not really my Dick Grayson.”

Dick takes another step forward and Jason stays perfectly still.

“Maybe not right now, but you’re still my little wing, no matter how old you are.” He shoots a wry glance at Jason. “Or how many of you there are.”

“What did you say before? Eighteen year old you?”

It’s an effort for Dick and Jason not to look at each other. To not give it away.

“By the time I got back planet side, things were different. We never really talked about it much, but I ripped B a new one when I learned what he’d said to you. It’s one of the bigger fights we’ve had actually. But I don’t think that’s really what you mean.”

“I should have told you that it wasn’t your fault. That when I was your age I wanted nothing more than to kill the man who took away my parents. That watching him walk around was an injustice I couldn’t stomach. That B had to physically restrain me and I had lectures about it for weeks before he let me anywhere near the case. I was so angry with him, with Zucco, and a part of me is still the kid that wanted him dead. That not every death is always a sad one, even if we’re not responsible for it. And I’m sorry he made you feel like he didn’t trust you because of it. You are my brother and I love you so much and it wasn’t your fault.”

Dick takes his final step towards the small couch and Jason throws himself at his brother. The brother he always wanted and could never seem to have.

“He just fell Dick, I swear I didn’t push him. And I’m glad he’s dead, he killed her and I just, I can’t believe B didn’t believe me. That he doesn’t trust me. I’m sorry I ran away, I’m sorry he fell. He said I’m not his son.”

Dick was wrapped around the younger Jason who had finally given in to the brother he’d always wanted.

Jason wonders if it would have been that easy if Dick hadn’t been in space. If he’d been able to crash at his apartment and talk this out with him before running off to Ethiopia.

But they hadn’t really been on the best terms anyways back then. Even leaving him a voicemail had felt like pushing the boundary of what Jason was allowed to ask for. At 15 he had only learned to mostly accept Alfred, and sometimes B. Dick was more of a distant idea than a real person, a tangible relationship.

When Jason tuned back into the conversation, eyes were being dried and there was a faint look sent his way. But no taps, so they were in the clear.

*I sometimes write drafts of fics in the notes section of my phone but a lot of them never get finished or are incomplete.

I’m not sure I’ll ever come back to/finish this but people are welcome to add/rewrite or do whatever with this.

[feroluce]

Had the cutest realization last night- so there's a saying we have in English meaning to get something done by any means necessary. It specifically includes dishonest methods, such as violence or lying. So when you're willing to resort to that kind of thing to achieve your goals, you say you're going to do something

"by hook or by crook"