#don't think about Dick who's now holding his brothers corpse

[snakeredbirdbatkatana]

In a way this was the best outcome.

Timothy Drake was always meant to die.

He cheated the reaper when he was nine knife at his throat chasing around vigilantes who wouldn't have ever known him as anything other than a statistic.

He survived past fifteen which for any boy who wears those bright colors knows is an achievement.

Luck is what they will say.

Bad luck specifically wrong place right time at least in his mind.

Bleeding out with his brothers surrounding him.

A bullet he took before it could reach Damian.

He can see him he looks terrified standing a good two feet away which is an accurate description of them a gap that neither boy could ever seem to close.

Jason lost his mask somewhere he can feel the press of his fingers trying to keep blood in. Demanding it. Hopeing for a miracle. That's Jason Todd.

Holding him Dick's arms wrapped around him whispering

"I have you sweetheart I know it hurts, Dad's coming baby just a little bit longer."

He remembers a poem he found right after Jason died he had wondered if Jason raged fought tooth and nail to keep breathing.

But with all his brothers here his Father on the way he can't think of a better time.

As his breathe slows and he feels his vision fade he doesn't fight.

Lying in his brothers arms Timothy Jackson Drake takes his last breath.

Peacefully falling into the night.

There was no rage only a sense of peace for a tired hero who could finally rest.

[kaithesimp]

I do love you Chapter 4

I do love you Masterlist

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takes place in season 4, episode 3, ends differently bc too lazy to write all that extra shit. reader and rick are closer.

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(Name) is sat in a hoverchair with Rick on his lap, Morty climbing a mountain. "Rick, I-I'm not rated to climb something this sheer," Morty complains, legs shaking, struggling to hold onto the holes in the mountain. "Look, you're the guy that wanted an epic adventure. I'm the guy with only one hover chair," Rick says, "What about (Name)?" Morty asks. "He's an exception-" "Goddamnit, an alien spider just bit my finger," Morty whines, pulling his hand away from the mountain to inspect the bite. "It's an alien cliff. You can just say spider," Rick says, watching nonchalantly as Morty falls off, (Name) looking extremely worried. "I think Beth would like it if Morty came back in one piece, Rick" he mutters. Rick rolls his eyes, steering the hoverchair, moving it down quickly to catch Morty.

Morty is now over Rick's lap who was sitting on (Name)'s lap. "You couldn't do that an hour ago?" Morty says, getting off of Rick, Rick standing up followed by (Name), brushing himself off. "I was eating, and you're dirty," he says, the three of them walking to enter the tomb thing. "Activate anti-booby suits," Rick commands, (Name), Morty, and him, pulling on and zipping up a blue translucent full-body suit, pulling the hood over their heads and faces, walking into the tomb thing, all the booby traps failing again and again at harming them.

entering the main area that Rick wanted to be at, Rick walking up the steps, (Name) and Morty behind him. "If you want to take a beat to acknowledge the sacred atmosphere, it could give the cynical grave robbing a hint of irreverence," he says, turning to look at the (Hair. Col)ette and his grandson. "No, I'm... I'm good," Morty says, looking up at his grandad, (Name) nodding, smiling. "Alright, then-" Rick turns around to smack the coffin "-Let's loot this corpse" the top of the coffin slides off, rick jumping inside. Tossing out random 'things' out of the coffin, "Hey, where's the-" Rick pauses "-Wait, what?" he asks, standing up, holding out a red origami horse to show to Morty and (Name). "Is that an origami horse?" Morty asks, (Name) tilting his head. "It's a calling card from Miles Knightley,-" Rick turns to look at Morty and (Name) "-a heist artist, AKA a hipster dick whose adventures are 60% putting a crew together and 40 revealing that the robbery had already happened-" Rick hops out of the coffin, pacing "-and he's not worth our time because he's a hack piece of shit fuck!-" Rick rages "-I'm gonna kill him! Let's go, this temple's for lame baby dipshits," Rick says, kicking the coffin, dragging (Name) by his wrist, Morty following behind them out of the tomb thing, the tomb thing breaking apart and collapsing in on itself.

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Walking through the green portal, (Name) looks around at Heist con, watching all the different species intermingling together, "This dork." Rick grumbles, "He has a... eurrp- ...convention now?" he asks, Morty picking up a magazine from the floor, (Name) peering over his shoulder. "Come on. What are we doing?" Rick asks, looking at Morty. "Huh! Tuxedo scuba lessons?" Morty asks, reading the magazine. "Ooh! A signing with Cathrenes Alpha through Omega Joneses! You know this is great source material for this heist movie that I'm writing," Morty smiles, looking up at his teacher, (Name) chuckling, ruffling Morty's hair affectionately. "Really? That's cool!-" "No it's not, don't get drawn into the culture, Morty," Rick interrupts, "stealing stuff is about the stuff, not the stealing," he says, turning his head, looking around. "Where is the entrance? Oh, brother!" He complains, looking at the 'entrance'

"More like Trying Too Hard Con," Rick mocks, pulling out a gadget to instantly cut a circular hole in the glass that is an 'entrance', walking through.

"Guests or professionals?" a lady at the front desk asks. "Uh, guests-" "Uh-uh, guests are fans, Morty, which we are not," Rick interrupts, "We'd like professional badges," he turns, now speaking to the lady at the desk. "Do you have a crew?" she asks. "Yes, he's the getaway driver with Asperger's, and he's the distraction who turns every male that looks at him bisexual or gay," Rick says, pointing at Morty, then to you. "How much is it to get in?" he turns, crossing his arms. "If you want professional badges, you need to put a crew together," she explains "Or we could sneak in like professionals," Rick interrupts "Can't wait,"

Rick opens a portal underneath Morty, Morty falling in and getting transported to an area that is electrocuting him (idfk, it's 10:49 am and I didn't get a wink of sleep last night, I'm running on nothing but my breakfast.) "Oh for god's sake," Rick groans, getting a grappling hook watch (or fuckin whatever) and getting Morty back. "And you wonder why we aren't fans," he complains, leaving while carrying Morty by the back of his shirt and collar, (Name) following like a little puppy, nervously checking up on Morty's burns.

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"Let the ointment sit for ten minutes or you'll die," Rick says, as (Name) softly applies the ointment onto Morty's face, gently massaging it in the process. "Don't let it sit for 12 or I'll have to hunt down what you become," (Name) sighs, rubbing the ointment onto more of Morty's skin, gently applying it around his chest area. "Can't you just buy a guest badge?" Morty asks, shivering slightly when the cold ointment is applied to certain parts of his skin. "Fuck you for asking, Morty," Rick turns and looks at Morty disapprovingly. "That would be a symbolic expression of support for this genre," "Well then, how do we get in, smart ass?" (Name) asks, closing the container of ointment, putting it aside, tired of Rick. "With a little help from some old friends," Rick says, putting a lollipop in his mouth.

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(cue the montage, I'm tired asf and not writing that whole ass montage, this is long enough as it is-)

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The 6 of them were walking, the other 5 being dramatic, and (Name) having a mental breakdown because this is so fucking cringy. "Thank's for doing this, guys." He says, "What's the job?" Angelina asks "That was it. Bye." Rick says, pulling you and Morty from them.

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Miles starts off his speech (idk ok, I'm tired, and probably not gonna pass out for another 2 days) "And then, the police stole the paintings because the police were us in police outfits." the crowd starts cheering, to which Miles thanks them. The door to the room opens, showing a smiling (Name), neutral Morty, and Rick. "It's showtime, and I don't mean a bad impression of HBO I mean, 'Time for a show'"

"Another heist question from a fan?" Miles asks, looking around the crowd. "Uh, how about a rhetorical one from someone that had to be reminded that you exist?" Rick asks, a security guard moving in front of Miles, "Hey, pal! That's not the question line!" he says, moving to tackle Rick, only to phase through him, (Name) staring in awe "how the shit-" "Lab coat, rip off Dr Strange," Rick commands, the lab coat pulling a Dr Strange' Coat. Miles frown "Rick Sanchez, everyone. Smartest man in the universe, and a savage critic of the heisting arts," the crowd boos, making Rick turn to look at them "YOUR BOOS MEAN NOTHING, I'VE SEEN WHAT MAKES YOU CHEER" he turns back around, "My question is, 'seriously?'-" he tosses Miles the origami horse, "-Lab coat, end rip off" his lab coat flies back to him, throwing the security guard in the process. "You stole the gem I needed to split tachyons and probably fenced it so the 80 people that did all the work could each buy a beer," Rick points a finger at Mile's chest "You're not an artist, you're Postmates," "I doubt this rivalry can be settled with words, why don't we make things interesting?" Miles turns around "I challenge you to heist the crystal skull of Horowitz, in a heist off!" Miles cheers... well... cheerfully. "Sorry to say this, but that doesn't really make it interesting, sir," (Name) smiles, tilting his head slightly, to which Mile's face turns slightly red-er... Rick rolls his eyes. "State your terms," he sighs. "First crew to the skull wins, the other endures heist culture's greatest shame. They must join the winning crew." "Lame" Rick crosses his arms "I accept"

"Please welcome, Knightley's Eight!"

"Snake Arms!"

"Double Microwave!"

"Monitor Lord!"

"Key Catcher!"

"The Shape Shiftress!"

"Angie Flint!"

"Glar!"

"and Truckula!"

"Hey! Half of Knightley's Eight are just three of Sanchez's Six!" Morty complains "Well, no heist is complete without a double-cross," Miles explains. (Name) pouts. "And you had the perfect job..." (Name) looks at him rather bitterly, to which Miles flinches, catching the satchel Angie had tossed him "Heisting the crystal skull,"

｡☆✼★━━━FlashBack━━━★✼☆｡

"That was it, bye," Rick walks away with (Name) and Morty. Miles walks in. "Looks like you're available for a job,"

(insert heist scene, this is so fucking long istg, you watched the episode, didn't you?)

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"With Rick Sanchez on my team, I'll be unstoppable, Rick, welcome to Knightley's Nine" Miles smiles, opening the bag, putting his hand in, only to reel back, pull his hand out, to see it was brown, sticky, and smelly. "Blegh! Rick, seriously?" (Name) belches, covering his nose and gagging slightly, trying his best not to vomit then and there. Rick shrugs "Eh, you got that skull, buddy?" Rick says as Morty pulls out the crystal skull from his backpack. "What? How?" Miles asks.

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(insert video link to the scene bc too lazy, also (Name) didn't see that stuff bc Rick didn't want him to)

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"Ugh. It wasn't even a heist. All you did was--" "Write an algorithm based on two heist movies I slept through and used it to automate a joyless process you call art? Yeah, I really did, didn't I?" Rick cuts him off. "So I'm in your crew now?" "Nah, you're free, I just did this to prove a point, C'mon Morty, (Name)," Rick gestures them to the door, tossing the skull to Miles, (Name) rushing out, happy to be able to go home.

(this is around 2-3 pages long, and I'm tired, enjoy this)

[xeo-kunsatan]

Dissatisfied One shot +14 (Part 2)

Warning

This story contains sexual themes, gore, Domestic abuse themes, Suicide, cigarettes use, bad words and prostitution references. If you are sensitive or underage please don't read this story.

8:00 pm

???: Son.. Son!

Bradley: Father?...

It was one of my father's camera larvae.

Betrayus: can you please come?

Bradley: what's wrong Dad?

Betrayus; We need to talk...

Bradley:.. uh?.. okay.

I escaped from round house as i used to do while Quartzy was following me and keeping me safe to go to the labyrinth and then go through a portal to the netherworld.

Now there, My Father was waiting for me, his Expression was different, he seemed worried..

Betrayus: Son we need to talk...

Bradley: What's it Dad?..

Betrayus: I respect your privacy .. but with all respect.. you have nothing to do selling your body like this, You are still so young And this is absolutely not sexual freedom.

Bradley: I know...I can't avoid it..

Betrayus: first Bradley if you needed money or something, you most told me..

Bradley: But i Don't want to bother you...

Betrayus: *pets him* C'mon my shiny Ruby.. it's not a bother for me, i am your father and it's my duty to give you all you need.

Bradley: If i were death.. my life can be better here.

Betrayus: Honestly yes, but Bradley you have a life and all you can do is enyoi and experiment for more things, suffering is not just the only thing is you will have, more wonderful things would be waiting for you.. i am sure it would be.

Bradley: It's strange to hear you saying this.. even when you want to take over Pac world.

Betrayus: Well yes, but i want you to enjoy it before Id destroy it.

Bradley: Sounds reasonable.

Betrayus: Second and very important, what you are doing for your emptiness is wrong.

Bradley: I know.. i just can't avoid it.. I'm just trying to felt filled but not.. i really don't know what exactly i need to feel less pathetic that i already am.

Betrayus: Selling your body with people who treats you as shit will not fill your emptiness

Bradley: And then.. what the fuck you think i need!?

Betrayus; I don't think so.. Bradley what you need is love and support.. and you know what's another problem.. you already have love and support.. from me, your sister, the netherworld.. and not just the netherworld.. maybe it's incredible but you have it from your cousins, even when they tried to separate you from them and of course from your best friend and your dog, and believe me.. you have enough with it, it's just thing about having time for it.

Bradley: I didn't.. think about it.. I'm sorry Dad

Betrayus: So please Bradley, stop selling your body for Money nor even to make you feel filled, here you have all you need.

Bradley: Okay okay Dad, I will try..but hey a good side is that i have a better way to insult my classmates.

Betrayus: Ok you're a Goddam genius and all me, when i was from your age i used to sleep with others and the next day when they pretended to don't know me i used to make fun of them related with their bodies's features.

Bradley: *chuckles* you can't be serious

Betrayus: Really, It was so funny, even a good way to bother my awful brother.

Bradley: Okey

Betrayus: Remember son if you need something, you can tell and i can give it to you, like new clothing so you can have new clothes and not just your sister's clothing.

Bradley: It's not that bad that i inherited my sister's clothes, they are so cool and warm, she had a really good taste in dressing..

Betrayus: All from me and your mother

Bradley: By the way, where is she this time?

Betrayus: In Pacopolis scaring people with Blinky and Inky, both are having fun, also she took my champagne bottle.

Bradley:*chuckles* oh Man

Betrayus: That's my boy, i love to see you smile, so cheer up son.

Bradley:*sighs and hugs Betrayus* i love you Dad..

Betrayus: and i love you too my son, now go before Stratos founds out that you escaped from home.

Bradley: Alright Dad.

I left the netherworld, Quartzy was waiting for me to then walk together to our way to The round house.

During the way, i found out that Bryan, Lexy's boyfriend was laughing next to a girl while they were cuddling up, i didn't helped to feel mad by it and Quartzy was growling at it too.

Bradley: Hey Smallhead!

Bryan: Huh! Me!?

Erika: Eh?!?

Quartzy: Grrrghh...

Bradley: No.. i was talking with the stone behind you..

Bryan: Alright weirdo...

Erika: Ignore him, sweetie

Bradley: You don't catch the sarcasm, right?

Bryan: Now i see you better, Bradley or i mean..The Play-Bunny, you don't have a Dick to eat or something?

Quartzy: *thinks* "Don't make me bite you"..

Erika:*giggles*

Bradley: Didn't you had a Boyfriend to be loyal?

Erika: Wait what!? You have a Boyfriend?

Bryan: E-Eh!? No i can explain!

Lexy: Explain what!? About you cheated on me!!?

Bryan: Lexy!!? What are you doing here!?

Bradley: How did you found us?

Lexy: Biscocho have lost and me and my father are looking for him...and i heard all..

Erika: Eh!? Bryan you told me that you were straight!

Lexy: You told me that you would never disappoint me!

Bryan: I-I..

Bradley: You disgusted me from the start.. now i know i wasn't wrong..

Bryan: You awful slut! *Starts hitting Bradley*

Lexy: Brad!!

Quartzy: Grhhh!! *Bites Bryan in his leg*

Erika: *attacks Lexy* How dare you to take my man!?

Lexy:*stops her* It was my Boyfriend!

Bradley: *defending himself* I am not guilty about that you cheated on my friend!

Bryan: And you judge me? You are the one who is sleeping with all the boys in maze high

Bradley: At least i don't have a partner to be unloyal..

Bryan: Shut up!! *Throws Bradley against the wall, breaking one of Brad's Badges*

Quartzy: Ok.. so you choose to play dirty..

Bryan: What the-

Bradley's right fist temperature was getting higher without him noticing, he hitted Bryan's face burning his face in the process.

Bryan: AAAAAAAAARGH

Bradley: Holy shit.. your face..

Quartzy: :0..

Lexy: Qué?..

Erika: You monster!! I'm leaving!! I will call the police right now!.

Bryan: Aargh!! Please!! And call the ambulance!! My fucking face!

Mitzy: Oh no you don't..*pushes Erika to the road just in time when a car was passing by to then crash her* you're safe now.

Bryan; Erika!!

Lexy: a la puta madre [Holy Shit] A Talking doll!!?

Mitzy: Hehehe

Bradley: Mitzy what the fuck!!?

Quartzy: *thinks* what a chaos

Blinky: We saved you butt your majesty~

Inky: a "Thank you" would be nice.

Bryan: Ghosts!!! Ugh! It's not over yet!! *Leaves*

Bradley: Guys thank you so much, but Mitzy what the heck!?

Mitzy: Don't worry she would be fine~

Quartzy:*sniffs Erika's corpse* ...

Inky: Be careful your majesty, the cups would pass by

Lexy: Ok Bradley.. thank you for defending me and giving that jerk a lesson but.. *takes Bradley's Hand* Run!!

Bradley: I'll go!..

Quartzy: *follows them*

Lexy, Bradley and Quartzy quickly ran away to meet up with Martín.

Martin: Lexy, you came, i finally found Bizco-.. Bradley? What are you doing here?

Bradley:*panting* long... Story

Quartzy:*thinks* a really burning story...

Lexy: Bizcocho! *Hugs the big fat cat* Dad.. my boyfriend cheated on me.

Martín: He what!!??

Lexy: But don't worry, Bradley gave him a lesson, he deformed his face with a punch.

Quartzy: *thinks* Honestly he looks better with that new face hehehe

Bradley: My fist was in fire Lexy.. i don't know why..

Martín: I think i know, please give me your right hand.

Bradley: B-but.. what if i hurt you sir..

Martín: Dear, I'm a chef, i play and work with fire.

Bradley: if you say so...*gives Martín his hand, his palm was covered with tiny flames*

Martín: Bradley, You have powers.. and *shows him his badge of his same hand* your uncle and Grandmother have hided that from you for really long time.

Bradley: What!?.. what do you mean?

Martin:*takes off that badge from Bradley's right hand* do you know what is this?

Bradley: Uhh.. the Badge my grandmother wanted to not take it off, don't think i didn't had my suspicions about it.

Martín: I'm glad that you already suspect about it, this is a badge used for powered Pacworlders so they cannot have problems with their powers, mostly related with stress, some of this Badges used to be to force that, Pacworlders to hide their powers *turns on the badge again* this shit is easy to repair..

Bradley: Are you telling me that.. all this time i.... Oh no... Oh no...

Lexy: Bradley?...

Quartzy: *Thinks* Not again.. not this..

Bradley: Now it was sense... I finally know why my Grandmother and uncle treated me like that... Now i understand why did they used to separate me from my cousins... It has sense.. I'm an actual monster.

Quartzy:*cuddles with Bradley*.. Hmm *Thinks* No Bradley.. you are not a monster.. quit telling that.

Bradley:*takes his badge and puts on it* I'm sorry Mr Martín.. Lexy..

Lexy: Bradley.. no..

The Round house Limo have arrived

Stratos: There you are!, You will be punished by escaping from home!..

Bradley: ..sorry...

Lexy: No Bradley! Wait!!

Martín: With all respect Mr president you..

Stratos: Nope!..

Quartzy: Grrrghh!! *Attacks Stratos*

Stratos: Argh!!

One of the bodyguards shoots Quartzy to make her leave alone Stratos.

Bradley: Quartzy NO!!!

Bizcocho escapes scared by the shoot

Stratos and his bodyguards take Bradley to the Limo and drived away without.

Martin: Viejo conche su madre... [Bitch]

Lexy: *sees after Quartzy* Oww no.. Bradley...

Quartzy:*moves*

Lexy: Oh shit is alive!!

Martin: *takes off the dart* it's not an actual bullet.. it's a Dart

Quartzy: *thinks* Ok I'm a little unlucky with shootings.

Martín: what a relief she is alive *holds her* let's take care of her while she recovers.

Lexy: Oki Doki.

9:49 pm

Stratos have seended Bradley to the Round house jail as a punishment.

Stratos: You cross the line young man.. I told you million times to don't go outside in the night, anything you want to say?

Bradley: You killed Quartzy..

Stratos: don't avoid my question..

Bradley: You killed my dog..and you left her behind as a trash..

Stratos: I didn't killed her, my bodyguards actually shoot her with a pacifier Dart.

Bradley:*sighs*...

Stratos: You would be here all the night and the rest of the next day..*leaves*

Bradley:*sighs* If you already consider me as a monster.. i would give you a real monster *Takes off his right badge*...

His hand started burning again but not with more strength.

While that Betrayus have watched everything with full of rage.

Betrayus: My Son have finally discovered his powers and a part of the truth.. Dear brother you will pay for this.

[conaionaru]

Honor and Blood (Ivar the Boneless)

Beginnings and endings

Synopsis: The naming ceremony and Silas’s punishment

Warnings: Murder, angst, fluff, gore

Tags:

@youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @didiintheblog @lol-haha-joke @shannygoatgruff @heavenly1927 @chynagirl13 @queenbeeta @thereareendlessopportunities @astridbaby​ 

I don’t own the gifs. Also, thank you for your support. I really appreciate it. If you want to be tagged please write me<3

Vanya sat in the Great Hall next to Ivar in a new white dress, her hair loose around her shoulders. She observed the marks on the table, trailing her fingers over them. Everyone around her talked, too, focused on their plans of Silas's punishment to even notice her despair.

The man from her dreams, Hoenir, sat on her right, while Ivar sat on her left. Brynja and Margrethe run around their table, serving their meal. It has been two days since Vanya returned home. She got some deserved rest, but her mind was plagued with her worries.

They wouldn't let her see her son; sometimes, when everything grew quiet, she could hear him cry. It tore at her heart, but according to the healers, she was in no state to be near a newborn. During her time on the run, she caught a cold, her fever was high, and she felt like throwing up after every meal.

Listening to the Ragnarsson, Aslaug, Floki, and Helga argue about what to do with Silas wasn't what she yearned to do. "Are you alright, Vanya?" Brynja questioned her a soft hand on her shoulder, steadying the swaying princess. Vanya nodded tiredly and leaned against Ivar's shoulder.

The Viking entwined their hands together and kissed her damp temple.

He asked her to stay in bed, but Vanya knew she had to be there, no matter how much she hated it. She sentenced Silas to death; it's her duty to help choose the way he will die. "Let's burn him alive," Hvitserk suggested once again, causing his brothers to roll their eyes.

"Slit his throat, that's what he wanted to happen to Vanya." Sigurd countered, but the others disagreed again.

"Too kind, it must be more painful and drawn out." Ivar reminded them, his left hand in a tight fist while his right one squeezed Vanya's hand tighter, to remember that she is here.

Floki raised his cup and giggled in the mad way he always does. "Skin him alive." He offered but was shot down as well. Everyone kept suggesting different methods of execution, all rejected one by one. It was getting tiring for Vanya, draining her of the last bits of strength she regained.

"Maybe you should lay down, Vanya. You don't look so good." Ubbe softly told her, looking at her with tender eyes. She looked broken, her left hand wrapped in bandages to cover her cut. There was also a bandage on the cauterized wound on her shoulder. It would scar, which she didn't care about. Ivar was right; it was a sign of survival, a proof of her strength.

She shook her head and straightened in her seat to look healthier than she felt. "I can't sleep or rest anymore. I need to be here so Silas can be dealt with. He needs to die a painful death, I promised him that, and that's what will happen. No arrows or drowning or hanging. My brother needs to suffer as I suffered; at least I am sparing him the pain of not knowing if you will survive." She spat angrily, slumping back in her chair, exhausted. How pathetic was she? She couldn't even talk without getting tired.

She sighed and moved to stand up, Hoenir rising as well. The silent stranger followed her around like a shadow. He sat in front of her hut with his sword drawn, only letting family and Brynja in. The servant found his mysteriousness and silence charming, Vanya found it eerie. She yearned for human contact, not a silent wall lurking around. Ivar spent every waking moment by her side as well, always checking on her and touching her in some way. More for his sanity than her's.

He didn't check on their son either, too afraid to leave her alone. Vanya was thankful for his protectiveness; she missed it. But she yearned for her son as well, what if he was sick as well?

Vanya made her way towards their chambers and laid down to sleep with Ivar by her side, wrapped around her like a vice, but still somehow comforting. She could feel his chest fall and rise against her back, but sleep wouldn't take her. Her eyes were wide open, and her heartbeat frantically, on guard despite being safe. Nightmares plagued her rest nearly every night, dreams of drowning, freezing, or waking up to her son's corpse in her arms.

Everyone treated her like a broken toy, too scarred by what happened to her to be whole again. In the end, Silas had won. Nine months ago, he sent her here to wither and die. And now she looks half dead and feels hollow. With a shuttering breath, Vanya slowly crawled out of Ivar's arms and into the street, walking past Hoenir, who slept by the door. She shook him awake and made him follow her to the hut where Silas is held.

"Are you sure you want to see him?" The Silent wandered questioned her, but the ginger only nodded and ordered the guards to let her in.

The hut was lit with candles and smelled of wine and piss. Two aromas that Silas always despised, how fitting that it would be the last things he would know. "She lives." A voice rasped from a corner startling her.

With some difficulty and grunts, Silas rose from his hiding place behind the bed. He looked just as bad as her. Two days in a cell, and he was filthy, drunk, and pathetic. It suited him, pain, and despair. "You look terrible."

He chuckled and collapsed back into a chair, the furniture nearly topping over from the force. "I always imagined myself immortal. Forever alive and in people's minds. And here I am. Covered in piss, looking like some kitchen rat." He spat on the ground glaring at everything around him.

Vanya took his sorry state in, tucking it into the back of her mind to remember him by. Not the cruel King with a crown on his head, but as nothing better than a beggar with one foot in the grave. "You are human, just like everyone else. Everyone dies, Silas. Even Kings."

Silas scoffs and hurls his cup towards her, the guards and Hoenir barge in but stand back when Vanya raises a hand, palm facing Silas. "It's alright. Please leave." The three men leave brother and sister alone to talk. One last conversation before Silas pays for his crimes.

Her brother watches the display of power that Vanya possesses and reached towards the last piece of bread he had left. He tore at it like a savage, disgusting even himself. All his grace and power stripped away by his sister, how the tables have turned. "You mean Father, don't you?"

Vanya looked at him, puzzled, unaware of what he meant by the comment. But Silas didn't wait for her to question him, he pointed the finger at her and chuckled. "You always talked of that bastard. Alive or dead, you worshipped him, even though there was nothing special about him. You have no idea what kind of inconsiderate prick he was."

"Father was a good person, far better than you or me." Vanya insisted, not letting him insult their late father.

Silas sneered and threw a piece of bread at her, that she batted away before it hit her face. She frowned at his ridiculous behavior, fed up with his dramatics. "Of course, you would think that you were his favorite. You were the obedient child with big sad doe eyes. Do you know what I was? I was the embarrassment, the reject. I was three, and he called me a monster. All because I didn't follow his rules."

The ginger shook her head and walked closer to Silas. "Father loved you, but you were always so quick to start a fight. He tried to make you a good king, but you rejected him, and now here we are."

"Ah, yes, here we are. The Monster and the Gifted one." Silas swallowed the last piece of bread and spread his arms wide in a mocking gesture. He didn't love me, or you or anyone else. Osmond used people, you stupid wench! He married a girl half his age, filled her with seed, and when the child didn't meet his expectations, he threw them both away and fucked everything pretty. And then you were born, perfect little Vanya - the Gracious gift of God. You nodded along to everything and did as he said. Other than me, who had his own opinions."

Vanya scoffed and licked her dry lips to hold back the foul words on the tip of her tongue. "Father was a good King and a better parent than Mother. You spat, beat, and laughed at other children. You were always rotten, Silas. And Father knew it, so did Mother."

"I did it to get attention; no one would pay attention to the reject! Before you were born, I was the perfect firstborn. But not to him! To Father, I was the little monstrosity that refused to keep quiet about his affair. I was three and saw him fucking another woman. I told Mother, and he grew angry with me, by the time you were born, I was a bastard in their eyes. The one that destroyed their marriage, as if I was the one getting his dick wet behind my wife's back."

The princess stared at Silas in shock, Osmond always said that his son was born cruel. To think all of the cruelty, hate, and violence came from their parent's treatment. Siflaed was a neglectful mother, and it turns out Osmond was no better. Vanya always saw him as a smart man with good intentions, when in truth, he was nothing like that.

"He was a good King, true. But a terrible Father, husband, and person. Just like me." Silas smirked at his small victory, while Vanya frowned at him. "He treated you better because you were naive and gullible. All the talk of duty, putting the kingdom first and God. You were born to be a bargaining chip, just like Mother, married off to the highest bidder. Face it; there is no kindness in our blood."

"I am not you or them!" Vanya insisted, causing Silas to laugh.

"If that's what you like to believe."

Vanya slammed her hands against the table, startling Silas. She huffed and got in his face, her eyes as cold as ice. "You did horrible things to me and everyone around you. I am nothing like you."

"If you want to blame anyone, then blame Stithulf."

"Stithulf didn't order men to murder three people!" Vanya spat at him, remembering the blonde man who talked to her about Silas as a King. How charming he seemed, the two-faced bastard.

"He reminded me what a threat you and your child pose to my reign. He told me the only way to ensure my glory and throne was to kill anyone who wants to take it away. First you and your child, then Mother's brother Æthelric. He said I was meant to rule, that the world would remember me. And they will. These heathens of yours will kill me, probably torture as well. And the church will name me a martyr for my faith, and history will remember me as Silas the Great." Silas boasted, throwing his arms around and nearly falling out of his chair in the process.

Vanya shook her head and looked at the cross on his desk, the one he gifted her, their father's cross. "Only those who lived a righteous life can be names martyrs. You executed, hurt, and humiliated people. You are no saint, Silas, and the church won't care for your death. Terrible people don't go to heaven."

The older Saxon rose from the chair and leaned against the table, looking into his wine cup. "Then, I shall see you in Hell. That's where you heathen scum will all go. And we can burn side by side as we did in our cribs." He raised his cup and downed it in one go before letting it slip through his fingers and hit the ground. "Farewell, Sister."

He stumbled towards his bed and collapsed on it face first, his white shirt falling lower, exposing his shoulder blades. Vanya watched his naked back, she then turned on her heel and left the hut to return to her own. She made a decision. Yesterday Ivar explained to her all the ways Vikings executed people, and one seemed perfect to Vanya now.

Her husband sat up in their bed, looking at Vanya with tired eyes. "Where did you go? Are you hurt?"

"Blood eagle," Vanya answered, confusing Ivar further.

"What?"

She sighed and sat down next to him, looking into his eyes. "The way we should kill Silas. You should Blood Eagle him after the naming ceremony." She explained as Ivar nodded, still confused about the sudden decision.

Vanya closed her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling her shoulders get lighter. As if the weight on them dropped, making breathing easier than before. She opened her icy eyes again and stared into her husband's stormy hues. "What is it, Min elskede (My beloved)?"

She chuckled at the tender tone, having missed the endearment more than she thought was possible. "I was terrified out there, Ivar. I thought I would never see you or Kattegat ever again." Tears gathered in her eyes, her lips shaking from the oncoming sobs.

Ivar cupped her cheek and wiped her tear away with his thumb. "You are here now. And nobody will ever take you away from me. I will never let anyone harm you or our son again."

Vanya sobbed and flung herself into his arms, breathing in his scent and hugging him tightly, as if it was all a dream that would disappear if she let go. "From now on, you never have to be afraid, Vanya. I will protect you both. No one, not even death, will ever lay a hand on you again!"

Ivar kissed her temple before she pulled back and stared into his eyes, looking for any sign of lies or uncertainty. But she found none, all she saw was honesty and rage. Anger that he let anyone harm them. "You have to swear it, Ivar! Promise me." She begged desperately, afraid to ever have to fight for her life again.

"I promise and swear on my life and the Gods. I will never, ever let anyone harm you or our son. No matter what it might take to keep you both safe, I will do everything and more to protect you. From now on, you'll both be safe and sound. I oath not to enter Vallhalla if I brake this promise. I swear on my arm ring."

Vanya leaned against his chest and sighed in satisfaction, with one less problem on her mind, she slept easier. Her son's absence still plagued her mind, but the sooner everything was done, the sooner she could have him in her arms again. 

The next morning, five days since their son's birth, they all stood gathered in the Great Hall once again, revealing the plan to Blood Eagle Silas. "And who will do it? Ivar can't stand." Sigurd pointed out, making his brother snarl at him.

"It doesn't matter. We can give him a chair, or let someone else do it." Vanya jumped in before a fight broke out. She was in no mood to watch them argue; the most important thing right now is that Silas dies; it doesn't matter by whose hand. 

Everyone nodded, looking at the wedded couple glued to each other's hip. Vanya still looked sick and weak, but the more she clung to Ivar, the straighter her back got, and the higher she held her head. She was gaining back the confidence she gathered during her nine months of marriage to their brother. There were still bits of fear and edginess visible, but with Ivar and Hoenir shadowing her, she breathed easier. 

"You are on edge." Sigurd pointed out, voicing what everyone was thinking. Vanya locked gaze with him and smiled to reassure them.

"I..." A cry interrupted her sentence; a child was crying somewhere. "I miss my son, that's all. They still won't let me see him." 

Aslaug frowned at the information and looked at her youngest son for confirmation. Ivar nodded and took Vanya's hand in his, trying to comfort his sad wife. The Queen rose from her seat and left the Ragnarssons, Vanya, Torvi, and Hoenir. 

When she returned, it was with the sound of a crying infant. She opened the door with a babe in her arms, cradling it softly, trying to calm it down. "Mother?" Questioned Ubbe, confused, carrying his nephew towards Vanya.

The ginger looked at Aslaug bewildered, as the older woman laid the child into her arms. "You went through hours of horrendous labor and near death for this child. If anyone deserves to hold him, it is you." Aslaug smiled at Vanya, who hugged her son closer to her, the boy calming down the moment he smelled her scent. 

The child reached out with his little hand and grasped a fiery lock, playing with it while staring up at her, sniffling slightly. Vanya smiled at his teary gaze and wiped his tears, stroking his smooth chubby cheek. "Looks like he just missed his mother. What a surprise from Ivar's child." 

Aslaug and Vanya frowned at Sigurd's comment but ignored it as Ivar was too engrossed at looking at the little version of himself in his wife's arms. "That is the safest child in Kattegat." Hvitserk pointed out, looking at the calm baby slobbering over Vanya's hair.

Bjorn snorted and patted Vanya and Ivar on the shoulder. "With a mother ready to burn kingdoms down and a father into ritual sacrifice? It only fits with a grandson of Ragnar Lothbrok." 

The others nodded along while Vanya looked at Ivar with a raised eyebrow. At Ivar's confused stare, she smiled down at the babe. "Hold your hands out, Ivar. You should hold him too." 

Ivar looked at the frail newborn and shook his head. "I will drop him, Vanya." 

The redhead rolled her eyes and passed the child towards him despite his protests. "You are holding him with your arms, not your legs. Bond with him, he didn't see that much of you." She spoke softly, not meaning it in a mean way. 

With tender eyes, Ivar looked at his son, noting the wiggling legs under the fur. He would walk one day, run around just like Ivar's brothers could. At least in something, the gods were merciful; they listened to his prayers and made his son strong and healthy. Just like his mother prophesied, and his son would be like his grandmother. He would have visions, Hoenir, and Aslaug were sure of it. 

"Did you think of a name?" Ubbe asked, watching his serene nephew. 

"Yes. But it's a surprise." Vanya revealed giggling at Torvi and Hvitserk, cooing at the babe who frowned at them in return. 

In the heathen culture, nine days after a babe is born, the naming ceremony is held. Vatni ausinn is a ritual where the father acknowledges the child and names it. Ivar sat in a chair with their son on his knee, sprinkling the babe with water. 

"My son, Aros!" He announced to the room while his babe everyone cheered in delight. Ubbe nudged Vanya, who stood next to him, clapping. The redhead looked up at him with a questioning look at the older males smug look.

"From the river's mouth? Really?" He asked about the name meaning while Vanya shrugged.

"It fits, does it not?"

"I guess it does." He looked back towards his little brother, cradling his firstborn lovingly. "Aros Ivarsson."

After the ceremony, Ivar and Vanya returned to their hut, with Hoenir following behind them. Her husband was about to order some thralls to fill their tub with water when Brynja ran towards them. "Wait, My Prince. Let me do it. I would like to spend some time with Vanya anyway. If you were to permit it."

Ivar looked at Vanya in question, but the ginger smiled at him reassuringly. "Go. I could use a distraction before tomorrow. And Hoenir will be outside; we will be fine. Have fun with your brothers." She reassured him, kissing his forehead and sending him off.

The Prince and wanderer left the hut, the girls cold Hoenir sitting outside on the bench, but ignored his presence. Vanya turned on her heel to look at Brynja, who smiled at her softly, her eyes glassy. 

"What's wrong? Are you unwell?" Vanya frantically ran to the other redhead's side, pulling her towards the bed to sit down. Brynja laughed at the worried mother and shook her head, her curls bouncing around her.

"I am just happy to see you again. My life would be very boring without you, My Princess." She confessed, hugging Vanya, careful of the sleepy babe in her arms. Vanya embraced the older ginger with her left arm, enjoying the affection Brynja gave her.

Truth is Brynja is her only true friend here, that she befriended outside of marriage. Of course, Ubbe, Torvi, Hvitserk, and Bjorn are her friends as well. But if it weren't for her marriage to Ivar, she would have never talked to them. Vanya liked to believe her, and Brynja would be friends even if it weren't for Ivar. If she ever were to get divorced, Brynja would still be her friend. 

The curly-haired ginger had a pure heart, contagious smile, and shared Vanya's love for children. She gave the best advice and listened to her complaining without any remarks. For every complaint Vanya told her, Brynja gave two. Servant or not, she was a good girl and an even better friend.

"I bought you a gift!" Brynja cheered, letting Vanya put Aros into his crib. Floki made it for the babe from the boat meant to serve as their coffin if they were found dead. It was quite morbid, but Vanya didn't mind it that much, and Aros seemed comfortable. 

The Viking girl showed her a present wrapped in a cloth. She laid it on Vanya's lap and mentioned for her to open it. Brynja was giddy, and in turn, Vanya became giddy as well, she unwrapped the gift and looked inside to see the neckline of a dress. The fabric was blue with white lacings. 

"You bought me a dress?" Vanya asked, confused, looking up at the sheepish ginger.

"Made actually. It's not as pretty as the ones you make or the ones you buy. I don't know how to make dresses like that, so it's plainer." Brynja apologized, frowning down at the dress, no longer as excited as before.

Vanya shook her head and walked towards the mirror with the gift in hand. Watching herself in the mirror, Vanya marveled at the simple dress. It wasn't as lavish as the dresses Vanya was used to having, but she liked its look. "It's beautiful. I bet it's comfortable as well." She reassured the other female twirling around with the dress to see it flow in the air.

"I made it for your name day, but I didn't get to give it to you." With a  bashful smile, Brynja watched the Princess gush over the dress. It took her a long time to make the dress, but the smile was worth all her frustration with the fabric. And all the times her father laughed at her pricking her finger. 

Vanya turned on her heel and looked at Brynja, shocked. "You wasted money on me!" She cried out mortified, the fact that the poor girl bought fabric to create the dress. But Brynja shook her head and shrugged the issue off. 

The young mother carefully set the dress down on the bed and skipped to her wardrobe to look inside. "You must choose one of mine, even if you sell it. I can't just accept a gift like that and give you nothing in return!"

Brynja shook her head at the frantic Princess and observed her rummaging through all the dresses she owned. "That's what gifts are for, Vanya. You give them out of love, not expecting anything back."

"Nonsense!" Vanya fussed and turned towards the other ginger. Brynja's smile was tired, and her eyes pleading. She didn't want anything in return, but that didn't sit with Vanya. "Choose whatever dress you want. If not for yourself, then for me. You gave me a gift out of love. So chose yours."

Brynja smiled at that and walked to the closet to find a dress for herself. In the end, she chose a purple one with long dark sleeves. "Purple. Like your favorite flowers."

"You remember?" Brynja blinked at Vanya in astonishment while Vanya mockingly rolled her eyes, smirking.

She circled the older female in front of the mirror and stopped behind her, propping her chin on her shoulder. "Of course, I remember. I always remember small things like that. But don't ask me anything important. I do forget these things very easily." Brynja chuckled and felt the soft fabric with her fingers, liking the feel of it. It was obviously expensive, but the servant wouldn't complain to Vanya. "How is your father, anyway? Is he better?"

Brynja hummed and laid the dress on the bed, neatly folding it and wrapping it in the cloth from Vanya's gift. "Stronger every day, which he keeps showing off. I think he fell in love with the neighbor's widow. He keeps running around shirtless and lifting heavy things."

Vanya laughed at the image of Brynja's father only in his breeches, smiling every time he sees the widow. "Maybe he is taking the lack of children in his own hands. Trying to create some little ones on his own."

"Oh, gods! I hope not; he is too old." Brynja gagged and smirked at Vanya, crowding closer and whispering into her ear. "I would rather make some of my own. But there are no men good enough."

The Princess sighed and sat down on her bed, looking up at the cheeky ginger. "And why are you whispering? Are you afraid that the man outside might hear?"

"I saw his face once, quite handsome. A bath would do him wonders. And new clothes." Brynja confessed, gushing over Hoenir. The seventeen-year-old mother shook her head, and teasingly smiled at Brynja.

"My, my, is someone in love?"

"Hush, Vanya! Or I will regret missing you at all!" Brynja joked back, fake glaring at the taller girl, while she laughed it off. It was good to be back and joke around, forgetting what is going to happen tomorrow.

The two girls walked to the door after the bath was prepared, saying goodbye for the night. Vanya watched her go with a small smile, thankful for her visit. She then turned on her heel and sat down next to Hoenir, who looked at her in confusion. 

At least she suspected it to be confusion; it's hard to tell in the dark when he has his hood on. "I wanted to thank you for the advice you gave me in my dreams."

"No need to do that. You would have survived anyway; I had a vision of our meeting. It couldn't happen if you died before we met. My job now is to make certain you don't die from here on." His voice was smooth, yet a little bit rusty and monotone like always. She wondered if he felt any emotions or just his them pretty well.

"Then I thank you for that instead. But I wish for you to find a hut, not just a bench or a piece of fur outside of ours."

Hoenir shook his head and looked down at her cold frame. "I need to be near if somebody were to attack you."

"Ivar will be with me."

"Doesn't mean you will be safe."

Vanya sighed and looked out towards the sleepy streets of Kattegat, smiling softly. "I am safe. I am home, surrounded by friends and family. I have nothing to fear."

Hoenir scoffed and leaned back, ignoring the persistent ginger by his side. Vanya looked at him, expecting an explanation of his behavior, but he gave her none. "Say what you want to, Hoenir. If we are to spend a lot of time together, you should be able to say what you want to."

"You are very annoying."

"I know. Get used to it." She smiled at him cheekily, causing him to shake his head and stand up. Vanya looked at him in confusion, till he pointed at a crawling shape in the dark. 

"Your husband's coming. And I have a hut to find. I don't want to hear anything I shouldn't." Vanya nodded, satisfied until the meaning behind the words hit her.

"We wouldn't if you were outside! That's so improper!" She scolded him, blushing madly. Did Hoenir really think that she and Ivar would sleep together if he were right outside their door? 

He shrugged his broad shoulders and pulled his cloak tighter around his body. "You never know. I believe I have to take a bath, as well."

Vanya looked at him, shocked, and blushed even harder. "You heard?"

"Some of it. I am a better listener than a talker. So get used to it as well, Princess."

"Call me, Vanya. Please."

"As you wish, Vanya. Goodnight, Sleep well. Both of you." With that, Hoenir sidestepped Ivar on the porch and stalked off towards a random hut, entering it and closing the door behind him.

"Whose hut it that?" She questioned her husband, who watched the wanderer walk off as well. 

"His. Mother gave it to him." He shrugged, crawling inside with Vanya behind him bewildered. The wretched man had a home all along and stayed in front of their hut instead. She didn't know if to be moved by his dedication or annoyed by his stubbornness. "Did you take your bath yet?"

"Not yet." She had her back turned to him while he sat by the tub. She put the dress away and slowly unbraided her hair. "Did you make a decision on who will kill Silas?"

"I will do it. Torvi went into labor. He will be with her, and I will Blood Eagle the little Monster." Ivar boasted pridefully, making her sigh. 

She brushed through her hair and put the tie that kept it together safely away to find it in the morning. "Let's hope the Gods are with Torvi, and the child will be born soon."

"If it's born sooner, Bjorn can kill your brother in my steed. It should be me killing him! I thought I lost two of the most important people in my life. He didn't worry about you two as I did!" Ivar complained as he dragged himself towards the fire chairs by the fire and poured himself a cup of ale.

"Ivar." Vanya scolded, untying the laces of her dress. "Torvi shouldn't suffer so that Silas can die by your hand. She deserves better."

"I think so too, but she is the one who married Bjorn." 

Vanya spun on her heel, annoyed by his words. She froze with her mouth open, looking at him sitting there sipping on his cup. He raised his eyebrow at her sudden silence and waited for her mind to start working again.

"Put a shirt on, Ivar! I am trying to scold you!" Ivar smirked at her flustered state and leaned back in the chair, showing off his naked chest.

"Why? Do you not like the view." He asked cheekily, making her pout and skip over to him. Kissing his lips, to wipe the smug look off his face, Vanya pulled back, raising an eyebrow at his satisfied face.

"You are a pain, husband. You are lucky I love you."

Ivar grinned at her teasing words and kissed her knuckles, gazing into her steel-blue eyes. "Good. I would be hurt if you didn't." Vanya chuckled softly and connected their lips again, enjoying being in Ivar's arms once again. "What would I be without my Freyja."

Vanya groaned at his question and slapped his shoulder pouting. The Ragnarsson frowned at her reaction, hurt by her dismissal. "I used to think you were the cleverest man alive. And here you are calling me a goddess like the rest of them. I am not Freyja or Frigg!"

Vanya stood up from his lap, dropped her dress, and stepped into the wooden bathtub. Ivar shook his head and put his cup down, looking at her seriously. "You are perfect, full of light and love. You love me despite everything I am and didn't blame me once for your suffering. Vanya, you are my wife, a survivor, and the mother of my child, far more powerful than you believe yourself to be. Min elskede (My beloved), you are either a gift from the Gods or a Goddess yourself, I have no doubts about that."

Vanya smiled at his loving words, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. "Do you really think I'm powerful?"

He chuckled at her question and pointed at himself. "I, for one, find you terrifying." She grinned at the answer and bashfully looked down into the water, trying to hide her blush behind a curtain of red locks. "Who else sees you as a goddess anyway?"

"The people do. And Sigurd as well."

Ivar frowned at the last part and sourly drank the rest of his ale, while Vanya silently laughed at his jealousy. "He believes me to be a goddess because I endure you. But it's not such a hard task as everyone makes it out to be. I enjoy your presence quite a bit." She smirked secretly; her head turned to pick up a cloth to clean herself with. When she turned around, Ivar's face was close to hers, startling her.

The rag would have hit the floor if it wasn't for him catching it. The corner of his perfect lips lifted at Vanya's wide-eyed stare. He seemed like a predator, watching his prey, enjoying every second of the hunt.  "I enjoy your presence, as well, obviously."

"Obviously." Vanya echoed, hypnotized by his hungry stare, his eyes like a raging storm, pulling her in deeper. She leaned in to connect their lips, but Ivar pulled away and crawled towards the beds to look at their child instead. She scoffed at his teasing and cleaned herself, pouting the whole time.

She expected Ivar to leave her alone after his stunt, but luckily for her, he had other plans. The moment she sat down on their bed, he kissed her and laid her down on the furs, making love to her carefully, in case she was still in pain after giving birth not that long ago.

The next morning, they were woken up by their son, whining in his bed, hungry and rested. They both groaned, exhausted from last night's lovemaking. Ivar sat up in bed, lifted Aros, and handed him to Vanya so she could nurse their little treasure.

"Silas will be bought to the Hall after our meal," Ivar informed her, watching her for any sign of hesitancy. But there was none. She decided he deserved to die even before Aros was born, and the fact that he threatened her son's life was the last nail in his coffin. Silas would die a painful death and burn in Hell for all eternity.

"Then let's go. The sooner we eat, the sooner this will all be over. And I can gust over Bjorn's and Torvi's baby." Vanya spoke, burping Aros while Ivar got dressed. After he was done, he took the babe from her and allowed her to clothe herself as well.

When she laced up her white dress and braided her hair, she walked towards Ivar and took the babe from his embrace, smoothing down the little hairs on Aros's head. Ivar picked up his axe and put it on his belt, so he wouldn't have to return for it later. When Vanya saw this, she frowned. "Wait."

Ivar looked at her, confused, waiting for her to continue. She laid Aros down on their bed, ensuring he was secure and walked over to her husband again. She took his axe and trailed her finger the edge, testing the sharpness. The sharp bite of the blade and the bead of blood that flowed down her finger reassured her that it was indeed ready to be used.

The execution would be smoother this way, which meant the whole ordeal wouldn't take too long. No matter her hate for Silas, she would hate for him to suffer under a dull blade. He always said he deserved the best, Vanya thought that should include the weapon that would kill him too.

Ivar gazed up at her, not sure to question her behavior or not. She seemed like she was in a trance, too deep in her mind to remember that she wasn't alone. He softly pried the weapon from her soft fingers and laid it on his lap, taking her hand into his and sucking on the fingertip to stop the bleeding.

Vanya kneeled in front of him and kissed the steel of his weapon, looking up at him pleadingly. "Make him pay. For everything."

"I will."

After breakfast, everyone gathered as Floki set up the posts where Silas would kneel. Ubbe walked to her side and tried to pull her back, but she wrenched her arm free and glared up at him.

"You don't have to be here, Vanya." Sigurd reminded her from her left, also looking at her with soft eyes like she would brake. As if she was weak, but he was wrong. They were all wrong. Vanya was a survivor like Ivar said.

The ginger shook her head and mentioned for Brynja to join her. She handed the babe to her and ordered Hoenir to take them to Ivar's and her hut. "I must be here. I have to see him die. If I don't, I will never be sure if it's over or not."

Ubbe watched her determined face and nodded, Sigurd on the other hand, scoffed and walked off, obviously displeased. "What is his problem?" Vanya asked, seeing the Ragnarsson stalk off, muttering under his breath.

Ubbe gave her a wry smile and shook his head. "He believes you to be tainted by Ivar. Sigurd thinks that he is forcing you into this. That he was the one who chose to Blood eagle Silas and not you."

Vanya scoffed at the explanation and glared at the retreating figure of the snake-eyed Viking. "If anybody deserves to see Silas die, then it's me. I was the one who spent three days in the middle of nowhere, freezing, bleeding, and starving. Silas made my life a living hell from the moment I can remember. I want him to suffer."

"I understand that. But Sigurd still sees you as that timid Princess who was forced to marry Ivar. Many of us do, but you have changed. You are stronger than before, more confident as well. But you don't have to force yourself. You did nearly faint at the mention of blood only nine months ago. No one would blame you if you needed to get some air."

Vanya smiled up at the worried Ragnarsson and linked her arms with his. "Then would you be so kind as to stand with me and catch me if I do faint? After all, you are my only friend left in the room."

Ubbe chuckled at that and led her towards a place near the door to have a good view and an escape route. Silas was dragged in by his arms, spitting insults at the men in English, not caring if they understood him or not. He was pulled on top of the podium and chained to the wooden posts, while a chair was positioned behind for Ivar to sit on. The Ragnarsson dragged himself up and sat down, looking for his wife, relieved to see her with Ubbe.

After a nod from her, he raised the axe and cut into Silas's flesh, a scream echoing around the hall. Vanya watched the display emotionlessly, taking in Silas's screams. They disgusted her; she wanted to cry but had no tears to shed. It was as if her heart and mind were two different entities, disagreeing with each other about what reaction to give. She hated the sight of blood, hated his screams and pain. But found relief in it.

He was dying in front of her eyes, and she was horrified by the display. But not enough to look away. Ubbe squeezed her hand in a silent question if she was ok. She shrank back but kept looking, cringing from time to time at the violence. This is the last time she would see death; she couldn't handle so much gore ever again.

"Vanya!" Silas screamed out between his cries for mercy, catching her eye in the crowd. Vanya locked gazes with his pleading one, her eyes cold and empty, a coverup of the turmoil in her core. "Please!"

She shook her head, keeping her head held high, not showing any sign of hesitance or weakness. She wanted Silas to see what he caused in her eyes before he died.

Blessed are the poor in spirit,

for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are they who mourn,

for they shall be comforted.

Blessed are the meek,

for they shall inherit the earth.

Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness,

for they shall be satisfied.

Blessed are the merciful,

for they shall obtain mercy.

Blessed are the pure of heart,

for they shall see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers,

for they shall be called children of God.

Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness,

for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Vanya repeated in her mind, remembering how their mother drilled the words into their minds as children. If Silas is truly a martyr, then he will be reunited with God, which she doubts, but maybe it will give comfort to Silas. The blond King kept screaming as Ivar drew the lungs from his body, putting it on his shoulders, his time on earth coming short. "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth." She whispered underneath her breath, seeing the life fade from Silas's eyes and his head fall.

He was dead.

[splat-dragon]

don't leave me here alone ~Safe and Sound, Taylor Swift

Whumptober 2020, #5: Where Did Everybody Go?: "Don't Say Goodbye"

“You’re my brother,”

and when had they stopped being brothers?

“I know,” Arthur didn’t even pause, just leaned against the side of the cliff face for the briefest moment to catch his breath, looked back at him and said it with a nod of his head as though it were a given, as though he’d said the sky was blue and water’s wet, then again, “I know.” before continuing on his way.

@whumptober2020

“Come on, Arthur… keep pushin’!”

 Arthur had always been the one to keep him going. When he was younger and everything seemed so hard he’d be there, insisting ‘naw, it ain’t so hard, is it?’ and try his hand at it. Was always right there, supporting him even if he seemed like he was just being a dick at the time.

  “Let’s go, come on!”

 But now… now Arthur was giving up. Crumpling slowly in front of him - he’d thought he was going to lose him back in Beaver Hollow, hearing him gurgling his breaths as he struggled through the cave and up the ladder, seeing him struggle to get to his feet after soothing his horse in its death. A few times after that, when he’d seen Arthur struggling, coughing so loud it seemed to drown out the gunfire, staggering as his shots went wide.

 Arthur… Arthur was dying. Had been dying for quite some time, though he hadn’t realized it. Hadn’t wanted to realize it - it was impossible to miss, his coughing fits kept them up late into the night, and he’d changed so much in the time it took Arthur to save him from Sisika he hadn’t recognized him for a moment, had felt his stomach churn and drop, his face as white as stone and… god, it seemed so obvious now, but then they’d ridden into Beaver Hollow and he’d seen Abigail and Jack and Dutch had been furious and everything was different and Arthur had fallen onto the back-burner and he’d been left to suffer it alone but no, he hadn’t been alone, had he? He’d had Charles, if only for a short time, and thank god for Charles they’d all have been lost without him.

 Arthur cracked a shot off over his shoulder, stopped to let him stumble by and shit his shoulder hurt he couldn’t believe Dutch had left him to die. Had looked him in the goddamn eye and ridden away, had grabbed Old Boy and left him to bleed to death.

 God, Dutch, what had happened?

 He hadn’t known much else in his life except for Hosea and Dutch and Arthur and god Hosea he’d never even gotten to mourn him, had watched him die then been arrested, abandoned by Dutch then, too. They’d taken him in when he was only twelve or so (he didn’t rightly know how old he was but that was Hosea’s best guess and to them it had seemed reasonable enough) and he’d known no other life. Had known orphanages for a few years before them, a dead mother and a sad father that had turned into a drunk-dead father.

 He wanted nothing more than to think that Dutch had always cared for him. That he really had viewed him as his son, as his friend, that it had all been real and that half his life hadn’t been a lie. He could have been a perfectly good little soldier without knowing how to read or write - would have been a better one, perhaps, without such distractions, but it had been Dutch that decided to teach him, Dutch who plopped a book down in front of him one day and refused to walk away even after he’d grown frustrated enough to bite him.

  “Keep pushin’, Arthur!”

 But Hosea would have insisted on it too, he knew. All three of them had known how to read and to write, so how would it be fair if he didn’t? And besides, it wouldn’t have fit Dutch’s little image to have just one of their number at such a disadvantage.

 And all the times he’d been cruel. Maybe not obviously so, but there had been times even when it had been good, when it was just them four and Susan, Bessie and Annabel, when he’d felt as though he had to walk on eggshells for fear of Dutch snapping at him. Remembered all the times he’d been made to feel like utter shit for not picking something up quick enough, was starting to realize far too late just how much he and Arthur had been pitted against each other - remembered how much he’d resented Arthur when he was new, as Dutch had always lamented ‘Oh, Arthur learned this so easily’, remembered Dutch going on for hours around the campfire about how well he was doing which, at the time, had confused him because wasn't he just frustrated with me?' and had a sinking feeling he knew just where the cracks that had formed between he and Arthur had started - somewhere far, far earlier than he’d ever thought, before they’d even gotten close and had a relationship to break.

“Come on, we need to get goin’!”

 God, Arthur sounded like he was suffocating behind him and

 Arthur’s footsteps stopped.

 John half expected to find him collapsing, feared finding him shot through, feared that his lungs had given out because god how could he breathe like that? it hadn’t sounded like breathing at all but he was only catching his breath and John felt like a true monster but they had the rest of their lives to catch their breaths - however long that might be.

 “Alright Arthur come on, let’s go!”

 And Arthur didn’t stand, didn’t try to move, only brought his hand up and waved at him as though he were some pesky gnat, 

 “You go…”

 No, not this shit again.

 He could see the exhaustion that lined his bones, could hear him fighting for each breath. But they’d made it this far already, had escaped so many Pinkertons, they were so close and he had already lost Hosea, had already lost the man he used to call Pa, he refused to lose Arthur too.

 “Keep…” and he hadn’t realized just out of breath he himself was, “pushin’, Arthur.”

 He staggered forward, clutching his shoulder - he’d drag Arthur down the mountain himself if he had to, but

 “No.”

 and Arthur was straightening up, coughing and John’s blood turned to ice when he saw the blood that sprayed through the air, though Arthur didn’t react at all, didn’t flinch, his eyes didn’t widen even in that minuscule way of his, and it spoke volumes - and again, “no…” he wiped the blood from his mouth as though it were some common occurrence and, with a sinking feeling, John thought it might just be, “I think I’ve pushed all I can.”

  ‘No.’

 “Come on.” Arthur had never let him down before. When he’d been on that mountain, freezing and bleeding to death, he’d come for him. He’d disobeyed Dutch to break him out of one of the world's highest security prisons. Arthur never let him down.

 “You go.”

 and he was saying it as though it were some simple thing. As though it would be easy for John to just turn around and walk away, to leave him behind to die.

 “We ain’t got time for this, not now!”

 and then that grin. Damn that grin, that one that said ‘I know what I’m doing, I have a plan. And it’s a good one.’ All bared bloody teeth, open and sad and god, don’t, he was removing his hat, shaking his head.

 “We ain’t both gonna make it.”

 The worst part of it was, John knew he was right. His arm, at least, had clotted up as he dragged himself back to camp and, though it hurt, was an infection risk, it was no great danger. But Arthur… god, Arthur looked half a corpse. His skin already waxy, half-translucent, John could count the veins in his face, the burst blood vessels in his eyes, and already his lips were tinged blue.

 “Go…”

  No.

 “Now.”

 John’s voice stuck in his throat.

 “I’ll hold them off.”

 And then Arthur was placing his hat on his head.

  “Hey Arthur?”

“What.”

“Your hat, why you always wear that hat?”

“Well… it means a lot to me.”

“Why?”

“...”

“Why?”

“Jesus. Belonged to my Daddy. Reminds me not to become him, I suppose.”

 “It would mean a lot to me.”

 His throat shut tight - he could hardly breathe.

  No.

 “Please.”

  Don’t say goodbye.

 “There ain’t no more time for talk.” and god, Arthur sounded like he could hardly get the words out himself as he removed his satchel.

  “John!”

“Hosea!”

“Give the man his hat back, John.”

For years, John’s life mission had been to steal that hat.

 He fumbled, reached for words that, somehow, could convince Arthur to stay. But the leather of his hat, when he reached up to secure it safer on his head - god, he’d never forgive himself if it got so much as scuffed - was all too real beneath his hand.

  “John? Where y’ goin’?”

“...out.”

“Out where?”

“Gonna take Old Girl for a walk, can’t sleep.”

He hadn’t come home for a year.

 Arthur nearly knocked him off his feet with how hard he shoved the satchel into his chest—

  “What’s this?”

“From Hosea, kid. Eat."

 —and seeing him holding only a single revolver and a handful of ammo, nothing against the army of Pinkertons that, even then, they could hear fighting what was left of the Van der Linde gang (insanely, for just a moment, John wondered if they were still alive - though Bill had turned a gun to him he wasn’t well, he could see that now, and he and Javier used to be the best of friends, and Javier hadn’t turned a gun on them, had been taken by surprise though he’d been horrible in the end - they’d all been brothers, once)—it sank in horribly, he was going to rush off to his death, try and do some horrible stand-off, one man against dozens of Pinkertons, maybe he could have done it once but that was when he’d been healthy, when he’d had long-arms and countless sidearms that were, at that moment, rotting with his horse, ammunition sitting on his belt to be quickly grabbed.

 “Go.”

 He shook his head - no, no! - and, as though it would, somehow, help gestured with his gun down the path “Arthur.”

 And he turned to him, “Go to your family,” tried to shoo him away, looking up at the mountain as though he could somehow climb it—

  “Careful kid,”

“Ain’t a kid,”

“Don’t put your hand there,”

“I know what I’m doin’!”

“John-”

“SHIT!”

“-told you so.”

 —“Arthur!” he gestured again, more sharply, ‘come with me!’ and when Arthur turned to him it was with a snarl, snapping to try and chase him away and he knew what he was doing,

 “Get the hell out of here and be a goddamn man.”—

  “Stop treatin’ me like a kid!”

  “Well I sure as hell ain’t gonna treat you like an adult!”

  “When the hell are you gonna get over it, huh? That was three years ago!”

  “A goddamn man doesn’t abandon his family!”

 —He knew when Arthur had made up his mind, truly made it up, even Dutch himself couldn’t get him to change it. And god, but he wanted to make him change his mind—

  “Son if you’d just please-”

“No.”

“Arthur-”

“No.”

“But-”

“The boy said no, Dutch,” (and he was pretty sure Hosea had been biting down a laugh)

 —but they were running out of time and he’d never gotten to apologize, not for all the shit he’d pulled, not for all the low blows and yeah Arthur owed him a hell of a lot of apologies too but

 “You’re my brother,”

 and when had they stopped being brothers?

 “I know,” Arthur didn’t even pause, just leaned against the side of the cliff face for the briefest moment to catch his breath, looked back at him and said it with a nod of his head as though it were a given, as though he’d said the sky was blue and water’s wet, then again, “I know.” before continuing on his way.

He wanted to stop him. Wanted to grab him by the boot and drag him down, haul him kicking and screaming to Copperhead Landing, find him a doctor and make him well again.

 But John was no fool. Thick, yes, but not a fool. Even sick and dying Arthur was stronger than him, and if he tried to haul him down they’d be overtaken by Pinkertons long before they made any true progress.

 God it hurt, but he knew he had no other choice—

  “We’re family, son. Family means never leaving anyone behind.”

 —took a long, final look at Arthur, watched as he slung himself over the ledge, then fled down the mountain, never letting go of his hat even as a sharp whistle pierced the air, a familiar snow white horse bolted passed him.

“You’re leaving.”

“What?”

“I heard you talkin’ to that Mary girl. She wants you to leave.”

“I… You heard that?”

“I did.”

“Well… don’t worry about it.”

“But… but you’re leaving!”

“No I’m not, John. I… I’m gonna talk to Hosea and Dutch about havin’ her come with us.”

“...What?”

“You didn’t really think I’d leave, did you?”

“...everyone leaves.”

“Nah, I don’t leave family behind.

And you, Dutch and Hosea?

You’re my family.”

[chronicbatfictioner]

Theater of the Soul - Chapter 17

He could sense the tension in the air - even the bird boy was a little tense. There were people with white lab coats, and the nice lady doctor, who pricked him with numerous needles. It was only the boy's and the lady doctor's presence that made him reconsider punching them all and run away.

Well, that, and the fact that his legs still hurt a lot. It might not be a good idea to run while he could only hobble. The bird boy walked around a lot, and even if he'd walked slow enough to be caught up on, the too-much-walking still taxed his legs.

The boy would press his body onto his side while they were pricking him with needles, saying soothing things. At least they were in soothing tone, because his brain is too cloudy to know what they were talking about.

He has always had trouble sleeping, that much he remembered. Even under drugs, he would always be on alert - the smallest of noise would wake him up. Maybe it was due to the fact that he had never felt safe - living on the floors of the alleys of the city tend to sharpen one's instinct to the point of semi-paranoia.

This time, thought, he could tell that he was being drugged. But at least, the bird boy was there, holding his hand.

For the first time in his life, he succumbed to the blackness of sleep; knowing he would be safe. The bird boy would guard him, he was sure. Whatever it is they were trying to do by drugging him to sleep, the bird boy would make sure he would not be harmed in any way.

More bad news came from Dinah, just as Jason was about to be wheeled for the surgery. Tim, Barbara, and Dick eventually decided to hold their meeting while Bruce was holding vigil in front of Jason's surgical theater. 

Somehow, Bruce had even managed to joke, "this is the worst theater I've been in." 

And Tim really wanted to know what he would be thinking if he'd heard that his son was a suspect in a murder. No, that his son was the main suspect in a murder. 

"His prints and biologicals were found there - in the house where they had found Napier's body." Barbara said grimly, pointing out to the screen of her laptop that was showing police and Crime Scene reports.

"Okay, counselor, wouldn't that be obvious if he was detained there?" Dick countered. "Were they found on Napier's corpse?"

"They couldn't tell yet. They found the body decomposed, you know. Mummified, actually. I'm... not sure what to think of with the term 'mummified' and how... But I reckon the area he was found at was dry enough to make him mummify instead of fully decompose. They couldn't even determine time of death and put it on a very wide bracket of three months to a year." Barbara replied.

"The bright side is that I found clips that said Napier was alive by the time Danny met Jason three months ago." Tim showed them a clip from an info-tainment channel, showing Napier arguing with somebody out of sight right outside the Harley Club. "Supposedly - if the tabloids were to be believed, he'd left for LA right the next day. I haven't found anything from LA that can corroborate that." he admitted, a little begrudgingly.

"Right, I'll take that one, then. I've a friend who can poke out some alibis. You know him," Dick smirked at Barbara.

Barbara suddenly groaned. "Ugh... ick. Won't it be a little too obvious for you if you call him up and start asking about Napier?"

"He, who?" Tim wanted to know.

"Jason Bard, Private Investigator Extraordinaire," Dick smirked mischievously. "A.K.A. Babs' ex boyfriend."

"Oh," Tim winced. "Yeeeah, I agree. Might be a little too suspicious if you call your girlfriend's ex to investigate something involving your adoptive brother." Tim pointed out. "Other option?"

"There's Ralph Dibny, but if we ask him, he'll definitely report to Bruce." Dick huffed. "He and Bruce are like, BFWBs. Best Friend With Benefit - and said benefit comes in dollar signs."

"Victor Sage." Tim suddenly remembered. "He was an investigative journalist. He was really good and fair - he would expose either side of the suspicions fairly."

"...and place Jason in more stress?" Barbara said softly.

"Won't he be more stressed if he was to be named as a murderer when he couldn't defend himself? Jason is catatonic. He's not an idiot." Tim reminded them. "He's thinking, just not expressing. He'd talked to me once. Bruce had heard it, too."

Both Tim and Barbara landed their gaze on Dick, who was pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly.

"Alright," Dick finally decided. "Victor Sage. No punch pulled. We prepare ourselves for Jason's defense, right?"

Barbara nodded solemnly. "Always. I have Kate Spencer, Rachel Keast, and Jean Loring on speed dial."

"And all-girls squad, Babs?"

"Works for the heart, Dick." Barbara smirked. "If all else fails, go for the heartstrings. Orphaned, homeless, stardom, dumped broken and back on the streets... I'd cry if if were in the jury selection."

They continued chatting, plotting, scheming; interrupted only when Bruce finally came amongst them, looking gaunt and even older than his mid-30s.

"Did it work?" Dick demanded.

"Hm? Oh, the surgery itself was... 'easy', so Pieter said... the drama will begin once he wakes up." Bruce told them, sighing. "Alfred is waiting with him, in case he wakes up and get distressed." He did not imply anything, but Tim could sense Bruce's glare landed on him.

"I'll take over from Alfred once I'm done eating," Tim assured him, pointing to the takeout boxes Barbara has had on the table next to the laptop, didn't even realize that he has been devouring a box of noodles while talking. Dick, ever the mother-hen, had probably placed a box in Tim's hands and he'd started eating out of... well, it had��smelled nice.

"He-- I would appreciate that, Tim, thank you." Bruce acknowledged. "Now, you kids maybe can fill me up on what schemes you've been running to prove Jason's innocence on Napier's death."

Dick dropped his fork halfway to his mouth. Tim nearly choked on his fry. Barbara just glared at Bruce.

"How." she demanded. Not asked.

"Diana Prince is a good friend of mine. She'd come here from Themiscyra under my parents' sponsorship." Bruce explained. "She had warned me that the investigation might hit too close to my home, and my son. And told me to prepare the defenses accordingly."

If Dick or Barbara had heard the same thing Tim did, of the words 'just don't tell me how the investigation going' that were not said, they did not show it.

"I'm thinking Kate Spencer, Rachel Keast, or Jean Loring on Jason's behalf." Barbara said. "They'll have to face... whoever's the DA in LA?"

"I think you can include Harvey Dent, too." Bruce said contemplatively. "He's... quite fond of Jason. And his position as a former Gotham City's DA would make him a formidable opponent."

"Whoa... that's heavy." Dick huffed.

"I'll consider Dent, if all else fails." Barbara replied, not detailing what 'else' might include. "The thing is, Dent defends crooks, too, nowadays. So I'm not comfortable with him."

"All lawyers would end up defending crooks at one point or another of their career, Barbara. It's a matter of how many hours they've booked. I'm presuming you'll co-chair with the Manhunter?" Bruce said. "I'd exempt Keats, though. Her link to Diana Prince - being from the same country - might be used against her investigation and us in general. Loring should be your last option - she would defend anyone with money and that could turn against you."

"Co-chair?" Tim echoed. "'Manhunter'?"

"Well yes, you didn't know Babs has a law degree?" Dick smirked at him. "Kate Spencer's nickname is the Manhunter, since she's pretty much vicious and relentless in proving some people's guilt."

"Of course I will. I'm partial to Kate, too, and just keep Keats and Loring as reserve. I might consider taking over Jason's custody temporarily while I'm at it." Barbara remarked.

"What for?" Dick asked, an eyebrow cocked in curiosity. "You're not even old enough to be his mom."

"Just for the simplification. If I have custody, all and any documents will be sent to me instead of Bruce. That way, nobody can imply 'parental ignorance' or neglect." she explained. "Sometimes when they're losing, the prosecutor would delay sending notices on new evidences, to rattle the defendant's defense."

"...so by sending them to Jason's actual legal guardian, Bruce, they would expect said notice to be actually lost." Dick clarified. "That actually kinda makes sense."

"Yes," Barbara nodded sagely. "I, on the other hand, do not let any envelope go past me and accepts my own mail. Their argument therefore will not be valid."

Tim sighed, "legal stuff hurts my head." he admitted at Barbara's glare. "Not like I don't understand them, I just... don't understand the necessity for scheming."

"I second that," Bruce agreed. "But then again, we're all law-abiding citizens here, so what do I know." he added blithely.

Barbara nodded slowly. "Hence you need the despicable breed that is Homo-Legalis to think dirty for you." she said with a smug smirk. "Think Jason would be awake by now?"

"Pieter-- Dr Cross said he should be fully sedated for at least three hours. So yeah, he could be starting to wake up now." Bruce looked at Tim expectantly.

"Pffft... alright. I know when I'm not wanted because the adults want to talk." Tim scowled playfully and dumped his empty noodle box into the bin. Bruce smiled. "I'm gonna keep Jason company, because at least he's still considered a kid. Like me."

[menolly5600]

But will they realize they need to keep his corpse out of Ra's clutches?

Will some know, but look the other way in hopes the Pit will give them back their dead brother?

In a way this was the best outcome.

Timothy Drake was always meant to die.

He cheated the reaper when he was nine knife at his throat chasing around vigilantes who wouldn't have ever known him as anything other than a statistic.

He survived past fifteen which for any boy who wears those bright colors knows is an achievement.

Luck is what they will say.

Bad luck specifically wrong place right time at least in his mind.

Bleeding out with his brothers surrounding him.

A bullet he took before it could reach Damian.

He can see him he looks terrified standing a good two feet away which is an accurate description of them a gap that neither boy could ever seem to close.

Jason lost his mask somewhere he can feel the press of his fingers trying to keep blood in. Demanding it. Hopeing for a miracle. That's Jason Todd.

Holding him Dick's arms wrapped around him whispering

"I have you sweetheart I know it hurts, Dad's coming baby just a little bit longer."

He remembers a poem he found right after Jason died he had wondered if Jason raged fought tooth and nail to keep breathing.

But with all his brothers here his Father on the way he can't think of a better time.

As his breathe slows and he feels his vision fade he doesn't fight.

Lying in his brothers arms Timothy Jackson Drake takes his last breath.

Peacefully falling into the night.

There was no rage only a sense of peace for a tired hero who could finally rest.