#drop your ao3 handle Richard

[hoovesandfloorpaws]

Vanity Fair, 2016

image reads: "I’d have to imagine that, for Styles, the feeling is mutual. I’m sure he [...] said, “Awww,” and texted Rylance, writing, “Thanks for the kind words, Mr. Rylance.” And then another text message, from “L,” (link that leads to article about Louis) popped up on Harry’s phone, reading, “Agree w everything Mark said, but u knew that. Home soon.” And Harry smiled that incredible smile, and then Tuesday continued on like normal." - when Vanity Fair writes Larry fanfic. You're so real for this, Richard L.

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 — 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈

Yandere Dick Grayson x GN Reader

❥ Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓: Wanted to write a platonic older brother Dick Grayson story, but depicting his spiral into yandere-hood. Tumblr can’t handle my swag AO3-length writing, so multiple parts it is!

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒: platonic sibling yandere content, older brother Dick Grayson, younger sibling reader, non-vigilante reader, adopted reader, slow burn yandere(?), the pacing is very a-day-in-the-life-esque, kind-of stalking, unsettling build-up, Dick isn’t a full-blown yandere yet, starting off tame, biblically accurate Batfam, CLIFF HANGER!!

❥ 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. 𝐁𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃.

Richard Grayson didn’t really like you.

He never told you outright, but you knew. It was painfully obvious during your initial meeting (one that was “long overdue,” according to Bruce), back when Alfred dropped you off at his Blüdhaven apartment with all your belongings. Though he offered a welcoming smile with complimentary dimples, something dark swirled in his sapphire eyes, a stony cold stare contrasting with his warm greeting of, “nice to finally meet you, (Y/N).”

You didn’t know that much about Richard Grayson, other than his role as your pseudo older brother (and the fact that he was Robin, and now Nightwing, but you were still wrapping your head around the idea of your filthy rich adoptive father being fucking Batman, so… there’s not much you could say on that). He seemed friendly enough in all the gala interviews you’ve seen, but you were starting to realize to not take someone’s press persona as gospel: after all, Bruce Wayne seems much more put together in front of the cameras than he does in the manor. So, while unsettling, you couldn’t say you were too surprised by this official first impression.

Maybe he was just tired, you told yourself. He probably doesn’t get much sleep, with the whole crime-fighting thing and all.

(Yeah… crime-fighting thing… y’know, cuz your pseudo older brother is Nightwing, and your filthy rich adoptive father is fucking Batman.)

However, after getting all your things settled into his spare bedroom — Alfred being a big help, as he always was — you were getting the sense that your gut intuition was right; Richard Grayson didn’t really like you at all. He may have acted all cordial, giving you a tour of his apartment and making polite jokes, but as soon as Alfred left and he excused himself to make a phone call in his room, his true feelings on your collective predicament became painfully apparent, as thin walls did nothing to hold in his heated argument with Bruce.

“B, why the hell are you doing this to me?! ……. No, they’re in their room. Getting all their stuff settled in right now. ……. I know I did, but now that they’re here, I just—!! ……. No, they’ve been okay so far, it’s just— come on, B, I know you’re an empty-nester, but if you weren’t ready to take in a kid, why’d you—?! ……. Really? So adopting orphans is just a hobby now?! ……. Yeah, and it’s really unfortunate what they’ve gone through, but you can’t just pick up every stray you see, especially if you’re this fucking paranoid about them wanting to—”

This was the only time you could understand Bruce’s response over the phone; “I DON��T WANT ANOTHER DEAD CHILD, DICK.”

… Ah.

There was a beat of silence before Bruce continued, though his softer tone made it impossible to make out what he was saying. He went on and on until Dick sighed. “Bruce, I want them to have a happy home. And, yeah, I sure as hell agree that the manor might not be the best choice, but I’m off doing my own thing just as much as you are. At the very least, Alfred— ……. What would’ve been good for both of you was to not sign the papers in the first place. You’re still healing, and they need someone who can be there for them. ……. No. No, they’re already here. I’ll stay true to my word, B, but they can’t stay here forever; you know that. It’s just not healthy for all of us. ……. Yeah, I know. I’ll do my best. Look, I gotta figure out what I’m gonna make this kid for dinner.”

And then, without a single goodbye exchanged, the call went dead.

So, yeah. Richard Grayson didn’t really like you.

Which was fine. Really, it was. You weren’t even his sibling by law, as you learned from Alfred that Bruce technically never even adopted him, yet here he was being asked to take care of you, a reminder that he can’t escape Bruce Wayne or Batman no matter how hard he tries. While you were still learning the full situation (again, your filthy rich adoptive father is fucking BATMAN), what you already knew didn’t paint a pretty picture. Honestly, you didn’t blame Richard Grayson for being a little spiteful towards you. It did make sense.

You just wish it didn’t make you feel so… unwanted.

“How was school, kiddo?”

A questioning hum was startled from your vocal chords. The car ride had been so silent, you found yourself lost in your own thoughts, almost forgetting that you were buckled into the passenger seat of Richard’s — Dick’s, rather; he told you to call him Dick the day you moved in — older, copper-colored car. After taking a few moments to collect yourself, you threw your temporary guardian a glance only to find he was pointedly staring at you (which was concerning, as he was driving).

“Uh…” your voice faltered a bit, forcing you to cough in your fist. “It was alright.”

His eyes lingered on you for a bit longer before returning to the road ahead. You thought that was the end of the conversation, but then he spoke up again. “Did you learn anything?”

A bit of an awkward thing to ask, but at least he was trying. “Factoring in algebra. And I guess a little about the Mongol Empire.”

“Factoring,” he said with distaste. “Wasn’t a fan of that. Though it didn’t really help that I had the worst algebra teacher. Ended up with a 70 in that class by some miracle.” A small beat of silence. “Do anything fun with friends?”

You grimaced. Though you tried your best not let it show, you knew Dick probably caught it through the rear-view mirror. “I, uh, haven’t made any friends yet.”

“It’s already October,” he skeptically stated with a quirked brow.

“I know. It’s just…” you clutched your book bag closer to your chest. “It was my first day here, so… gotta make new friends.”

“… Oh.”

As much as you wanted to dryly chortle at his reaction, you refrained. It probably wasn’t his fault he didn’t know about being transferred from Gotham to Blüdhaven Academy, since Bruce apparently had a habit of keeping people out of the loop with things. For all you know, Dear Ol’ Daddy Bats just gave Dick an address and said, "drop off at 9, pick up at 3:30," leaving your pseudo-older brother to fill in the blanks from there (“this is an address to a school, so I’m assuming this is where they go to school,” or something like that).

So, all you could do was shrug. “Yeah.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see his jaw tighten. He seemed to be deliberating on something, eyes burning holes through his windshield as he let out a sigh. “So, guessing you have no one to stay with for the night?”

“Stay with?” You furrowed your brows. “What do you mean, stay with?”

“Well, I’m gonna be out tonight,” he explained, his tone sounded a bit exasperated. “Can’t just leave you on your own. Do any friends from your old school live near by?”

You were at a loss for words. He wanted you to stay with someone? For the entire night? “Wait, hold on… you just wanna dump me at a friend’s house anytime you do your hero shit—?”

“Not sure if you’ve noticed, kiddo, but we’re in Blüdhaven,” he spat at you. “And my apartment isn’t exactly in the nicest part of town.”

“But— it’ll be fine, ‘cuz you have a Bat-level security system,” you protested.

His grip got tighter on the steering wheel. “Doesn’t matter. You’re used to the manor, not street-level crime, kid.”

“I grew up in Gotham,” you retorted. “I’ve known street-level crime way longer than I’ve known the manor.” Before he could say something to that, you beat him to it by following up with, “and besides, all my friends from Gotham live in areas that are just as bad as your apartment. Wasn’t all that popular with the socialite kids with mansions, you know.”

No response for several seconds. Dick’s expression was far from pleasant, and you were starting to worry if you were getting yourself into some sort of trouble. Eventually, however, he let out a frustrated sigh, his cold eyes snapping towards your figure. “You make one hell of an argument, kiddo. But listen. We’ve gotta go over home-alone rules when we’re back to the apartment, alright? I don’t want anything happening to you under my watch.”

“Fine by me,” you shrugged.

The conversation was then dropped.

A small smile started to bloom on your face. He really thought he could rid of you like that, didn’t he? You knew he didn’t really like you, but using it’s not safe as an excuse to a Gothamite? Really? Yeah, that’s a bunch of bogus.

… Though, you had to admit, it was nice that he at least sounded considerate.

You woke up to the sounds of disgruntlement coming from the living area.

It wasn’t too loud, as you couldn’t exactly comprehend what was being said, but it was loud make you realize the disgruntled party was extremely ticked by something. Getting out of bed, you put your ear to the door for better listening.

“I already told you, I can’t. I’ve been leaving this kid home alone far too often for my liking. ……. Where, Roy?! Where can they stay?! Bruce isn’t in the right headspace to have another kid in the manor, and— ow, fuck— it’s not like they have any friends to crash with for the night! ……. Transferred schools. Would’ve been nice if Bruce said something about that, but— ……. Said their Gotham friends live in areas just as bad. Besides, there’s no way in hell I’m letting them step foot back into that hellhole without me being there. ……. ‘Cuz it’s fucking Gotham, Roy! It’s only city in the world that has a death by killer clown statistic!!”

Ah. Another phone call. Dick had been making a lot of those, recently. You never knew who was on the other line, except if it was Bruce or (by rare chance) Alfred, but you had a general idea that it was always one of his super hero friends. Not very many people casually talked about beating up thugs and criminals, after all.

“No— absolutely not. Bruce would be pissed if he found out!! He’d think I’m trying to make them into my sidekick or something, and god knows what happens to them after that. I’ve been through the system, Roy. While I’m not too keen on keeping a kid around, putting them back there is not an option. ……. They’re just— safer in my apartment than anywhere else right now. I can’t have anything happening to them. Not after Jason. Bruce would never forgive me, and I— I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. ……. I’m sorry, Roy. Maybe next time. ……. Yeah. Tell the other Titans I’m thinking about them, okay? ……. Yeah, good luck tonight. Try not to show up on the news. ……. Yup. See you.”

Your ears picked up on a low beep, heralding the end of the call. As Dick let out a string of curses, you couldn’t help but feel… empty. You were more than just a pain in the ass for Dick; you were a full-blown problem. It wasn’t just the fact that you were keeping him from having hero fun. Even if he wasn’t all that fond of you, he still considered you his responsibility, and seemed genuinely worried about your safety when he wasn’t there. You were under the impression that he went out at night to forget you existed, but…

Jason…

Jason was a name you were only vaguely familiar with, usually used as a heavy blow in a Dick v. Bruce argument. While you don’t exactly know the full context, Alfred did make mention once of a kid who lived in Wayne Manor before you (the one who is “no longer with us,” as the butler solemnly said), and upon stumbling into the Batcave by accident, some of the only coherent mutterings he offered were, “Jason,” and “no, not again.”

Again, you didn't know the full context, but it's easy to put together the pieces from there.

A particularly loud curse from the other side of the door brought you back to reality. You at first wondered if you should go out there and make sure your current guardian-figure was okay, but you decided against it, as A.) he was probably just patching himself up from a particularly rough skirmish, and B.) he didn't seem like he was in the mood to see you. Besides, with your thoughts on this Jason kid, you didn't know if you had enough self-control to keep your burning questions locked away on your tongue.

So, instead, you decided to lay back down in your bed, brainstorming ideas to get Dick to talk about Jason.

This was… kind of a terrible way to ask.

Sure, you were curious. The thought had been haunting your thoughts since Bruce’s breakdown, and being out of the loop was slowly eating away at your mind. But maybe you could’ve been less… abrupt… and given Dick a little bit more time to be mentally prepared. It was an extremely sensitive topic, after all, and you knew even he was healing from the aftermath.

You hoped he understood your question wasn’t just morbid curiosity; Jason’s death is in-part the reason you’re here, after all.

Dick stared at you across from the dinner table. His fork had a few pieces of macaroni skewered one the prongs, half-raised to be shoveled into his mouth. Blue eyes stared right through you, blinking owlishly as he presumably tried to process what the fuck you just asked him. All you could do was hunch into yourself in your seat, mentally scolding yourself for how fucking rude your question probably was. Painfully long seconds ticked by with no sort of response, and you eventually decided that the best course of action was to do some preemptive damage control.

“You— actually, you don’t have to answer,” you weakly sputtered. “I’m so sorry, that’s— that was so uncalled for. I’m really sorry, Dick.”

He set his fork down. “No, it’s fine. I’m just… did Bruce not— he never told you?”

You shook your head.

“… Ah,” was his reply. His eyes wandered towards the window, an unreadable expression falling onto his face. He seemed a bit… lost. Which was understandable, as you didn’t exactly give him prep time for a conversation like this. You gave him as much time as he needed to put his thoughts in order.

Finally, he gave an answer. “Killed in action. Ended up in the hands of the Joker, and… well, he didn’t come home. No Robin ever since.”

The flat tone that carved through his words caused your hair to stand on end. He kept the details vague, but you didn’t find yourself minding all that much. If the Joker was involved, it probably wasn’t that much of a lovely story. “So, he was Robin after you?”

A hum of confirmation came from Dick. “The mantle was open, since I took up a new name. After finding out that Bruce was Batman, he practically begged to be trained as Robin.” He slowly brought the fork to his mouth. “That’s what Bruce said, anyway.”

It was then you noticed the silverware rattling from some sort of rhythmic thumping. After a few moments, you realized it was from your knee hitting against the table, causing you to will your legs to stay still. “Um…” you cleared your throat. “Were you… close with Jason?”

“I mean, we were friendly.” He still neglected to make eye contact with you. “I tried to be a good example to him, but I was busy doing my own thing here.” His gaze dropped to the linoleum floor. “Didn’t spend enough time with him.”

A heavy pressure crushed down on your chest. While you didn’t know Jason personally, you were no stranger to the concept of loss, and the more you learned about his death, the more your current situation was starting to make sense. Jason discovered Bruce was Batman. He wanted to be Robin, and Bruce let him. Then he died as Robin. Bruce’s adopted son died on the field, in the costume.

So, after you found out Bruce was Batman… it probably felt all too familiar.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you practically whispered.

Dick only sighed. “It’s alright, kiddo.” Finally, he raised his eyes to look at you. “Say, how are you doing in that chemistry class?”

… Huh?

The abrupt change in subject was… interesting. But definitely understandable, as talking about Jason’s death probably wasn’t all too pleasant. Guilt started to eat away at your conscious, the thought of making Dick uncomfortable by reminding him of his grief and regrets making your heart feel heavy. So, you merely offered a shrug and said, “uh… I’m doing fine.”

“Thought you were having trouble with valence equations,” he mused.

You could only dumbly stare at him. Okay… this was new territory. Sure, he always asked how school was while picking you up, but this was the first time he’s talked about it at dinner. Then again, this is the first time you two have talked at dinner period, since most dinners were spent eating in total silence, so maybe he was just trying to cleanse the awkward air that you created from randomly inquiring about Jason (because you can't do anything right, apparently).

So, ignoring the warmth that swirled in your chest at the thought of him actually caring about your life outside of the polite, seemingly obligatory after-school exchanges, you indulged.

Blüdhaven nights weren’t all that different from Gotham’s. They could get noisy, the sounds of the city mixing together into one cacophony. You’ve learned how to sleep through it all, and it’s not like it’s all high energy for the entire night; around 1 in the morning, there’s a lull in activity that yields little to no sounds to disturb your slumber. Some would even call this hour the most peaceful that places like Gotham and Blüdhaven can get, despite all of the dubious activities that are probably happening.

So, something like the sound of a window sliding opening is enough to disturb this peace.

It was your window. It sounded like it was right in your room, so it had to be your window. You stayed as petrified as a statue in your bed, the fog of sleepiness immediately airing out of your brain from your nervous system screaming, holy shit, someone is opening my window. Well, maybe, if you continued to stay still, they wouldn’t recognize the obvious lump in the bed, take whatever the fuck they wanted, and be on their merry way. With any luck, Dick was done doing his hero shit, and the unfortunate sap breaking into the apartment would have a run-in with Nightwing.

That’s when a your bed began to creak from a new weight being added to it.

… Ah, shit.

You didn’t move. There was no way in hell you were moving. Even if the intruder seemingly knew you were there, you could do nothing else but stay stagnant in place, waiting for them to make the next move. Maybe, if they touch you, you could swing your arm to hit them and catch them by surprise. That might give you enough time to run, find Dick’s room, and pray to god he’s home. If not, then you could at least lock yourself in his room and hold out until he does.

Your thoughts were cut short when a familiar voice rang out.

“You didn’t lock your window.”

… That bastard—!!

Relief crashed through your body like a tidal wave. A heavy breath tumbled out of your lips — one that you didn’t even know you were holding in — which alleviated the growing pressure in your chest. Now that you could feel your limbs again, you willed away the shiver that wanted to travel through your body as you turned to face this so-called intruder. “Kind of an unconventional way to come home, don’t you think?”

Your eyes met the pearly white lenses of a domino mask. The shadowy figure sitting on your bed had his arms crossed over the unmistakable azure symbol of Nightwing, which, oddly enough, had an intriguing iridescent shimmer under the moonlight. Huh… none of the cameras really pick up that detail, you mentally noted, glancing back and forth between the contrast of matte black and shiny blue. You were no professional superhero costume critic, but it was a nice little touch.

Dick’s tired sigh snapped you out of your thoughts. It was a grim reminder that — oh, yeah — you’re about to get chewed out by your vigilante kind-of-older-brother… at an ungodly hour. “Kid,” he began, the chastising tone you were becoming more and more acquainted with lacing every word, “you can’t keep forgetting to lock everything like that. What if I was some crook, or kidnapper, or worse?”

“Good thing it was just Nightwing coming through my window to give me a heart attack,” you humorlessly mused.

Though you couldn’t see underneath the mask, you knew he was giving you that one unamused stare you’re all too familiar with. “(Y/N), I’m serious. This is about your safety, your life, even. If something bad happens while I’m out, I won’t be able to protect you. For god’s sake, kid. I could be on the other side of Blüdhaven while you’re getting taken, or murdered, or whatever!!” He took a moment to heave another sigh. “Just… promise me you’ll lock your window next time, alright? Please.”

All you could do was wordlessly nod. After taking some time to process what he was saying, you admittedly felt bad. He was right; neglecting to lock your window like that could very well mean death in Blüdhaven. It’s not like growing up in Gotham is any different, so you knew this fact very well. Maybe your time at the manor caused you to become less careful, as it’s unlikely any criminals are hitting up the Wayne residence anytime soon; and it’s not like any of them know about the Bat-level security, either.

A springy click echoed through your room, and you looked up to see Dick inspecting your window (you’ve long stopped questioning how he just teleports like that). After deeming it to be safe, he softly padded towards your door. His hand was on the knob, but he seemed a bit hesitant to turn it. Then, almost as an afterthought, he looked at you over his shoulder and said, “goodnight, kiddo.”

“… Goodnight,” you mumbled.

He was out the door.

Click.

Now alone in your room, you could finally replay what just happened. Dear Big Bro Dickybird just gave you the scare of a lifetime, chastised you about being irresponsible, and left to assumingly go to bed (though you’re not sure if that man actually sleeps or not). The conversation — well, more like lecture — played in your mind, repeating on loop like a broken record… because of course your mind wanted to make you feel guiltier than you already did.

That’s when something weird stuck out to you.

“You can’t keep forgetting to lock everything like that.”

… Keep?

As far as you knew, that was your first time actually forgetting…

So... how did he know?

Thwack.

Before you could even begin to register whatever the fuck just hit your forehead, a teasingly dry voice rang out from above. “Your handwriting really sucks, y'know."

With furrowed brows to showcase your confusion, you forced yourself to sit upright on the couch. A small notepad fell from your chest to the floor, the pages sprawled out from the metal spiral to reveal your list of things you wanted from the store. “I was writing fast,” you grumbled.

"Sure you were," cooed Dick with a less-than-friendly smirk. He then cocked his head to the side, arms crossing over his chest. "Wanted a change of scenery or something?"

You felt your face scrunch up. "What does that mean?"

"You usually watch your dumb little YouTube videos in your room," he explained. "Not sprawled out on my couch."

Honestly, you weren't even going to question how he knew that. Maybe it was that dumb Bat-detective intuition, or the fact that you probably need to start turning the volume on your phone down a notch (thin walls, remember?). Rolling your eyes, you situated yourself so that you were once again lounging comfortably on the couch. "Trying to tell me something, bucko?"

"Yeah, actually." Before you knew it, you were being ripped away from the cushions, an indignant yelp leaving your lips as you dangled mid-air from your legs. You had to adjust to your new upside-down view in order to throw Dick an incredulous glare. The bastard merely offered a shit-eating grin, simply stating, "get off my couch."

"... Could've just told me that," you spat out.

He began to walk you out of the living room. "You wouldn't of listened."

"Wha-- I totally would've!"

"Somehow, I doubt that."

Whatever retort you wanted to throw at him dissolved into a heavy OOMF as he dropped you onto the floor. You found yourself glaring up at him once more as he swiped invisible dust off of his hands, giving you a champion smirk before heading back in the living. You managed to orient yourself into an awkward squat just in time to see him confidently throw himself into the couch cushions.

That asshole just kicked you out of your spot.

You were not about to let that slide.

With an animalistic yell, you began to gallop — yes, gallop; it was a weird mix of running and crawling, as you were already on the floor — at him full speed. He barely had time to react to your charge (as you victoriously noted from his surprised OOF as you pounced on him), and within seconds, the both of you were locked into a fight to the death. Dick might've had the upper hand when it came to combat technique, but what you lacked in experience, you made up in dedication as you tried your damned hardest to push him off of the couch.

"Hey," he wheezed out. "Quit it, you little freak!!"

"You quit it," was your breathy reply. "I was here first!!"

"But it's my couch!!"

"Didn't see you using it!!"

"Just 'cuz I was getting your dumbass groceries!!"

"You were out for a whole-ass hour!!"

Despite giving it your all, the battle was beginning to turn against you as Dick managed to wrestle your upper body between his forearm and bicep. He eventually managed to pin your viciously kicking legs under his arm, and looking back on it, the scene probably looked reminiscent of a zookeeping holding down a trashing crocodile. This didn't deter you however, as you began to gnaw at his forearm, drawing a sound of disgust from your captor. "I had to spend, like, 30 minutes trying to decipher your shit handwriting," he scoffed. "Now can you just accept defeat and stop biting me!?"

You tried to respond with something along the lines of, "not until you give me my spot back," but it came out as garbled nonsense with your mouth full of his forearm. He aggressively told you to repeat yourself (probably under the pretense that you were giving him some major lip), and during the time you relieved his skin of your teeth to say something much worse than you initially did, a cheerful little tune began to play from Dick's pocket.

"... Hold that thought," he murmured.

Respectfully, you kept still and allowed him to use one of his hands to fish his phone out of his hoodie (you thought about using this as an opportunity to escape, but that would go against the unspoken rules of battle). He squinted his eyes to read the caller ID, only to heave a frustrated groan. “Bruce,” he curtly informed you. You were about to ask if he wanted some privacy, when he suddenly released you from his hold and sent you careening towards the ground. So, taking that as an answer, you scrambled off of the floor and headed towards your room, phone somehow materializing in your hand in the process.

From your room, the call sounded so faint.

… Maybe the walls weren’t as thin as you initially thought they were.

You let out a jet of hot air through your teeth. “The hell is taking him so long?”

The time was 3:50, but Dick’s old car was nowhere to be seen in your school’s parking lot. You shot hit a text 5 minutes ago that has yet to be read, and if you were being honest, you were more anxious than annoyed. Dick was never late to pick-up. Late to drop-off, sure (there was one time you showed up to school at 11:25 due to him sleeping in from a late-night drug bust, and you got the pleasure of making up an embarrassing excuse at the expense of Dick’s pride to the front office), but never pick-up.

So, this meant one of two things; he’s finally forgotten about you, or there’s an emergency.

Just as you were debating on checking the local news, your phone buzzed in your hand, screen lighting up to reveal a message from Bastard. You could feel your apprehension melting away as you unlocked your phone to read his message:

robbery going on

… Ah. That explains the spike in police siren activity going on around you.

You were about to shoot him a classic, “what the fuck” text, but his typing bubble popped up. After a second, another message followed:

gonna be late

Okay, now you decided to send your, “what the fuck.”

The read status under your text didn’t show up until a few minutes later (because that’s what you needed in this moment; more anxiety), and he immediately got to typing.

sorry kiddo

stay put

be there in a sec

Your shaky fingers managed to type him a message along the lines of, “be careful, good luck,” which was left unread by him. A snake of apprehension began to squeeze at your lungs, making it harder and harder to breathe. You had to force yourself to suck in a good bit of air to calm your nerves. Maybe he was just busy kicking some ass, that’s all. He’s stopping a whole-ass robbery from happening, so it’s not like he can keep up with your messages. Besides, he told you he would be there “in a sec,” so he’s probably wrapping everything up now.

Calm down, (Y/N), you scolded yourself. Your brother is Nightwing. He’ll be fine.

That’s when you witnessed an explosion light up the sky.

It was distant, but big enough to send a low rumble through the ground. You watched in absolute horror as the violent orange and yellow dissipated from behind the cityscape, leaving an inky trail of smoke behind as its calling card. More and more sirens of different origins — police, fire, ambulance — were overlapping in a terrible harmony, though it was hard to process from the brazen ringing in your ears, clogging your brain out from the outside world.

Oh, shit.

What if that was—?!

You desperately fumbled with your phone, unlocking it to reveal your still unread message to Dick. You were hoping for some sort of sorry about that text, or at the very least to see his typing bubble, but you were met with radio silence. Apprehension became pure fear when your thoughts began to race. Something bad happened to Dick. There’s no way in hell an explosion happened coincidentally, so something bad just happened.

Not good, not good, not good at all���!!

It took longer than you wanted to get your fingers to type something:

Dick??

Dick, you okay??

I saw that, are you okay??

Dick??

Dick??

… Nothing.

You resorted to calling him.

… Beeeeeeeeep…

… Beeeeeeeeep…

… Beeeeeeeeep…

“Come on,” you muttered. “Come on, come on, come on, pick up—!!”

… Beeeeeeeep…

…

“Hey, you’ve reached the voice mail of Dick Grayson, just shoot me a text and I’ll—”

You hung up.

This was bad. This was so bad. Something bad is happening, and you’re not even sure if Dick’s okay. Hell, you saw how big that explosion was. Is he even fucking alive?!

You couldn’t help but utter a watery, “no…”

You’re not going through this again.

Without a second to spare, your legs began to carry you forward in a full sprint. You weren’t exactly sure where the explosion went off, and it’s not like you’re all that familiar with Blüdhaven just yet to know where any possible candidates for a robbery could be, but you followed the smoke pillars like a beacon, gauging how close you were based on the surrounding sirens. People stood like statues on the sidewalks to ogle at evidence of destruction wafting through the sky, and no cars dared to run you over as you cut through the streets.

“Come on, Dick,” you said between huffs. “Please— please be okay..!!”

He had to be okay.

You couldn’t lose someone else in your life.

[anyon-else]

Yes, These New Walls Are Pretty Hard to Crack (The Red Room pt.13) | Despite Ino's reassurances, believing that Kakashi is good is easier said than done. However, he's making it very hard for you to be afraid of him. (Marvel AU) – spotify playlist | read on ao3

Pairings | Kakashi Hatake x Black Widow!Reader + Sakura Haruno, Sasuke Uchiha, Naruto Uzumaki, Ino Yamanaka, Shikamaru Nara, Asuma Sarutobi, Orochimaru, Kabuto Yakushi

Warnings | female!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, paranoia, nightmare, violence, degrading language (non-sexual), weapons, dissociation

Word count | 9.9k

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"The enormity of my desire disgusts me."

Richard Siken, War of the Foxes, 'Birds Hover the Trampled Field'

"Don't run."

Your eyes were wide as you backed a safe distance away from Kakashi. He sat up, paying no mind to his already bruising neck and kicking your knife to the opposite side of the room.

You hadn't meant to drop it. You were so stupid to slip up like that, but your mind was racing. Your heart was pounding, and your body hadn't responded correctly to your fear. You'd relaxed almost on instinct at the familiar touch on your cheek. A turmoil of emotions and what had to be false memories were clashing with the rage festering in your mind, and Kakashi was the cause of it. You needed to get away from him

You needed to get out.

"Wait," Kakashi said when he saw the sudden resolve overtake your clouded gaze. He got back on his feet slowly, though his eyes were wide as he watched your movements carefully. He looked frantic. Scared, even. "Wait here, and I'll go get Ino–"

"Shut up," you spit, considering the exits on either side of you and wondering if it was worth it to try and fight past him to the door at his back.

That's the side closest to the main exit.

Your head was splitting. You pictured the man who had tortured you and tried to reconcile the image of his sadistic grin and cold eyes with the one standing in front of you. They were supposed to be the same person. They were the same person.

You couldn't breath. You needed to get out of this room. You needed to run until you couldn't move.

He must've seen it on your face the moment you decided to turn on your heel and bolt towards the door behind you. The moment you turned away from him, you heard him turn in the opposite direction to intercept you at the exit.

The windows on this floor open from the inside.

Your body was moving before your mind had time to catch up with it. Your feet carried you down halls and past rooms that you didn't recognize despite how easily you seemed to be navigating them. Your mind easily supplied you with directions as you ran through corriders and dimly lit hallways towards an unknown destination.

When you finally stopped in front of a closed door, something like awareness tugged at your mind. It shouted and screamed and made the ache in your skull grow worse until you finally shut it out with a shake of your head.

You pushed the door open and strode through the room, ignoring the unmade bed and full bookshelf and picture frames on your way to the door of the balcony on the far wall. It was cracked open, letting in a cool breeze that pushed the curtains into the room and made the fresh air mix with the distinct, pleasant scent of the room.

The air was choking you. Familiarity pushed past the barriers you'd surrounded your mind with and began shouting at you once again. It begged and pleaded with you to stop for just a moment. It told you to think about why the smell of this room was so naturally comforting, or how you'd so easily navigated the building and found yourself here.

You paused with a hand on the handle of the balcony door, staring at the field below it blankly.

Instead of pushing the door open, you turned and looked around the room again. In spite of your best efforts to remain unaffected, anger surge through you as tears formed in your eyes again. You felt lost—like this room was an endless, infinite space that you'd never escape from. It made you feel helpless.

It made you feel weak.

Next to the bed was a small table that held a few books, a lamp, and two framed pictures. The first was of three kids all huddled together with Kakashi towering over them. The man's eyes were closed and his smile was obvious behind his mask, a hand resting on the heads of two boys on either end of the girl in the middle.

You covered your mouth with a trembling hand, crouching to the floor and hugging your knees close to your chest.

The other picture was of the same pink haired girl who stood in the middle of the first picture. She was laughing, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open in what had probably been a delighted laugh. Next to her was a woman with a fond smile on her face and so much warmth in her gaze that it made your chest ache.

It took you a moment to realize that the woman in that picture was you.

You picked the framed photo up carefully, studying the familiar faces of two strangers.

You imagined the rest of the scene playing out after the photo had been taken. The girl reaching a hand to your shoulder as her laughter died down, then seeing that Kakashi had taken a picture and demanding that he show her. She wanted to make sure that she still looked cute mid-laugh. Watching as she tried to snatch his phone from him, hanging off of his arm and demanding that the photo be deleted as Kakashi grinned and held it above his head.

He showed you the photo later. You thought laughter suited Sakura far more than the tears you were accustomed to seeing in the Red Room

"What is this?" you whispered to yourself, choked and strained. You remembered her name. It disappeared from your mind just as fast as it had appeared, slipping away before you had a chance to hold onto it, but it had been there. You knew this girl. You knew this room and this building. You'd been here before.

You'd smiled here. You'd been happy.

It was a trick. This was all just another way for Kakashi to manipulate you—soon enough things would go back to the way they were. Kakashi would reveal his true nature to you, and you'd be right back where you started.

You rocked forward and let your knees hit the hard floor beneath you. The picture hung loosely in your hand, and you leaned wide eyed and reeling against the bed as memories passed through your mind faster than you could catch sight of them. They swirled in a raging tempest that you couldn't possibly breach. They were in dangerous territory that you didn't feel equipped to search through.

The blankets on the bed had the same, distinct scent as the room. They smelled like a forest.

It reminded you of safety. You wanted to bury yourself in it.

It was making you dizzy.

You flinched when you heard the quiet creak of a floorboard on the other side of the room, pushing away from the bed and backing into a wall.

Kakashi froze when your eyes landed on him. You watched him glance around the room and spot the missing picture on his bedside table, then scan your surroundings until he saw it clutched in your shaking hand.

Tears were slipping down your cheeks despite your best efforts to keep them at bay, but you found yourself unable to move your arms to wipe them away. Your body wouldn't respond to you, just like your mind was moving at an uncontrollable pace. You were completely helpless.

It should've been terrifying, but when you searched for the familiar fear that always appeared with when you were in Kakashi's presence, you found that you couldn't feel a thing.

Kakashi took a small step into the room, then another when you only watched him. You kept the picture clutched tightly in your hand like it was a weapon, but you didn't move until he was kneeling in front of you.

"Who are you?" you whispered when he was at your level.

He paused, then he lifted his hand slowly, letting you follow the movement until his fingers stopped at the edge of his mask. He hooked one over the cloth and slid it from his face until you could see his features clearly. The moonlight was shining into the room from the windows, illuminating his lips and his cheeks and his nose—all parts of him that you had never seen before.

"Are you real?"

This was not Kakashi Hatake. Perhaps you were dreaming. Hallucinating, even.

You felt him pulling the frame gently from your tight grip and relented with little fight despite a desperate part of you begging your body to move. It screamed danger as Kakashi's fingers brushed yours when he took the picture, but you just watched him numbly.

He reached towards your empty hand slowly. You watched him very carefully, scrutinizing every movement and waiting for some kind of attack. When he finally brushed his fingers against your palm, you noted that his skin was much softer than before. The hands that you remembered had been rough and unforgiving, always causing pain and inducing fear.

But you felt more relaxed now than you had in a long time. You looked at the features on his face that had been missing when he tortured you and saw a completely different person.

He guided your hand to his chest, then pressed it to his heart and held it there so you could feel the steady beat.

"I'm real," he whispered, threading his fingers through yours and keeping your locked hands pressed to his heart.

He felt real. He looked more real than he ever had.

Kakashi's eyes held yours until they flickered down to your chest. When they widened in alarm, you followed his gaze and studied the red patch steadily growing as it dampened your shirt. You hadn't felt any pain before, but now as you searched for it, you felt the low, dull throb where your stitches had likely ripped.

Your vision was beginning to darken. Staying awake felt safer with Kakashi so close, but the throbbing was spreading to your limbs and your vision was fading at an alarming rate. You'd let your guard down, and now you were paying the price for it.

Kakashi cursed as you slumped forward, but he caught you against his chest and shifted so that you were leaning back against him. Your chest was wet, and you understood how vulnerable this made you, but as you searched for the familiar fear that always seemed to appear when Kakashi was touching you, you found nothing but emptiness.

"I don't understand," you muttered, staring at his shirt when you couldn't bear to look at his face any longer. He was looking down at you as you spoke, but you knew that meeting his eyes would only make the pain in your chest worse, "I don't know what's happening to me."

"I know," he whispered, supporting your head when it began to fall to the side. He adjusted so that you could lean it back on his shoulder, bending his knees so that you were caged in and supported on all sides. You let yourself sink into him like like it was a natural response to his shift in position.

His arms were around you, holding you steady as your body went limp. You'd exhausted yourself completely, and now you were paying the price for being so careless with your injuries. You'd just wanted to get out—to go back to where they'd found you and stay in that room until you slowly faded from existence.

Instead, you were in the arms of the person you feared most in the world, and as darkness dominated your vision, you found that some part of you didn't want him to let you go.

"Asuma," Kakashi blinked, stopping in his yard and watching his friend stroke Bull's back and take a long drag of his cigarette, "I didn't think you'd still be here."

"Well," the man shrugged, tapping his cigarette into an empty cup, "you've got a nice place here, Kakashi."

"It's not a hotel, you know."

"Your mutts are lonely," Asuma said with a grin, petting Bull on the head and watching amusedly as the rest of the dogs ran through the open front door and began competing for Kakashi's divided attention, "and I'm still recovering."

Asuma clapped his casted leg heavily, giving a chuckle when Bull nudged the injury with his nose.

"You're a lucky bastard," Kakashi muttered as he studied the newly-replaced cast. The side that was in his view had a giant signature taking up most of the space that vaguely resembled Guy's name, "if anyone else had taken a hit like that, they'd be six-feet under."

"And you're oh-so kind to help a poor cripple like me by giving me unpaid labor."

"You offered," Kakashi grumbled, sliding past Asuma to get into the house, "and you told me that letting you stay here was payment enough."

"Yeah, but when people say that, they don't actually mean it."

There was a silence as Kakashi looked the living room. The rest of the pack were settling back into their respective beds since the excitement of Kakashi's return had died down. He let out a sigh and strode further into the house.

"So...I know you don't like when people pry into your business," Asuma began from the porch. Kakashi heard him grunt pushed himself up on his good leg and turned to hand him his crutches, "and I know the question about why you got a new place is off-limits–"

"Correct."

"But why the extra room? You really need five beds for just you and the kiddos?"

Kakashi paused, glancing down the hall at the open door at the end. The bed inside was made and untouched, and it lacked any substantial decor aside from a spare painting that Kakashi hadn't really known what to do with. He looked away.

"I didn't pick the place," Kakashi shrugged, "I told Guy to find me something. He must've wanted a bedroom for himself."

"Hm. Sounds like something Guy would do," Asuma chuckled, "but I know when you're lying. I also know Guy's taste in real estate, and this ain't it. But I'll let you off the hook this time."

Kakashi ignored Asuma and rummaged through his kitchen cabinets for one of the instant-ramen cups that Naruto liked. The boy had come back to the compound that morning distraught because the grocery store was sold out, and Kakashi would rather not have another sulking child to look after tomorrow morning when there was no instant-ramen to have for lunch.

"That really all you came for?" Asuma questioned behind him.

"And the dogs. They're coming back to the compound with me."

Pakkun perked up at this, trotting over to Kakashi and pawing at his leg as if he'd understood the statement. Kakashi bent down and stroked a hand over his head.

Asuma was scrutinizing him, looking close to breaking and asking more question about the house. Kakashi ignored him and went back to rummaging through the cabinets for any more instant ramen cups he had buried behind cereal and loose spices.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

Kakashi sighed, heavy and deep so that Asuma would hear. He knew he looked like shit—he'd been up all night while Ino stitched you up, then couldn't bring himself to leave your room no matter how many times he told himself that he needed to go before you woke up. He found that convincing himself to leave you was much harder after he'd spent so long wondering if you were even still alive.

So he wasn't at his best this morning. But he also hadn't expected to still have company.

"I'm fine," he said, though he could still feel Asuma's scrutinizing gaze, "just tired."

Asuma was silent for a long moment, and Kakashi did his best to look focused on the task at hand to keep himself from turning and seeing Asuma's concerned glances.

"If you say so."

"Usually the pawn moves first. You can use the knight if you want to, but I'd stick with pawns until you get the hang of it–"

"I'll move the knight first!"

Shikamaru sighed, nodding at Naruto to go ahead and watching his friend move the knight forward triumphantly.

"Ok, what next?"

"I can't walk you through it step by step. Each game is different, so you have to learn what the pieces do and then decide the strategies yourself–"

"Pakkun!"

Sakura snickered at Shikamaru's unimpressed expression as Pakkun came bursting through the door, knocking the pieces off of the Shogi board and leaping into Naruto's arms.

Naruto let out a laugh, pushing Pakkun away as the pug licked his face and sat on Naruto's chest, tail wagging despite the perpetual frown on his face.

"Shikamaru?"

Naruto looked up at Kakashi standing in the doorway, but he was quickly distracted by the rest of the pack following Pakkun's lead and piling on top of the boy—who accepted them joyfully. Sakura sighed as laughter filled the room, then pulled Bull away as he began wandering towards where you were laying in your hospital bed.

"What are you guys doing in here?" Kakashi asked quietly, looking around at the scattered Shogi pieces, then looking at where you were still unconscious from your injury the night before. You hadn't moved since he left that morning, but part of him kept expecting you to just shoot up from bed and run at the first opportunity.

"Well, you said that you and Y/N had a...conversation," Sakura said sheepishly, avoiding Kakashi's eyes in favor of looking at Urushi as she scratched behind his ear, "and we wanted to be here when she woke up. We thought maybe she'd remember things faster that way."

"I didn't say 'conversation,' I said fight. She attacked me, then she ripped her stitches and passed out on me."

"But something happened in between! You told me!"

"Which I regret now," Kakashi grumbled. He let out a long, frustrated sigh, then sat in an empty chair at your bedside.

"Hey Kakashi."

"Hello Shikamaru," Kakashi deadpanned, then looked at his suspiciously quiet student on the opposite side of the bed, "Sasuke, I thought we talked about the whole 'discretion' issue."

"Yeah, but..." Sasuke looked at Kakashi, then winced and shrugged, "it's Shikamaru. Plus, we didn't tell him anything important. In fact, we brought him here to help."

Kakashi sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose and thinking through this new development. He knew they had good intentions. They wanted you to heal as much as he did, but including more people in the mess that things had become was reckless.

He couldn't risk losing you. Not again. And if SHIELD found out about you now, when things were still so delicate, he knew what would happen.

Looking at the situation objectively, it wasn't safe to have you in the compound. You'd clearly gotten out of your restraints the first time you'd woken up, and he still had no idea how you'd done it. Telling SHIELD was probably the best way to go about this as a way of ensuring the safety of everyone involved.

But his students would never forgive him if he did that. And he knew that he wouldn't see you again if SHIELD got their hands on you.

He was being selfish, but he couldn't let that happen.

"Shikamaru," he said carefully, looking down at the boy sitting next to the Shogi board, "I know this isn't the most...conventional situation, but please don't say anything about her."

"Don't worry," Shikamaru said, "I have no interest in who she is or where she came from. I'm just here to play Shogi."

"To play...what?"

"We were doing some research," Sakura interjected before Naruto or Sasuke could, "and it turns out that strategy games can help improve memory. We thought that it might help."

"I don't think there have been any studies about this particular issue."

"Yeah, but we might as well try, right?" Sakura asked hopefully. "I mean, we can't just sit back and watch her suffer."

Kakashi opened his mouth with no real response formulated, but the door clicked open before he could speak. Kakashi sighed when Ino froze in the doorway and took in the scene before her.

"Guys, there are way too many people in here. If she wakes up, she's going to be too overwhelmed, and—who is that?"

Ino narrowed her eyes at Shikamaru. Her gaze shifted to Sakura, then to you, and then back to Shikamara still sorting through his Shogi pieces.

"I'm Shikamaru," he said dully, "I'm just here to play Shogi."

"Well, can you do it outside of the hospital room? There are seven people and—jesus—eight dogs in this room."

"Aw," Naruto groaned, hugging Bull as he strode to the boy's side and gaze him a slobbery kiss on the cheek. Ino cringed, "but we want to make sure Y/N's okay when she wakes up!"

"You do realize that she was holding a gun to your head not even a week ago."

"Ino," Sakura hissed, eyes wide with worry as she glanced down at Naruto, but the boy just shook his head and smiled.

"It's okay," he said softly, "I forgive her. Actually, no, there's nothing to forgive in the first place."

Ino stopped, staring at Naruto like he was speaking another language. It took a moment, and it looked like it had been years to Ino, but she finally shook her head and turned towards you.

"Okay, fine, just...go wait outside. This won't take long."

Ino glanced at Kakashi with a look that told him to stay where he was. They waited as the other four filed out, ushering the dogs along with them, then shut the door. Silence filled the room, and Kakashi took a deep breath in an attempt to regain some form of composure.

"The Shikamaru guy won't be a problem, right?"

"No, he'll be fine."

"I hope you're right," Ino said gravely, "because if he is—"

"He'll be fine," Kakashi repeated, glaring at Ino until she shrugged and looked away from him.

Sometimes he forgot that Ino was a Widow. It was moments like this that gave him a harsh reminder.

"Everything seems fine," Ino muttered as she lifted your hospital gown and poked at your wound, restitched but still irritated and swollen from the previous night. "It'll take longer for it to heal, obviously, so we have to figure out some way to keep her from exerting herself again."

Kakashi sighed, head dropping into his hands as he thought through their options. It seemed wrong to put you into a medically-induced coma without at least asking you first, but in your current state, you would never let that happen, even if it was Ino who was overseeing your medical care.

But the alternative was to let you wake up again, and there was no telling what kind of damage you'd cause to your body if that happened.

"So," Ino sighed, sitting in the chair on the other side of your bed and resting her elbows on her knees. Her eyes were narrowed—scrutinizing. Kakashi prepared for the incoming interrogation, "are you going to tell me what happened after you fought her last night?"

He'd been dodging Ino's questions all morning. He had no idea how to explain what last night had been like, and Ino was not the person he wanted to share it with.

But he supposed that she wasn't going to let him leave unless he gave some answers, and he really didn't have the energy to argue with her.

"She went to my room and found the photos I keep displayed. I guess they must've brought something back."

"What were the photos of?"

Kakashi grimaced, cheeks reddening as he tried to come up with a believable lie. It was one thing to have the picture. He never really invited people to his room anyways, so he hadn't thought it mattered.

Well, he usually never invited people to his room.

"One was of me and the kids," he said, leaning back in his chair and looking at the wall above Ino. He tried to steady his voice as much as possible and feigned a casualness that he knew sounded fake, "the other was of Y/N and Sakura."

Silence filled the room, and Kakashi let himself bask in it for a few moments before he glanced back down at Ino. Her eyebrows were raised to her hairline, mouth pursed in a tight line and hands clenched tightly together like she was trying not to jump out of her seat and hit something.

"Okay," she said cooly, "and then what happened?"

"She asked me if I was real, and I showed her...I showed her my face. And then she passed out."

"And you brought her here."

"Yes," Kakashi grumbled, "I brought her here. Then I woke you up."

Ino watched him for another moment. Then she glanced at you, and something in her face shifted.

"During the last month that we were with Orochimaru, I kept asking myself, 'why is it Kakashi Hatake, of all people, who's getting to her? Why is the idea of his betrayal so painful?'"

Kakashi could feel his heart pounding in his chest, just like it did every time he heard that name. He tried not to let it show in his face, but he knew that Ino saw. Saw the twitch of his eye and the clenching of his fists and the tension in his shoulders.

"I don't know what love feels like," Ino continued. "Honestly, I don't really know what a lot of things feel like, but the way that she tried to hold onto your memory..."

"Please stop," he muttered, looking out the window to try and find something to focus on other than the pounding of his heart. Each beat felt like a stab in the chest. He thought it would shatter if he even tried to look at you.

"Why?" Ino asked, and he wondered if there was a point to this or if she just felt like being cruel, "do you not feel the same? Or are you just afraid to face it?"

"I don't want to talk about this with you," Kakashi snapped, finally glancing down from the window and glaring at Ino, "and that's very far from my main concern right now."

Ino sighed. Kakashi took a deep breath to keep himself from saying something out of frustration. When he felt calm enough to look at you again, he felt his racing heart begin to slow.

"We also need to talk about Orochimaru."

Kakashi felt the moment his anger was set ablaze once again. It was a storm inside of him, twisting his insides until all he could feel was that terrible anger that had been building against that monster for six years.

"I don't know what he's planning, but I've known him my whole life. He's not just going to give up," Ino said, observing Kakashi carefully. He tried to calm himself down again, but this time looking at you just made him angrier.

That man had done this to you. He was the one to blame for everything.

"I don't care what he tries. He's not getting anywhere near us again," Kakashi muttered darkly, eyes still on you despite how angry he was on your behalf. He would grab his anger by the throat, and he'd channel it into keeping you and his students safe.

He had already failed to do it once. That wouldn't happen a second time.

"That's a nice thought," Ino hummed. Kakashi glared at her, but she wasn't facing him anymore. Instead she was staring through the window, eyes clouded and very, very far away, "but it's wishful thinking. If he wants to get to you, he'll find a way. He always does."

"Before, he had the Widows."

"It doesn't matter," Ino said, the ghost of a smile still on her lips. Kakashi narrowed his eyes, watching her carefully. She seemed so...resigned. Like she had already accepted whatever fate Orochimaru had in store for her, "he always finds a way."

"How do we find him?"

"We don't," Ino shrugged, "but HYDRA might. In that case, we won't have anything to worry about."

"You don't think HYDRA will come after you too?"

"After me?" Ino laughed, "no, I don't think so. I'm a small fish. They have much bigger issues than a few rogue Widows. Especially ones that are still trainees."

"Trainees?" Kakashi asked, brows furrowed. He finally looked back up at Ino, and he could see her trying to hold back laughter, "what do you mean?"

"I mean me," she said with a cackle, "and Sakura, obviously, but that's because she came in late."

"But you're...is Y/N–"

"Oh, no. She graduated a long time ago," Ino waved the thought away, "but Widows are trainees for a long time. We only rank up once we turn eighteen."

Kakashi blinked at her, and she laughed again.

"I'm younger than Sakura, you know."

"You're...what?"

"Yep," she sighed, "really annoyed me when I found out. I still don't get how she's older than me. It's only by a few months, but man did she seem young when we first met."

Kakashi begged to differ. Sakura had always tried to act older than she was, if only to one-up Naruto and Sasuke. She appointed herself the level-headed one of the group, parading around as the self-appointed leader who could take on any task. She continued to be the brains of their little trio as they got older, and that would likely never change.

But Ino was so young. All four of them were.

"Don't do that."

"Huh?"

"Make that face," Ino grimaced, "like you feel bad for me or something. I know it seems like it to an old man, but we're really not all that young."

Kakashi glanced at her dully, and she laughed again.

"If you keep worrying so much, you actually are going to turn into an old man."

There wasn't really much to do but worry. It had been hard enough knowing that you were with Orochimaru and that he couldn't do anything about it. It was an entirely different type of worry now that you were back, but still trapped in Orochimaru's lies.

"Listen," Ino sighed, "even before you found us, we were making progress. She wasn't as scared, and she was remembering bits and pieces of her past. You just have to give her time to heal."

Kakashi glanced at you, counting each breath as it rose with your chest and finding a relieving calmness in the task.

Your monitor had been a steady, reassuring beat in the background of the room since Kakashi had entered, but both he and Ino perked up when it began to quicken. Kakashi stood, waiting with bated breath for any type of movement. The speed of the monitor wasn't concerning, but it was becoming clear that you were beginning to wake up.

Would you remember him? Would you still hate him?

Would you be afraid of him?

Your wrists were secured to the sides of the hospital bed with leather straps—a precaution that seemed necessary considering what had happened the night before—but it still seemed wrong. He didn't like seeing you strapped down. He didn't like that he was the one who had restrained you.

"Calm down."

Kakashi looked up and saw Ino staring at him, eyes narrowed as she scrutinized his face.

"I am calm."

"You're freaking out," Ino said matter-of-factly as she looked back down at you and checked your IV and heart monitor. Really, it looked like she was doing unnecessary tasks to distract herself from your slow rise from unconsciousness, "you look ready to bolt."

"I don't want to be here if she's afraid of me."

"She's not afraid of you," Ino murmured, "you're not the one who tortured her."

"It doesn't matter," Kakashi shot back, "I was the one she saw."

"It does matter." Ino snapped, "She can already tell that there's a difference, right? That's what you told me. Like I said, you just have to give her time."

Kakashi knew she was right. As painful as this felt, it wouldn't be for

"Help her believe that you're not Orochimaru," Ino said, watching with Kakashi as your hand twitched and your eyes squeezed shut, "Show her that you're different."

"Y/N?"

You were floating. There was nothing beneath you but empty space and nothing above you but darkness. Your arms were spread at your sides, fingers splayed to feel what was holding you up, but all you could do was ball your hands into empty fists in a fruitless attempt to hold onto the nothingness keeping you afloat.

You closed your eyes.

"Please wake up."

Someone was crying. You felt their tears falling onto your face, and your eyes flickered open when a drop of salty water landed on your eyelid. The harsh light above you felt like a stone weighing down your skull. Your head was pounding, but there was solid ground beneath you now. That, at least, brought you some relief.

"Thank God," someone said to your left, and before you could look at them properly, arms were around your waist, squeezing it like you would slip from their grasp the moment they let you go. You stiffened, body tensing the longer they held onto you. When you glanced down, you saw a mess of pink hair on the head of whoever was holding you.

"Let go of her," a new voice snarled, low and dangerous. You reached out instinctively, covering the girl as best as you could and looking up at the man who had spoken.

He didn't look very strong. You gave him a once over and decided with a fairly high level of certainty that you could take him if it came down to a fight. His long, black hair cascaded down his back, and when he turned to face you, you couldn't help but be reminded of a snake. His irises were practically slits, and they narrowed on you when he met your eyes.

You were sure that you could overpower this man, but you still looked at the ground the moment he turned towards you, fear filling your lungs like it was the very air you were breathing.

"I don't understand," the girl said, still holding your waist. Her voice was shaky, and you instinctively gripped her tighter, "we didn't do anything wrong. We did what you said–"

You hadn't registered that there was someone standing behind you until he grabbed the girl by the arm and dragged her towards the opposite side of the room. You opened your mouth, but a sharp glare from the silver-haired man who had just appeared silenced you immediately. Fear rocketed through you, but you didn't understand why you were so afraid. All you knew was that you felt a deep desperation to make sure this girl didn't get hurt.

The silver-haired man pulled the sobbing girl forward until she was at the other's feet, kneeling before him. He threw her down with a sneer, then turned back towards you. He looked disgusted.

"Y/N," the taller man said sharply. You lifted your chin, but your eyes stayed fixed on the wall behind him, "I know you lied to me about this mission."

Your body went taut, tension nearly bursting from you as you searched for some answer to the unspoken question he was asking, but nothing was clear. None of your memories were surfacing no matter how desperately you searched for them.

Yet, despite the information that you were missing, your mouth opened and you began speaking before you even knew what you were going to say.

"Sir," you heard yourself say, the slightest tremor in your voice, "I apologize. There was some information that I didn't believe was relevant."

Silence spread over the room like a thick blanket of fog. You couldn't remember where this was. You had no idea who these people were, but you were speaking like all of this was a memory.

"Sakura," the man said, and you jolted. You knew that name. You knew this girl—it was right there in front of you, if you could only open your eyes and see it.

"Y/N had a different mission than you. She was supposed to tell me whether or not you are a valuable asset to the Red Room."

Sakura's eyes widened, but she didn't take the risk of looking at you. You could see how hard she was shaking at the feet of the black-haired man, and your fingers tightened into fists. You were fighting a battle against your instinct to protect her, but it was losing to the fear that kept crashing into you in waves. There was nothing you could do. Not against them.

You knew, deep down, that anything even resembling rebellion or defiance would end in pain. Pain for both you and Sakura.

"And she left some key information out of her report. One detail being your failure to kill your target. She had to do it for you, correct?"

You scowled at the ground, wracking your brain to try and figure out how he'd known that the mission had gone so wrong so quickly.

The memories were coming back. You could picture the second you pulled the trigger when Sakura hesitated. It was a crucial moment in the mission, and she would've missed it had you not taken the shot for her. At the time, she'd been grateful.

The events were all coming back. But why...why did you risk that for her?

But despite your confusion, overpowering it was fear. Fear for the girl kneeling on the other side of the room.

You knew what was going to happen next.

And that man...you knew his name. And you knew you had good reason to be afraid of him.

"Why did you lie?"

You tensed, wide eyes fixed on the ground as you tried to come up with some excuse that wouldn't end with Sakura getting hurt.

"Sir," you began, the word escaping you in a hushed breath, "I made the decision to kill him. Sakura wold have had the opportunity to do so had I not stepped in. The fault lies with me."

"Y/N–"

Your head shot up at the sound of skin hitting skin, but you only saw the aftermath of Sakura's body hitting the ground with a thud. Your throat dried as you glared at Kabuto's raised hand, and the anger that had been growing in your chest flared.

You were forced to look away when the black-haired man approached you, footsteps echoing off of the sleek, black tile in the silence of the room. His movement made even the other man pause.

You saw his shoes stop in front of you, but you didn't dare lift your head now that he was so close. It was only when he leaned down and gripped the back of your neck in a tight fist that you were forced to look up and finally meet his eyes.

"What do you think you deserve for lying to me?" he asked calmly, though his tightened grip was a stark contrast to his tone. Any tighter, and you wouldn't have been able to speak. You winced when he gave pulled you up from where you were sitting—a warning not to take any longer to answer.

"I will accept any punishment you deem acceptable to give me, sir," you told him, the words automatic and practiced. You allowed yourself a moment to glance behind him and meet Sakura's eyes. She shook her head, eyes wide and frantic, and you gave her the smallest smile you could manage, unsure if she would even see it. "And I will take any further punishment in Sakura's stead."

"I can't allow that."

"May I speak freely?"

There was a pause. That was a risky question to ask. Especially when you were on thin ice already.

"Speak."

"Sakura responds well to my instruction. You've seen the improvement yourself since we've been partnered together. Let me take on her punishment, and I will continue to train her until she is ready to graduate. I promise that I will make your expectations of us very clear to her."

He considered your words, staring at you as he did so. He was scrutinizing every little movement of your body—every shift in your expression, and you practically felt his gaze reaching the depths and recesses of your soul. He knew everything about you. He knew how terrified you were of him.

He also knew that you would do anything to protect Sakura.

"Fine," he relented. You sagged in relief.

Sakura looked devastated. She looked furious.

"Sakura," you whispered, voice hoarse and strained. The girl looked up at you, teeth clenched and eyes full of fire.

"Sakura," you repeated when the man turned towards her, "it's alright. Just let it go."

"How could I—ah!"

"Neither of you were given permission to speak," the silver-haired man hissed, hand raised to strike Sakura once again. You nearly lunged for him, but the other man's fingers tightened on the back of your neck again and you stilled.

"Don't," he said, watching Sakura on the ground blankly, "you're in no position to protect her."

Then he turned towards you again, and you felt the fear that he been a dull ache in your chest up rise into your throat. You pulled back, attempting to get his hand off of your neck, but it only tightened further.

Instead of the black-haired man, it was Kakashi staring you down, silver hair reflecting in the light. Those snake-like eyes were the only things that remained.

"No," you murmured. Kakashi grinned. "This isn't what happened. You weren't here."

"No?" Kakashi mocked. "How would you know? You don't even know who that girl is."

"I do," you croaked, "I do know her."

"You knew her. But you don't know anything anymore, do you?"

You grit your teeth and tried once again to find any relevant memories. The ones that would answer the endless questions that you had about this place. About Sakura and the black-haired man.

About Kakashi.

"You tried to protect her, and you failed," Kakashi said, voice mocking and humored, "and now look at you. You can't even protect yourself. You're useless."

"You're not supposed to be here," you whispered, refusing to look into his eyes, "I know you're not."

"Think, Y/N!"

You looked up at Sakura's voice. Kabuto was gone, and behind her was nothing but that emptiness you'd woken up to.

"You can find your way back! I know you can!"

She looked twice as desperate as she'd been in your memory, but it looked like she was trapped behind a glass wall. She pressed her hands against it, and her shouts began to fade into silence.

When you looked above you again, Kakashi had vanished. You were floating where he had held you, and once Sakura's voice had faded completely, you shifted your gaze back to where she had been standing.

You were alone.

You closed your eyes, curling in on yourself and hugging your knees to your chest in a desperate attempt to keep the emptiness from swallowing you whole. Maybe if you made yourself smaller, it would forget that you were there. Maybe it would leave you alone.

"Let me out," you choked, feeling the silence of the space pressing you in on all sides, making you smaller and smaller until you were just a speck of dust in its infinite vastness.

"No," you choked, "no, I don't want to be here."

No one responded. The silence was suffocating.

"Let me out!" you screamed, voice drifting off into the emptiness that surrounded you. The sound died the moment it left your lips. No one heard you. You wondered if you'd even spoken at all.

"Wake me up," you whispered, voice cracked and so close to shattering. "Please...please let me leave."

The empty space gave an answering shudder that shook you to the bones. Then, in a merciful acceptance of your pleas, it shattered, leaving you with nothing to do but open your eyes.

Regaining consciousness felt similar to clawing at empty air. Like you were trying to grasp at anything to keep you grounded. It quickly became exhausting.

It was unpleasant, and your head was pounding, but relief still overpowered everything else that you were feeling.

Ino was hovering over you, scanning your expression and giving you a forced smile when she met your eyes. You blinked, watching blankly as she felt your forehead, then your pulse, then the probes on your chest attached to your heart monitor.

"How are you feeling?" she asked after a moment, finally sitting in a chair at your side.

"Tired," you muttered. Ino chuckled.

"That's because you're still doped up on pain killers," she shook her head, "I can't believe you. I thought I told you that we were safe here."

You grumbled something that was intended to be an apology, but probably sounded more like inaudible frustration.

When she got no other response, Ino glanced at something above you, and you saw the nervousness that passed over her face before you turned to find out what was causing it.

You cycled through several emotions at once when you met Kakashi's eyes. The image of that familiar man's face was the first thing to appear, and you swallowed against the bile rising in your throat. You'd just barely held onto the image of his face from your dream, but it felt important. Far too important to forget before you understood what was going on.

Kakashi seemed to sense the internal battle that you were fighting and looked at Ino, freeing you from his scrutinizing gaze.

"Y/N," Ino said, voice frustratingly calm. It was like she was talking to a wild animal, afraid that it would bolt at the first sign of a threat.

Though you supposed that you'd done nothing but prove yourself a danger to the people around you. And the straps over your wrists and ankles were a harsh reminder of how recklessly you'd acted the night before.

"Is it alright if I step out for a minute?"

You looked up at Ino indignantly, eyes wide and a very strong "no" involuntarily forming on your lips. For the past seven months, being alone with Kakashi meant pain. It meant that you were doing something wrong.

"Ino, maybe that's not the best–"

"I'm not asking you," Ino interrupted Kakashi firmly, gaze holding yours even as she spoke to the man on your other side. "Y/N?"

Why would she even ask? She knew what he had done to you. She knew how much you feared him.

You risked another glance at Kakashi, and he quickly averted his eyes when you caught him looking at you.

"Actually, I should probably go check on the others–"

"It's fine," you stopped him as he began to stand from his seat. You turned back to Ino and gave her a wobbly smile. She didn't look impressed by your attempt to look calm, "you can go."

Ino gave a nod, then looked up at Kakashi and narrowed her eyes. You couldn't tell what message she was trying to convey, but Kakashi seemed to understand. Then, after glancing at the straps holding you down by your wrists and ankles, she opened the door and left.

Silence swallowed the room, and you kept your head turned towards the door. Then, when your heartbeat had slowed enough that you felt you could move, you turned your head and gazed at the ceiling.

Maybe this wasn't the best idea.

This wasn't the Kakashi you knew. It wasn't the man who tortured you. There were missing pieces, and you were likely in no danger with someone that Ino trusted to be alone with you.

But you still couldn't help the fear that flooded you at the sight of him. Everything else was obscured by his mask, but his eyes...they often haunted you in your nightmares.

And even though they looked different, they were the same eyes you remembered. They were kinder, but looking at them still reminded you of that machine.

You could feel yourself beginning to float again. You didn't want to shut down now—not after you'd just woken up and especially not while you were alone with Kakashi, but that seemed to be where you were heading.

Useless, you heard a voice say in your head. I'm disappointed. I thought you were stronger than this.

It didn't sound like Kakashi. If your very unreliable memory was serving you well, it almost sounded like the black-haired man from your dream.

You risked a glance at Kakashi. He was remaining silent as well, elbows resting on the arms of his chair and hands clasped together. As far as you could tell from his eyes, his expression was tense, but not impatient. Nothing like the expression you remembered from the past seven months.

"Can you," you began shakily, swallowing against your dry throat when the words came out hoarse. You felt pathetic, and you were certain you didn't look any better than you sounded, "can you take off your mask?"

Kakashi looked fairly unsurprised by the request, and he was quick to relent. Just like the night before, he hooked a finger over the black cloth and pulled it down so that it pooled around his neck. And, just like the night before, it triggered something inside you that you'd buried very deep. Something that was too far away for you to identify.

But it was a far cry from the fear that you were accustomed to associating with him.

Now, without the blinding effects of adrenaline and fear, you took the chance to observe him properly. For the longest time, you'd pictured there being something monstrous beneath his mask. Like he was just pretending to be human as a trick, and what lied beneath the black fabric was too horrifying to imagine.

But he was...perfectly normal.

You almost wished he was a monster. That would make all of this less confusing. And it might make you feel less guilty for being afraid of him.

"I had a dream last night," you told Kakashi. "about a man with long, black hair and eyes that reminded me of a snake's. I was...terrified of him."

Kakashi's breath stilled, and you turned your head towards him. He was evidently very good at hiding his emotions, because his expression gave nothing away.

"Do you know who he is?"

Kakashi opened his mouth, then closed it, breaking away from your intense gaze.

"Yes," he finally said, "his name is Orochimaru."

Orochimaru.

The name was like a slap to the face. Hearing it now, you wondered how you'd ever forgotten it. There was so much fear associated with him that feeling it now was like knowing true terror for the first time.

You thought you'd been afraid of Kakashi, but as the image of Orochimaru and his serpentine gaze formed in your mind, you realized that the fear you'd felt then was just a small island compared to the world of hate and pain that was opening up before you.

"Breathe," Kakashi said next to you, hands kept very deliberately at his sides, "he can't get to you here."

Your heart was pounding, and you had no idea why. You didn't know where this fear came from. You just knew that it existed it.

It was consuming you.

All of the images of Kakashi torturing you with that machine became hazy—as if they had sunk to the bottom of a the ocean, only the ghost of them visible through the water. They shifted so quickly and so violently that you thought it would make you sick.

And then, when the waves calmed and you could see the images clearly, Orochimaru had taken Kakashi's place at the center of each memory.

Maybe it had never been Kakashi. Maybe the person you'd been afraid of for as long as you could remember wasn't real. He was just a twisted version of the man sitting here now, seemingly taking care of you despite how violently you'd attacked him.

What if he's lying? a small, almost silent voice whispered in your ear. How would you possibly be able to tell the difference?

You swallowed, fighting the wave of nausea that made bile rise in your throat. How were you supposed to know what the truth was? How could he prove it? How could you trust him if he did?

Nothing felt real. Every bit of kindness seemed like a trick.

You couldn't even trust yourself anymore.

"Why did I end up like this?" you whispered, trying desperately to keep tears at bay. Letting Kakashi see you cry not once, but two times in the span of twelve hours was humiliating. You felt far too vulnerable as a layer of salty tears blocked your vision despite your best efforts to contain it.

"It's not your fault," Kakashi whispered, though he sounded just as lost as you felt.

It's not yours either.

You couldn't say that to him. You weren't sure you even believed it, but it came to mind as an automatic response to the sadness in his voice and the guilt plaguing his expression. Something in your chest tightened at the look on his face. You turned back to the ceiling.

"You probably know more about me than I do."

In the silence that followed your words, you could hear the faint sound of whispering coming from the other side of the door. After a few moments, a bark made all of the whispering voices pause, then they all began shushing the perpetrator of the noise simultaneously. You glanced towards the door cautiously, counting the different voices and determining that four people sat outside of your room.

That many people could quickly overtake you with your injury hindering you—not to mention the restraints holding you down. Your door wasn't locked, so they could easily come in and ambush you. And you certainly didn't trust Kakashi to come to your aid in the event of an attack—one civil exchange wasn't enough to erase your fear. Not by a long shot.

You tested the restraints again, feeling more desperate to free yourself of them by the second. You were caged in on both sides by people whose intentions were a mystery to you. Kakashi—this version of him at least—hadn't proven himself a threat yet, but the voices outside were unfamiliar. Ino's wasn't among them, meaning she had either left, been attacked, or...

Perhaps she had never been here to begin with. What a sick twist of fate that you were alone in enemy territory after all, and you'd just conjured a hallucination of her as a means of coping.

And there was a dog—not a small one, if that bark was anything to go by.

It didn't matter that, at an instinctual level, you trusted Kakashi. It didn't matter that he seemed to be telling the truth when he said that he was on your side. Trusting him now was a bad idea. You didn't have nearly enough information to believe that all he had were good intentions.

"I'm taking your restraints off."

You looked over at Kakashi, now standing and focused on the leather straps around your wrists. He glanced at you with a raised brow, a silent question in his eyes. You narrowed your own at his seemingly well-intentioned gesture. It was a bit too well intentioned—what reason did he have to believe you wouldn't wring his neck the first chance you got?

He was either very kind, very stupid, or an unhealthy mix of the two.

"Why?" you asked, making Kakashi pause. He shrugged as he reached forward, waiting for your nod of assent before he loosened the strap on your left wrist enough that you could pull your hand through.

"They were mostly a precaution for when you first woke up. We didn't want you to panic and hurt yourself, or..."

He grimaced, neatly avoiding your eyes as he moved to the other side of the bed and undid the right strap. You circled your newly-freed wrists in relief and made a very weak attempt at sitting up. You didn't get very far when pain flared in your chest, and you fell back with a frustrated huff.

"Don't do that," Kakashi shook his head as he took the straps off of your ankles, "you have to give your body a break if you want to heal."

"I got around just fine last night," you muttered. Kakashi huffed

"Well, you're still just as reckless as before."

You furrowed your brow. Before.

The gaping holes in your memory were torturous. Knowing that there was so much missing kept you up at night as you tried desperately to find your way through the haze blocking you from your memories. But everything felt so far away, and you were tired of having to look for things that should have belonged to you.

Your mind should've been your own to control.

"Is there a girl named Sakura here?"

Kakashi's eyes widened, and hope bled into his expression. His lips parted just slightly, then lifted in a happy—albeit small—smile.

"There is," he said with a laugh, "she misses you."

"She was in my dream," you furrowed your brow, "but I don't remember anything about her."

"That's okay," Kakashi shook his head, "anything you remember is progress. Even if it's just a name."

Progress. You almost wanted to laugh. You couldn't even remember what the end goal of that progress was. How were you supposed to find your way back into a mind that seemed lost to you?

"How can I know that you actually mean that?"

"Trust isn't earned over night," Kakashi said, eyes not leaving yours, "it took us both a while to trust one another the first time we met."

The image of a man separated from you by a cell door flashed across your mind, and you stowed it away carefully.

"What changed?"

That gave Kakashi paused. You watched him as he looked down at his clasped hands and pondered on it.

"I can't say what changed for you," he finally answered, "but I knew that I could trust someone who cared as much about my student as I did. You protected Sakura for a long time. That's why..."

The pause that followed was heavy. You shifted in the bed, suddenly unsure whether you wanted him to continue.

"That's why you left. To protect her."

You chose to leave. If what Kakashi was saying was true, it was all because of how much you cared about the girl from your dream.

It was your choice. So why did Kakashi look so guilty?

You replayed your dream again, thinking about the sacrifice you'd made in that one memory to keep Sakura safe. The pain that you were willing to endure to make sure she didn't have to feel it too.

"Will you tell me more?" you asked hesitantly, wondering if it was acceptable to make such a request of someone you still didn't know if you could trust.

"Of course," he said immediately, "anything you want to know."

You weren't sure what you could possibly ask.

"Start from the beginning."

(previous chapter) | (next chapter) | (series masterlist)

Author's note | YEESH another long one, hopefully it makes up for the nearly two month long wait. i'm hoping you guys like the direction the story is going. we're (kinda) nearing the end of this particular story, but i have more plans so no worries there.

i'm hoping that the storyline isn't getting too repetitive, and i know that not much is happening in the way of romance, but i PROMISE we're getting there. i tend to say a lot and take a while to get where i'm going but i hope that's something you guys enjoy.

also, if you haven't yet, please check out the playlist for this fic (linked above)! it is very specific to my taste in music but i think it fits the story really well. i tried to order it to fit the order of events in the fic, so maybe listen while you read if that's something you enjoy. i do want to point out one song that i've been listening to non-stop and that has inspired me a lot recently. it's called "take me to war" by the crane wives, and my favorite lyrics are "there are no stones at my disposal / there's no god to award me a crown / but i am always swinging at / somebody i can't knock down." i feel like it fits so well.

anyways, thank you for reading this far and don't forget to leave me some love if you enjoyed!! see y'all in the next chapter!

title is from "Arms Unfolding" by Dodie

[kaledya]

Greetings, Richard here (for the second time today I'm sorry but I don't need sleep I need ANSWERS haha)

This time I would actually ask you about something a bit... Different. Idk if you did but I would be glad if you could read the first episode of my Sinner's Symphony AU (it needs updating with the new info you dropped today but that's not the point rn) and help me out with the name, I'm terrible with them. I didn't want to straight up steal one of the unused names for Sinners Symphony but come up with actually good name myself.

Right now I was thinking of something like: Orchestra of Oblivion, or Sinful Sonata, but neither really fit the theme, as well as the fact I am still working on episode 3 that is not ready to be let out.

I'm sorry for asking for so much but I can't think of a better person to help than the original creator themselves (geez it's weird constantly calling someone they/them pronouns just because you have no clue wether they're a guy or a girl or something else) and I want to impress with my work. Right now it's not much to read, but I promise there will be, since I've finally (hopefully) beat my writing block!

I hope you are having a great day/night (which I hope you had looking at your activity :D ) and I'll see you with the actual release of the AU on Ao3 where it will come as soon as i figure the site out and remaster the first episode

Sincerely, Richard 💙

HI!!! AND YOU NEED SLEEP TOO!! *gentle bonk*

I couldn't find the where you published the full chapters, but I read Chapter 2 from your account and I really loved your dialogue writing.I love reading fanfics with lots of dialogue like this!!

And I seriously loved the way it handled the characters! I'm seriously looking forward to your future episodes.And after writing this article, I think I will continue to scroll your account, other eps are there, right?

I seriously think your writing is beautiful. But I recommend you use AO3 to reach more people more easily.It will be much more relaxing for you!!

I really understand you about the name and I would be happy to help!!And no, you're not asking too much, I'm glad you consulted me!

I don't know the direction your story will take regarding the name, but first review your main topic and then you can give it a title.

For example, when choosing the work for my AU, before deciding on the name Sinner's Symphony There was Redemption's Rhapsody in the options (I think that was it, I don't remember exactly)In other words, you can search for music or song terms and terms related to religion or redemption and create a name.

So you can do it this way, I'm not very good at finding names.But I don't think you should worry too much.Also, I loved the names you chose, they are both very cool.

All you have to do is do your best and have fun.As long as you love your job, there will always be people who admire you.And you don't need to strain yourself! Write when you're ready!

Thank you! I hope you have a great day too!❤️❤️

And I can't wait for you to release the fanfic on AO3!!And don't worry, it's a seriously easy site to use, and if you're having trouble with tags, you can reference tags from fanfics previously related to SSAU!❤️❤️

[red-bat-arse]

And to Fight Wars (AO3 Link)

Chapter 1

(Chapter 2)

(Chapter 3)

This is a oneshot I wrote (although maybe I might continue it?) where Steve moved away from Hawkins pre-canon and was made into the business heir his father wanted. However, when he's brought back to Hawkins in mid 1986 it's clear that his father was involved in something shady; because that's when he meets Eleven, trapped in a rundown lab.

*I don't do tag lists*

*

Steve hated his father.

For many reasons, not the least of which being that he was a cold hearted sonofabitch. Take your pick; he cheated on his wife; he pulled Steve away from his friends and life in Hawkins to be raised by nannies; his expectations had crushed his son under their weight for years; and he had died halfway around the world just one week before. The last one was the most pressing, as now Steve was left in charge of his business empire which, despite having the training beaten into him since he turned twelve, he'd never wanted to have to deal with in the first place.

At least now Steve could arrange for his mother to be properly cared for -yet another strike against the late Richard Harrington was that he'd abandoned Seline the year before when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Steve's mother hadn't exactly been the type for kind words or a gentle hand either, but by god, she deserved to at least go through recovery in comfort. Steve had settled it the day after he received word of the sudden death and hadn't spoken to her since, not even to arrange a funeral. Steve didn't know anyone who would want to go.

He spent the week between then and now offloading or liquidating what he could, and delegating the businesses that would be tied up for awhile, and he was exhausted. His father had known early on that getting his only son ready to inherit would require a backbreaking tutoring schedule and a firm hand on his neck, and while it had bred resentment all his life, Steve was reluctantly grateful for the skills he could now use to manage... all this.

He took a special glee in passing on the businesses his father used to be most proud or possessive over to those on the staff who he'd always scoffed at or looked down upon, whether for their disagreements with him or the fact that Steve got along with them, or both more often. Steve did tend to like people who pissed his father off, since he so rarely worked up the courage to do so himself. But yes, giving the law firm to Amanda, who'd had to deal with his father's leering for over two years now, was its own special kind of balm and well worth the lost sleep.

But, as he trudged into yet another meeting about yet another asset of his father's he hadn't known about, this part was beginning to get old. He should be happier that he would get to live the rest of his life more easily, sleeping better knowing the bastard was six feet under by now in a cheap grave, but something had him on edge. Steve was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

For now it was a tenant who had been in the midst of renegotiating a renting price, which Steve could easily follow along with and win favour by doing the exact opposite of what he'd found written in Richard's notes. But he was sure that there would be something he didn't know how to handle very soon, and he didn't like being on the back foot, even hypothetically.

All he wanted to do was put his father's memory behind him and get on with his life. He was only twenty, he knew he was incredibly privileged to have the life he did, even if it had been hard in its own way -but now he could actually stop and think of a future that, maybe, could make him happy. A future he could be proud to talk about to a stranger in a bar, instead of shame faced deflection as he did now.

Of course, meeting with government people did not make things easy, which came about the very next day. Or, Steve reevaluated as he noticed the lack of identifying marks on any of the shirts, briefcases or letterheads of these people, maybe not the government. He knew his father had to have dealings with underground and other shady types, and those would take longer to dig out than anything legitimate. Thanks to his mother, he had experience with that as well.

"Given your father was so involved, we would be grateful to be considered for continued funding, Mr Harrington," the small, mousy looking man across the table from him was saying. They were using the office his father had kept in the city, on the top floor of the building for the shipping business he owned. "Our research is coming along quite well despite some recent delays, and given your father was looking to partner with us to bring it to the United States military, I'm confident it will produce the profit to pay back your investment twice over."

Steve frowned, not liking the sound of that. The mere suggestion of dealing with the government made him wary, and he could hear his maternal uncles scoff in his head at the evidence coming to light that Richard would have tied himself up in anything so official. Seline had taught Steve better.

"Well, Mr... Drab?"

The man's face pinched, "Drabbé, please."

"Noted," Steve smiled politely, "Well, you see, there's almost no record at all of your business partnering with mine. My father had many faults, and keeping records was one of them," it was funny to watch Mr Drab's face blanch at the casually insulting way he described Richard. "You see, I don't even know what it is you're developing. You can't expect me to put my money into a product on pure faith, can you? Do you think I'm stupid?"

Steve couldn't help the real bitterness that crept into his voice, even as he kept his smile pasted on. If there was one thing Richard Harrington had loved to throw at Steve all day, every day they saw each other, it was 'stupid'. Sure, Steve couldn't do math in his head or read for very long without getting a headache, and he hadn't gotten accepted to any colleges when he applied his senior year of high school, but he knew how to read people. Drab was panicking, both about the accusation Steve levied at him of an insult, but also it seemed at the fact Steve was questioning what this 'Project MKUltra' even was. Steve definitely had the feeling he'd found the other shoe with this.

"Of course not, Mr Harrington, my deepest apologies!" he rushed to say, wringing his hands. "You must understand, it was so unexpected to hear of your father's death. We've been developing this project in completely privacy for so long, the secrecy has gotten to be routine. Of course you would need to be aware of the project's specifics in order to be as committed a donor as Mr Harrington Sr was, of course."

"Of course," Steve tapped a finger on the upholstery of the chair he was sitting in while he contemplated whether he should look into this or drop the entire thing like a hot coal. However, in his experience the latter might get some angry people at his door about the loss of money with no cause, so at the very least he could see what had his father so enamoured. "I trust you'll arrange for me to see what my father invested in before I make my decision then? I'd like to get the whole picture."

Drab paled a couple shades, but he managed to squeak out a promise to call the next week with a verdict, so Steve considered it settled. He walked out of that meeting with a sour taste in his mouth and a mental note to have a copy of his updated will sent to Amanda before he agreed to go anywhere with these people.

*

The fact the project was being developed in Hawkins Indiana was like being slapped in the face, and Steve couldn't help but stare out the window at the foreign-familiar surroundings as his driver made their way through the town. It was eerie, all the parts he remembered overlaid in his mind on top of the wreckage from the earthquake several months ago that had yet to be fully cleaned up. There was the elementary school, same as he'd last seen all those years ago but now with a great crack straight through the parking lot. There was the movie theatre, half the sign pulled off to the side of the building and the doors blocked up, the letters of the new releases from March still hanging from the boards.

At least he knew why his father had kept the house all these years with no one living there. Steve couldn't remember if Hawkins even had a motel within city limits.

The documents beside Steve on the seat were illuminating, and put him in a far more important position than Mr Drab had made it seem in the privacy of his father's office. In actuality, along with being the primary donor for the entire project, Richard Harrington had simply owned most of it as well, from the buildings it was hosted in to the shipping company it used for its materials to the various services which stocked it with food and laundry and office supplies at regular intervals throughout the month. Steve essentially owned this project, whatever it may be, and his father may have been a bastard, but in this case he was a smart one. Each contract was air tight in a way Steve could plainly see even on a cursory read, and they risked heavy fines and black listing if they tried to move away from those services without a completed sign off from the CEO, which officially made this Steve's problem.

Steve's driver followed along behind their escort, a nondescript black car that looked even more out of place for trying so hard not to stand out, and he gripped his hands into fists as they rolled out of the downtown and into an industrial area he wasn't familiar with. The large office building they pulled up to run by 'the Department of Energy' was one he'd only ever seen from afar as a child, and coming here now did not exactly leave him feeling welcomed back. In fact, it felt more like he was being watched.

"Mr Harrington, its a pleasure to meet you," in the lobby he was greeted by a slick looking older man, who's hand he shook when offered. "I'm sorry if we appear a little scattered today, there's still some... after effects from the earthquake we're dealing with. Nothing to worry about for yourself, however."

"...and you are?" Steve found himself perturbed by some aspect of the man's behaviour, though he couldn't pinpoint what, so he defaulted to his usual -bluntness often put people off enough to drop whatever fake act they were doing.

"Dr Brenner, we spoke on the phone," he said, face strained a little. That was good, it would be better in the long run if these people thought he was just some vapid rich kid they had to win over or convince to sign of on them breaking contract. Steve didn't like the way the secretaries were watching them from the front desk like they were nervous. "I'm afraid due to those after effects I mentioned, we're a bit behind -the practical demonstrations will mostly have to wait until tomorrow or the next. But we can go to my office and discuss, and maybe you can see a small part of what we're building here before you retire."

No, Steve did not like this man. But he agreed to the new timeline and followed him into the elevator, unsurprised when one of the doormen came in behind them in.

Brenner's office was several stories underground, which told Steve exactly which kind of shady business his father had been dabbling in behind his back. Grandfather would be rolling in his grave, he thought derisively, as they exited the elevator and walked through dimly lit hallways, past various unmarked doors, until they reached one at the end of a hall that was wood instead of steel. Evidently even Brenner liked his comforts in the midst of what was looking to be a project desperate for money.

Brenner opened up the conversation bluntly -he explained as he passed Steve a printed copy of the NDA he'd signed a few days ago that 'MKUltra' was an experimental study, dedicated to producing abilities in its subjects that would be on the frontlines of the next war. It took remembering every smack across the face from his mother for Steve to keep a neutral expression as Brenner produced several folders from his desk and slid them over so Steve could flip through.

The first was objectively horrifying, and if he was a weaker man Steve may have allowed the churning in his gut at some of the pictures to outwardly show. Eighteen children, ranging from eight to seventeen, apparently, had been part of the first trials in the 60s, and all but one had died during some manner of redacted incident in 79. Brenner spoke like a proud, yet grieved parent about the wasted potential of the group and how it was after that tragedy that Steve's father had really helped the lab financially recover from the loss.

"We've been able to rebuild the last few years," Brenner tapped the next folder. "There have been a few... strange incidents in the area, leaving a number of individuals too changed to return to regular life. We're helping to rehabilitate and harness their unique gifts so they can be productive members of society one day."

"And to fight wars," Steve said.

"Yes, we can't let the Soviets get anything over on us," Brenner nodded, tapping the folder again. "Go on, I think you'll find our latest tests quite interesting! Your father certainly-"

"Please don't compare me to my father," Steve said, trying not to snap. The other man apologized, and Steve took a slow breath through his nose before he did as he'd asked and looked.

Five individuals this time, each with a small description helpfully placed next to their designated number -Steve needed to take another breath when he registered the fact that he was sitting in a place that seemed perfectly content to label children with numbers rather than names.

'011' was the last survivor of the first group, who was apparently psychic, telekinetic and could 'manipulate portals', whatever that meant, although it took a toll on her body. '019' had been taken in three years ago, and had limited empathic abilities as well as prophetic dreams, but the more of those he triggered, the less he was able to move on his own. '020' and '021' were brought in at the same time last summer, and they were mentally linked together but unfortunately the most unstable of the five, with lingering feral tendencies from being controlled by something, again, redacted. Then '022' had come here less than six months ago, ostensibly for medical treatment for rather extensive injuries, but then it was found out she too had developed 'portal manipulation' as well as rudimentary clairvoyance such as being able to detect lies.

He could not do anything drastic, he told himself as he glanced up to see Brenner waiting for him to say something, a smirk on his face like he was used to people telling him how impressive it all was, rather than what Steve wanted to do, which was far less polite. No, he had to actually think this through rather than rush in like a fool, no matter what his instincts were.

"Yes, impressive. Fantastical, even," Steve said with just the amount of doubt he wanted peeking through, which brought Brenner up short. "I'm sorry, but telekinesis? Linked minds?"

"You'll see them in working order in a day or two, Mr Harrington," Brenner looked decidedly unhappy at being undermined. "As well as my dear Eleven today, as her telekinesis is the most easy to observe. The work we are doing here is legitimate and will benefit the United States for generations to come!"

"I see. Tell me about your plans for the future for both if I choose to continue my support or cease it," Steve placed the folder back on the table, eyes lingering on the photo of 'Eleven' next to the description of her abilities. Her hair was dark and growing in curly around her ears, and she stared at the camera with a blank expression that made Steve think of mug shots and old pictures of people in sanitariums from history books. As Brenner went into detail on both proposed budgets, Steve still felt sick.

It was odd that he was being brought in to view these secret experiments so quickly after his father's death, with only an NDA as a visible buffer to prevent him from going out and reporting the whole operation to the police. But Steve, as said previously, wasn't stupid -he was simply his mother's son and more suited to the line of work his Rinaldi cousins were in the thick of. This wasn't so different from his lessons when he visited grandfather in Marseille after he turned eighteen, nor of some of the business he'd had to deal with the last few weeks while taking over for his father properly.

If Brenner had been conducting these experiments since the 60s, but only needed private funding after this unknown incident in 79, he likely once had governmental ties that were cut upon such a catastrophic event that lost them seventeen children. The man was likely completely rogue now, made more plausible by the fact his 'Energy Department' building wasn't owned or run by any government agency, and all the contracted employees commuted from the next town over. Not that there were enough employees to fill the building -Steve's father had owned the company that ran out of the first floor, and the floors above were sealed against entry.

If Brenner was this eager to have Steve here and secure either funding or a complete cut off, they must have been in dire need. The conditions in these underground hallways were enough that Steve would say so. But he must have a reason for being confident Steve wouldn't talk after he left the premises -was it that he was delusional and thought Steve was a carbon copy of his father? Did he buy into the disinterested rich boy act he played up?

Or, as they exited the office over an hour later and that same doorman from before fell into step behind them silently, did Brenner simply trust that he had employees ready and willing to threaten Steve into compliance should he seem like he was going to break the NDA? His father hadn't given this place enough extra cash to manage bribes even to small town police, but the security company they outsourced to was no joke. But he was positive the name of the head of the security team was a man who'd worked with one of his uncles in the past, so maybe he would have luck appealing to him -he could spin it to Brenner as conducting a random review of personnel, well within his right as the owner of the building and technically the CEO of the company upstairs. He'd think it over tonight.

The room Brenner led him to was painted with rainbows and looked big enough to hold far more than the five teenagers and young adults they claimed to host. For now there were only two other people inside -a tall security guard near the door wearing a bullet proof vest of all things, and the very girl from the folder Steve had reviewed in the office. She looked even worse than in the photo; pale and thin, her hair had been shown nearly to the quick recently, and she looked up at Brenner and Steve with a carefully blank face, but he saw the way her entire body tensed and leaned away from them. Brenner touched her shoulder without pause and she stilled instantly, and Steve felt his anger grow stronger, simmering under his bored facade. There was some strange metal contraption around her neck with wires and an honest to god lock pad.

He met Eleven's eyes and although he was doubtful, he knew what her file description said and tried to project calm and concern in her direction, though she gave no indication if she picked up on it or not.

Brenner clapped his hands together once, making both Steve and Eleven flinch, "My dear Eleven, this is Mr Harrington, our benefactor," Steve frowned, but bit his tongue against the presumption, instead intently watching how the girl responded to Brenner's words and being in her space. She was incredibly still and did not move save for her eyes briefly flitting from Steve to Brenner to the guard, then back to Steve. "I'd like it if you would show him your abilities, it's very important that he see you perform well since you have the easiest time of all your siblings."

The hand on Eleven's shoulder gripped tight and Steve felt his face go hot with fury; Eleven's eyes suddenly snapped up to meet his again, and this time it was much harder to reign that emotion in so to send her only concern and calm. By the furrow to her brow, he maybe wasn't succeeding.

Steve glanced at Brenner, then moved down to kneel in front of Eleven, ignoring the way the guard shifted by the door. He picked up a small toy from the table, just a wooden train, and held it out until Eleven reached up to take it -he had to strike the right balance here.

"Why don't you make this float, yeah?" he said quietly, level, while in his mind he thought hard on one question -'Do you want to leave this place?' Eleven's gaze bored into his like she really could read his mind or something, and she held the train in the palm of her hand for a quiet minute, concentrating.

Her nose started bleeding the moment the train floated back over to Steve's waiting hands. As he took it from the air, he shivered as an unfamiliar voice rang through his brain, clear as a bell.

'Not without the others.'

Steve nodded and stood, hoping he didn't look as shaken as he felt while he turned away from the girl like he was already dismissing her entirely. "Amazing," he said, and tried to think about how his father would've reacted. "If this can be done to others, there's no question of our getting a leg up on the USSR."

Eleven ducked her head.

"More than a leg up, I'd say. Just wait until you see Twenty!" Brenner seemed much more confident now that Steve had seen a little proof of his outlandish claims, and he reached down to pat at Eleven's shoulder again. Steve allowed himself to look, watching as Eleven wiped the blood from her nose and shuffled away from where Brenner was standing, hands resting unobtrusively on her lap.

As he let Brenner lead him out of the room and over to the elevator, her voice followed him like a shadow in the back of his mind, the way the steadiness in her eyes had cracked for a split second when she realized he'd heard her response.

Whatever was going on here, Steve was going to do something about it.

*

The town was strange, on edge. He directed his escort to bring him to the department store and then the grocers, picking up fresh bedding and towels, toiletries and enough food for a week's stay -each place he went to, that feeling of being watched continued. When he allowed himself an extra minute in the pharmacy aisle to look over the pain meds they had to offer, he heard whispering close by and when he chanced a look, the women turned away fast and hurried along. Checking out, the cashier stared straight at him and pointedly ignored the escort who had come in behind him save for a poisonous glare when she first noticed; she did a small double take when he handed her his ID for the medication he was buying.

"Harrington? Like the steel company?" she handed it back and started ringing through the rest of his items.

"Right. My family lived here a few years back," he tried to give her a charming smile, but he was acutely aware of the man three steps behind him. "I was pretty young, so I don't remember much."

She looked very tired, but laughed a little. "A bad time to come back, then. Be careful driving, most of the side streets are still riddled with cracks."

"I'll be sure to, thanks," he handed her the bills and asked she keep the change, and walked out, deeply annoyed with the escort now that it was clear his presence was off-putting to people in the community.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the cashier through the front window put a sign on her register and hurry away to the back.

The drive to the old Harrington house was quiet, but mostly familiar. The earthquake hadn't hit the west side of the town as badly as the rest, apparently, so the driver didn't have to detour nearly as far as on the way in from the airport. Steve's former neighborhood was largely unchanged -new gardens, new cars, new paint on the houses, but the shape of it was the same, the families and children and wide stretches of green between each lot. The first time he'd tried to invite Tommy H over after school the other boy had given up halfway there, not used to riding such long distances on his bike.

The house looked exactly the same as the day he left, maybe a little duller from time, the garden not as lush as he used to see it, but very little had been updated in the last ten years. He half expected to hear his father's booming voice chastising him for being late when he made it up to the front door.

"You're free to go," he dismissed once the driver had deposited some of his bags in the front foyer, Steve setting the groceries further into the hall. The house was oddly warm for this time of the fall. "Brenner has my number. He can call when he's decided if the practical demonstrations will be held tomorrow or the next."

The driver shifted uncomfortably. "Dr Brenner has asked that we be allowed to accompany you until then, Mr Harrington."

Steve's eyebrows rose, incredulous. "I'm sorry, but regardless of business secrecy I won't be having strangers in my home."

"Mr Harrington, we really should be close, there have been a number of criminals taking advantage of the earthquakes-"

"Thanks, for your concern," Steve didn't often like being rude to people who were obviously low down the job hierarchy, just doing what they were told, but this entire day had left him with a sour taste in his mouth and a mounting anger he was itching to let loose. "But do I look incapable of handling myself to you? Do I look like I need a babysitter to watch out for whatever poor people have been so left in the lurch by these earthquakes they've probably already been here and gone months ago?" he gestured to his body, the one aspect of himself his father hadn't ever deemed worthy of comment, so long as he retained his captaincy of his school's basketball and swimming teams. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave, and if I see either car lingering on the street I'll call the police. Respectfully."

His escort bobbed his head, and Steve did feel bad at the speed he left the house but was more grateful to be left alone so he could figure out what the hell he was going to do about this entire, awful situation. He left his suitcase and sundries in the hall and picked up the bags with perishables, making his way to where he remembered the kitchen was as fatigue creeped up on him fast.

He didn't like acting the way his parents taught him to. There were advantages, sure, he often got his way when he most needed it or cut down on the runaround someone else might have been given in the same situation, but it was tiring and made him feel like shit. His father had wanted a perfect heir to his businesses, his mother had seen he'd never be one and given him her own family's skills since they suited him, but if he could put that behind him and simply be a man he could be proud of in his own way, then it was all worth it. They wouldn't have won in the end.

Steve put the bags on the kitchen island, moved towards the fridge to get the milk and such stored away, but something made him pause mid-step. The house was warm in late September, the bolt of the door to the backyard was unlocked, there was a candy bar wrapper sitting on the counter next to the coffee machine. A person had been in here, and recently, and Steve braced instinctively when he heard a soft step come from the entryway he'd just walked through.

He didn't have time to grab anything to shield himself, but he did turn around quick enough to catch a flash of dark hair and the glint of a hunting knife before the stranger barreled into him. He went with the momentum and gasped as he was slammed into the fridge, one hand pinning his shoulder while the other pressed the knife at the base of his neck. The man in front of him was probably around Steve's age, with long dark hair and darker clothes, and a horrible scar that spanned down from his cheek to beneath the collar of his shirt. Steve took a long, deliberate breath and allowed himself to be pressed into the cold steel, leaving his arms loose and palms open at his sides.

"Steeeve Harrington, expecting dear old dad to join you anytime soon?" the man asked, sneering down at him. Despite the front, Steve could feel the way the hand at his shoulder was shaking slightly, and he wondered if it was adrenaline or related to an injury.

"Afraid not. Got to bury him last month," that seemed to throw the stranger off; he hissed air in through his teeth in surprise and the knife shifted down a little further, until it was half laid flat on Steve's collarbone. "And who are you? Did my father owe you money or something?"

The stranger made a noise in his chest almost like a growl even as he bared his teeth and grinned, wide and menacing in Steve's face. And then -there was no other way to describe it -the man's irises sharpened into slits and flashed red in the early evening darkness, and the sheer surprise at seeing such a thing did well to keep Steve frozen in place under his hands and piercing gaze.

"Yeah, you could say that bastard owes me something," he pressed down and then drew away all at once -embarrassingly, Steve didn't expect the loss of support and dropped to the floor in a heap, coughing and holding a hand to his neck. "I'm Eddie Munson, formerly patient number Twenty Three," Steve whipped his head up and gaped; Eddie snorted bitterly at whatever else he saw there, and sheathed his knife in the holder at his hip. "We saw you waltz in and out of Hawkins Lab today, fucking escort service and everything. What do you say we have a little chat about all that?"

Steve coughed one last time and pushed himself up, watching Eddie watch him right back. In the hall he'd just come from there was more movement, and it became clear that whatever he'd walked into was not simply one man determined to confront him about his father's involvement in all this. There were more people in this town that knew about what the lab was doing, evidently.

"I'll talk to you," Steve promised. 'Not without the others' flashed through his mind again and he closed his eyes briefly. "I want to know what the hell's going on."

[christinescupofcoffee]

A Forest

original title: I’m Afraid of Americans

set in the Throughout the Dark Months of April and May ‘verse

ao3 and squidgeworld

It had been some time since I had gone on a camping trip. I still had injuries to recover from, but I needed to get away from the area for a while. I needed to get away and be alone with my thoughts for a while. James offered to take care of Ziggy for the time being as I simply could not take a dog with me on a train ride without an excuse.

I needed a train ride up to the northern side of the Central Valley, to a place outside of Sacramento and up in the hills, close to the forest. A six hour train ride with my gear over my shoulder and a three-day weekend to make things right by myself. Gabby had done a number on me as well as Jeremy, James, and Andy: we all needed to be in our elements. 

Andy had dropped me off down in the valley at around five in the morning with a hundred American dollars in my pocket and new black leather hiking boots already on my feet. The fog had settled into the valley, and I was glad that I was already wearing my jacket because of it.

I shivered as I awaited the arrival of the train. Five in the morning and barely light enough to warrant daylight itself. I hoped that it would show up soon enough because I wanted nothing more than to be in bed with my dog again—

“Richard!” It had been some time since I had heard that warm, rounded voice, and the first time I heard it down there in the valley for any reason whatsoever. I turned around to see him coming closer to me with a travel satchel slung over his shoulder and his long molasses-colored curls down past his shoulders. A brown eyed boy meeting another brown eyed boy.

“Oh, Steve!” Another British boy who came out here to the backwoods on a whim. “I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

“I didn’t, either,” he replied with a small smile. “I was just about to go up to the woods outside Sacramento for a piece of pie and a rouse of theater in the woods.”

“Oh, what kind of theater?”

“A play,” he clarified with a run of his fingers through that lush dark hair; he stood next to me wrapped in this thin black leather jacket which fit his body like a glove. “No idea what it’s called but my brother’s in it and he invited me. The place it’s at has good pie, I’ve heard. Good pie and… good hot tubs.”

“I don’t know if I want to be in a hot tub,” I confessed.

“Why not?”

“Doesn’t it get particularly cold up there?” I asked him. “Colder than it is back up the hill over here, especially now? That’s what I’ve heard, anyway.”

“You’re originally from Birmingham, and I from Manchester. I reckon we can handle heat enveloping our bodies and cold kissing our heads. It would be like a Scandinavian holiday.” He stood right next to me smelling of soap as if he had just taken a shower prior to arriving; the overhead lights of the station swept over his head to where his eyes seemed deeper than usual. “Why are you going?”

“I need to be alone for a while,” I replied in a low voice. He raised those thick dark eyebrows at me which completely changed the tone of his face.

“Oh, lord. I heard all about that.”

I shook my head as the memory ran through my mind faster than a torrent of a stream through the mountains.

“It’s a miracle that you lot survived all of that,” Steve confessed in a low voice.

“My head still aches from time to time,” I told him with a massage of my brow. “She clipped me rather hard.”

“You need a place to rest your head and a place to expand your mind,” Steve suggested, and he rested a hand on my shoulder. I glanced over to his hand and his long fingers curled around the crest of my shoulder. James was always a comfort to me, and all the way through the entire ordeal, but I could feel something coming with him.

“I want you to join me,” I suggested to him. “I have a rather large tent with me so you can bunk with me.”

“I’m not really a camping type person, but… I reckon it’d be a nice change of pace for once,” he agreed with a shrug of his shoulders. “You have to come and see my brother’s play tomorrow night, though.”

“Of course,” I assured him.

“And I get to buy you a slice of pie,” he added.

“Done deal. I get to choose the flavor, though.”

“You know it, mate.” He stuck his hand out to me and I shook it, as firm and hearty as life in the hills itself.

Something about Steve always struck me as depressive, as if something was perturbing him and he feared talking about it with anyone. We were both wounded fellows, and we had a whole weekend to make things right with ourselves.

There was a rumble in the ground below our feet, and I adjusted myself as the train lumbered into the station before us, in all of its long silvery glory. Steve stood his ground once it ground to a halt before us, and he and I checked in with the conductors one after the other.

I followed him onto the car before the catering section, whereby we took our spots right across the aisle from one another and two rows before the door to the catering. He had tucked his satchel into the overhead compartment and ran his fingers through his hair again and undid the buttons on his jacket before he took his seat.

“Sitting by the parlor car, natch,” he cracked.

“Oi, you know you are, too,” I pointed out, and he chuckled in response. “I’m going to need all the mulled wine possible if we’re going to a cold place.”

“Mulled spiced wine,” he corrected me. “Mulled spice wine with some pears served on the side dusted with some freshly grated ginger.”

“Is there a partridge involved in there somewhere?” I asked him, and I couldn’t help but smile at that.

“It’s up in the one pine tree that’s growing pears,” he said with a straight face, and I couldn’t help but laugh. I needed a laugh.

The two of us awaited everyone else to board in the cars before us, and all the while, Steve kept his eye on them all. I knew what he was thinking. The artist and the funny man thinking of all the things to say, and I knew that he was going to say them once we were up in the woods together.

But within time, the train doors sealed closed. The sun was beginning to rise up and light up the sky with a rich violet; I looked over at Steve and the look of utter exhaustion in his eyes.

He was hiding something. All people who were laughing on the outside were crying on the inside. I was glad that I had suggested the trip to him when we made our way through the farmland, still dark under the veil of a sunrise. He had a book to read and some water to drink, but he had kept to himself most of the ride up, even when I made my way into the parlor to fetch us some coffee and a couple of chocolate scones. I handed him the cup and he showed me a little smile and mouthed the words “thank you” to me.

I had to find my way into him once we were in the woods, and I had three days to get this right. I had my own wounds to lick, but now I had a new nut to crack.

We had reached Hanford and Visalia when he tucked the bookmark into his book and leaned back in the seat with his arms folded across his chest. Even after having a cup of coffee, he still leaned back and took a nap: a part of me thought that I had accidentally took a cup of decaf for him, but there was no decaf in the parlor. Seeing him sleep reminded me of James and the bus ride down to Los Angeles, except I lacked crutches that time around as well as the pain in my legs. But that time around, I could see the pain on Steve’s face. The way those dark eyebrows curved down over his deep eyes, the way his mouth curved downward…

With me, the scars that Gabby had left behind here were as clear as day. But he fell back into the blind spot the whole time. Gabby did tell me that she was looking for boys who resembled her dead love, after all. Long dark hair, large brown eyes… he fit the profile far more than I did. However, I need not jump to conclusions especially when it had been a while since Steve and I had even so much as seen one another. As far as I knew, I only caught him in a tricky time period and he had scarcely slept the night before.

But at the same time, I was not holding my breath. Gabby had shown herself to the three of us, and to me in particular. Her influence extended far and wide throughout the dark months of April and May, and here it was, in the heart of December and two more weeks to Christmas. We were going camping in the Sierra foothills before Christmas, but it hadn’t snowed yet as far as either of us could tell, and if it did, we were missing it.

But it wasn’t until Fresno when I took a glimpse out the window to behold the fog clearing away. A bright clear morning filled with a view of Mount Whitney, cold and white and entrenched in snow. I had my boots, and he had that leather jacket. I packed warm but I wondered about him, however. He was going to see a play in the woods, and thus, I could only assume that he had some blankets and things packed in that satchel tucked over his head.

The ride to Sacramento always took longer than I had expected, but we soon reached there and Steve awoke, bright-eyed and refreshed.

“The dream I was just having,” he stated to me in a broken voice. “I’ll tell you once we’re alone again”

We fetched our things and stepped off the train into the bright California sunshine. Given it was the middle of December, I always found it interesting to glance up and see how low the sun was in the sky: it reminded me of February and March, when things were beginning to take off between us and Gabby. When the ceiling hung low, she sank her claws in and took us under.

I figured I would take the bus up to the hillsides but he had it better: a little red rental car big enough for the two of us parked right near the front doors of the station itself.

Once we packed up our things in the boot and the back seat, and we loaded ourselves into the front seats, I turned to him again.

“What was your dream?” I asked him.

“I was taking off my shirt and running naked through fountains,” he described as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I felt like a young boy once again.”

“Was there a hot tub?” I asked him.

“As a matter of fact, there was! I got in and got cozy with it.”

“I really do hope there is a hot tub up there somewhere,” I admitted, “just because I want to see you comfy, Steve.” He showed me a thoughtful look as he fired up the car.

We were going to a place due east from Sacramento that looked to be already dusted with snow once the motorway began ascending out of the valley floor and into the hills. Everything up there had long changed colors and insisted on staying that way even with winter knocking on our door.

“One of these days, I’ll go to Tahoe,” I said aloud.

“Me, too,” he added. “Go to Tahoe and do some skiing.”

“I’m from Birmingham and you’re from Manchester, we don’t ski,” I beseeched.

“We can try,” he pointed out. “We can always try.”

We fell back into momentary silence as the road wound up through more and more forest with those tall pines and spindly fir: over our heads, I could see the thick forests blanketing the mountainsides.

“I was reading up on this place prior to coming,” he started again. “The low temperature out here in December? Minus fifteen centigrade.”

“Holy shit,” I blurted out.

“Yeah, so I packed up a bunch of blankets with me because my brother didn’t promise me anything in terms of lodging. This town is like a dent in the wall so the one hotel available is either completely booked or not even open. I thought I would be sleeping in here after the show.”

“I shall pitch us a tent and we can enjoy ourselves,” I vowed to him, and I leaned back in the seat next to him with my hand up on the handle over my head. “So, where do we get a piece of pie?”

“It’s coming up here soon enough,” he informed me. “So I’ve been told.”

But just like magic, just prior to reaching the outskirts of the next town in the hills, we spotted it there in the side of the road. A small pie stand with what appeared to be a fresh batch out for road-weary travelers like us. Steve parked underneath the shade of a tall ponderosa pine and turned to me.

“What flavor?”

“Lemon meringue,” I replied.

“I see your lemon meringue and raise you some blackberry,” Steve chided with a little wag of his finger at me. I curled an eyebrow at him, and he and I both climbed out of the car into the fresh alpine air. There was a picnic table right by the front fender of the car, to which I gladly saved for the two of us as he fetched us our slices of pie, both of which were served up on stout paper plates. 

The lemon curd of my slice glowed golden yellow in the midday sun while his blackberries looked so ripe and tender inside of that intricate crust. We both perched up on the table part with our feet down on the bench like a couple of unruly teenagers.

“It’s my birthday next week,” I told him in a low voice.

“Happy early birthday, mate,” he said to me with a raise of his fork to me. “I’m going to try my best to make it totally worth your while.”

I smiled at that. “Well, thanks, Steve, I hope it is a good one. And this pie is absolutely delicious.”

“So is this one,” he said with his mouth full. “Care for a bite?” He showed me the bite of blackberry pie perched upon the tines of his fork, complete with a bit of the crust atop it.

“Absolutely,” I replied, and I took the bit from him. The crust was sweet and crunchy and the blackberries were lush, much like his hair. “That is delightful, absolutely wonderful.” I sloughed off a bit of my lemon meringue pie for him, and he did the same with me.

“Wow, that is tart,” he said with his mouth full. “Tart like my arse.” I chuckled at that.

We proceeded with our slices of pie, and then without another word, we returned to his rental car and continued onward into the town. Pine trees surrounded us, and down a trail stood a small lake. From the road, I could see the stage production already set by the lake’s shore.

A small mountain town in late autumn down by the edge of a lake, and I was glad that Steve had brought those blankets in question. Indeed, he was not exaggerating about the one hotel in town, as even from a momentary glance from the street could tell us that the place was full.

As luck would have it, I offered to take us to the part of the woods near the stage production and the lake shore itself, much to Steve’s chagrin.

“I hope no one on the production team is completely mad,” he said as he tucked us into a clearing in the trees which made me think of a campground. I spotted a pit down in the ground, which told me it was a fire pit, as well as another picnic table and what appeared to be a little grilling station. I found it rather strange that there was both a fire pit as well as a grill, but I wasn’t going to complain, and especially not if it was going to be 

“Have you ever barbecued?” I asked him as he tugged on the parking lever and switched off the car.

“I have not, no,” he replied with a shake of his head and another run of his fingers through his hair. I hoped he knew how the afternoon sunlight hit him just right to make his hair glow as if he had threads of gold embedded within, and I hated that I thought that as well. We were up in the woods, away from the world, away from the pain: I could let my thoughts freely flow through me like water.

“Allow me to show you,” I offered him, and I couldn’t help but smile at that. But on the other hand, I had no idea if I could be able to do that for him as we were so close to the production line and this wasn’t so much an actual campground as it was a piece of one. Nevertheless, I spotted some tents over by the stage and thus, I assumed that we could do the same there.

Steve and I pitched our tent in all its glory right near the fire pit, albeit with a bit of a struggle as this was a brand-new tent and neither of us were familiar with the terrain. The poles which set up the tent smacked him in the head twice, so by the moment we were finished, he seemed rather cross.

“If I wanted several blows to the head out in the middle of the woods, I’d drop trou and let the Blair Witch finagle me from here back to Manchester,” he bemoaned, and I couldn’t help but laugh at that, even if I need not laugh at something of that nature. “It’s not funny!”

But to enliven his mood, I propped up the one chair I brought with me for him and I dragged the picnic table closer to the tent so I could have a seat. At that point, it was still the thick of the afternoon, but I was already feeling the effects of a long train ride through California’s Central Valley.

“Jesus, it’s not even three o’clock and it already feels like nightfall,” he remarked with a rub of his eyes.

“We are facing a sunset of epic proportions as well, mate,” I assured him, and I turned my attention to the fire. It was going to be dark soon, and we needed a fire. Minus fifteen degrees centigrade, we needed a fire.

I fetched us some firewood from out in the forest and began with the pile down in the pit.

“Do you have a light?” I asked him.

“I don’t,” he replied. “Surely, you should have one, though, given you were the one who wanted to camp.”

“Actually, I think I do,” I declared, and I returned to the car, whereby I found the little blowtorch which gave me a small flame the size of my pinky nail. A small flame was more than enough, however, more than enough to have the fire going down in the ground as well as one on the barbecue for us.

“Just in time for a cup of tea,” I stated. “Yes, I brought water and the kettle.”

“Do you have biscuits?”

“As a matter of fact, I do! I swiped some from the parlor car on the train.”

I placed the kettle upon the barbecue and handed him a cup with a teabag inside as well as a pack of the chocolate biscuits from the train.

“I’m afraid there’s no milk, though, mate,” I confessed to him.

“Yeah, baby, I like it raw!” he sang out, and I laughed again, and that time, I caught a little smile out of him.

Nevertheless, the two of us settled in for the evening, whereby we watched the sunset paint itself all manner of orange, pink, violet, and scarlet from the fog bank out over the ocean. We also figured that, after a nice dinner in town, we could cozy up in my tent under my sleeping bag and his blankets.

We thought this, anyway.

First, the temperature dropped like a stone once the sun disappeared behind the curvature of the earth, such that the fire down inside of the pit was barely enough to keep ourselves warm. Steve vacated the chair and cozied up next to me with one of his heavy horse blankets wrapped around him. We had had enough to eat and we had cups of tea in us, and as a result, we were warm from within, but we still shivered like leaves in the trees, especially when I knew that it had snowed before then.

Next, there really was no place to use the bathroom other than the blue portables that the stage production had brought along: not really an issue with us as we could go back into town to one of the restaurants, but the mere thought of those things that close to us made me think of the smell out in the woods behind Jeremy’s farmhouse. Steve had apparently read my mind and cursed out his brother and the theater troupe.

“They had to bring it here,” he groaned as he huddled in closer to me. “At this time of year, in this part of the mountains, with those vile honey buckets right near by here.”

Most of all, I cursed out myself. I had to pick that time of year to go camping. But then again, it wasn’t really my fault, though. Gabby took our time away and I had problems to solve. I also needed the money to gather what I needed for the trip alone. I also had to time it right as my mother was still healing from her blood clots. While I cursed out myself, I also had to be kind to myself and realize that most of it came from beyond my control.

To get changed into our long underwear, we had to take turns going into the tent to do so, and it was difficult given the fire was losing the battle against the cold. Somehow, we both did it, and at that point, we decided to pack it in for the night.

In the dim light from the production team as well as the dying embers of our fire, I could see something in the woods. I did not want to frighten Steve with it, but I knew who it was even through the darkness. That woody smell of cinnamon in junction with that dark hair, as black as night.

Steve ducked into the tent first and followed suit right behind him. I slid into my sleeping bag while he lay down on a makeshift bed made of his blankets.

“This bag is really big, mate,” I told him as I zipped the doors closed. “You can cozy up next to me under here if you’d like.”

Hesitantly, Steve’s silhouette inched under the sleeping bag, at which I lay down right next to him. He had a slightly fuller frame than I had expected but he fit in there next to me in snug fashion. When I zipped up the bag and tugged those three blankets over us, I could feel it. 

We were snug and warm, safe against the elements.

The trees creaked in the wind, and I could hear her voice out there, a whispery disembodied moan against the cold. It had to have been close to minus eighteen out there, which made her voice carry along through the trees.

“What the hell was that,” Steve said in a concerned tone.

“I don’t want to know,” I confessed. “I don’t ever want to know.”

She moaned again, the same way she did when she hit me with the hedge trimmers. It was her. She was out there. The wind shook the doors of the tent, and I could feel her presence out there. The knife and the hedge trimmers ready for me and Steve both that time around,

The smell of cinnamon adjacent to the smell of pine as well as the smell of formaldehyde. She came up here to take us back down to autopsy. Her moan followed up with the distant howl of a wolf up in the mountains.

“Hold me,” I whispered to him.

“Only if you hold me,” he whispered back to me. “God’s teeth…”

I burrowed my head against his chest. He was bigger and sturdier than me, and thus, I could cuddle with him against the cold wind. I closed my eyes. I thought I had gotten away from Gabby for good, but she had apparently slipped in through the forest and found her way over to me once again, the ghost in the haunted graveyard of the false love she had inflicted onto me.

I had no idea as to how we were going to get to sleep, but one thing remained for certain and that was I loved his body. Given he was bigger than me, I could cuddle in deep on him.

I could feel his hand on the small of my back, and I thought I would never be touched in that spot again without wincing, either.

For a moment, I believed that it would be a long night, between the cold and the fact that Gabby was there with us, haunting those woods in all her ways in how she tried to kill me, but his hand on me reassured me that we would meet the dawn again.

I fell asleep next to him, and I awoke in those same woods again, that time with snow falling all around us. I opened the doors of the tent again and poked my head out right as the snow fell over us in heavy, large flakes the size of boiled sweets. Past the doused fire and the blanketed car, I could see her over there, tempting me once more.

“Fool me once, Gabríela, shame on you,” I scoffed at her. “Fool me twice, shame on me.”

Her dark eyes glared at me from the darkness like a pair of big black holes. Her body in the shape of an hourglass ticking like a clock, the clock hanging over my head to tell me that I was going to die some day, be it by a blow to my head or a blood clot brought on from beyond my control. She drifted closer to me with something in her hand.

The hedge trimmers.

And yet, I could not run from the snow on the ground, or from the fact that the tent doors were wrapped around the base of my neck. She came right up close to my face, dark eyes as big as the forest outside of Jeremy’s farmhouse and ready to swallow me whole.

Steve never stirred for a second as Gabby murdered me, again and again on the forest floor.

I jarred myself awake again, and that time, Steve woke up as well.

“Holy hell, are you alright?” he asked me.

“Yeah… I think so. God, that was terrifying.” I opened my eyes to find that the sky had lightened up with the incoming daylight. We had slept all through the night, even with her out there in the woods with us and even with the winds blowing at subzero temperatures.

No snow had fallen, but I could feel it in the air around us. Something told me that the show that night was going to have quite the added effect to it once it went underway. I then understood why his brother and the troupe decided to hold it that time of year and up in the mountains.

Steve and I huddled around the barbecue again, that time for morning tea before we headed back into town for breakfast.

“I must confess to you, Richard…” he began again, that time with a deep shiver in his body even with the blanket wrapped around his body; “you were holding onto me rather tightly and… if I’m honest…”

“Yes?”

“I liked it. I liked it a lot. It made me feel safe.”

I swallowed at that, as well as the thought of his hair looking absolutely beautiful in sunlight, which I had thought of telling him about but there was no way I could, however.

He then opened his mouth to say something, but he never did.

“What’s up?” I asked him as the kettle began to boil.

“No, it’s… it’s fine,” he assured me with a gentle wave of his hand.

“Steve… what’s the matter?” Whatever it was that he wanted to tell me, it seemed rather important. Surely, he had something to confess. We had a whole entire weekend at the helm and he still had yet to give me full insight into him, even with the pain in his eyes. He swallowed and bowed his head.

“Do you ever…” He pursed his lips and held still.

“What?”

“Try things out with other blokes,” he quipped, and then he shook his head. “I cannot believe I just said that.”

“You know, sometimes I do think about it,” I confessed to him in a low voice. “I’ve heard jokes about that thrown my way, but sometimes I do think about it. And… I thought about it when you had your hand on my back last night. I should also tell you, mate—” I paused as the sun broke through a canyon in the mountains and shone down on the crown of his head. Golden threads in his hair once again. His skin seemed so smooth and milky. His tired eyes, grave as they were, seemed so soft and so understanding, as if he had read my mind.

Gabby had put the fear of god into me, but Steve brought me back down to earth again.

“Your hair is achingly beautiful right now,” I said in a small voice. “I wish you could see it for yourself.” I leaned back and relaxed.

“Now, that wasn’t so bad, now was it?” he asked me with a smirk.

“Not at all.” He hooded his eyes at me. He had an air of depression to him, but with that depression came some strange kind of temptation. Gabby had her chance with me before, but she left me broken, beaten, and scarred. She nearly killed me and my friends. I was too tightly wound. I needed to relax more after that.

He was tempting me like rich dark chocolate, and more so when the sun disappeared behind a low cloud over the mountains.

“I should tell you that it felt glorious on my head, too,” he told me. “It felt glorious on my head the way your fingers would feel on my head.”

I snickered at that, but I knew what he was getting at there. I was reluctant, but perhaps he could help me with that.

“Perhaps a little bit of morning rounds before we have breakfast?” I suggested, almost without even thinking about it, and yet, I had no idea as to what I was thinking. The trauma on my poor brain, but I needed to fight my through it. I did promise myself to make things right with myself and perhaps help him with whatever was hurting him after all. Maybe this was the right way.

I inched closer to him so we both shared the blanket and our bodies were pressed up against each other. Gingerly, I used one hand to open the buttons for him.

“Keep the blanket on,” he told me in a low voice. “Especially since it’s bloody cold out here.” I tucked the blanket under the side of his body so we were once again snug as a rug together, even on the picnic table. “There you go. Now, just use your fingers. Use your fingers like you’re playing the bass.”

“I always use my fingers on my bass,” I said as I reached down inside of his long underwear.

“Could you not look at me in the eyes when you say that, Richard,” he muttered.

“It’s either touch you with my eyes closed or not, there’s no in-between,” I said back to him, at which he rolled his eyes. But his reaction was cut short when I went for it. I was feeling his soft skin with one hand, and he closed his eyes and bowed his head so his hair dangled down on either side of his face. His mouth hung agape as I slipped one finger in.

I never thought that I would like doing this to another man, but the feeling gave me a rush of blood to my head out of mere euphoria.

He arched his back and leaned back against the edge of the picnic table as I moved in two knuckles deep.

I was going to touch him so deep that it would turn the both of us blue with the impending cold morning.

I was three knuckles deep on him when he slid down onto the bench next to me. I could scarcely control myself as I climbed on top of him and fondled him even harder. No one else was awake that early in the morning so I could use two hands on him.

Stray locks of hair spread across his face as I groped slow deep and hard on him. The movement made me think of trees swaying in the wind, or of ocean waves washing up from under the hull of a ship. Cold be damned.

He rolled his head back for a look into my eyes. His brown eyes unto my own.

I moved in three knuckles deep again, and he treated me to a gentle groan from the back of his throat. He arched his back again and that time, I could feel something liquid on my fingertip.

I decided to do it, cold be damned once again.

Using the blanket as a protective shield, I ducked down over his body and put my lips around him to help him out with that. I could hear and feel him breathing harder from the feeling, from my lips on his skin. Never in my wildest dreams did I think this was going to happen but I could feel it. I could feel my wounds closing and my heart healing.

I had the power. I had the control of it all. I could seize what had been taken from me, and Steve could feel something genuinely wonderful for a time.

He came in my mouth and instinctively, I swallowed.

I lifted my head and coughed from the feeling. Some saliva dripped down from my mouth, at which I wiped it away with the back of my hand. His bare chest heaved from the feeling, and he lifted his head to look up at me in an utter daze.

“Wow,” I gasped out; even though it was freezing cold out, neither of us were in fact cold.

“Agreed,” he said, and I lifted myself off of him to give him some space to gather himself and return the blanket over him again. I joined him as the sun washed over us once more, that time with more warmth at the helm.

“I just realized something,” he sputtered, “on the back of… some clarity.”

“What?” I asked him as I looked on at him from the side.

“That’s not a fire pit,” he answered, and he lifted a hand out from under the blanket to point at the hole before us.

“It’s not?”

“No. Look how deep it was. The fire barely stayed lit, too.”

“Yeah, it did. I also wondered why it was there to begin with, too. Middle of the woods in the middle of nowhere… and I swore Gabby was here with us last night.”

Steve and I glanced at one another, and we both leaned forward to look down inside of there. Ashes lined the bottom of the hole, but it was what lay atop the ashes that garnered my attention in particular. A piece of paper that looked to be straight out of the coroner’s office. I stood up to fetch it, and I crouched down and picked it up.

“Remember my last, Richard.”

He and I glanced at one another again, and that time, a chill ran up my spine, and I knew it wasn’t from the cold of the morning.

“She was here last night,” I remarked. “And even from beyond the grave, she still threatens me. Still tries to put the fear of god into me.”

He swallowed out of nerves, to which I returned to my spot next to him under the blanket.

“You mustn’t be afraid, though,” he pointed out. “And not when I’m here with you, too.”

“She cannot hurt me when you and I are all snuggled down together,” I decided.

“Definitely not. And she cannot hurt me under the same circumstances, either. Anyways, I’m getting hungry.”

“I am, too,” I said. “And it’s starting to warm up with the sun on our backs like this. And promise you that next time, I’ll bring Ziggy along.”

“The fact you didn’t bring Ziggy along is flabbergasting to me,” he confessed in a low voice that made me think of velvet. But I was glad that I decided to invite Steve with me in camping. There was no way I could have done this alone.

[infinitelysordinary]

loving you is a losing game chapter three!

i'm still fixing up the cracks

AO3 Link | Tumblr Masterpost

words: 2928 words cws: none!

Tiny souls, the millions streaming lavishly through space, through time, simple and perfect, like snow.

— My Wife Believes in Reincarnation, Richard Cole

//

Scott’s wings hurt.

It’s a new experience for him, really. His wings are a point of pride for him, always pristinely white and painstakingly preened. But it’s been over a week since he’s met up with Rosalin for their usual ‘gossip and preen’ session, so his wings are worse for wear. Everything’s been so busy lately—from handling the unknown corruption’s PR to trying to stabilise crop farms in preparation for the upcoming harsh winter—that he simply hasn’t had the chance.

He’s just … really busy. All the time. Yes; that’s it.

Tonight, Scott’s sitting at his desk in his study, elevated on a spruce platform. He really should be going to bed soon, but if he leaves these letters until tomorrow, the nobles will snub him at dinner, and he can’t afford that. He threads a hand through his cyan hair as he squints to read a letter from a noble in the candle light. His wings flutter with every concealed dig written by Lady Ilyrana Genbanise, under the guise of ‘concern for His Majesty’s health.’

I cannot imagine the stress you must be under, she had written, as the last chosen hier. I must say, under the circumstances, your Majesty is doing a remarkable job of remaining thoughtful and caring to all in the face of adversity. […] While your moves to reform Elven economic systems remain admirable, proponents of the trickle down theory believe would be more profitable to—

A knock interrupts his thoughts, three sharp raps against the door. Then, the door swings open. “I’m sorry for interrupting, your Majesty, but you have a visitor,” says Bellas, Scott’s personal assistant. His steely grey eyes focus straight ahead, his lips pressed in a thin line.

Scott frowns—didn’t he tell Bellas not to interrupt him post-dinner?—but he puts down his pen. “Who is it?”

“It’s the Codfather, sir,” replies Bellas. “Jimmy Solidarity from the Cod Empire.”

Scott’s hands still. “What’s Jimmy doing here?”

There’s no answer.

Aeor damn it. Scott curses as he stands up, grabbing his cloak on the back of his chair. Of all the days for an unexpected visit! From Jimmy of all people! He would’ve thought that they’d be avoiding each other by now, or, at least, for the decade or so. Their last interaction was so … embarrassing, to say the least.

Scott blames the flush on his face on the coldness of the room, and fastens the cloak tightly around himself. “Light the fireplace, please. Oh—tell my mother and Jack that I may be late for breakfast.” Slipping his feet into his fur-lined boots, he walks past Bellas to the hallway.

“Yes, sir.”

Scott glances back at Bellas, who’s already fussing with his communicator. “I’ll talk to the Codfather myself.” A moment later, he adds, “Could you prepare one of the guest rooms?” It’s dark now; it won’t be safe for Jimmy to fly back.

“Already done, sir.”

Scott almost smiles.

//

Scott walks through the castle with long, purposeful strides, pushing past the castle staff to get to the main entrance. It’s different here; after all this time, he doesn’t understand why Jimmy doesn’t get that. If—or, well, when—Scott drops by the Cod Empire late at night with no warning, nobody takes a second glance. But when Jimmy shows up at Rivendell at midnight with no warning, not even a private one, rumours are going to spread.

Opening the door, Scott has a lecture on the tip of his tongue. He’s rehearsed it all out in his head on the way there, a speech he’s been mentally preparing for years now (Jimmy, I told you that you can’t visit without telling me beforehand; it’s different here.) But when he comes face to face with the Codfather, he doesn’t say any of it, because—

Jimmy’s not wearing his Cod Head.

Never, ever in his life has Scott seen Jimmy without his head for more than a second. For the few centuries they’ve been acquaintances, and then friends, and then whatever they’ve been for the past few decades, Scott’s never actually gotten a chance to properly look at Jimmy’s face.

“Jimmy?” says Scott, the noise punched out of him. All of his annoyance leaves, replaced with concern. What the fuck…?

Scott’s examines by the curves of Jimmy’s face, eyes roaming to find sign of injury. On the surface, Jimmy does looks healthy—handsome, even. He has a soft face, round with high cheekbones, unmarred from the roughness of the sea. He has gills on his cheeks and hazel eyes with flecks of green, and a large, wondrous smile.

But the closer Scott looks, the more that’s … off. Jimmy’s hair is a mess, a golden rats nest adorning his head rather than the usual cowlick. There’s dark circles around his eyes, like Scott’s own, and the grin stretched across his face isn’t just handsome or friendly, it’s desperate. Even his posture is different—his shoulders are hunched forwards as he leans his weight onto the doorframe, rather than set squarely on the balls of his feet.

“Hi, Scott,” breathes out Jimmy finally, like he’s a boy meeting his hero. Like they haven’t known each other for centuries. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Codfather. What are you doing here?”

Jimmy tilts his head, drooping like a massive, oversized puppy. “Can I come inside?”

“You’re not wearing your head,” replies Scott delicately, trying once again. “Jimmy, what’s wrong?”

“What are you talking about?”

Scott just stares.

Jimmy’s eyebrows are raised, a voice so baffled that it can’t be a bizarre prank. Alarm bells ring in Scott’s head—Jimmy isn’t wearing his head? He doesn’t know what Scott’s talking about when Scott asks him about his head?—and deep in his heart, he knows that something’s wrong. Seriously wrong.

Because why else would he show up at Scott’s place, after Scott reset Jimmy several times for his head and then flirted with him? Why wouldn’t he go to Lizzie’s, or Joel’s, or someone who he’s actually officially allies with instead of someone he’d recently—and viciously—fought with?

“I’m calling your sister,” says Scott, before nodding. Yes, that’s what he’ll do. He’ll call Lizzie, and they can all work it out together. This will all be fine! Everything will be fine.

“What?” Jimmy frowns. “No, don’t bother her.”

“She cares about you. It’s not bothering if she cares.”

“No, you don’t understand, Scott,” Jimmy pleads. “I came here for you. Could you let me in?” The Codfather’s face looks up at him, so bare and honest that Scott can’t help but frown. None of this makes sense, but if Scott’s the person that Jimmy wants to talk to ….

“Okay,” says Scott finally, plastering a smile onto his face. He might be cold, but he’s never been able to refuse Jimmy. Not when it matters, anyway. He moves over in the doorway, tucking his wings around him. “You can come in.”

//

“Would you like to walk with me?” asks Scott a few minutes later. He holds back a yawn—he slept more than usual last night, but not that well. Nightmares do that to you, he supposes.

Jimmy smiles, entirely too genuine for a usual Rivendell visitor. “I’d follow you anywhere.”

Scott smiles back bitterly.

He leads Jimmy through the castle, taking the long way back to his study. Jimmy marvels at the castle and its mixed material white walls, the leaves as decoration. Paintings, mostly depicting Aeor in all His glory, grace the walls between each set of marble pillars. “Did you build this all yourself?” Jimmy asks, staring at the hall. “By hand?”

Scott grins. Sure, he might be in a weird situation, but compliments—especially by a cute boy—are nothing to scoff at. “Of course! It was my first decade project. I didn’t do the paintings, though. I have no artistic bone in my body, I’m afraid. Just the foundation.”

“It took you a decade? That’s an awfully long time.”

“Time doesn’t mean a lot to immortals,” Scott says, picking his words carefully. Jimmy, who’s older than Scott by a century or so, should know this. “It’s like my mother said: mortals plan year by year, but immortals plan century to century.”

Jimmy remains quiet as Scott moves to the hall of portraits that lead to his study. This hall is a mini history lesson in it of itself, as all Rivendell’s monarchs hang on the walls. His own face is this hall several times, from the family portraits to his coronation painting.

Jimmy stops in front of a painting of the royal family, made last century. “Tyrell, Rosalin, and Scott,” he reads, before he glances over at Scott. “Rosalin? That doesn’t sound very elf-y.”

Scott shrugs, “To be fair, does Scott sound Elven to you?”

“Tush-ee.”

Frowning, Scott replies, “What?”

Jimmy stops in his tracks, his eyes widening. “Wait, is it toosh-ay? I don’t know how to pronounce it; the word’s French.”

“Jimmy, what is tush-ee? What’s French?”

“You know, the language? French? From France?”

Oh, Aeor, thinks Scott, he’s already lost his mind. “No, I don’t know.”

“You—” He shakes his head, breaking off his thought. “Forget it. I guess I’m just remembering wrong.”

Scott, diplomatically, stays quiet, before he continues walking to his own study. Jimmy keeps looking around, scanning over every nook and cranny of the empty hall, but doesn’t try to initiate any more conversation. Scott is almost grateful for the silence; it gives him time to clear his head.

Before too long, Scott pushes open the door to his study. It is, undoubtedly, the most personalised space in the castle, as it is the only place that nobody—save for Bellas and his mother—can access. Scott’s entire personality, from his favourite childhood books all the way to his habit of cracking inappropriate jokes at inappropriate times, is displayed on the walls in the form of posters, newspaper clippings, and photos.

The room is spacious. It used to be a furnace and coal room, if rumours are to be believed, but Scott’s mother changed it into a study when she took the crown, passing it down to his son centuries later. There’s one elevated platform to the right with his desk and chair for Scott’s work, but the rest are dedicated to guests and tea parties.

“Would you like to sit down?” asks Scott when he enters, gesturing to the set of grey armchairs facing a cyan-stained glass window. “I have a few questions.”

Slowly and surely, Scott gets the full story out of Jimmy over a cup of tea. He stares out into the night the entire time, unwilling to meet Scott’s eyes, but he tells Scott everything.

According to Jimmy, two weeks ago, he woke up with no memories. He’s had the sneaking suspicion that his friends were hiding something from him, but today he learnt that they were hiding a lot from him.

(Scott, honestly, is not surprised. Evadne’s always been a slippery bitch.)

“Well, this sounds like a predicament for sure,” says Scott finally, after Jimmy finishes talking. “Who knows? That you’re … currently without your memories?”

Jimmy plays with the handle of his cup. “Evadne, my royal advisor, and some of my friends. Spruce, Wiley, Corey, and … Drizz? Yeah, Drizz. Only they know.”

“And now you’ve told me?”

“I guess,” says Jimmy, before he pauses, continuing to fiddle with his hands. “Evadne wants to keep this a secret. Me a secret.”

Scott takes a long sip of his tea. “Yes, well, Evadne’s always been secretive.”

“Is that Elven for manipulative?” Jimmy quips, tilting his head.

Scott laughs. “Take it as you will.” He looks downwards, averting his gaze. “Why did you tell me? Why are you here, Jimmy?”

“I—“ Jimmy starts, a deer staring at its hunter, before he steels himself. “I remember one thing. And that’s you.”

Scott blanches—he doesn’t think he’s particularly notable in the grand scheme of things. “Me? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, just—I remember you. Remember? The rings?”

“The rings?”

“Always yours.”

“What are you—” Scott starts, before he stops in his tracks. Where has he heard those two words before? Always yours. It’s a common phrase for mortal weddings, a proclamation to be in love until death. Fittingly, the Elven phrase synonymous to always yours is I love you.

Is that where he’s heard that phrase before? Somehow, that doesn’t feel right.

Jimmy’s face turns whiter and whiter, but he continues onwards. “The cave? The pufferish?”

“It’s pronounced pufferfish.”

“I-I know that, Scott! But do you really not remember?” says Jimmy, his voice loud. His eyebrows are raised high and his mouth is dropped open, and in a flash, all that Scott can feel for him is pity.

“Why would I?” Scott says, almost incredulous. “We weren’t that close.”

Jimmy’s face falls entirely, despair clouding his face. He starts to stand up, shaky on his legs and shaking all over. “Yeah. It was a mistake coming here. Yeah, okay. I’ll just—I’m gonna go—”

“Jimmy,” says Scott. “Are you alright?”

He jerks up at the sound of his name. “I’m alright, Scott, you don’t need to worry about me—”

“You should stay the night.” Scott says. At this point, the words don’t even surprise him—he’s never been able to turn Jimmy away. “The guest room is made up already.”

“What?”

“Spend the night, Jimmy. It’s dark; you shouldn’t be flying.”

Jimmy doesn’t move.

“Please. We can talk about this in the morning.” Scott sighs, threading his fingers through his hair. “Let’s just … go to sleep. Maybe you’ll remember something when you do.”

Jimmy snorts, but when Scott stands up and offers his hand, he takes it.

//

Scott opens his eyes to see … nothing.

Well, actually, that’s not accurate. He sees a lot of things. There’s a cluster of bright light to his right that he knows will hurt if he looks straight at it, as well as a murky cluster of harsh violet and blues directly in front of him, dotted with light. He sees entire worlds, all in parallel, in pandemonium, stuck in purgatory, and when he looks at his hands he sees potential.

But those things are small, infinitesimally so in the grand scheme of things. Most of what he sees is the absence of life and love, the black void that encases all the worlds. Most of what he sees pushes at him, jostling him side to side, his floating stuttering with every movement. Most of what he sees tingles when it reaches him, before he absorbs it himself.

He looks down, and his stomach lurches.

Then, he’s falling, and he’s speeding up the closer he gets to the ground, and—

//

The sun shines on Scott’s face, its unbearable warmth coaxing him out of a deep sleep. He sighs, tilting his head to the side. He doesn’t open his eyes; he thinks about his dream.

All these dreams he’s been having recently … well, they have to mean something, right? They aren’t memories, he doesn’t think so, but they’re moments. He has moments in another’s body, with another’s voice, and with another’s thoughts.

And they started two weeks ago.

Which is, perhaps not coincidentally, when Jimmy lost his memory.

That has to mean something, right? Three weeks ago, Jimmy rejects Scott, and they fight. Two weeks ago, Scott starts having dreams of different worlds while Jimmy loses his memory. Today, Jimmy remembers a Scott—but not Scott himself.

But what does it mean? What happened between their fight and now that resulted in Jimmy’s lost memories and Scott’s misplaced dreams? How does Scott fix this?

“Rise and shine, your majesty,” sings Bellas, his voice rough and deep, and Scott shoves all thoughts of his dream out of his head. He has work to do today. “You have work to do today.”

“Don’t remind me,” Scott grumbles back. Bellas laughs. For a second, he lies there, merely contemplating life, before he manages the energy to sit up in bed. “What time is it?”

Bellas nods, still hovering by Scott’s bedside. “Eight, sir.”

Scott swears underneath his breath—he stayed up until four last night convincing Jimmy to go to bed, instead of going to sleep at his usual two bedtime. “Tell Jack and my mother sorry for missing breakfast, please.”

Bellas’ nose wrinkles at the mention of Jack, but he nods. “I did so already.”

“Thank you.” Scott yawns. “Is the Codfather still here?”

“I believe so.”

“Could you tell him to meet me in the study in an hour?” says Scott, simply thinking out loud. Yes, they should talk soon—the earlier they can figure out what’s going on, the better. “Please bring some breakfast food along too—the usual will do. I have a feeling we have a lot to talk about.”

“Yes, sir.” Bellas pauses for a moment, before he says, “Sir Jack wants to meet today, your majesty.”

Scott furrows his eyebrows. “For what?”

“The corruption. He noticed something strange with it—“

“The what?” Scott blurts out. He thought that the corruption was entirely alright, a result of some Grimlands experiment gone awry. “What’s wrong?”

Bellas shifts on his feet. “Your majesty, have you looked outside the window yet?”

Scott hurries out of bed, almost tripping over the luxurious bedsheets. When he reaches the window, he looks outside, and the problem becomes immediately clear.

The corruption has spread into Rivendell, across Aeor’s boundaries.

“Fuck.”

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Ch. 30: Making Choices (Home)

AO3

Prev

*see note at end*

Marinette grins as the car pulls up in front of the manor. They were finally home. She snorts as Tim practically barrels out of the car, launching himself onto the grass. 

"Land!" Tim yells, his cheek against the grass. 

"Get your dramatic ass up and grab your suitcase." Jason yells, climbing out of the car. Tim groans, but gets up. Marinette gets out of the car and stretches, relieved to finally be out of the car. They hadn’t stopped as many times on the way home, it was super clear that her dad was (finally) having regrets on the whole road trip thing. Not that she blamed him though. As much as she loved Jay and Damian, she didn't know if she could do another car ride like that with them. Like, ever. She glances over at Selina and grins. Walking over to her, she leans up against her and lets out a soft sigh. 

“Hey kitten.” Selina says, kissing the top of her head. Marinette just grins at her, not bothering to say anything. “Happy to be home?” Selina asks, and Marinette nods, almost surprised at how true that is. Looking around at her brothers, and thinking about the possibility of not seeing them all the time, her thoughts go back to when her Maman and Papa were in town two weeks ago. 

“I think I made a decision.” She says quietly, grinning at the slightly confused look on Selina’s face. “I wanna go to Gotham Academy.” She says. She giggles as Selina squeals. 

“Harley is going to flip!” She cheers, immediately catching everyone else’s attention. She rolls her eyes. “In a good way, she’s reformed. You know this.”

“Yeah, guys, have some faith in her.” Marinette adds with a small frown. She understood that they were a little weary, but honestly, Harley was a better person than some of the superheroes she’d known. 

“Care to share why Miss Quinn is going to be so excited?” Damian asks, crossing his arms. Marinette hums, looking at her bonus mom with a quirked eyebrow as a silent question. Do we say something now? Or do we keep them hanging? Selina just smirks, her face clearly saying ‘let me handle this one’.

“She’s about to get some fantastic news about one of her favorite girls.” Selina says, and Dick squeals, making Marinette jump in surprise. 

“You’re pregnant!” He cheers, grinning widely at Selina. Marinette chokes, Damian gasps, Jason starts rambling about how he told them to use protection, and Tim just looks lost. 

“You’re pregnant?” Her dad asks, eyes wide. 

“No, I’m not pregnant! Where did that even come from, Richard?” Selina asks, crossing her arms and glaring at Dick. 

“You said that Harley’s gonna get good news about one of her favorite girls! You’re one of her favorite girls, and she already knows you’re engaged. That’s the only other thing I could think of.” Dick says with a pout. 

“I’m not her only favorite girl.” Selina points out, and suddenly Marinette is being held tightly in someone’s arms. 

“Pixie Pop is staying!” Jason cheers, holding her tightly. Marinette just grins, surprised he put two and two together that quickly. She moves, or tries to move. She struggles for another minute, trying to get Jason to let her down. Finally, as it gets harder to breathe, she huffs. 

“Jay, can’t- breathe-” She gasps out, unable to even hug her brother back since he’s practically pinned her arms to her sides. He drops her, instead moving to have an arm thrown over her shoulders. 

“Are you really staying?” Damian asks, his face unreadable. Marinette nods, and Damian honest to god smiles. It’s small, and it doesn’t last long, but it was still there. “I am glad to hear that.” He says. 

“Have you talked to Tom and Sabine?” Her dad asks suddenly, and Marinette shakes her head. 

“Not about staying here, not since you first brought it up. I didn’t even realize I already knew what I’d pick until I looked around at everyone and realized I’m home. I can’t just leave everyone. And it’s not like I have to say bye to Maman and Papa, they’ll still be there.” Marinette explains, and her dad nods. 

“Well, I’m very glad you’ve decided to stay. I’ll get started on the transfer paperwork after you’ve spoken to your parents.” He says, walking over and kissing the top of her head. Marinette just grins. Look out Gotham, Marinette Wayne was here to stay. 

---

Selina is walking through the halls of the manor when the screaming starts. Her heart drops when she realizes it’s coming from Marinette’s room. Running straight there, she rushes through the already open door to see Dick holding Marinette close, patting her hair and whispering to her. Taking a quick breath once she’s reassured herself that everyone’s fine, Selina walks over and sits next to them on the bed. Marinette must feel the weight shift, because she looks up and makes eye contact with her before launching herself at her, clutching onto her for dear life. 

“Hey kitten, it’s okay, I’m here. I’m here, honey.” She says softly, holding onto the girl tightly. She raises an eyebrow at Dick, silently asking him to explain. He glances at the girl in her arms before he sighs. 

“She gets bad nightmares, sometimes. Think it’s worse when she finally forces herself to sleep after being awake for days.” He says, the last part slightly louder as if he’s trying to lecture the shaking girl. Selina narrows her eyes at him and is about to scold him, when Marinette speaks up. 

“Maybe I wouldn’t be awake for days if Hawkmoth could learn to be an evil prick on my schedule instead of his.” She says flatly. Selina’s eyes widen, and she sees Dick’s do as well. 

“Uh, since when did you talk like that?” Dick asks. Marinette huffs. 

“Since I spend most of my time with Jay. But don’t yell at him. Unless you’re gonna yell at me, then yell at him instead please.” She mutters, making Selina snort. 

“You, my darling, are a mess.” Selina declares, kissing the top of her daughter’s head. Because legal titles be damned, this girl was her daughter. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’d say I learned from the best, but I honestly think it’s a genetic trait.” She snarks back, and this time Dick is the one unable to catch his breath because of laughter. 

“Oh kid, I’d pay money for B to have heard that.” He finally says, wiping the tears from his eyes. 

“He dresses as a giant bat, Dick, I think he knows he’s a mess.” Marinette whispers, pulling out of Selina’s arms and opting instead to lay her head on Selina’s arm. 

“And on that note, do you need anything kiddo?” Dick asks. Marinette shakes her head. 

“No, I’m fine. Sorry.” She says, and Dick frowns. 

“Don’t apologize for having nightmares. You’re fifteen and you’ve died, almost died, and seen an apocalypse. You’re allowed to have bad dreams.” He says and Selina tenses. She hadn’t known any of that. She supposed the death thing gave her a little context as to why Bruce was so unwilling to let the girl go on patrol. She shakes her head quickly to clear it. She could talk to Bruce about this later, right now she was going to do whatever Marinette needed her to do. 

“I-” Marinette starts, then stops, sighing deeply and looking way too old. Selina grits her teeth, anger shooting through her. How dare that old man put all of this pressure on her shoulders. Yes, her daughter was a damn good hero, but she shouldn’t have to be. She was a child, not a soldier. Her eyes shouldn’t look so haunted. She shouldn’t have to have nightmares like this. Shouldn’t have PTSD from past battles. She’s so busy thinking of ways to find the old man and piss him off, that the sudden arms around her startle her. She blinks, glancing down at Marinette who was attached to her again. 

“What’s up buttercup?” She asks, forcing a smile on her face. 

“I’m okay, I promise.” Marinette says, as if she’d been able to hear the scathing thoughts running through Selina’s mind. She just sighs and squeezes the girl quickly. 

“I know honey.” She says. And she was okay, and she would stay okay. Because Selina was going to make Bruce hurry the hell up with the damn butterfly problem. 

---

“It’s Gabriel Agreste.” Tim says suddenly, and Marinette looks from the bowl of rice she had been trying to pass him, to Tim, and then back to the rice. 

“Er, no. It’s rice?” She says, frowning. Tim purses his lips, and suddenly she realizes that he hadn’t meant to share that particular thought. She quickly runs scenarios through her head before her blood runs cold. She sets the bowl down, her hands shaking too much to hold onto anything. 

“Hey Mars, look at me, breathe.” Tim instructs, Marinette glances around at the other faces at the table, not registering any of their own emotions, too busy drowning in hers. 

“He can’t. It can’t.” She says, shaking her head violently.

“I know it looks bad Mars, but it’s true. I have proof and-”

“I said it in the beginning.” The entire room freezes and she can feel the tension her words create. Everyone is looking at her, looking for an explanation. “He had a book on the Miraculous. I told Chat Noir that I thought it was Gabriel, and he denied it. He was so angry, that was our first big argument. And then, the next day, Gabriel was akumatized. So Chat was convinced it couldn’t be him anymore and something felt wrong, off, but I went with it. I dropped it and- this is my fault.” She bites back the tears that threaten to escape. It was her fault, wasn’t it? Her fault that so many other people had been akumatized. Her fault that the box had to be transferred to her. If she had just listened to her instincts, this could have been avoided. It could have-

“-athe. That’s it, breathe Pix. There you go. It is not your fault.” Jason says firmly. 

“But it is. I-”

“Not your fault, Marinette. As much as it pains me to say it, it is not even the fault of that fool Chat Noir. He simply allowed his familial bonds to get in the way of the evidence that was right in front of you.” Damian says. “The only one at fault is Gabriel Agreste. He is the one who has been terrorizing Paris, not you. You have done your best to stop it.” 

“Yeah, and now that we know who’s behind all of this, we can end it. For good.” Jason adds. 

“Hold on, Tim, how sure are you? What evidence did you find?” Her dad asks. Tim opens his mouth to respond, but Alfred cuts him off. 

“I would like to remind you all that I don’t appreciate business at the table. Interferes with digestion, you know. “ He says, and the conversation swiftly changes to something else. Marinette isn’t even sure what it is, because her thoughts are too busy thinking about this new reality she has suddenly found herself in. The one where her superhero partner’s father is an evil villain. A man that she had once idolized (until she knew how poorly he treated his only son) was the same man that had terrorized Paris for more than a year. Restricting citizens from feeling completely, from having negative emotions. He’d turned their home into a warzone, a battleground for him to try and achieve his goals. Marinette grits her teeth, determination sinking into her bones. She would not let him win. He would not succeed. 

--- 

Holding the butterfly miraculous in her hand, Marinette can’t help but think of the poem Jason had read to her a few weeks ago. ‘This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper.’ And so it had. Over a year of torture from the man, and it was all over. There was no epic battle, no public showdown. It was, in all actuality, rather anticlimactic. But honestly, she was fine with that. Fine to follow her dad’s instructions on how to reach the secret lair, fine for the small fight Gabriel put up. The man was no warrior, and she’d been training with the bats for months. Within minutes of arriving at the Agreste mansion, Marinette had the butterfly miraculous and her dad had Gabriel Agreste restrained. 

“You can’t do this! I have to make that wish!” Gabriel snarls, fighting against the restraints that her dad, Batman, had put him in. 

“I think you’ll find, M. Agreste, that M. Batman can do anything. He is here on official Justice League business, after all. Perhaps next time, you’ll think twice before becoming a terrorist.” Marinette bites, her words sharp and her smile deadly. This man had put her through hell. He had <i>killed<i> her, and countless other Parisians. Even once he had guessed that she and Chat were kids, he’d still thrown awful fights their way. Still tried everything to be able to get the Miraculous. Marinette shoots the police officers a wide smile as they walk in, completely prepared to give them a presentation of every piece of evidence (without actually passing over the Miraculous, she couldn’t risk that but luckily they understood). As she stands there and talks to the officers, she feels a tiredness seep into her bones and threaten to drown her. 

She was exhausted. Chat had left Paris when he found out who Hawkmoth was, too afraid that he would be akumatized before he could help her take down his father. She knew it was probably for the best, but it was still odd not fighting the last battle with Adrien at her side. He’d been there since the beginning, they’d been a team from the start. But at the same time, she understood. She wouldn’t be able to fight her family if they were the villain. She would be more likely to turn on everyone else, to join their side. So she was thankful that Adrien had left before he could be tempted to join his father. Even if she missed him like crazy. As the never ending stream of people die down, she follows her dad out of the Agreste mansion and to the rendezvous point that Dick had decided upon. Later, Ladybug would have to give a statement. She’d have to testify against Gabriel in court, and give Paris an update on their hero situation. She leans up against her dad tiredly, the exhaustion from the last year catching up to her all at once. She could do her duties later, but for now, Marinette Wayne was going home.

Author’s note: And that’s a wrap on Bio!Dad Bruce Wayne month! Keep an eye on my master list as I will be occasionally posting one shots connected to this fic. If you want to be added to my permanent taglist, leave a comment and I’ll add you. Next up, Maribat October Halloween Edition 2021! 

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Master list

Tag list:  @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @laurcad123 @waiting247 @jayjayspixiepop @mizzy-pop @jjmjjktth @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @toodaloo-kangaroo @ritacrow-blog @deathssilentapproach-blog @kittenmywaythrulife @nerd-nowandforever @tazanna-blythe @jaybird-and-co @jumpingjoy82 @lady-bee-fechin @corporeal-terrestrial

[verymuchimmortalcat]

Maribat March Day 11: Mominette and Day 17: Court of Owls

ao3

part 2

@maribatmarch-2k21 

Marinette was frantically running around her apartment, trying to find Dick. She had been talking on the phone to Alya and when she had finished, she couldn’t find him anywhere. There weren’t those many places he could’ve gone; it was a three-bedroom apartment with one of the rooms being converted into a studio for her to use. She had already checked both of their rooms and was headed to the studio. Thankfully, she found Dick there. Not so thankfully, he had somehow managed to climb onto the hanging lights from the ceiling and was clinging to them like a lifeline.

He must have had a nightmare. He preferred heights when she was not there. A remnant from his circus days. She called out to him and he immediately flipped out of his spot and into her arms. Marinette hugged her son close and kissed the top of his head, relieved that he was safe. Dick wrapped his arms around her. Carrying him out of the studio, she took him to his room and tucked him into bed. Amber eyes stared at her as she sat down next to him.

“You worried me mon oiseau, I thought something had happened to you.”

“Busy.”

“I don’t mind if you disturb me when I’m busy, you’re more important.”

He smiled back sleepily, eyes slowly closing and he drifts off. Marinette, slowly walks out of the room and shuts the door softly.

.oOo.

Adrien knocks on Marinette’s door expecting her to open it. Instead, he’s met with a boy who looks to be around the age of ten with black hair, yellow eyes and pale skin that has black veins standing out. They stare at each other when Marinette comes running to the door, saying, “Dick, what did I tell you about opening the door for people you don’t know.” She clearly hasn’t noticed his arrival. The kid, did she say Dick? Points to him and says, “He’s in the pictures.”

Marinette finally realises its him and him and smiles. She grabs him by the hand and drags him into the apartment closing the door behind her. The boy following her.  Grabbing a book and pencil she hands it to the boy, “Why don’t you practice writing, Me and Adrien will be in the living room, you can sit with us.

The boy nods and takes the book from Marinette and plops himself onto the carpet on the living room floor. Sitting on the couch, Marinette sighs, “I have a lot to explain, don’t I?”

Adrien nods. Still in too much shock to give a coherent answer.

Marinette in true Marinette fashion begins to ramble, “So, there’s this organisation called the Court of Owls, and they sort of create these minions of sorts to do their biddings. They call them Talons. After the death of his parents Dick was made into one, and he was sent to retrieve the Miraculous-“

Adrien laughs and incredulously says “And then you adopted him and named him Dick?”

“I didn’t name him that,” she protests, “I might’ve gotten Max to hack into the Court of Owls database and then he did some extra research and found out his identity. His name is Richard John Grayson, son of two trapeze artists who fell to their death. He’s Romani, I don’t think they were worried about insults in slang when they nicknamed him.”

Adrien gaped at her. Registering her words, he puts on an affronted look, “You told Max about your son before you told me?” He regrets it almost instantly when Marinette looks panicked and starts to explain things. Cutting her off, he puts his hands on her shoulders, “I was just kidding, you’ve probably had a lot to handle. I understand that.”

Marinette smiles back, her tense posture relaxing, she turns to look at Dick with a soft smile on her face “He’s a sweetheart. Gives me the occasional heart attack but is otherwise wonderful.”

“I’m surprised your parents haven’t spoiled him already.”

Her smile drops and she says, the horror in her tone obvious, “oh no, that’s who else I was supposed to tell.”

Adrien just laughs

.oOo.

Telling her parents went surprisingly well. They were however coerced into weekly visits so that her parents could spend more time with their grandson.

As it turned out Dick was utterly hopeless in the kitchen. Her father was determined to make a baker out of him. He enjoyed it though. Loved spending time with his grandparents and looked forward to their weekly visits.

Hopeless as he might be in the kitchen, he enjoyed eating the sweets that were made. Adrien had been right, her parents enjoyed spoiling him. He knew it too. But as far as Marinette was concerned he was a little angel and being coddled weekly once wouldn't really affect him.

The Bakery as it turned out also had more places for Dick to climb on. The look on her parents faces the first time he had climbed onto the light fixtures had been priceless.

.oOo.

Marinette was in her studio when she heard the sound of glass breaking from the living room. Dick was in the living room. Heart racing Marinette ran to the living room to find her son on the floor, among shards of broken glass. He was bleeding. Picking him up gently, Marinette took him to the kitchen and set him on the counter, Tikki appeared next her holding out tweezers so she could remove the glass from his skin before his skin closed over.

Marinette was suddenly thankful he couldn’t feel pain. If he had been crying Marinette would probably have freaked out and lost her cool. Removing the glass pieces, she cleaned the wounds and bandaged them, they would probably be fine by tomorrow but Marinette wasn’t taking risks.

Carrying him to her room, she put him in her bed. Leaving him to change, she comes back and gets into bed, hugging her little bird close, he doesn’t protest to the touch just snuggles in closer. Marinette makes up her mind to take him for gymnastics classes so he doesn’t break more of her lights.

.oOo.

She finds classes for him soon enough. Her parents help her look. Of course, going out would mean that Dick would have to wear contacts and makeup but they manage. He gets along well with the other children. Marinette goes to every single one of his classes. She knows the other parents there judge her but if it means Dick’s happy Marinette can ignore them. It’s the least of her worries.

Dick’s first competition is a month after he joins, being allowed to compete only because he advanced really fast. And Marinette cheers the loudest among all her friends gathered to watch her son. Full of motherly pride as she watches him fly through the air.

[babbushka]

Act Normal

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

2.8k; Content warnings: Mentions of baby zimmerman, NSFW (exhibitionism, public sex acts/semi-public sex acts, under the desk blow-jobs, sex at work, office sex, masturbation/fingering) 

Available on AO3!

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

One o’clock, your favorite time of the day. Your son coos happily against your hip and snuggles into your neck, his little hands focused on the fascinating task of touching your earrings. Your heels click softly on the polished wood flooring of the CSPD, and you smile to everyone you see as you make your way through the lobby, brand new butterfly gold Pyrex tucked against your free hip carrying treats for your favorite detective unit.

Just a few more feet, a few more hellos, and your husband will be back where he belongs – in your arms.

“Hello Mrs. Heidi, is he in the new office?” You stop by the secretary in the main bullpen, and greet the elderly woman as you open up the casserole dish for her.

Inside are as many shortbread cookies as you could safely cram, all decorated in royal icing of reds and oranges, yellows and gold, designs done with a steady hand and very fine icing tips to make them appear autumnal and delicious. Mrs. Heidi, a woman who you know happens to have a penchant for shortbread, happily takes a couple and sneaks them onto a napkin with a wink, pinching the baby’s cheek to which he giggles brightly about.

“Do you even have to ask?” She motions for you to lean in close, raising an eyebrow conspiratorially, “He’ll be pleased to see you both, he’s in a right mood today.”

What else was new, you thought to yourself with a sigh and a fond shake of your head. Mrs. Heidi seems to read your mind, and she lets out a little amused laugh and pats your shoulder from across her desk.

“Hopefully this will cheer him up.” You say brightly reclaiming the cookies, knowing you have far more up your sleeve for your husband today.

You immediately grow hot, when you think of just what you’ve got planned for him -- if Mrs. Heidi can read your mind, you hope that she isn’t doing so now.

You leave the kind secretary to her treats and her typewriter, and are glad to run into a friendly face, who, by all accounts, looks far more glad to see you.

“Oh thank god.” Ron looks like he’s been put through the ringer, and you simply smile at him apologetically. Ron was too nice of a friend to Flip, he was always exceedingly tolerant and listened to your husband rant and rave and bitch about everything under the sun. Even nice friends like him could only handle so much though, and it seems like Ron was getting to the end of his patience.

“What’s gotten him worked up this time?” You give him a greeting kiss on the cheek and open up the pyrex so he can grab a handful of cookies to stress eat his heart out, walking and talking your way through the bullpen to stand outside the small office door.

“One of the cops misread their rights, so all the evidence we managed to obtain from the might be inadmissible as evidence at trial when this thing goes to court. We almost had to let the guy we’ve been hunting for three months walk.” Ron sighs and your eyebrows shoot up.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, who was it?” Immediately you begin searching the room, trying to look around for the poor sonofabitch who must have been absolutely throttled by your handsome detective.

“Richard -- but not here anymore, Flip really reamed into him and told him to go home for the rest of the day.” Ron scratches the back of his neck, takes another cookie for good measure, “He’s on the warpath.”

Time to work your magic then, you decide with as much of a casual air as possible. You shift your little wiggle worm off your hip and into Ron’s waiting arms, and suddenly your friend’s bad mood has vanished.

“These are for the rest of the guys, could you put them in the breakroom for me?” You ask Ron, who happily nods. “Be nice for Uncle Ron okay ziskayt?” You smooch the baby’s dimpled cheek and he giggles loudly, and Ron gives you a bright smile before taking him over to his desk to go say hi to Uncle Jimmy.

Turning to face the door of the little office, your heart can’t help but warm at the black letters applied on the frosted glass of the door.

Lieutenant Zimmerman

A great big grin spreads across your face as you rap your knuckles gently just below his name, and you roll your eyes when he answers with a rather harsh, “What?”

“Aw and here I thought you’d be happy to see me.” When you open the door, it takes all of two seconds for the angry expression on his face to turn to one of being stunned.

“Ketsl!” Flip practically bolts out of his big leather chair, his legs almost flying up comically with the force of how he pushes himself up and over to you. He scoops you up tight and begins kissing all over your face at once, his goatee tickling your cheek chin neck chest as he apologizes, “I’m sorry honey, I had no idea it was already one, come in, c’mere, let me get a look at you.”

“Waitwaitwait! Let me close the door first.” You can’t help but laugh, because the door to his office is still open, and what you want to do with him today will require it being closed.

However…you make sure to leave it unlocked. Once the little latch clicks into place and you’re sure the door won’t swing open of its own accord, you turn back to your husband and are already undoing the wrap tie of your blouse.

“Alright cowboy, go on.” You smirk at him when the fabric of your blouse falls to the side and your ribcage expands with the deep breath you take, your tits on full display.

Flip’s crowding you against the door, groaning low in his throat as his hands cup under your breasts and push them together so that he can nuzzle his face into the cleavage there.

“Ugh, fuck, I missed you.” He kisses the soft skin of your chest all over, grumbling and mumbling you’re your flesh, “Today’s been absolute shit.”

“I’ve heard, is there anything I can…do to help?” You manage to get one of your hands under his chin and tilt his face up up up to yours, your lids heavy and your lips licked wet, kissing his eyelids as they flutter shut, “Anything at all, to relieve you of some of this tension?”

He recognizes it, that tone of your voice. That tone of yours that makes him weak in the knees, that makes him turn into nothing but a puddle of desire for you. You get whatever you want when you talk to him like that – and he knows exactly what it’s going to be this time.

At least, he thinks he does.

He kisses you slowly, against the door. The kind of kiss that has his tongue pressing hot and wet against yours, the kind of kiss that makes him hard in his jeans for you. He’s so hard, and you grin against his smile, against the rasp of his goatee, because he has no idea what he’s in for when he growls,

“Watch it ketsl.”

“Mmm, or what? You’ll bend me over this desk right here where everyone could see?” You whisper against his jaw as you begin to kiss down down down his face, sucking and moaning softly against his throat. “Oh, but that’s right. You like that, don’t you, you like being watched.”

“You’re playin’ a dangerous game sweetheart.” There’s a fist in your hair then, and you grin up at him when he pulls your head back ever so slightly, searches your gaze. Are you just teasing him? Or do you mean it?

“A game sounds like just what you need to get you out of this mood.” You moan guiding his free hand, the one that isn’t in your hair, to grasp and squeeze at your nipple, telling him to, “Go sit down. Let me make you feel good.”

 Flip looks good, sitting at that desk of his. He’s got a real fancy office chair, brown leather that can recline a little ways back. Just enough, in fact, that he can lean lean lean back as his legs spread, those knees of his bumping just underneath the wood of the desk. They spread just wide enough for you to settle yourself between them.

Having the office is such a luxury that you can’t imagine not taking advantage of the enclosed space when you visit every day. He’s had it for a week, and you’ve already come on every surface, broken the place in to the best of your ability. But this…this was something else altogether different.

You undo the button closure of Flip’s jeans, and with an expert hand you pull his cock out. It’s flushed at the head, a dark delicious red where he’s aching for you, the veins thick and practically throbbing under your tongue as you lick a stripe up the shaft. That hand in your hair returns, and a long moan shudders through Flip’s chest as he slouches in the chair to relax into your touch.

“Mmm, shit ketsl.” He watches you with eyes that are practically glazed over, jaw dropped at the way you rub the head of his cock through your lips. “Touch yourself?”

You’ve sucked Flip’s dick at the station too many times to count, in back store rooms and broom closets, bathrooms and the empty breakroom, and of course quite a few times on the interrogation table -- but this, this was something you knew he’s always wanted to try, the thrill of being caught. The thrill of someone walking into his office and knowing what you’re up to.

Knowing that you’re under his desk, with your tits out, his cock in your mouth, your free hand stuffed in your panties. Your fingers rub and tease at your folds, and you moan around his length, moan and take him deeper as your fingers push into your pussy.

He can feel it, that thrill now, you know he can; his thighs are twitching, trembling, his tongue darting out to lick and lick and lick at his lower lip. He keeps looking up at the door, his heart thudding, pounding in his ears as his cock throbs in your mouth as you suck him off, take as much of him as you can down your throat.

His cock is velvety and hot and you drool around him, because you can’t help but drool, he’s so big and your mouth gets forced open so wide – you’re lucky his office is wood floors and not carpeting, easy clean up. Especially with the way your cunt is so slick, dripping all over your fingers and soaking through your panties, that wouldn’t do to have absorbing into his carpet.

“Fuck – (Y/N) someone’s coming.” Suddenly, Flip tenses, and your heart hammers in your chest as the two of you make eye contact.

He looks wild in the best way, and when you pull off of him and gasp for air, his dick oozes precome onto your lips and chin.

“Better act normal then, because the door’s unlocked and I’m not stopping.” You grin devilishly, and lick all of that precome up, swallow it down.

“Flip, can I come in?” The voice of Mark, one of the guys down in homicide, sounds from just beyond the door.

Flip looks at you, and you look back at Flip, and you suck so hard that he has to brace himself against the edge of his desk as he makes the decision that yes, yes you’re going to do this.

“What do you need?” Flip clears his throat loudly and with the question, allows Mark to come into the office.

You’re hyper-aware of everything all at once, the thud of his footsteps as he comes into the room, the noise from the bullpen just outside the office door, the heaviness of your own breathing, the air conditioning and the chatter and and and – everything reminding you that you’re in public, that you’re at Flip’s work, that you’re under his desk.

The only reason you can get away with this at all, you think with a smirk as you nearly deepthroat your husband right there, is that you’re completely concealed by the desk. And, as long as Mark doesn’t come any closer, Flip’s big cock down your throat is concealed too.

That big cock, twitching and pulsing, hot precome salty tangy perfect on your tongue as you fuck yourself on your fingers, your tits glistening and wet from drool that’s slipping sliding out of your mouth.

“Hey wasn’t your wife visiting?” Mark asks real nonchalantly, and you almost choke. “I could’ve sworn I saw her in the lobby earlier.”

“She uhhhh,” Flip realizes a second or two later that Mark is talking to him, and he blinks and clears his throat again as he twitches and tries his best to remain calm even when you’ve got your hand wrapped around his length and are stroking him off while you suck on the head of his dick, “She had to go to the bathroom. What do you need?”

“Chief needs some signatures on this paperwork, he asked me to bring it over. Do you think you take a minute to look at it?” Mark is blissfully unaware of you under the table, and Flip does he absolute fucking damnedest not to look at you – because if he looks at you he will blow his load right in front of this guy, and then everything will be fucked.

He’s so hard from that thought that he accidentally twitches so hard that he rams his knee up underneath the desk and shakes everything on top of it. You pull off his cock and cover your mouth so you don’t gasp from the sudden movement, giving yourself away.

“Sure sure, just leave it on the side table there,” Flip doesn’t know how he sounds entirely too cool for a man about to come so hard he might cry, but he is, and he does, and Mark is nodding and already walking away from the desk, back towards the door. “I’ll get it back to him after lunch.”

“Thanks Flip.” He says with a friendly smile and a nod.

“Yup.” Flip wants to come so badly, wants to come down your throat so badly and then bend you over this desk and fuck you raw until you’re the one crying.

“Oh and tell the missus I says hi.” Mark is all too cheerful and Flip musters all his strength to not snap at him.

“Sure thing – close the door, please.” Flip replies through grit teeth, and finally, finally, the door is closed and Flip is growling at you, releasing a big breath he’d been holding.

He winds his fist in your hair again and gags you on his cock with how tightly he presses your face to his crotch, making your throat stretch and bulge around him. You rock back on your fingers fast fast fast until you’re coming, your eyes fluttering shut and jaw going slack. Your drool darkens his jeans as you moan and choke around him, and that leather chair of his creaks beautifully as you bob your head up and down shallowly to mimic the way he loves to thrust and fuck your mouth.

“Ohh fuck honey-bunny, you and that tongue…” He thunks his head back against the chair and comes hard hard hard, the salty tangy sticky taste of come hitting the back of your throat as he shakes and shudders around you with a, “Fuck.”

You just breathe through your nose and take everything he gives you, before eventually pulling off him and stroking his cock slowly, carefully, to milk out any last droplets of come that you kiss away from your palm.

He looks absolutely wrecked, your husband does, his eyes rolled back into his skull as he gulps down deep breaths. He’s sweating, which you think is charming, because you’re the one who did all the work. But it’s work you love doing, because he’s already smiling at you hazy dreamy so in love, his hand coming to cup your cheek as he leans over to kiss the taste of himself off your lips.

“Liked that?” Your voice is raspy from being used so raw, and that makes Flip come a little bit more in your hand with a soft groan. He knows that the second he tries to stand up, he’ll collapse, his legs made of jell-o.

“You’re gonna be the death of me honey, you know that?” He bites the inside of his cheek when you tuck him back into his jeans and button him up sweetly, let him bury his face in your cleavage once more before you tie up your wrap blouse, “The death of me.”

“At least you’ll die a happy man.” You chuckle, knowing that at the very least, no one can suspect what goes on behind the frosted glass.

[preciousthingsareprecious]

Light’s Out

Alright! I am here with my next installment for D&d week! I hope you guys don’t mind a quieter, fluffier one. 

Day 3: Trust / Adoption Papers / “You’re shaking”

Summary: Damian Wayne hates the cold. Dick knows this, and when a snow storm knocks the power out at the penthouse it's up to him to both warm his brother up and find a way to help him enjoy their unexpected snow day.

AO3 Link

~

“This is absurd.” Damian grumbled, tightening his hold on the blanket around his shoulders.

Dick had to hold back laughter at his little brother. Damian was coated head to toe in an attempt at keeping warm. He wore a sweater, coat, sweatpants --stolen from Dick’s dresser-- the thickest socks in the Penthouse, and to top it all off had encased himself in a blanket.

His nose was shaded a little red, and his face puckered in a furious scowl, “I do not understand why we cannot do anything to stop this--” he stopped speaking to wave a blanket covered hand at the window, “ nonsense. ”

Dick crossed his arms and grinned at his brother, “If you can tell me how you expect us to stop a natural weather phenomenon then I’d be happy to help.”

“Tt.” Damian spun on his heel, presumably to glare at the weather outside.

Outside the penthouse windows the site was gorgeous. Snow drifted past in huge fluffy flakes that piled against the windows and built up on the ground. It had been doing this for days now, and honestly Dick was kind of enjoying it. Gotham was cold, and often plagued by rain, ice, and snow, but rarely did it snow quite like this unless instigated by someone like Freeze.

But this? This was all mother nature. Come to give Dick and Damian a much needed break from patrol and work.

They’d gone out the first couple nights, but Damian’s obvious total distaste for the “dreadful cold” and the conditions growing more and more dangerous had pushed them inside. If Batman and Robin weren’t out, then Dick doubted too much crime was going on. They were all as snowed in as Damian and he.

“I think you’re overreacting a bit. We do have the heat on you know.” Dick said, moving over to stand beside Damian.

He shook his head, “Not nearly high enough. I do not understand how you two are not frozen through.”

Dick glanced towards Alfred’s room. The butler had taken an actual pot of tea and a book into his room earlier that day declaring a reading day and requesting they refrain from doing anything too catastrophic to the penthouse.

He was a bit jealous of the older man, Dick would like to settle in with a book or some knitting, maybe to do a puzzle. Cold like this stilled something in him, at least for a bit. But Damian had him on edge. He’d been wandering around the penthouse, piling on more layers and shuffling from room to room aimless and ornery.

He bounced on the balls of his feet, “We make do. You get used to Gotham’s cold. Especially with Freeze about.”

Damian slid his gaze towards Dick, “Are we certain it is not Freeze?”

“I’ve told you six and a half times, that it’s just weather. Freeze is snug in Arkham wishing this was him.”

“Tt.” Damian tugged the blanket a bit tighter around his shoulders, spun on a heel and stomped off.

Dick watched him for a few more minutes as Damian paced. He wandered from the living area over to the kitchen, stared at the fridge, turned and trudged down the hall. Dick could hear his socked feet scuff against the wood floor, then the carpet of his room, and back onto wood.

When he returned to the living room Dick stepped in front of him to stop his continued pacing.

“Dames.”

“What?”

“Why don’t we sit down and do a puzzle? Or we could get out those coloring books Stephanie dropped off a couple days ago, I saw you eyeing the forest animal one.”

His brother’s scowl deepened, “If I become stationary I will freeze.”

Dick sighed, unable to stop himself, “Damian, stop. The thermostat is set to the same it always is. You won’t freeze if you sit with me for a bit.”

Just then, the lights around them flickered then clicked off altogether. Dick and Damian were blanketed in darkness in a moment, with the only light inside that from the clouded sky outside the windows. The room was strangely silent without the heater running.

“This is your fault.” Damian snapped, and turned again to leave Dick alone in the room.

“Well.” Dick said, to the dark, “I guess that  happened.”

He sighed, and with a forlorn glance out the windows at the snow still gently drifting down, he got busy getting the penthouse ready for a blackout.

After about fifteen minutes Dick had successfully dug out a number of candles, and a few of their big flashlights. He lit a few candles to add to the dim lighting in the room, then rolled up his sleeves to get started on the fire.

The fireplace was traditional. Bruce had insisted on it, in case of events just like this. Electric or gas just couldn’t be relied on in the case of bad weather or a Rogue attack. They stocked plenty of logs and starters in the penthouse, making it quick and easy for Dick to get the fire set up and started.

Soon it was crackling away and adding its own light and warmth to the room.

Dick stood and grinned at it for a moment, then moved to check on Alfred and Damian.

He knocked on Alfred’s door first, sure his welcome would be better received here than at Damian’s door. After a moment he cracked the door open.

“Hey, Al. I got a fire going if you’d like to move to the living room.”

Alfred’s room was already lit with candles, and Alfred was snuggled in his bed. He folded a book closed around his index finger and smiled, “If I get too cold I will gladly join you, but for now I am fine. Have you checked the bunker yet?”

Dick shook his head, “Not yet, I figured I’d get upstairs livable first. Plus it’s got emergency generators. It should be fine for a while. And--” he grinned, “If it really gets too cold up here we can always head down there.”

Alfred nodded, “Excellent. If the blackout persists we will have to consider alternatives to dinner.”

Dick nodded, “Yeah, but I’m sure you can figure out something. You are a wizard in the kitchen.”

Alfred waved him off, “Is your next stop Master Damian? I doubt he has experienced this kind of outage before.”

“He told me last week he spent a week in the mountains of--somewhere without power.” Dick pointed out, a little joking, but also serious.

He wasn’t sure how true Damian’s story had even been, but he had a feeling there was at least a grain of truth to it. Just imagining a milder version of the story had set off Dick's desire to tug the kid into a tight hug.  

“Which was an expected situation. This is anything but that. Have patience with him, Gotham is something entirely new.”

Dick nodded, “I hate that it was ever a situation for him, but you’re right. I was going to see him next.”

Alfred nodded, “Be off then. I will let you know if I need anything.”

“Be sure you do, I know you’re enjoying the quiet but if it gets too cold please join us.”

With that Dick left Alfred to his reading and moved to Damian’s room. He stood at the door for a moment, considering what his brother’s reaction might be to being interrupted.

As dramatic as Damian was being over a little cold weather, Dick knew he was shaken. He’d been obvious about his distaste for the cold, which had surprised Dick more than anything. Damian never admitted to things that might seem like a weakness. The power going out had probably made everything worse.

He knocked on the door, his knuckles rapping lightly, “Dames?”

“Go away.” came the muffled answer, “Unless you have devised a way to change the weather.”

“I haven’t, but I did get a fire started. It’s really warm to sit by, and probably better than hiding in your room.”

“I am not hiding.”

Dick tried the handle. To his relief it turned. If Damian was really angry with him he’d have locked it tight.

Inside, he found a bundled Damian sitting on his bed. He was glowering out from his blanket, now pulled up over his head. He hadn’t even bothered to dig out a flashlight or candle, so the only light in the room came from the window.

“What?” he snapped.

Dick leaned against the doorframe and grinned at Damian, “You sure you’re not hiding? Bundled up in here in the dark?”

“Tt. And who’s fault is it that I am in the dark?”

“Yours?” Dick raised an eyebrow.

The boy shook his head, knocking the blanket off and revealing tousled hair.

Dick shifted, crossing his arms, “You can’t possibly blame me for the weather or the power?”

He looked over Damian. His brother still didn’t look happy, but the stubbornness dropped off his face. He shrugged, tugging the blanket a bit closer. Dick sighed, and pushed off the frame to move into the room.

“Come on, Kiddo. You can’t just stay in here all day.” He said.

Damian straightened,  his expression set, “I can and will.”

Closer now, Dick could see Damian was shivering. Really, his stubbornness was just as bad as Bruce’s sometimes. Dick shook his head.

“You’re shaking. There’s no way I’m leaving you in here alone.” He nodded to himself, “No, there’s only one thing to do.”

With that, he closed the distance between himself and Damian. In a movement he scooped his brother up into his arms. Damian immediately started to squirm and kick.

“Release me, Richard!”

Dick adjusted his hold, Damian was slippery on a normal day, and cocooned in a blanket it was even harder to hold him. He ignored Damian’s protests, tucking his bundled brother under his arm and strolled out of the room.

“Put me down!” Damian yelled, kicking his legs.

It was funny to watch, with them wrapped up in his blanket and partially restricted. However, Dick didn’t laugh. The goal was to get him comfortable, and laughing at Damian was the opposite of that, no matter how adorable he was.

“Here you go.” he said, reaching the living room.

There, he plopped Damian down onto the carpet in front of the fireplace. Dick left Damian there and moved to the kitchen. Ever practical and overly prepared, Bruce had set the fireplace up so if needed, they could hang a pot or kettle over it. Some hot tea would be just the thing to soothe Damian. Well, Dick hoped it would at least help.

He tested the water, happy to find it running still, and filled a kettle with enough water to make a few cups, but not take forever to heat over the fire. When he returned, Damian hadn’t moved from the spot he’d been dropped in. He had adjusted his blanket, and was leaned against the brickwork.

“Careful or you’ll set your blanket on fire.”

“Doubtful.” Damian said, eyes on the kettle, “This is not my first time being settled by a fire.”

Dick hummed, and hung the kettle. He plopped down next to Damian, kicking a foot close to one of his brother’s hidden beneath the blanket.

“Is it helping you warm up?”

“It is doing an adequate job.”

Adequate was about as good a descriptor as Dick could expect to get from his brother, and he accepted it. He nodded, leaning back on his palms.

“Good, now I guess we just wait on the lights to come back on.”

Damian hummed, his attention on the fire.

This close, Dick could see the light flickering against the green of Damian’s irises, and the way the heat was already warming his cheeks. He should probably tell the kid to scoot back a bit, but it was the first time all day he hadn’t complained of feeling cold, so he left him be.

“I’m going to grab a couple things to do, you want something to read, maybe your sketchbook?” Dick asked, pushing himself to his feet.

The dark and Damian were making him antsy again. He’d feel better with a goal. A book to read, a page in a coloring book to fill in. Anything. The idea of waiting had his feet almost physically itching in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a kid, learning how to sit quiet for his first stakeout next to Batman.

Damian shook his head, still watching the fire.

“Ohh-kay.” Dick said with a clap, “I’ll just get a little of everything then.”

He used his phone to look into the closet where they kept games for infrequent hang outs with Steph and Tim, and any of Dick’s old friends who might show up at random. He considered for a moment actually grabbing a board game, then decided against it. Damian didn’t seem in the mood to get trounced at Twister or to totally defeat Dick at Monopoly. Instead he scooped up a puzzle featuring a kitten playing with a ball of yarn and moved on.

From there he stacked a couple books from his bookshelf on top. One he’d been looking forward to reading, and Howl’s Moving Castle. He kept seeing Damian linger by, but he’d never picked up. Dick figured it was because he’d probably thought it was childish to pursue fantasy.

Coloring books and a box of garishly shaded colored pencils were balanced atop the stack, and with that Dick made his way back into the living room.

It was cozy, the fire having warmed the area considerably in his short time away. Snow still drifted lazily down outside their windows, and Damian was still perched by the fire. He didn’t look like he’d really moved at all.

Dick returned to his seat on the floor and dropped the stack of ‘things to do’ between him and Damian. When his brother didn’t so much as glance at it or Dick, he opted for selecting his own book and waiting the kid out. Damian would get bored eventually and the temptation of books and art was too strong for any ten year old. Even one supposedly trained out of being a kid.

For a long time they sat there together, with only the crackle of the fire and the wind outside to keep them company. Dick’s attention kept drifting over to the fire as well, his mind wandering onto his dad.

If only Bruce were still alive. He’d be secretly delighted to finally get to use all the fail-safes he built into the penthouse. Then again, if Bruce were alive they’d be at the Manor, with its own generators, and back up energy pulled from solar power and not facing the blackout at all.

Still, Dick thought Bruce would enjoy this. Gotham quieted by snow, all real distractions pulled away from them along with the power. All they could do was read or write, or talk. Dick would have pestered his dad with a million words, a flood of conversation that could have easily made the time fly by.

But he wasn’t here. And he’d never experience this strange sort of twilight quiet with them. Dick’s heart twisted a bit. A sharp tug of grief he hadn’t been expecting. But then again, he never really expected the way it washed over him. It was always something little. Bruce’s contact still in his favorites on his phone, the scent of his cologne on someone else passing Dick in the street. And now this. A missed moment.

Tears wanted to prick at his eyes, but Damian was right there. Dick couldn’t just randomly start crying in front of him. And getting up to leave suddenly would only draw his attention. Instead he blinked them back, and tried turning his attention to his book.

It took a few tries, as he had to re-read a page almost four times before it sank in, but eventually Dick got back into the narrative.

When the kettle started whistling Dick moved to get mugs and tea bags, one for each of them.

Damian watched him, his attention moved for the moment on Dick as he went about his task. He seemed a bit more relaxed, even if he hadn’t risen to Dick’s bait yet. Still, he was confident Damian would enjoy this unexpected free time with him at some point.

“Thank you.” Damian said, when Dick handed him a steaming mug, fitted with a bag of green tea already seeping color into the water.

“No problem.” Dick answered, “Want to do a puzzle?”

Damian shrugged, and Dick bit back a smile. See, a little time was all the kid needed.

He shifted the mess he’d brought in to the side and promptly dumped out the puzzle pieces onto the floor in a heap. Almost automatically, Damian started shifting end pieces away from middle ones. Dick followed suit, and soon they were slowly but methodically putting the puzzle together.

“I hate the cold.” Damian said, the statement so sudden and surprising Dick actually dropped his puzzle piece.

He bit back an immediate response of ‘You don’t say.’ and instead picked the piece back up and nodded at his brother.

Damian fiddled with a puzzle piece, turning it over between fingers in his hand, “It makes me slow.” he continued, careful with his words, “It makes my fingers feel dumb and my body tired when I’ve worked so hard to make it anything but. I can catch an arrow shot at me, and climb a mountain with a broken wrist. And yet--the cold seems to step in and say that all of that work is for naught.”

He pressed the piece down into its spot, fingers lingering on it for a moment, “It makes me feel powerless in a way only Grandfather’s stare could.” his voice was so soft at this point it was almost like the whisper of the wind outside their window.

“It is not that I am unused to the cold. I trained in it, and we had winter. I simply have never been able to acclimate to it.”

Damian pulled his legs towards him and turned his gaze back to the fire, “What does that make me?”

“It makes you Damian.” Dick said, “Human. A child. One of many people who prefer warm sunny days to cold cloudy ones.”

Damian’s arms tightened around his legs, and Dick could practically read his mind. He could almost hear the list of people in Damian’s family who would disagree with that statement. Who would call him weak and a failure and unworthy of his title.

“Plus, that’s why you have me. And Stephanie, and Cass, and even Tim.” Dick added, “Though, don’t tell anyone but I’m pretty sure Steph hates the cold about as much as you do. My point is, we’re here to help. To have your back if you want to go out, and to be by your side if you want to stay in. And to remind you that being yourself means liking, hating, excelling, and failing at all kinds of things. You are not defined simply by your failures or successes. You are every bit of Damian.”

His brother’s gaze flickered back over to him, and after a moment he nodded, “Perhaps.” he said.

“You have done a good job making it bearable. Even prior to the power failing.” Damian added, uncoiling a little, to let his legs slip forward, “Though, your taste in puzzles is questionable.”

“Hey!” Dick protested, “It was this or the totally impossible all black one.”

“It is only one color?” Damian asked.

Dick nodded, “Bruce got it thinking it would be a good Robin challenge. Only even he got so frustrated he gave up on it after a while.”

A flicker of competition lit behind Damian’s eyes, “Get it. We will accomplish together what Father refused to. And if we fail, it will at least be a better challenge than this kitten.”

It was a request Dick couldn’t say no to.

They worked on the puzzle through the rest of the day. Into Alfred joining them by the fire, through a simple dinner of sandwiches, and into the evening.

When the power at last kicked back on with a gentle hum that was the heater, Damian was leaned against Dick, his blanket drooped off his shoulders, snoring slightly. The puzzle was half finished. And the sun was just peeking over the horizon.

[hournites]

Hournite Week Day 1: Light vs Dark - Hoax

Summary: When a distraught Beth visits the Farmlands one late night, Rick offers his support.

(read on ao3)

~.~

At the end of the day, Rick prefers to sit alone. There’s a chair in the living room, the room he used to play and sit with his parents in on the couch. The room he’d opened gifts on birthdays, watched television with his mother and sat by the window, looking out at the field for his father to come home. Matt has claimed that couch now. Rick doesn’t care to use it except when he’s forced to clean. It’s stained with beer and food that’s fallen through the cushions. His uncle brings women there, rarely ever the same woman twice. Rick knows it’s dirty and defiled and as beat up as the rest of the furniture Matt touches.

Rick prefers his father’s old recliner, shoved in the back dark corner where he can get the best bandwidth for the internet connection. Behind his uncle, it’s almost like Matt forgets Rick’s there. He studied those chemistry textbooks there, half-assed homework there, and fell asleep on rare occasions too. Outside of locking himself in his upstairs bedroom, it’s the closest to being invisible Rick gets. The closest to peacefulness he knows.

It’s on a Saturday night like that the doorbell rings, interrupting the tense quiet they’ve carved to share space.

Matt lifts his head from his phone, half-slouched on the couch, disgruntled when it rings twice more. “The hell?”

Rick stares ahead at the front door from the hall, startled by the foreign noise. “Um.”

Nobody uses the doorbell. They don’t even get visitors. The mailman drops parcels and bills off at the mailbox half a mile down the dirt walkway.

He looks at Matt.

“Ignore it.”

Rick stands. “It’s probably some real estate agent or something.” He’d notice a lot of the property nearby has gone up for sale. If he said they weren’t interested in buying, then they’d know not to come again.

“Exactly. So, leave it be.”

But the doorbell rings again just as he turns to walk away. Rick makes a move to the door.

“I said ignore it.”

He rolls his eyes. Well, now Rick was definitely going to do it. He glares at his uncle over his shoulder, twisting his wrist to unlock the door. “You can’t just tell me to—”

The door swings open and his eyes flit forward to address the figure at the arch. “Beth?”

Dressed in a dark purple cardigan and light-wash jeans, she’s clenching the rubber bars of her bike, fingers scrunched up like she wants to scratch it off with her nails. Like she’s moments from ripping it off entirely. She’s holding herself too stiff, head raised and chin jutted out. Rigid like she can’t move, twitching like she wants to fight. The irises of her big brown eyes skip from left to right, pleading.

“Can I stay here with you?”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Please —” she begs, voice cracking. “Can I stay over with you?”  

“Tell them to fuck off!”      

Rick glances back awkwardly over his shoulder, wary of his uncle, not sure what to say.

“Rick, please—”

Rick steps outside and shuts the front door behind him.

“Why are you here? Are you okay?”

Beth drops the handles and her bicycle falls to the porch with a clatter.

His eyes widen when she lurches forward, catapulting across the creaking wood. Rick grunts softly at the force of her hug. He stumbles back with her, wrapping her arms tight as they stand in the doorway.

Her body shudders and whatever storm she had been withholding inside releases with a bursting sob. Beth sniffles into his shirt, the angle of her round glasses pressed into his ribs. Rick looks down, at a loss.

“Hey,” he rasps out, taking a firm grasp at her shaking shoulder. “Beth. Okay. Shh. Jesus, don’t cry.” Matt’s going to hear this. He’s going to hear and come and see and make this a mess. The thought makes his blood run cold. Rick peels her off. It hurts and is jarring and she seizes at the rip of comfort he just tore away that he knows she needs, but hair stands up on his arms, hyper-cognizant. It’s not that he thinks Matt will—Rick doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what he’d do and that’s been why he’s avoided letting the girls show up here.

“This can’t happen right now.” The last thing Rick wants is for Matt to find out about the hourglass or the JSA. The girls are his tether to that and he can’t risk Matt taking advantage or robbing anything he has no right to. Again.

Beth recoils. He’s quick to pull her back in, panicked. It’s not that he doesn’t care.  “I didn’t say that right. We just can’t do this here.”

“What do you mean?”

He leads her off the porch by the hand to around the side of the house. Rick can tell she’s biting down her lip to stop from asking another question, but it becomes clear where they’re going when they reach his parked car and she relaxes. He hops onto the hood and makes room for her. Beth looks reluctant, but joins him there, still brushing close, wanting him near.

“You don’t want me to stay?”

“It’s not that,” he promises. “I just don’t know how he’s going to react.”

Her wet eyelashes get stuck against the wall of her thick lenses. “Your uncle Matt?”

“I’ve told you. He’s not a good person.” His tone edges on sharp. “There’s a reason why I don’t want—” He pinches the bridge of his nose, fighting down his belligerence. Rick takes a breath. This isn’t going to help her. “He doesn’t treat women right.” He pauses, wanting to say more, but can’t bring himself to say the words.

She stares at him. “You think he’s a racist.”

“Well.” That too.

Beth slides off the car.

“Beth. Wait.”

She rubs at her eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan, turning back in the direction they came.

“I’ll go home.”

“Tell me what’s wrong first.” He follows her along the muddy grass. “You wanted to stay overnight.”

“You don’t want me here!” She shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut. “This was stupid of me. I shouldn’t have come. I should’ve asked first.”

“Beth, that’s not true. I do. I always want to see you. It’s just...” His implication is obvious, but it came out worse than he’d meant it to. The point is, she could’ve gone to anyone else. She could’ve gone to see Courtney.

She should’ve called Pat. They trust Pat. He’s safe and is a good problem solver as annoying as his methods are.

She came here instead. And yeah, he does wish she could’ve texted or called, but the fact she’s now thinking it was wrong seems strange.

Rick knew something wasn’t right the moment he saw her in front of his doorstep, but now he’s very worried as he hears her curse herself and blinking back more tears. Beth has always been so confident in herself, regardless of how others perceived her. He had never heard Beth call herself dumb or pathetic or stupid. He didn’t believe she had ever seen herself that way either. Why would she?

According to their high school, she might be a loser, but there had never been a day she wasn’t unapologetically proud to be herself. There’s nothing wrong with being outspoken or bold or self-assured, trusting or smart and self-sufficient. She’s all of the above and maybe that had intimidated or even annoyed Rick sitting across from her to overhear, but it didn’t make it less true.

Doesn’t Beth know that?

She looks at him again. “I thought we were—”

“We are.”

She lets out another long breath and swallows.

“We are. It’s not that I don’t… My uncle is a real asshole. That’s it.” He grabs her hand. “Okay?”

“Okay.” She lifts a helpless shoulder, glancing back at the mustang. She lingers on it like she wants to go in.

“What?” Rick asks.

“Do you wanna leave Blue Valley with me?”

She doesn’t mean a road trip. The question throws him. Not because it’s terrifying to hear that from her. Though it fucking is. It throws him because he’s had the same thought pass through his mind at night a thousand times. A thousand times a week. Everything could be better, away. Without the memories or the roads or the trees and the people who’ve made this town an awful place. But their perspectives on Blue Valley had always been Rick and Beth’s stark difference. What happened to her unwavering devotion to caring about the town and everyone in it? It’s what Rick liked so much. The light from within her pushed her bravery, eradicating her limits.

“Beth,” he speaks carefully. “Why are you running away?”

Beth turns her face towards the farms, letting go of his hand. “I love my parents so much.”

Rick’s face softens. “I know.”

“No. They’ve been my inspiration my whole life. How can—I can’t fathom how…it’s all...”

“What are you talking about?”

Beth tugs her fingers into the sleeves of her cardigan crossed over her chest, refusing to meet his gaze, miserable. She takes so long to answer, but Rick can see the fight in her mind in the way she sticks her jaw. Whatever it is she’s torturing herself with it, Rick can feel it just by standing nearby. “Beth?”

“It’s the ISA, Rick. I didn’t want to believe it but it’s been them all along. My—” She chokes on her words.

Dread sinks to his gut. “Which one?”

“Both.” The blankness that shadows over her face, Rick has seen it before. The ghost of Yolanda’s detachedness after she was betrayed. The shattering shake in Henry’s voice moments before he was gone. “Chuck found out a while ago but I kept pushing it back and pushing it back because it wasn’t true? It wasn’t true and I couldn’t accept that until...They’re close with Richard Swift.”

He touches her arm, lets his hand slide down the expensive sweater to reach for her hand when she cries again.

“Can’t we just go?” When she asks Rick again, he understands. The slimmer of hope she’s threaded through her request. What it’s costing him not to say yes.  

“Come inside,” he whispers instead, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. It's a dead weight like a stone in his hand. It shouldn’t be like this. Beth shouldn’t be like this. She’s not okay. “You can stay.”

She shoots a nervous glance at the house. “I don’t want to if it’s a problem.”

“I’ll make sure it’s not a problem,” he cuts in, sharp.

Beth mutters something, but Rick doesn’t catch it. He jogs back to the front porch and bends over to pick up her bike and lock it in the shed.

He returns, awkwardly holding her school bag, leaning against the wall.

“Stay here,” Rick says, “I’ll come to get you.”

He goes back inside and stands in front of Matt.

“My friend is staying over.”

“You have friends?” Matt scrolls on his phone with a snort. When he realizes Rick isn’t joking, he glances up. “No.”

“I’m not asking.”

“I babysit enough after you—”

“Is that what you call it?” Rick snarks.

Matt’s eyes flash at him. They say Don’t test me.

Rick steps away. He won’t. The plan isn’t to piss him off. He wants Beth to survive the night here. “She’ll stay in my room and I’ll sleep on the floor or something. It’s just for today.”

To Rick’s horror, Matt leers. “She’ll stay in your room?”

“Don’t.” Rick makes it clear. “Don’t. Don’t talk to her. She’s upset enough. She doesn’t need you in her business.”

“Whatever.”

“I’m serious,” Rick says. The flippant way Matt goes back to his phone has him unnerved. If it wasn’t for the fact he has the hourglass tucked away in his room, he’d walk right out and drive Beth to Pat’s instead. It’s not worth it.

But Rick can take Matt on now. If that’s something he ever needs to do.

“What’s her name?”

Rick doesn’t even want to tell him. He turns around and brings Beth in.

She wipes at her face and sucks in her hurt, attempting and failing to gather her emotions. “Sorry, Mr. Harris. I’m—”

“—No.” Rick pushes her past the living room before she could even finish her sentence. “Nope.”

“Is that any way to speak to your father? ” Matt yells after him.

Rick rolls his eyes hard and shuts the door to his room pointedly.

Beth sits gingerly onto his unmade bed. “You could’ve at least let me introduce myself. I’m in his house.”

“This is not his house.”

“Oh.” Beth picks at his linty sheet. “Right.”

He waits as long as he can before he can’t help himself. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” she mutters. Beth reaches into her bag for Chuck and hands him over. “It’s all there.” Next, she pulls out a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt. “Sorry. Can I change?”

“Uh. Sure.” Rick moves. “Tell me when I can come back in.”

Rick leans against the wall, waiting, wondering what he should do. Chuck is in his hands, half-lit. The last time he learned the truth through green hue, his life had changed for good. Was this what it felt like for her?

The projection skittered across the off-white peeling walls.

James Chapel. The American Dream. Hired by Jordan Mahkent, January 2006. James Chapel, MBA Keynote Speaker - Geopolitical Realignment in the Pursuit of an American Dream. Funded by Richard Swift. The Theoretical Abnormalities of Frontal-Cortex Reconfiguration published by Blue Valley Medical Centre Press. Authored by Henry King Jr, Bridget Chapel et al. 2000. Scholarship funding provided by Swift Inc.

It is followed by grainy photographs of a tall slender woman in a blue and red polymer jumpsuit with the youthfulness of Beth’s face. The pixels dissolve away and return with one that resembles her father. There’s more evidence, hard core pictures. Records of Henry Jr’s faked autopsy. Medical records on Joey Zarick. Notes on the political numbers in William Zarick’s campaign.

“I’m sure this comes as a great shock.”

“How didn’t you know?” It feels ridiculous to hiss accusations at a piece of tech no matter how special. He does it anyway. The damage, it’s done. He has half the mind to smash Chuck against the floor. He doesn’t hate Chuck, he knows how important he is to Beth. It’s just the gratification Rick craves to break something that hurt her.

“A glitch in my system. The Gambler had scrambled their affiliation well. It’s not until I’ve reloaded my servers and Beth brought me into Dr. Chapel’s work office that she uncovered any peculiarities.”

“This is going to break her.”

“Bruise,” Chuck corrects. “Not break.”

Rick shuts it off when his door cracks open.

She stepped out looking as cozy as one could with red-rimmed eyes.

Rick tilts his head up from his crouched position in the hall, passing Chuck back to her. She hugs the goggles close.

“Where are you sleeping?” she asks. “I won’t let you on the floor.”

“I have a chair.”

“Where?”

“The living room?”

She considers it, peering down the stairs. “Isn’t that where your uncle passes out?”

“I can bring it up here.”

“We shared a bed at Pat’s cabin.”

“That was before…” Besides, Barbara was there checking in like every two hours.

“Rick,” Beth whispers. “I just want you near.”

~.~

She is near, nestled in his arms. The sheer closeness makes his heart jump, the solid feel of her body beside his. Beth trusts him, confides in him. Looks up at him when he hears her.

“I don’t believe they’d ever hurt me,” she says at last. Rick bites his tongue. Physically? No. Indirectly? He’s seen the way she’s vied for their attention. Idolized herself after their values. The dependency they’ve fastened to leech onto their ideals of transparency and complete openness from her side when they don’t return the favour. Some of their FaceTime calls at lunch had been flat-out weird. Rick assumed it was his irritability flaring out whenever they bothered to check in on her. What if it was surveillance?

Beth catches his hesitation and frowns. “I know what you’re thinking. My parents are different. I know they’re…on the wrong side but they’re not like Tigress and Sportsmaster.” She’s defending them. Naturally, and in spite of her grief. He squeezes her arm, unthinking.

“I didn’t think they were.”

She turns and pulls on the sheet, staring up at his ceiling. “You know what’s funny?”

“What?”

“Ever since I found out, my mind always circles back to you.”

“Me?” Rick’s brows crease against his pillow. “Why?”

“I was wrong about you too. I thought you were this unfeeling aggressive person that sat next to me at lunch all those years because you were indifferent.” She glances at him. “That’s not true.”

“It was a little true.”

She ignores that, carrying on. “But I wanted to be wrong about you from the beginning so I fought against my feelings to prove myself right that night. And I was. There’s so much more to you.”

He props his elbow up to study her quietly.

“I thought if there was more to you, there has to be more to my mom and dad. I didn’t think they could just leave me in the dark. That’s why I didn’t say anything for so long.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

He knows that she knows they’ll be talking to Courtney and Yolanda and Pat soon. That the world as she knew it was gone now. For now, Rick listens, being there for her.

Beth might’ve been left in the dark, but she navigates well in it. Her heart and wisdom are a bright light in themselves. And she’s touched him with it, seared him with her brightness and truth in a way he can’t ignore. Beth lightened him in a way he’s only more drawn to. And if she loses it now, if it dims out of her, Rick swears he’ll find it. He’ll find it and bring it back out if he has to.

[heyitsani]

This Could Be the End of Everything Chapter 1

@jaydick-week Day 4: ABO Dynamics

Word Count: 7,249

Rating: Mature

Warnings: non-con (but not sexual), canonical character death

Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson

Summary: Jason's presentation takes something precious from Dick and they have to face the consequences in more ways than one.

Notes: Okay just a bit of background/history. In this "world" pack dynamics are important, but have taken a backseat since society doesn't require them anymore. But back when they were lead by more primitive needs and desires, each pack was led by one omega and alpha who were more powerful than the others. True Alphas and True Omegas, as they came to be called, were respected due to their power. But as society shifted and packs began settling in single places, Trues became more and more rare because the need for the powerful protectors was not needed.

Now they're considered precious and while True Alphas are more common than True Omega's, both are considered rare. And it's especially rare to have one of each in a pack. And when a True Alpha gives a mating bite to a True Omega, the bond cannot be broken without one or both of them dying (whereas a normal pair could easily break a bond if need be). And should one of the pair die, the other would become a shade of themselves for the rest of their days.

You can also read it on AO3 here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was rare that Dick found himself at the manor these days.  The argument with Bruce that ended up with Robin being stripped from Dick and the one that followed when Bruce gave it to Jason without telling him first were still two excessively big bridges that had been burned.  And had yet to be rebuilt.  Although, if you asked Dick, he would say they would never be rebuilt.  Too much pain in those wounds.

But there were moments, like currently, when Bruce called and Dick answered because he couldn’t not help. Not when Bruce was able to find it within himself to ask for it to begin with.  Even if Dick wasn’t fooled and was well aware of the fact that Alfred had cajoled him into calling his eldest ward.

A fact that Alfred was more than happy to confirm as Dick sat in the kitchen with the older man and sipped on a cup of his favorite Earl Gray tea.

“Master Richard, would you please take this cup up to Master Jason?  He has not come down for his usual after school cup and I fear he has gotten caught up in his reading again,” Alfred set a tray down on the counter near Dick, glancing at the other man.

“Sure, Alfie,” Dick smiled. He set his own cup down on the tray, ignored the smile that Alfred gave him at the motion, and picked the whole tray up before heading out of the kitchen.

The manor was quiet, as it usually was at this time of day.  When Dick had lived within its walls, there had been noise from wherever it was he had found himself.  The need for movement or noise was embedded deep within his skin from his years in the circus and no matter how old he got, he could never shake it.  Jason was much more like Bruce in his need for peace and solitude.  Dick liked to tease Jason that he was adopted simply for the fact that he was much more of a Wayne then the unadopted Dick ever was.

Jason only ever scowled at that, but it made Dick snigger all the same.

Rounding the corner and making his way to Jason’s room, Dick balanced the tray on one hand and knocked. “Hey Jay?”  He listened a moment, letting his omega scent the air a moment for anything out of the normal when no answer came.  When nothing but Jason’s natural scent hit him, perhaps a bit stronger than usual, Dick deemed it safe to open the door.  What greeted him was not something he had been equipped to deal with.

The growl surprised him, but not nearly as much as the scent of alpha that smacked him right in the senses.  And how the hell hadn’t he noticed that through the door?  It was so strong now that the door was open, and he had stepped into the room.

But he didn’t get the chance to process what it all meant before he was being pushed into the closest wall and the tray he had been holding was crashing down onto the floor. It made enough noise that he knew Alfred and Bruce, who was working in his study, would hear it and come running. They wouldn’t come quick enough to stop Jason from doing what Dick could see was burning in his eyes.

“True Alpha,” Dick whispered, eyes going wide.  There was no denying that scent pouring off the newly presented alpha pressing him into the wall.  Jason’s only response was the snarl in Dick’s face and though the omega knew it was probably the stupidest thing he would ever do, he shifted his scent so Jason could smell more than just plain omega.

A scent that Dick worked so hard to hide because he had always expected to be an alpha growing up. He hadn’t even considered omega as a possibility.  If he weren’t an alpha, he would definitely be a beta.  But when he had presented as not only an omega, but a True Omega, his entire world had shifted.  He still struggled with accepting his place in the hierarchy of the world, but he had quickly mastered the skill of turning off the True in his scent, so no one knew outside of the family and a few very select friends.

But the research he had done immediately after his presentation heat had passed had told him one thing over and over: A True Omega can calm a True Alpha when breaching feral while presenting.  And Jason was going down that road, especially since Dick had waltzed into his territory uninvited.

So, he let the True Omega scent come out to play and immediately Jason’s tense hold on Dick loosened and Dick felt his body relax slightly.  “Omega,” Jason whispered, eyes still blown wide with the change.

“Jay, you gotta relax. It’s going to be okay, but you have to relax through it.  Let me go get Bruce.”  At the mention of Bruce, Jason tensed back up and Dick was officially at a loss of what to do.  Did Jason instinctually know Bruce was an alpha?  Did he view Bruce as a threat now?  “Jay?”

“Mine,” the growl was back and something sharp rose in Jason’s scent a mere second before a bright pain hit Dick and he was screaming.

Dick would never know for sure what it was that caused Jason to pull away, but one second Dick was pressed against the wall with Jason’s teeth in the place where his shoulder met his neck and the next he was on the floor, bloody and pressing a hand to the mating bite.

“Oh god, Dick!”  He could hear Jason freaking out, having been pulled out of his haze most likely due to the pain taking over Dick’s scent, but he couldn’t focus on that.  The only thing he could focus on was the burning in the bite and the spark in his chest.

“Jason?!  Dick?!”  Bruce’s voice thundered down the hall along with the sound of his feet rushing their direction, Alfred’s sounding just behind his.  Neither of them answered and only Jason looked over when the two men appeared in the doorway, but he didn’t move from his position just a foot away from Dick, kneeling with his hands hoovering like he wanted to hold onto the omega but knew he shouldn’t.

“I didn’t mean to!  I didn’t-I’m sorry!”  Jason’s voice sounded, accompanied by Alfred’s familiar baritone probably offering words of comfort.  But Bruce kneeling in front of Dick took his focus.  

“Dick?  Dick, I need you to breathe.”  Oh.  Was that why he couldn’t focus?  Yeah, that made sense.  He was disassociating.  “Dick, you need to breathe or you’re going to pass out.  And your state is not helping Jason’s at all.”  Closing his eyes, Dick tried to take a deep breath but found he couldn’t.  “Focus, Dick. Five things you can smell.”

Right, he could do this.

“Your cologne,” he rasped, keeping his eyes closed.  He could feel his hands shaking but tried to focus on scents.  “Shortbread…” A stunted breath.  “Wood polish…my tea…”  Another breath.  “And…and Alfred’s fabric softener.”  He wished he could ask Bruce to touch him, to ground him like a pack alpha should.  But there was a logical voice in his brain telling him he couldn’t.  No one could touch Dick until Jason got himself under control.  The newly presented alpha wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“That’s good Chum. Now four things you can hear.”

Still he kept his eyes closed, pushing his senses out further than this room.  “The kitchen timer, the…the blue jays in the tree out back, the grandfather clock,” he said, struggling to keep his senses out of the room. “Jason’s heartbeat.”

“No, focus on what isn’t caused by the situation or related to it.”

“Your heartbeat.”

“That’s fine. Good.  Three things you can see.”  Carefully Dick opened his eyes and blinked, doing everything he could not to seek out Jason’s eyes.

He glanced everywhere but the spot where Alfred was standing with his hands-on Jason’s shoulders, holding the worried alpha back.  “The tree outside the window.”  He flicked his eyes to the ground.  “The grain in the wood, and the tea on the floor.”  He took a deep breath and glanced at Bruce who was nodding. “Sorry, Alfie,” he muttered, referring to the mess he had made when the tray had dropped.

“It’s quite all right, Master Richard.”

“Two things you can feel. You’re almost there,” Bruce said gently, nodding again.

“The wall behind me.” Dick took another deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling his chest loosen the last bit and his air coming more naturally.  “Pain.” He flinched at the whine that sounded from Jason and cowered under the glare from Bruce.

“Dick.”

“I…the rug…” He tried and Bruce gave him a small smile.

“Last one,” Bruce told him. “One thing you can taste.”

Again, he wanted to say blood, but he didn’t want to make things worse.  Again.  “Lemon cake, from earlier.”

“Good.  Can you stand?  Alfred will take you to get cleaned up.”  Dick thought about whether or not he could stand and figured he probably wouldn’t know for certain unless he tried.  But his brain didn’t seem to want to send the signals to legs to push off the floor and he didn’t want to pull his hand away from the bite mark. He didn’t know if seeing it would set Jason off at all and he didn’t want to risk it.

“I need help,” he whispered, dejected, eyes falling shut again.  There was silence and Dick could smell the hesitation in Bruce’s scent. The conflict.

“Can Jason help you?” Dick knew Bruce was struggling not being able to jump into the comforting father, pack alpha role but he also knew he had to be careful about Jason’s end of things too.  Considering the idea, Dick gave a small nod and seconds later there were hands touching him gently, helping him to his feet.

“I’m so sorry, Dick.  Please, I’m so sorry,” Jason whispered, and Dick opened his eyes to look at the young alpha.  There were tears in Jason’s eyes and he knew Jason felt terrible.  He knew because it pulsed loudly in their bond and scented the air like fog.  But Dick didn’t know how to respond without breaking down again.  So, he just leaned against the wall and let Jason mutter out his stream of apologies.

“Master Jason, I need to take care of Master Richard.  Will you be all right for me to help him to his room?”  Jason’s eyes widened in panic at the suggestion and Dick felt a little bad. The new instincts were hard to handle on a normal basis, but throw in mate instincts on top of that?  Dick couldn’t imagine.

Reaching forward with the hand not holding the mark, Dick gripped the front of Jason’s shirt.  “You can help me to my room, but I need to process, and I need to breathe so you’ll have to leave me there.  With Alfred.”  He was trusting his omega to comfort Jason’s alpha right then because there was no way Dick could do it.  Not when he was desperately in need of comfort himself.  He needed to not have to be the strong one and that wasn’t going to happen while Jason was in the room.

Because the last thing he wanted was to make Jason feel even worse for something that Dick was upset about but not mad at Jason for.

Dick watched Jason take a deep breath before nodding.  “Okay, I can do that.”  And Dick knew he was trying to steel himself for the moment he had to walk out of Dick’s room and leave him with the beta.  But if there was one thing Jason had perfected, it was doing something he didn’t want to do simply because it needed to be done.

Glancing at Bruce, Dick found the older man watching the pair with his well-practiced Batman face. It was one he had never been able to read, no matter how many times he had tried over the last eleven years. But he did know that it was strictly reserved for situations he wasn’t too sure how to handle.  Or situations that compromised who he was as an alpha. This was probably both of those times. His youngest, newly adopted son had presented as an alpha when no one was prepared and managed to claim his eldest, unadopted ward before anyone could stop him.  And now he had to manage the new alpha when his instincts were telling him to care for his pack omega.  And not just any omega, but a True Omega who pulled out the protective instincts more due to the precious nature of having one in your pack.

But Dick couldn’t help Bruce right then.  He couldn’t be who he always was, the one who helped others back onto their feet when they fell, because it had been him who had fallen this time.  And for once in his life he just needed to allow himself to take care of himself.  

“You can take your leave now, Master Jason.  I do believe you and Master Bruce have much to discuss,” Alfred spoke gently but with an undercurrent of authority that most betas were never able to accomplish. Alfred though, he was the true patriarch of this family and anyone who knew them knew it.  

Dick didn’t look at Jason as he stepped away from where he had helped Dick sit on the edge of the elder’s bed.  He didn’t look up from the spot on the floor he had kept his gaze until the door shut firmly behind Jason, shutting his scent out along with it.  It was then when Dick allowed himself to crumple a little. Under the watchful eye of Alfred, it felt safe to do so.  He could hide his face in his hands, ignoring the blood on his one hand, as he silently cried.

Thanks to the scent blockers on his room, specifically installed for his heats, Jason wouldn’t be able to smell his new mate’s distress.  He would, however, be able to feel it through the bond but there was nothing Dick could do about that now.

A hand fell to the back of his neck and squeezed gently.  “Indeed, Master Richard.  Indeed, this is quite the situation.”  And that just made Dick sob harder into his hands, falling sideways into Alfred as the older man gathered the nineteen-year-old in his arms.  It wasn’t the comfort he had been seeking since Jason had sunk his teeth into him, but it would do for now.  It would have to do for now because Bruce had to take care of the new alpha.  

He couldn’t be certain how much time had passed before his tears dried up and Alfred got to work on cleaning and bandaging the new bite.  It wasn’t common practice for the bite to be covered, usually healing quickly on their own, the fact that it was given against Dick’s will made the healing process a bit different.  Slower. Mostly because Dick’s omega was bucking against the idea of this alpha taking something from him without asking, without proving that he could be a good alpha for the omega.  While the laws of old had long ago been changed and Dick was just as worthy of a pack and society member as any alpha or beta, the instinct to be provided for would always be there.

Dick hated it.

He was an adult and he could take care of himself.  He didn’t need to be wooed and courted.  He didn’t need someone to provide for him.  His omega disagreed, sadly.  The True Omega knew that he needed an alpha who was strong, who could protect and love and worship Dick the way he deserved.  That was the part that was howling right now, wanting to rage against the bite and break it.  But that wasn’t an option.

“Alf, what are we going to do?  I can’t break this.  I know you and Bruce could smell it.  He’s a True Alpha,” Dick whispered, looking at the man currently turning down his bed so Dick could crawl into the comfort there.  

Alfred sighed and straightened, frowning.  “We will have to figure this out.  Get some rest, Master Richard.  I will go speak to Master Bruce and send him in here as soon as possible.”  Dick could see the question in Alfred’s eyes and nodded his head, silently admitting that he wanted Bruce there.  “In you go,” he was waved into the bed and remained motionless as the covers were pulled up to his shoulders.  It reminded him of when he had been a boy in a stranger’s home.  

“Can you…”  Dick stopped Alfred from leaving for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what it was he wanted to say.  Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes.  “Can you tell Jay I’m not mad.  I don’t want him to think I’m mad.”

“I will pass the message along.  Get some rest.”

The sound of the door opening and closing was all he heard before the silence of the room fell over him. And though he thought there was no way he would fall asleep right then; he was out before he could really process anything that had happened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason shot to his feet from the chair in the kitchen when Alfred entered.  The elder looked tired but gave Jason a gentle smile and a pat to his shoulder before guiding him back into the chair across from Bruce.

“He is asleep,” Alfred relayed, and Jason felt a surge of relief.  He didn’t know if it was because of how stressed Dick had seemed at the entire altercation or because of the bond itself, but he was glad to hear the omega was able to fall asleep.  Jason wasn’t sure he’d be sleeping for the next week.  “He also asked me to pass along that he was not mad at you Master Jason. He was very adamant about that fact.”

The whine that came from his throat surprised everyone in the room, Jason most of all.  And in his embarrassment and guilt, he buried his face in his hands.

“Jason.”  Bruce’s voice sounded far off, and the usual need to obey didn’t come to him, but Jason took a deep breath and raised his head to look at his adoptive father all the same.  “None of us are angry with you.  The presentation is a lot.  The instincts are hard to deny.  Throw in the rank of True Alpha and you’ll find them even harder to deny.”

“You must allow yourself some grace, Master Jason,” Alfred spoke up.  Jason turned to look at the elder beta and frowned.  How could he allow himself grace when he had taken something from Dick against the older man’s will?  Something that he hadn’t earned.  Something the Dick hadn’t seemed keen on giving anyone, from what Jason had seen when he watched the omega interact with other people.  He held himself away from others, he had learned how to pull in his scent to smell just like a regular omega, and he had learned how to ignore the instincts.  Jason had seen them warring in the man’s sapphire eyes so many times and wondered why he would put himself through that just to make the world believe he wasn’t as special as he was.

But Jason had always seen how special Dick was.  How spectacular he was.  Even before he had known Dick was a True Omega.  And now he was left wondering if he had been able to see it because he would eventually present as a True Alpha.  If his inner alpha was just preparing to be worthy of a compatible omega.

“Fuck,” he muttered, looking away from Alfred.  He didn’t comment on the older man’s lack of chastisement on his swearing, but he knew it was probably just because it was a difficult situation.  “He’s not angry but that doesn’t mean he won’t hate me when he wakes up.”

“That may be,” Alfred said from his place.  “But there is nothing to be done to change the situation.  We can only allow Master Dick to decide what it is he wants to do since the choice was taken out of his hands.”  Jason cringed at the words, even if they were said kindly and without the accusation he deserved.  He deserved the anger and the hate.  He had stolen something that was only Dick’s to give, no one’s to take.  He was no better than the alphas in the Alley.  

Bruce cleared his throat and Jason raised his eyes to look at the man, waiting.  “And no matter what Dick decides, you still have a place in this family.  In this pack.”  And those words made Jason sag in relief.  He hadn’t realized he was worried he would be kicked to the curb for what he had done.  He understood that logically he hadn’t been in control, but the guilt swirled relentlessly around his chest and made him feel as though he was moments away from being kicked to the curb.  “Do you understand, Jaybird?”

Jason nodded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was just blinking himself awake when there was a soft knock on his bedroom door.  Shifting in bed so he was at least facing the door, he called out a ‘come in’ before snuggling further into the warmth of his bed. The previous days events were enough of a reason for him to not get up and greet the day as he usually did.  He felt he deserved the right to be a little lazy today.  Plus, there was a lot he needed to think about now.

“Dick,” Bruce’s low voice rumbled as the door opened and his alpha stuck his head in the room.  Or his former alpha?  Dick wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen now.  The circumstances weren’t exactly standard.  “How are you feeling today?”

Taking a moment to consider the question, Dick went through how he felt physically.  His neck was still sore but not throbbing like it had the night before, his body ached but not in an overwhelming way, and he was tired but he usually felt that way when he first woke up.  Mentally he was probably worse off.  He could feel Jason’s emotions burning strong in his chest, but he ignored them just as he had done last night.  He himself felt like a wreck.  He felt a lot like he had in the weeks and months following his parents deaths.  He was hurting and he was angry, but mostly he felt lost.  And he wondered how Jason was handling the feedback that he was getting from Dick.

“Better than yesterday,” he finally settled on as an answer.  “How is Jason?”

Bruce sighed and moved further into the room after closing the door behind himself.  He hesitated a moment before sitting on the edge of Dick’s bed, just out of the omega’s reach.  “He is feeling guilty and is rightfully upset about what happened.”  

Dick didn’t say anything, but gave a sad smile in response.  He didn’t blame Jason, even if he was upset the choice had been taken from him against his will.  He understood the overwhelming feeling of a presentation.  And he understood even more that being a True Alpha, or Omega in his own case, amped those instincts up a few more levels.  Dick could be angry to the high heavens, but he couldn’t blame Jason for not being able to immediately control the instincts.

“He was okay with you coming in here?”

Bruce hummed.  “He managed to show some amazing control once the situation had settled a bit after you fell asleep.”  It must have been easier for him once Dick’s emotions had faded in sleep.  “But now we need to discuss what you want to happen.”

Dick frowned and pushed himself upright, cringing at the pull on the bite.  But he had more important things to focus on right then. Because he didn’t want to believe Bruce was suggesting what he thought the man might be suggesting.

“You aren’t kicking him out.”  It wasn’t a question or even a request.  Dick knew his place as pack omega lent a lot of authority, even if Bruce seemed immune to it most day, and he would use every ounce of it to keep Jason from being homeless again.

“I am not kicking him out.” Shoulders sagging in relief, Dick leaned back against the headboard.  “I would never do that to him.  He is pack for as long as he wants to be.”

Dick nodded.  “Good.  That’s…that’s good.”

But that just meant that what needed to be decided was what they were going to do about the mating bite. Dick knew it couldn’t be broken and he knew Bruce knew that too.  He knew that they had no choice in this being final.  But did that mean they had to accept it?  Could they just ignore it for the rest of their lives?  

Could he doom Jason to a life of no mate?  No pups?

“I don’t know what to do, B,” Dick admitted, looking from the comforter to his father figure.  “He’s too young even if I was okay with this. Legally he’s allowed to make the choice, sure.  But I’m nineteen and he’s fifteen.  And that is just…no.”  Dick shook his head firmly and Bruce’s face told Dick that the older man completely agreed. Which didn’t surprise him in the least because Bruce was progressive, but he wasn’t to the point where he felt a fifteen-year-old was mature enough to pick a mate after presenting.  “How much does he understand about the situation?”

“Enough to know there’s no fix,” Bruce admitted.  “I told him some of the things we found when you had presented as a True Omega and what the purpose of the role was in our more primitive states.  But how they had become rarer due to the dynamics of packs changing and evolving with civilization.”  It was more than school taught these days because the rank was so rare for both omegas and alphas, though more so for omegas.  Dick remembered the researching Bruce had done when Dick had presented and felt that gnawing need to know everything there was to know in order to get some control over the situation.

“I should talk to him.”

Bruce’s silence told Dick he agreed but had some reservations about it.  It was a difficult situation and Dick knew Bruce was struggling still.  The night would not have changed that.  And it hadn’t gone past Dick’s notice that the alpha had kept himself physically distanced from Dick.  Which meant Jason might have more clarity, but the instincts were still battling his logic and that meant caution had to be taken.

“Do you want to do that in neutral territory or here in your room?”

Being in his territory would definitely give him the upper ground, but he also knew the smell might be too much for Jason to handle.  It would probably make focusing hard for the new alpha.  But being in neutral territory meant the possibility of being overpowered again.  And that thought scared him more than he wanted to admit.

But maybe there was a compromise.

Glancing over to the French door that opened to his balcony, Dick considered them.  “Have him come here.  We’ll sit on the balcony.”  The scent wouldn’t be as bad once Jason was on the balcony and Dick wouldn’t feel like he was unsafe.  Bruce gave a nod and stood from the edge of the bed, looking down at Dick with that all too familiar unreadable expression.  “What?”

For a quick moment, Dick thought Bruce might actually open up and be honest with his emotions, but then the man gave a grunt and headed out of the room.  Predictable, Dick thought as he carefully got out of the bed and made his way stiffly to his bathroom.  He knew he would have time for a quick shower and that since the scent of last night’s emotions were still clinging to him, he definitely needed it. So he quickly washed himself off with the scentless soap the entire manor was filled with, silently missing the soft lavender soap he used back at his apartment, and got dried off.  

He was just pulling on a pair of worn sweats and a t-shirt when a familiar knock sounded on the door and Alfred entered.

“Ah, Master Dick, please hold off on the shirt for a moment.  I would like to have a look at your neck.”  Dick nodded and pulled the shirt off his arms as he sat down on the edge of the bed so Alfred could take a look under the bandage that he had replaced after his shower.  “How do you feel this morning?”

Dick thought about what he said to Bruce earlier about being better today and whether or not he could get away with that with the same.  Not likely. “Sore and stiff.  The shower helped some, but I’m still aching,” he admitted.  The older man remained silent as he looked over the bite before applying a salve and putting another fresh bandage on it.

“You may put your shirt on now.  Master Jason will be here shortly, I’m sure.”  Dick sighed and tugged the shirt on over his head, remaining on the bed.  “Not that I believe I need to give this warning, but do be gentle with the young master.  He has been distraught all night.”

Dick looked up at Alfred with a frown.  If the circumstances were different, he probably would have cracked a joke about Alfred’s sleepytime tea that Bruce was forced to drink from time to time.  But this wasn’t a joke and it didn’t feel like one. Not even for him, the king of puns. Instead he just nodded and looked down at the hardwood floors as Alfred gave the back of his neck a squeeze and then left.

He stayed there, lost in his thoughts and emotions until a soft, hesitant knock sounded on his door. With a deep breath, Dick stood and went over to his balcony doors and opened them wide.  He reveled in the gentle morning breeze that came through for just a moment before turning and telling Jason to come in.

Dick watched the door open slowly before a head of dark hair poked through and looked inside.  “Dick?”  The sound of Jason’s voice made his heart lurch.  He had never heard the teen sound so uncertain before.  Since the first moment they had met, the kid had been all stubborn pride and defiance.  Dick had actually liked that about him, hoping Jason would give Bruce a taste of his own medicine.  But it was nerve wracking to hear this side of him.  Unsettling.  

“Hey Jay,” Dick responded, drawing the teen’s eyes to him.  Jason stopped midway into the room and the door fell closed behind him, causing him to jump slightly.  “Let’s go out on the balcony.”  He got a quick nod in return and Jason quickly walked around the bed and toward where Dick was waiting.  Dick didn’t need the new bond to tell that Jason was nervous about what Dick was about to say to him, that he was trying to be as small as possible.  And Dick also knew that given a few years time, Jason wouldn’t be very successful that that act.

Grabbing a blanket off the foot of his bed, Dick headed moved out onto the balcony after Jason and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders before sitting down on one of the chairs. The air was just chilly enough, but his goal was more to cover the bandages peeking out from the collar of his shirt after seeing Jason’s eyes flicker to them when he passed Dick.  The sharp pain of guilt had slammed through the bond and Dick figured it was probably best to hide the evidence.

“I’m not mad,” Dick told Jason, looking over at the teen who was slumped in one of the lounge chairs refusing to meet Dick’s eyes.  Dick watched him shift in the chair and waited to see if he would say anything.  “Jay?”

The teen looked up at him for a moment before his gaze skittered away again.  “I know you aren’t,” he muttered, tapping the center of his chest. And yeah, Dick guessed that was fair. But he was definitely going to have to find a way to shut the connection down for privacy.  It would be different if this had been something they had both chosen.  But not even Jason had wanted this to happen.  “I know I said it last night, but I really am sorry, Dick.”

Dick nodded and leaned back in his chair.  “Yeah, but you aren’t solely to blame.  I walked into your territory without warning,” Dick admitted, turning his eyes out to the horizon of trees.  “I triggered it when I tried to use my omega to calm you down.”

“This is not your fault,” Jason growled and when Dick looked over, he found the teen gripping the arm rests of the chair tightly enough that his knuckles were white.  If Dick couldn’t feel the fierce protectiveness Jason was feeling then he might actually worry about a lack of control.  But he knew Jason wasn’t going to turn this emotion on him.

“It’s not yours either.”

But Jason went from the rage to incredulity quickly and looked at Dick like he had just said the stupidest thing he had ever heard.  “Of course it is!  I bit you! I stole that choice from you,” Jason rasped.  But Dick sighed and shook his head.  “I’m no better than the bastard alphas in Crime Alley.”

“No,” Dick growled in return, leaning over his arm rest to look at Jason.  “Do not compare yourself to a full grown alpha who has control over their instincts.  Never do that.  You are nothing like them.”

“But…”

Dick growled and Jason froze.  “No.”

Jason gave him a nod, but Dick knew he didn’t actually believe it.  But Dick wouldn’t allow him to think so lowly of himself.  To compare him to some of the worst people out there. No, that was no something Dick was going to allow.

Silence hung between them for a few moments before Jason shifted and drew Dick’s attention back.  “So what do you want to do?”  The question was asked in a sure voice, but the uncertainty swirling in the bond made it clear that Jason was worried.  But what was he worried about?  Bruce had told the teen he had a home here no matter what.

“I don’t know,” Dick said honestly.  “I’m going to go back to Bludhaven and maybe some space will give us some clarity.  I’m also going to work on shutting this emotional bond between us off.  I think until decisions are made, it would be better for both of us.”  Jason watched him carefully and nodded slowly.  Dick could feel the understanding, but also shame and rejection.  But Dick didn’t comment on them because he doubted Jason actually wanted him to know he felt those things.  “You’re too young for any decisions to be made.”  When Jason opened his mouth to protest, Dick raised a hand to stop him. “I don’t care what the law says.  You’re fifteen.  And even if you had come to me in a year and offered me your bite, I would still say you were too young.”

The indignation that came through from Jason made Dick smile.  He knew this would be the reaction.  No one liked being told they’re too young.  But the fact remained.  Fifteen was too young and the pair of them didn’t really know each other all that well.

“I’m not rejecting you,” Dick offered softly.  Jason frowned, eyebrows merging.  “I can’t, even if I wanted to.  But I’m not accepting either.”

“That’s fair.”

AFTER

“Yeah, Walls,” Dick laughed into his cell as he walked up the stairs of the front of the Manor.  He listened to his best friend question his decision again, wanting to be sure that Dick wasn’t doing this for anyone other than himself and it made Dick’s heart ache.  “I want to do this, Wally.  I want to do it because he’s a good guy and when he’s old enough, he will be a good alpha.  But I also want to do this because fighting it the past year has been exhausting.  I could do it forever, but I don’t want to.”

“If you’re sure, man. I trust you know what you’re doing. Just want to be sure that B-man isn’t pressuring you.”

Sighing, Dick pushed the front door open and headed inside.  “He’s got nothing to do with it, I promise.”

“All right, all right. Look, I gotta buzz but call me after you tell him, yeah?  Maybe take a video?  Love to hold his reaction over that punk for a bit.”  Dick just laughed and agreed before hanging up and heading toward the kitchen, where he was sure Alfred would be.  He was only slightly surprised to find it empty.

That surprise turned into concern when he walked through the remainder of the house and failed to find anyone inside.  And though it was early, Dick figured checking the Cave wouldn’t hurt before he started making phone calls.

With practiced hands, he hit the familiar keys on the piano and made his way through the entrance of the Cave and down the stairs.  Most of the lights were off and only triggered as he made his way further inside, but the glow of the computer gave him enough light to see Alfred watching the monitors.

“Alf?”  He called out, causing the older beta to jump and look over at him in surprise.  That made Dick frown.  Alfred always heard them coming.  Always. “Everything okay?”

His eyes moved from the man’s face to the screens and widened at the sight of the inside of the Batmobile speeding toward an unknown destination.  He hadn’t know Bruce was on a mission, not that Bruce shared that kind of information with him anymore.  Not since Dick had stopped being Robin and had become his own hero. But Jason usually let him know if they were going to be out of town on a mission, even if he didn’t say specifics.

“Master Dick, perhaps you should head back up and I’ll be there in a moment.”

But Dick shook his head and came closer, stopping just to the side and behind the chair Alfred occupied. “Where are they?  What’s going on?”  It was strange for Alfred to try and keep him away from a mission. Strange enough that Dick thought about doing something he hadn’t done in some time.  He thought about opening the bond between him and Jason to try and see what the other was feeling.  They had worked long and hard on closing off that end of themselves so they were not influenced by the other’s emotions and Dick couldn’t remember the last time he had tried to open it up.  “Alfred, what is happening here?”

“Agent A what are the stats?”  Bruce’s Batman tone broke through the speakers and Alfred sighed, turning on the mic that he had apparently turned off at some point.

“He’s still alive.”

He’s still alive.  

“Who is still alive?” Dick whispered, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it.

“Nightwing what are you doing there?  Agent A get him out of there.”  And that cemented it even further.  And it solidified his decision to open the bond.  Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and sought out that spot in his chest that he had tended to so carefully.  One small tug on the thread was enough to pull it wide open, leaving him gasping and gripping the back of the chair to remain upright.

Pain.  So much pain it was staggering.

“What is happening to him?!” He gasped out, letting Alfred lead him to sit in the chair he had just been in himself.  He tried to straighten himself out, but he couldn’t pull himself out of the bent over position he fell in the instant he was seated.  “B…”

He could hear Bruce swear over the comms and Alfred’s hushed reassurances, but the only thing he could really focus on was the pain.  And the fear. So much fear and so much pain. There was something else buried under that, but the two overwhelmed anything else that might possibly be trying the come through.  And even if Dick wanted to, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to close the bond back up.

And since his was open, Jason’s was now open as well.

“Please, B,” Dick begged, lifting his head to look at the screen.  “What’s happening?”

“Joker has him.  I’ll get him back,” Bruce told him and Dick felt his eyes well.  He knew Bruce meant what he said, but he also knew that whatever was happening to Jason was going to kill him if Bruce didn’t reach him soon.  “Agent A, how far?”

“Looks as though two miles, sir,” Alfred’s warm voice sounded as a hand landed in the middle of Dick’s back.  “No change to the vitals.”  Dick’s eyes went to the screen that held Jason’s vitals and he focused on that. He focused on the, although erratic, heartbeat of the man and tried to take a few deep breaths.  “Master Richard, it might be difficult but perhaps you could reassure the young master through the bond?  He won’t be aware that Batman is on his way to help, but perhaps you can help convey it.”

Could he do that?

He had heard of other doing it before, but he had no idea how to send an emotion.  Only how to feel one.  But he could try, right?  Closing his eyes, he took a few deep breaths to try and calm himself further.  He released the grip on the seat of the chair and focused on calming his body.  Once his body was no longer on the ledge of panic, he tried to remember the feeling he had when he had decided he was going to tell Jason that when his 18th birthday arrived that he would be happy to allow the alpha to court him. The warmth it brought him at the thought of Jason trying to prove he was worthy.  The happiness that he felt in the moments he got to spend with Jason over the years, despite the issues he had with Bruce.

And then suddenly he felt something back.  Something more than fear and pain from Jason.  Gratefulness.  An emotion so warm that Dick was sure if he touched his chest, he could feel it burning through him.

But then the fear spiked, and Dick sat straight up, looking at the screen to see Bruce pulling up to a warehouse of some kind.  “Something’s wrong.  Something’s happening.  Bruce!” Dick shouted as Batman’s cowl showed the man getting out of the vehicle and running toward the building just in time for it to explode in flame and debris.  “NO! Jason!”  

[a-square-minus-one]

Honey 10

Thank you for those who have stuck to this progressing story. Here is the new chapter. You can find the whole story on AO3 and fanfic. 

I killed him.

Raven wakes up long before the team realizes she has. She can’t even register the itchy hospital bed sheets on top of her; her limbs are glued to the cot. Her chest expands as she breathes but she’d struggle less breathing underwater.

Malchior was a disgusting being. Intent to create chaos wherever he went. His only goal was to wreak havoc because he could and because no one could stop him. His life’s work was figuring out ways he could outdo his last destructive feat. His eyes only twinkled when he was asserting his dominance over something.

And she had killed him.

Or at least, separated his consciousness from its physical manifestation.

Or can you even separate that?

She made his limbs stop working.

His mouth would no longer form incantations.

Where would his thoughts go?

Would he be able to sort them or even hear them?

Or were they just whispers on another plane of existence?

Nausea makes Raven sit abruptly, the IV tugging painfully in her arm. She feels more than tastes the vomit fly out of her mouth. Chunks  of yellow bits propel out onto the floor next to her, right by Starfire’s purple boots. Starfire is quick to move Raven’s hair out of the way, despite the fact that doing so sinks her boots right into the undigested food. A few tears escape Raven’s eyes.

“Star…” she groans, making a feeble attempt to push Starfire out the way but the alien just shushes her and rubs her hand over Raven’s back. A green hand extends a plastic cup of water towards her.

“Small sips,” Gar reminds her. She takes the cup out of his hands and raises it to her lips. Raven stiffens when he moves closer, replacing Starfire’s hands with his own. She stares over the rim of the cup at his torso, feeling her eyebrows crinkling. He picks up the hair from her neck. She hears a snap and feels her hair moving left to right. Then he’s at a reasonable distance again. She places a hand on her warm, now bare, neck.

“You-” she clears her throat. “-you can tie a ponytail?”

“Can’t you?” Garfield asks, looking incredibly amused. She feels her face heat up as she places the water on the tray next to her and lays back on the cot. She looks to Star’s boots and then to her face.

“I’m so-”

“Shh I will be hearing none of that friend,” Starfire says, handing Raven a wipe. Raven wipes off one side of her lips. Her hand pauses when she gets to the other side.

“How many civilians?” Raven asks, her fingers trembling behind the tissue. Garfield immediately straightens out his relaxed shoulders. His jaw tightens. Starfire looks down to her feet. Raven turns to Cyborg.

“Two.”

Two fingers touch her lips as the contents of her stomach turn again. Her eyes well up as she swallows around the undigested food rising in her esophagus.

“Ages?” she asks in an almost imperceptible voice.

No one answers.

She clenches her fingers around the wipe and presses it to her forehead.

“Ages?” she pleads.

“54 and 65,” Cyborg says; his rage is like a hot iron in her side. Raven feels Starfire’s despair pelting her on the other side like an open waterfall. Garfield’s emotions are all sharp corners and metal bristles. She can’t even bear to approach the edges of it for fear that she’ll pop and everything will come pouring out of her. She sinks back into her cot trying to tighten her core under the pressure of all their emotions. She almost finds balance in the current until she senses something, like seaweed twisting on her toes when she’s swimming in the ocean.  

“You’re not telling me something,” she says, eyeing Garfield who hasn’t looked her way since tying up her hair. She almost didn’t want to ask considering how tenuous her hold on herself is.

“There was a six year old boy,” Nightwing says, entering the room with arms crossed over his chest. He leans against the doorframe of the med bay. Raven lets out a long breath. She spends a lot of her life thinking about how she breathes. Breathing is the first step to meditation. Right now she wonders what it would be like to be trapped at the end of a long exhale.

“He-”

“Is in ICU,” Nightwing finishes. She brings knees to her chest and sinks her head into them, gripping the fitted sheet on the cot. Her throat is one fire.

“We have to visit the family,” she says, looking at her team members. Everyone pauses.

“We did,” Garfield says, scratching the back of his neck the way he does when he’s pensive or nervous. Raven squints her eyes. She lays her legs flat on the cot.

“I have to visit the families,” she says, shifting to get up. Garfield quickly puts his hands on her shins and she almost kicks him off in surprise.

“You can’t,” Garfield says.

“Why not?”

“The public doesn’t love us right now,” Nightwing says, moving from his position at the door.

Then she feels it, pressing against her. Fire, all around her, filling the gaps between her fingertips, licking up the back of her knees. She almost gasps at the intensity of it.

“You’re angry,” she says, quickly looking up at Nightwing. A few strands of her hair have escaped the ponytail Garfield made for her. Starfire steps forward.

“We all are,” she says. Raven doesn’t look her way, keeping her eyes locked on the immobile Nightwing. This is a different anger. Nightwing knows she knows; their bond hasn’t faded in the years since she went into his mind.

“Where’s Malchior, Raven? Nightwing asks, his index finger twitching against his bicep. The fire around her stops all together. Something cool, fragile, and thin settles over them like a layer of frost on water. Then Raven makes the mistake of looking down. A fireball hits her in the chest like a cannon, she tumbles backwards on the cot.

“Damnit Raven!” Nightwing says. She looks up at his face, now red underneath his mask.

“Yo dude, chill out. She just woke up,” Garfield says. Nightwing whips towards him, his index finger inches away from Garfield’s chest. Raven is ashamed that she feels immediate relief at Garfield’s expense.

“How about instead of worrying about Raven you explain to me where the hell all the animosity for me came from?” Nightwing says, leaning much too far into Garfield’s personal bubble. Garfield leans back and tilts his head.

“Dude, clearly that wasn’t me.”

“So what you’re saying is that you’re not you when you transform into other animals?” Nightwing poses this as a question but the fact that each word is coming out like hisses between his clenched teeth makes it seem like he has already decided his answer.

“You know this isn’t just one of my other animal forms and could you check your tone?” Garfield asks. Raven feels his irritation like pricks from a cactus. She wiggles her fingers.

“Everytime the Beast has been present, I have been targeted,” Nightwing’s tone is even when he says this but punctuated in a manner that suggests he has ruminated on this and has already come to his own conclusions. His words sound rehearsed.

“That’s just not true and either way I’ve shown you for years that I’ve been able to control my powers as much as everyone else on the team, if not better.”

“You weren’t able to two days ago.”

“We don’t fight magical dragons everyday,” Garfield bites out and Nightwing swivels towards Raven again.

“And apparently we never will again!” Spit flies out of Nightwing’s mouth as he leans over the end of Raven’s cot. She sits up straight even though Nightwing’s words land heavy like a punch to her stomach.

“Almost sounds like you’re going to miss him,” Raven hisses back. Nightwing’s face is so red that Raven is sure it will explode off of his body.

“How can you be so desensitized to the loss of a life?”

“Jesus Nightwing relax!  It isn’t like she hunted this man down, which is more than I can say about you and Slade...every six months...like clockwork!”

“And yet he’s still alive.” The muscles on Nightwing’s neck are straining as he turns towards Garfield, bumping his chest a little. Any other man would have taken a step back and on any other occasion Garfield would too but right then, he doesn’t.

“Is that because you haven’t tried or because you’ve never gotten close enough,” Garfield says, jutting his own chest outwards so it bumps Nightwing’s.

“Much closer than you did when he turned Terra into stone.”

“Dude what in the actual fuck?” Garfield growls.

“That is quite enough!” Starfire yells, wedging herself between the pair. “You have both done the crossing of the line! Friend Raven is barely recovered!”

Neither man stands down, glaring at each other over Starfire’s shoulders. “Are you going to arrest me Richard?” Raven asks, chin tilted upwards. Nightwing turns away from Starfire and removes his hand from his utility belt.

“He will do no such thing-” Starfire starts.

“You’re not being fair,” he says. Raven tilts her chin higher and arches an eyebrow.

“If you are not going to arrest me then we have more important things to talk about right now than any morally ambiguous decisions I made that there is no way I can undo,” Raven mumbles. “Even if I really wanted to.”

Nightwing runs a hand through his hair then drops both of his hands on his hips. He’s looking her in the eyes. Anyone else wouldn’t be able to tell because of his mask but she knows he is. He’s trying to consolidate all his anger into a concentrated cube. She respects the effort. Garfield, who is hunched over like his spine is ready to break through the skin of his back, clearly does not.

“We have two of your brothers in custody. Lust and Gluttony. I will be handling interrogations. You can watch from another room. ”

Raven sucks in her bottom lip. She knows her brothers better than Nightwing but she’s on thin ice with him as is. She’d have to let him cool down a little before she can get anywhere near that room.

“If you’re going in alone, I need to heavily armor you.”

Nightwing shrugs stiffly. She nods.

Behind Nightwing, Garfield takes his exit; his anger is radiating off of him like an electric heater. Nightwing looks after him, his lips in a straight line but doesn’t try to stop him.

“How much of a dick was I?” Nightwing asks once Garfield has left the room.

“12/10 bro,” Cyborg says, rubbing his forehead. Nightwing cringes.

“I’m going to go talk to him,” Raven says, looking at Cyborg and then towards her IV. Cyborg looks hesitant at first but eventually sighs and does as he’s told.

...........................................................................

“This is very carnivalesque.” Raven says as she sits next to Garfield on the roof. Garfield raises an eyebrow at her “Usually you’re the one who comes to see me on the roof.”

“What?” Garfield asks.

“Nothing,” Raven says, looking down at her feet. She’s not as good as he is at this.

“You should be in the med bay for observations.”

“With all the healing it would be very hard to kill me,” she says. She feels a few fat drops of rain smack her cheek but Garfield doesn’t flinch so she stays put. Raven looks up at the thick clouds moving in the sky.

“Do you think you’ll die like the rest of us?” Garfield asks. Random. Raven hums. “I mean your father...sorry I know it’s a touchy subject-”

“No, go ahead,” Raven says, keeping her eyes on the sky. A warmth spreads in her chest like when she drinks hot tea. It’s been nice for her to see how delicate Garfield is with her boundaries in the last couple of years.

“Trigon is immortal. Does that make you immortal too?” he asks.

“I really hope not,” Raven mumbles immediately. “I’m not a god.”

Her mind immediately goes to Malchior’s lifeless body beneath her.

“Don’t lose any sleep over him,” Garfield says. Raven hums again. “Malchior. That’s who you’re thinking about, right?”

Raven looks away from the sky. Garfield’s lashes are dark and long. He’s green almost everywhere but around his pupils there is a rim of orange that she’s always been fascinated by.

“I took his life away,” she says, curling up her bare toes. “I-I’m afraid…”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Garfield interrupts softly. She feels the warmths curl through her insides again. She has to break eye contact.

“I don’t know if I made the right choice. It kind of feels...heavy? If that makes sense.”

“It makes sense.”

It grows quiet again.

“Nightwing was more angry at me than he was at you,” she says. Silence.

A few drops of water land on her thighs. She’s getting a little cold now. She had only come out in the oversized t-shirt she was wearing in the med bay. She thinks it’s Cyborg’s. It fits her like a dress.

“I think he might be right.”

Raven looks up at him, ready to protest. The protests die on her lips when she makes eye contact.

“I keep banking on the fact that I can control the Beast but it kind of sucks. He’s pulling at me all the time.”

“He doesn’t like Nightwing?”

“...He doesn’t like Nightwing’s power over me. Doesn’t like that he’s the one who calls the shots. Which is the complete opposite of me. Usually Nightwing and Cyborg are the ones measuring their dicks to see who gets to be boss.”

Raven snorts.

“Would it be so bad to let him out every once and a while? What else could he want?” Raven asks. Garfield presses his lips together. And his silence stretches like cheese. Just when she thinks it's about the tear, it stretches some more. For much longer than it should. She can’t pinpoint exactly what changes but she is suddenly hyper aware of how long she’s been looking into his eyes. She isn’t about to let on that she noticed the shift though because that would mean that it actually happened.

But maybe she should move?

Or look down?

Why isn’t he saying anything?

Did he lean forward?

Breathe Raven.

She inhales sharply.

There is a flash of lighting in her peripheral vision.

He doesn’t break eye contact.

“Can I see the scar The Beast left?” he finally whispers, keeping eye contact. Oh, that’s what he was thinking about.

She can’t think straight. What did I think he was thinking about? She pulls up her shirt without a second thought, looking down with him...

Then screams internally when she remembers she isn’t wearing any pants.

She freezes. Thunder rumbles.

He doesn’t say anything. She wonders if she’d hear him anyway over the long  ‘AGHH!’ reverberating in her head.

She looks up at him; he hasn’t said anything about her lack of pants. Instead he’s staring intently at her side, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip wedged between his teeth.

Breathe. The team has changed in front of each other before. No big deal.

She wishes she can get a clear read on his emotions but she can barely get a hold on hers.

Then he reaches out his fingertips and slowly runs over the ridges of the three bumpy stripes on her side.

This time she actually shrieks out loud, dropping her shirt immediately. A few rocks on the shore explode into a million little fragments. He pulls his hands away like he just accidentally touched a stove.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry! Jesus, I don’t know why I did that,” he squeals immediately, running a hand through his hair roughly.

Aghhhhhh

“No! It’s... um...fine.Your fingers were just cold.”

The skin around her scars is burning.

Aghhhh .

He shuts his eyes so tightly that she can see little wrinkles at the edges of them. It looks like he wants to turn into a mosquito and fly away. She stays quiet. He places a hand over his eyes.

“Listen...I...I’m sorry about that. The touching,” his voice squeaks. He clears his throat. “But also giving you the scar in the first place.”

He reluctantly moves his hands away and looks at her again.

“I’m serious. I don’t want to hurt Nightwing. I don’t want to ever hurt you,” Garfield says, his skin changing from brown to green as his blush fades.

Agggghhhhh.

She hums.

Not the right response.

He sucks his lips into his mouth, face getting incredibly brown just as it was resuming its original shade.

“I-” he starts.

She looks at him.

He looks at her.

He flies away.

[anjuschiffer]

Amira Wayne - Chapter 18

Chapter 18 is finally here! Damn this was one hard chapter for me...enjoy!

Chapter 18: Heroes

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P.Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life @toodaloo-kangaroo @elijahcrevan @vixen-uchiha @nathleigh

Tag: @we-want-mini-mini @ramos123 @bluesimani @redscarlet95 @greatcatblaze @promiswords @fantasiame @corabeth11 @anonymously-odd @alexandriamw @officiallydarkgeek @galla02006 @maleive07

-

MASTERLIST | FIRST | PREV | AO3

Gris sighed as she watched her various clones run off to different directions, slumping against an empty can of cat food.

It’s been two hours since Marinette became Banshee.

There was no sign of Ladybird and with Queen Bee out of commission, Gris wondered if they were even able to take this Victim down. 

While Master Fu assured her that things will work out, Gris couldn’t help but feel-

“Mice have been deployed. How are things on your side?” Gris said into her comms, waiting for her partners' updates. She let out a deep breath, watching it merge with the fog. 

She can’t let herself lose hope...not yet.

“It’s difficult to ensure that no one will get swept up by my plan.” Ryuuko spoke. “Because I have thought of one.”

“There aren’t any civilians in the streets in our area at the moment. Carapace and I just confirmed that.” Chat managed to answer. “So if you have a plan, go ahead and try what you have in mind.”

“On it.” Ryuuko said, the girl looking at the fog covering all of Paris. “Wind Dragon!” 

She watched herself turn into the wind, flying up until she bursted through the layer of fog. Returning half of her body into her original state, Ryuuko summoned her katana, only to find out it had turned into an epee. 

It reminded her of the one she often carried in her civilian form, a fencing sword that had been passed on from her grandfather to her mother, and then to her. The only difference between the two were the colors. While the family heirloom was red in color, the one in her hands is black.

Only the handle and button were two other colors. The tip was now white while the handle was decorated in gold and white.

Realizing she was distracted by her epee’s elegance, Ryuuko meditated for a while before her eyes shot open.

Letting out a battle cry, Ryuuko let out an attack, the slash not making a single effect at the dense fog beneath her.

Returning to her wind form, Ryuuko decided to move on to Plan B. 

Stretching out her hands, she focused her strength and summoned gusts of winds, the streams of wind circling around all of Paris.

“Ryuuko! What are you doing?” She heard Chat yell at her through the comms. “If you continue to do that, you’ll-”

“Do not worry Chat. I’ll make sure to not exert myself.” Ryuuko promised. With an ‘alright, be safe’ and a click, Ryuuko went back to work.

—

Wally didn’t know how long he was sitting on the cold ground, still trying to process what the hell happened to him.

“-y! Wally! Can you hear me?” Wally managed to recognize Barry’s concern, pulling his hands out of his hair and instead wrapped them around himself. 

He was still shaking. 

He can’t give them a reason to barge in...even if he -and possibly the Miraculous Team- were in dire need of help. “Wally.” He heard him say again. 

Tiredly, Wally chose to finally answer him. 

“I’m alright.” Wally tried to assure. He hated how he was able to hear his own scattered heartbeat despite talking through the comms. 

“Wally. We know-” 

“No, you don’t know what’s going on here.” Wally growled, trembling as he attempted to get up, only for his legs to give in.

“Wally, we do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“A miraculous wielder going out of control is not something to be trifled with.” He heard Diana say in the background along with what seemed to be chairs slightly scraping the floor. 

“Do...do you have me on speaker?” Wally asked, his anger slipping out. 

“Wally. It’s all over international news.” He heard Barry say, Wally feeling his heart stop and anger dissipate. 

Was it always on the news? He was pretty sure Amira-

“She’s the one who was in charge of blocking the media.” Wally muttered, getting up from his spot on the ground. “Amira was doing damage control all this time and-“ Wally let out a groan and a huff. “Barry, I need to go.”

“Wally. Don’t you-“

“Amira is in trouble and you guys aren’t allowed to help because some people decided it was a good idea to force her to join the Justice league…” Silence came from the other end of the comms. “But even if you guys aren’t allowed in Paris, I know of a few who are.”

“Wally, please-”

“I know what I’m doing. They’re the only ones who can help Amira right now.” With that, Wally turned off the comms and took a deep breath. “Forgive me, Amira.”

—

Barbara dropped the cup of coffee in her hand, the chair she was in toppling over when she quickly got up. She listened as fine china got crushed with each hesitant step she took towards Tim.

“Amira...Amira got what?”

“Babs, listen. Amira-” Tim started, only to be grabbed and made to face Barbara.

“Isn’t that bad? To be akumatized? At least that’s what B’s reports say-what exactly-” 

“What happened to Amira is none of your business.” Dick replied for Tim, Selina following right behind him. Judging from their getup and the duffel bags slung on their arms, they were heading somewhere...but she knew where. 

Paris. 

“Let me go with you.” Barbara demanded, setting Tim down. “Please, Richard. Let me help you. Let me help Amira. She’s-”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Selina cut off.

“Please!” Barbara begged. “Amira is my friend, we need to-”

“We,” Dick said, gesturing to himself and Selina, “will be the only ones who will be going. You and Tim are to remain-”

“No.” Barbara said, taking in a deep breath. “I’m going with you.”

“Barbara. You and Amira didn’t exactly end on good terms. If you go and she sees that you’re-”

“So that’s why you don’t want me to go.” Barbara stated, curling her hands. “You think I might agitate her more and cause her to cause more damage if she sees me.” She took his silence as a yes. “Then at least...at least let me help you through the comms. After all, you’re going to need as many eyes as you can in this mission.”

Richard looked over his shoulder, Selina’s huff and smirk being enough to let him know her opinion. 

“Alright. But you are to listen to all my instructions to a ‘t,’ understood?” Dick commanded, Barbara wanting to grin at her small victory.

“Yes!”

Tim watched as the trio walked to the zeta beam, Selina graciously setting the coordinates to the one in Paris.  

Within a few seconds, they were on their way to rescuing Amira. 

--

Carapace hit the back of his head against the brick wall as he leaned back to take a rest. 

“Where the hell can she be?” He asked himself, wondering where Banshee hid Lila. 

He had already checked all the possible places she would have hidden her, but didn’t find the missing girls. 

The school was empty. 

The bakery was empty. 

The park was empty. 

The zoo also held no clues. 

All of the museums had no sign of Lila being there nor Banshee. 

Not even Grévin Museum, Marinette’s favorite place to go during her free time.

He had looked at every possible place Marinette had gone or visited in Paris and he hadn’t found Lila, not even a single clue that could lead to finding her. 

Carapace went to reach his comm to update the team about his dilemma, only to find his hand simply hovering over it. 

“Why exactly did you choose me, Ladybird?” Nino asked her one night, Ladybird looking at him in curiosity. “Why me when there are so many other people who are more well equipped for this?”

He watched as Ladybird hummed, her eyes seeing something he could not.

“Not every person who I saw as a candidate was as loyal and protective as you were. Half tried to stand their ground, only to give up. Some quickly backed down when they realized the possible consequences if they kept trying to defend their beliefs or friends. But you,” Ladybird smiled at him. “You stood your ground while doubt circled around you. You remained undeterred and firm when others criticized your choices. That’s why I picked you.”

“Because you had the courage to protect what was important to you.” Carapace reminded himself, frowning at himself.

He couldn’t just give up...he had to keep looking.

Surging with new confidence, Carapace decided to update the others. “Still got nothing on Lila or Banshee. I’m going to start checking other locations, but if anyone else has any ideas on what other places-”

“What places have you checked? Perhaps we can help.” A new voice said within their comms, startling the team. For Chat, it sounded oddly familiar.

“Chat, what’s going on?” Ryuuko asked, Chat realizing that she asked him through her miraculous’ comm.

Who was this? And...English? Chat thought as he went back to answer the newcomer.

“Identify yourself.” Cat Noir demanded, wondering how this person got into their system.

“Who we are doesn’t matter. We came to help you.” Another voice joined, Chat wondering how many had hacked into their system.

“How do we know you aren’t on Hawkmoth’s side? How can we trust you if you-”

“Marinette is my friend. I can’t just sit by and do nothing while I know there is something I can do.” The second voice said, Gris being able to hear the frustration in her voice.

“Chat, it seems like they actually want to help us.” Chat heard Gris tell him through her miraculous. 

“That isn’t enough to convince me that you’re on our side.” Chat told the newcomers.

“We know how her powers work.” Another voice joined in, this time, male. He sounded as if he was around their age. Perhaps a year or two older than them.

“So do we.”

“We also have an idea of the item where the akuma is hidden.” Another male voice said, caused Chat’s mind to come to a halt. Why did it sound familiar? “Adding on to the akuma power, those are the two main facts we have to help bring Marinette back.”

Carapace waited with baited breath as he awaited for Chat’s response, wondering what exactly was going through his mind. 

“Seems like you’re on our side. But even if you don’t want to drop your names, at least give us some code names we can refer to each of you.” Ryuuko heard Chat say, letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

So they’re allies.

“Alright. I’m Corvus.” The familiar male voice replied.

“Osprey.” The first female voice said.

“Oriole.” The other male responded.

“Felis.” 

“Alright then.” Chat replied, quickly changing over to the miraculous comms. “Team, we have new allies. We’ll be using our translators while using the regular comms to ensure our communications go smoothly and prevent confusion.”

“How exactly do we-”

“Don’t worry. I’ll explain it right now.”

--

“Do you think we got through to them?” Wally asked, watching Barbara not lift her eyes for a second from the monitors in front of her.

Her hands moved quickly across the keyboard, not leaving a single room for error as she hooked up a program to hack into the Parisian street cameras and home security cameras. 

Wally had hesitantly agreed to letting Barbara use Amira’s computer to hack into the team’s comms and then this.  

Hope Amira didn’t mind. 

“I hope we did.” Dick confessed. “Also, why Oriole?” 

“Well, you started with Corvus and then Barbara said Osprey so I said Oriole to keep with the bird theme.” Wally replies, hearing Selina’s chuckle through the comm. “Of course, I should’ve known-”

“Corvus.” Dick heard Chat say, Wally annoyed that he was interrupted..

“Still here.”

“Welcome to the team...now, let’s review what each of us know about the situation while Carapace and Gris continue to search for Banshee.”

“Alright.”

—

It was cold. 

It was dark. 

She hated it...and that’s saying something from a Gothamite who’s used to the dark. 

Amira lifted her eyelids, watching as she climbed stairs she never once climbed. After all, she always used to just zip to the top. She tried to stop herself, but could barely control her own body. 

“Banshee.” A voice whispered to her. She’d recognize that voice anywhere.

“Hawkmoth.” She acknowledged, stopping mid flight.

“How are things going?” 

“Wonderfully.” She answered back...but she knew it wasn’t her... “Lila is getting what she deserves just as we speak. That harlot will pay for-“

“As wonderful as that sounds, there is still one part of the deal that is yet to be completed.”

“Don’t worry. I’m working on it. Just be pa-” She heard herself snarl when she felt a ring pang through her head, causing her to fold over. 

She clutched her head between her forearms, wanting the pain to go away as it intensified with each passing second. 

“Were you just about to say patient? Must I remind you who the one in charge here is?” 

Banshee let out a whimper as she felt her body stiffen. “I suggest you hurry up and keep your end of the deal. After all, I kept mine.”

Banshee growled as Hawkmoth released his control over her, allowing her to relax. But just as she had been let go, she could feel something whirl within her. It was frustrated, annoyed, pissed...hurt.

In that split second, Amira could actually see what was in front of her. 

She was able to feel the vile power running within her. 

Looking down at the pitch black dress on her, Amira let out a horrified gasp, feeling all the memories surge up into her mind at once. She didn’t register the tears that ran down her face nor her raspy breaths as she brought her black laced hands closer to face.

She could feel the rapid rises and falls of her chest as she slowly observed how vile the black felt on her. How disgusted she was in herself.

She finally let out a scream, wrapping her arms around her, not thinking about anything else but the consequences of having shown her emotions earlier that day.

How naive she was to believe she could handle being a vigilante…

How wrong she was…

No wonder…

No wonder her father said those things to her...because he saw...

He saw how flawed she was…

How immature she had grown to be...

How stupid she was to think she was in the right all these years when in reality...he was the one who was right…

Who is right...

She really wasn’t prepared…

Not prepared at all…

She was no hero, not even a vigilante…

She was a damn failure from the very start...

--

“-also check places where- what the hell is going on?” Corvus whispered into the comms as he stopped himself from jumping onto the next building. As much as he feared the shaking ground, there was something else that he feared.

The fog beneath him was starting to thicken even more, spots that were lights were now dimmer, almost invisible. He couldn’t move any further with all of this!

“Everyone! It seems like-” Ryuuko was about to speak, only to be cut off by a shriek in the comms.

“Oriole!” Osprey yelled, Gris hearing screams and things being thrashed around heard in the background through Oriole’s side. “Oriole! What’s going on!”

“Osprey! What’s-” Dick could feel his panic rising.

“Oriole -he just - he just collapsed and started screaming, calling for...Mimi. He won’t stop-” She was cut off by some static, the team wondering what the hell was going on. 

‘Mimi? Must be some dear to him.’ Gris thought to herself, but she couldn’t help but notice how quiet the Birds and Cat Team got, wondering why they weren’t worrying over their teammate.

That made her wonder...

Why were they willing to help them to try and help Marinette so badly? What exactly is their relationship with her? Because as far as Gris knew, Marinette didn’t have many friends. 

But then again, even with the friends she did have, Marinette wasn’t exactly open with them either. Yes, they’ve known her for roughly four months, but even then, they didn’t know much about their beloved friend.

“It’s Banshee.” Gris heard Ryuuko said shakily. “She’s enhancing her strength by using her own powers against herself!”

“We have to stop her!” 

“But how?”

“Leave that to us.” Ryuuko heard Felis say. 

“Is Oriole-” Chat started, only to get cut off.

“He’s alright. But he also confirmed one of our theories that would help us to counter Banshee’s power.” Chat heard Felis say.

“Counter? How exactly-”

“Don’t worry about the how. Worry about the when.” Chat heard Corvus say.

“When? Don’t tell me you plan on going right now?”

“Of course not. If my team heads now, then we won't be able to know where Rossi is hidden.” Chat listened as a glass clinked together on Corvus’ side. “We’ll wait for Carapace, Gris or Oriole to locate the girl first. When we know she’s safe, that’s when my team will strike.

We need to make sure that Rossi is safe or else our entire plan will fail.”

--

Lila clawed at her throat, trying to scrape away the itchiness within her. To try and get rid of the dry lumps that were growing by the minute. 

She couldn’t breath. It hurt. It burned.

Her eyes continued to sting, Lila feeling the tears continuing to pool beneath her. They hurt even with the low amount of light around her.

The only thing that had managed to ground her a bit was the cold ground her body was so desperately against. 

A cold embrace that gave her a break from the endless insults thrown her way for the past...hours? Days?

Lila froze when she heard a sound in the distance, curling into herself. She covered her face with her arms, trying her best to not let out a single whimper. 

She bit her tongue as she heard the sound get closer to her, daring herself to sit upwards.

She listened as the sound began to become clearer...listening as footsteps drew near to her.

Lila didn’t dare to lift her head to see whether it really was someone coming or not. She wasn’t going to risk to keep seeing the illusions, the hallucinations she’s been hearing all this time.

After all, compared to all that she had been going through, this was a nice change of pace.

She listened as the footsteps grew louder, each step echoing throughout the dim place she was in.

She listened and listened, each passing second causing her heartbeat to quicken. 

Then they stopped. 

Stopping right in front of her.

They placed a hand on her shoulder.

So it wasn’t just another nightmare. This was real.

Slowly lifting her head, Lila had wished this was just another nightmare because the minute she saw that needle in the man’s hand, she felt her heart stop.

Letting out a piercing scream, Lila tried to get away from the person in front of her, but her legs gave in.

Lila screamed and tried to claw herself away from the person who pulled her closer to them, but all that she managed to grasp was the gravel that dug into her palms, blood seeping from the wounds.

She continued to scream even as she was then pinned down beneath the man, feeling something stab her arm.

As soon as the needle pierced her skin, Lila felt a wave of relief. A peace so needed, Lila relished in the ecstasy, feeling herself drift to sleep.

--

Bruce looked at the girl beneath him and then at the syringe in his hand. 

To think that Amira was the one who caused all this. And to think that worked perfectly against Banshee’s powers…

He had to report back. Taking out a phone, Bruce quickly typed into it and then tucked it away. 

He looked at the girl who was now peacefully sleeping on the ground, knowing that he had to leave soon despite wanting to take the girl to a safer location.

Squeaks started to become audible, Bruce taking that as his cue to leave. 

--

“Gris! We have a possible clue to where Rossi might be!” Carapace heard Osprey exclaim.

“Where?” And how? She wanted to ask. 

Carapace and her had tried every possible way to track Lila, Carapace having checked different surveillance cameras while Gris deployed all of her clones to search for her, only for their efforts to be in vain. 

How did they easily find her within an hour?

“She’s in the catacombs.” Gris sucked in a breath. The catacombs? As in-

“Are you sure that’s where she’s at?” Gris managed to calm herself, sending a signal to the closest clone to check it out. Why the catacombs of all places?

“Yes. Some home security cameras managed to capture when Banshee took Lila there through one of the many entrances scattered throughout Paris.” 

“I’m on my way!” Gris reported, switching perspectives from her original form and the one closest to the catacombs.

She ran down the dusty steps, running past the narrow tunnel that felt like it could come crumbling down at any moment. But when got to the end of that tunnel, Gris froze. 

Is this why?

Is this why Banshee kept Lila down here?

Gris stood face to face with a wall of human skulls and bones, arranged in symmetrical patterns. Skull, bone, bone, bone, skull. Each skull was placed equally away from each other, the bones in between neatly arranged to be pointed in the same direction. 

The musty air and debris free floor kept Gris from moving forward, but she knew she couldn’t just stand there. She had to find Lila and now.

Taking a step forward, Gris let out a wail as she mustered the courage to take the other. 

But the stare of the eight foot wall of skulls looking back at her…

Prying her eyes from it, Gris ran past the wall, turning corners only to face another structure with the soulless remains of those before her.

Columns, archs, pillars and even crosses appeared before her, causing Gris to feel goosebumps emerge on her skin.

If that wasn’t enough, every corner that Gris took, she just couldn’t seem to get out of the loop she placed herself in. She even tried to stop and recollect herself only to realize that each fork in the path looked the same. Each corner and pillar she passed looked just like the one before.

Was…

Was she lost?

“-is! Gris! What’s going on? You haven’t talked to us in the past half hour. Gris!” She finally heard Chat saying, Gris coming to a halt.

Half an hour? She had been running around this maze...for half an hour? 

Dropping her transformation, Sabrina slumped to the ground and brought her knees to her chest, letting out a shuddering breath out. 

“Sabrina.” Mullo coaxed. “Are you alright?”

“Gris. Are you still there?”

“I...I can’t…” Sabrina sniffled out, digging her head further into her knees. She held back a wail, biting her tongue in hopes to shift her attention from her thoughts. But it failed. “I can’t…” A hiccup escaped her as she hovered her hand over her comms.

“Gris...where are you?” She heard Carapace ask her a second before she turned off her comm, not wanting to hear anyone at the moment. “I don’t know about you, but I asked Ladybird why she chose me.” Sabrina jumped when her burner phone talked, Sabrina taking it out to see the message flashing across the screen.

Chat said Ladybird had planned on giving it to her the next time they met, but Chat saw it just to give it to her now.  

A phone especially created by civilian Ladybird just for those that were part of the team. 

Team...like if she even belonged in it.

“Sabrina, we have to keep-”

“What’s the point Mullo?” Sabrina wiped off her tears, letting out another sniffle. “I’m useless. Worthless. I should’ve been able to track down Lila’s location, but I couldn’t. Osprey, on the other hand, was able to locate her in less than an hour! Don’t you see Mullo? I’m supposed to be the brains of the team like Osprey, but I messed up! I messed up even more when I got lost, mocking Osprey’s hard work of finding Lila’s location. What’s the point of continuing if I’m just going to keep holding everyone ba-”

“Snap out of it!” Mullo yelled, Sabrina feeling paws rest against her hand. “This isn’t like you Sabrina! Not one bit!” Sabrina pursed her lips, throwing her head back into her knees. “Sabrina! Don’t you remember why Ladybird chose you? You, the girl that no one sees?”

“Well, thank you for the-ow!” Sabrina yelped, retracting her hand from Mullo’s mouth. “Why did you bite-”

“Ladybird didn’t choose the quitter sitting in front of me! She chose the girl who’s ambition to make friends through kindness caught not only her attention, but heart as well. The girl who’s info gathering and intelligence flourished and allowed her to achieve the goal she wanted. A selfless girl disguised as a selfish, ambitious one.” Mullo nuzzled against Sabrina’s cheek. “Ladybird needs you to help the team and keep them moving, we need you to make this fight a victory and as for Marinette,” Mullo looked straight into Sabrina’s eyes, “Marinette needs you -her friend- to save her.”

Sabrina watched as Mullo smiled at her. “So then Sabrina...what’s your decision? Will you continue to mope around here or continue to fight alongside your friends to save a friend? Which will it be?”

Sabrina looked down at the mouse miraculous around her neck, placing the pendant in the palm of her hand. The silver locket was opened with ease, displaying Sabrina and her father on the left side while a picture of her, Chloe and Marinette were on the other.

“Isn’t it obvious, Mullo?” Sabrina got up shakily. “Mullo, get squeaky!”

--

“-not picking up.”  Osprey heard Chat say through the comms, wanting to say something to comfort them, but what can she say?

She didn’t know them, neither as the vigilantes they were now nor their civilian forms. What can she say to comfort them in a time like this? When a friend is the force they’re up against?

“Sorry everyone. Had to replenish for a bit. But I found Lila! The target has been secured! Quickly transporting to the designated destination.”

Felis heard an audible sigh of relief echoing within the comms, letting herself smile at this tiny victory. After all, this was just one step towards the big one.

“Phase one has been completed. You know what this means.” Corvus relayed.

“Ryuuko, you’re up.” Chat cleared up.

“On it.”

--

It was cold. Colder than usual.

Heavy fog was sitting all around her, but Banshee didn’t care.

Banshee looked at her hands, finding them covered in tears. Frowning at them, she shook them off before continuing her ascendance up the stairs, smiling at the fact that she was able to make Lila feel the same pain as she did. 

But her victory was short lived. 

The high whistling of wind snapped her attention, her eyes narrowing when she watched the fog starting to gather near the UNESCO World Heritage Centre, watching as the accumulated fog swirled in circles. 

She snarled when a large hole in the cloudy sky appeared, allowing that morning’s sunlight to pierce through, dispersing the fog into nothing.

The city of Paris is now clear of her terror. 

Now there, hovering in the air, was a single hero.

A hero...a ray of hope.

Banshee gritted her teeth together, feeling her annoyance starting to spike. 

“Banshee. It seems as if they’re onto you. But this is it. Takes this chance to engage them and  take their-”

“Banshee!” A voice called out, a voice that sounded...familiar…

Banshee remained still while her eyes darted around to see who dared to face her. As she scanned the area, she found them. Standing a flight above her was a man cladded in black, the only color on him was the blue domino mask across his face. Escrima sticks were prying from behind him.

“Who are you?” Banshee asked, not moving a step. 

“Who I am shouldn’t matter. What should matter is the fight that is about to happen!” 

Banshee scowled as the man charged at her, Banshee managing to dodge all of his attacks. But she wondered, why didn’t she want to touch him? Why did she hesitate to place a hand on him?

In that self monologue, she must’ve gotten distracted, feeling a hand connect with her stomach, causing her to stumble, her side hitting the railing beside them. She felt bile daring to rise to the surface.

“Mi!” The man yelled, grabbing Banshee by her wrist, his hand over-

“You let your guard down!” Banshee grinned, clasping her hand over his wrist, causing the man to let go of her and slump. She watched as the man cowered away from her, murmuring incoherent sentences. 

“Corvus!” A voice yelled, a woman now appearing, wearing a skin-tight unitard, Banshee feeling something in her head begin to ring. She watched as the woman took out a needle with what seemed to be clear blue substance. She began to inject it into the man, something clicking inside Banshee.

“Dad. What’s that?” Amira asked her father, watching as he packed away some vials into his utility belt. It was another day of keeping Gotham safe, Amira already planning on bringing some homework to keep her company while she awaited for her father’s return.

“Antidotes that work against Scarecrow’s Fear Toxin.” She heard her father say, watching as he double checked his equipment. 

“Have...have you ever been...hit by it?” Amira dared to ask, already knowing the answer to that. 

“I have...it’s one of the worst feelings in the world.” Bruce said, placing his belt back into its case.

Amira watched as her father ran a hand over the case before turning his attention back to Amira. “Why don’t the two of us go see if Alfred needs any help in the kitchen? How does that sound?”

“He’ll probably kick us out. Remember what happened last time?” Amira referred to the last time her father tried to help Alfred make pasta. She watched as her father let out a laugh, a laugh that made her follow along and laugh as well.

Banshee was snapped from her thoughts when she felt something mere inches away from her face. 

She tried to avoid the incoming fist coming at her but noticed a whip constricting her movements. So instead of taking a step back, she took a step to the side, connecting her heel with the back of Corvus’ head and twirled her way towards the woman.

Making it seem as if she was about to use her leg again to attack, Banshee let out a laugh when the woman prepared to block her kick only for the two to connect foreheads. With the slight release of hold, Banshee freed herself and held the woman���s hand between her hands, grinning as the woman looked at her with tears pooling in her eyes.

“Mi!” Banshee clicked her tongue as she watched Corvus come for her again, the two exchanging blows, Banshee dodging all of the blows her way but not being able to land one herself. “Mi! You have to stop this! Fight it back!” Corvus yelled, Banshee noticing that he was by the woman’s side, administering the same needle she had seen just moments ago.

“My name’s Banshee. I’m not this Mi you speak of.”

“Mi, try to remember! Remember!” Corvus yelled, this time taking out his escrima sticks, Banshee taking a step back when she saw the tips of them spark. “Mi, I don’t-”

“I’m not Mi! I’m Banshee!” Banshee yelled, charging once more, feeling her mind muddle even more.

She kept fighting, exchanging blows with Corvus and avoiding the woman. She often got close to landing a blow on either of them before someone in the distance would interfere.

Glaring at the hero in the distance, Banshee knew she wasn’t going to be able to win this fight unless she thought of something...and fast!

When Corvus once more charged towards her, she tried to grab him again, only to be grabbed by her wrist and pinned down.

Banshee squirmed as the woman approached Corvus, Banshee glaring at her as she did. 

“Felis. Give the signal.” Corvus told Felis, Banshee remaining still as she watched Felis talk with someone else on the other end of their comms. “Banshee. No...Mi. Just wait a little longer. We’ll get you out of this-”

“Fools, the lot of you.” Banshee said, grinning. “You two were so worried about being touched by me that you forgot one thing.”

Corvus let those words sink in as he watched Banshee look down to her hands that were-

“Don’t do it!” Corvus yelled, watching as Banshee clasped her hands together, letting out a shriek so deafening, it caused both Corvus and Felis to collapse, their screams scattering into the wind. 

--

Just when things were turning for the better, it went back to square one.

Seconds after Corvus and Felis had managed to take down Banshee and gave orders to commence the next phase, Chat watched as fog started to pour down from the top of the Eiffel Tower followed by a piercing screech. 

“Corvus, what the hell is going on?” He demanded, but got nothing on his end. “Corvus! Give me a-“

“He’s down!” Osprey replied, Chat hearing rustling in the background. He could also hear clicking and glass clink against one another. 

“What’s going-”

“Banshee used her power against herself, meaning she revitalized her control on those she’s touched. In other words-“

“She managed to escape our hold.” Chat gritted his teeth. 

Just when they were so close! “We need to hurry and-“

“Don’t you dare go after her right now.” Osprey threatened. 

“You can’t-“

“If I remember correctly, Lila wasn’t the only one affect by Banshee’s power. Wasn’t there someone else?”

Chat froze. 

How did he forget about Chloé? And not only once, but twice! “Guessing by your silence, there is. I’ll be going to your location to drop off an antidote that’s been confirmed to work against Banshee’s power.”

“Antidote? Confirmed?” Chat whispered. 

“Remember how we told you that Oriole was touched and had relapsed? Well, back where we come from, we face a villain with similar powers, but without the magic. When Oriole told us how Banshee’s power worked, we wondered if the antidote we made would work in this case. Corvus managed to prove our theory correct. They do indeed work the same way.”

Chat remained stunned, soaking in the new information.

They weren’t Parisians? They fought against people who were just as powerful as Banshee...but without magic? “Oh! Carapace is right here! I’ll just send Carapace your wa-”

“No. He’ll be giving the straight to both Lila and the other victim.” Chat found himself saying, crouching towards the floor. 

He couldn’t face Chloe right now...he just couldn’t.

“Sure?” He heard Carapace asking him.

“Yea.”

“With that settled, I’m going to be moving to Plan B. Meet you at the rendezvous!” 

With that last order from Osprey, Chat got back up and let a single tear fall down his face.

He’s supposed to be the one in command and yet here he was, just sitting at the sidelines, doing nothing. 

“Just what kind of leader am I?”

--

“Amira.” A voice whispered to her, Amira wondering who was calling her. “Amira.” There it was again, and as much as Amira wanted to know who it was, she couldn’t open her eyes to see who it was. She couldn’t move a single muscle, not being able to respond to the voice that kept calling her. A voice that begged her to wake up.

A voice that she’s never heard before but for some reason, she felt as if she’s heard it once before...many, many years ago.

--

Banshee felt heavy, exhausted, watching another tear drip off of the tip of her nose and join the pool of tears by her hands.

She never registered the yells and shouts of Ryuuko attempting to get rid of the new fog surrounding the Eiffel Tower.

“Amira.” A voice called out, causing Banshee to look up, noticing the lack of a neon purple mask around her face.

Was it not Hawkmoth who called out to her? “Amira.”

There it was again. “Amira.”

“Who’s talking?” Banshee yelled out, getting up to see no one in front of her nor behind her. She walked up the stairs, hearing the metal creak beneath her feet.

“Amira, did you forget me already?” The voice called out, Banshee turning to see who spoke to her.

“Ja...son?” Amira could feel herself losing herself when she saw him in front of her. “Jason...what are you doing here, in Paris?”

“Amira...why are you doing this?” Jason asked her, stepping closer to her, causing Amira to step back. 

“Sta-stay back! I might hurt you!”

“You say that and yet there’s already so many you’ve already hurt before me.” Jason told her, causing her to freeze. “Or am I wrong?” 

Amira felt her voice stuck in her throat. “N-No! I didn’t-”

“Are you really going to deny hurting Selina? Dick? Are you?”

“N-no! I-I! It wasn’t me! It was Hawkmoth! He-”

“He may have given you the power, but in the end, it was your decision on whether or not to use it. And you decided to use it against not only your family, but on friends as well...like Chloe...and Wally.”

Amira hung her head, feeling the tears spilling without her permission. “I didn’t-”

“Stop making excuses, Amira! Open your damn eyes!” Jason yelled at her, shaking her shoulders. “Are you even Amira? The Bat’s daughter, my sister?” Jason asked. “What happened to the Amira I knew? Where did she go?”

“I-I!” Amira tried to find the words, but none came out. “Jason, listen, I- Jason?” She called out when she saw no one in front of her. All she saw was her akumatized bracelet on the floor in front of her.

“-chance Banshee! Use this to get Chat Noir’s mira-”

Had she been hallucinating this entire time? Didn’t matter, she had something far more important to think about.

“NO!” Amira yelled, disgusted by the neon purple mask hovering against her face. “There’s no way in hell I’m going to help-”

She collapsed to the floor once again, her head on the verge of exploding.

“Banshee! I am the one who gave you your powers so you are to do-”

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” Banshee screamed as her head began to ache, a ringing that wouldn’t dare stop. 

“How dare you defile me! I’m the one who gave you power, I’m the one who is allowing you to-“

“You...gave me...nothing.” Amira snarled between waves of pain. “All you’ve done is manipulate me. Nothing more, nothing less. You took advantage of my anger and rage, took it and made it into a weapon. 

A weapon you had planned to use against Ladybird and Chat Noir. Using me to gain some measly-“

“Oh dear child. That’s where you’re wrong.” The neon purple mask hovering over Banshee’s face flowed even brighter, allowing Banshee to see in front of her. “Ladybird and Chat Noir’s miraculouses are more than just magical pieces of jewelry. 

When placed together, they grant a single wish. As for what wish, you will know it once I get-”

“Get your hands on? As, in on the miraculouses?” Amira chuckled. “Well, guess what? I won’t let you.” Amira declared, getting up. “I won’t let you hurt my friends anymore for your own goal, I won’t let you get your hands on those miraculouses! I won’t let you win, Hawkmoth! I wo-!”

Amira screamed as she fell to the floor once again, resisting the urge to clutch her head to soothe the pain.

“Foolish girl! You don’t-”

“It’s you who is the fool!” Amira reminded, sitting up, almost falling back down as her arm almost gave in. She watched as the neon purple light around her face flickered. “You may think you are the one in charge, but you aren’t. I am!” Amira yelled, grasping the neon light mask hovering above her face, causing the mask to shatter to tiny pieces of glass and for her to writhe in pain.

She continued to kick around as her heart was being wrung, silent screaming escaping her as she gasped for air. 

She watched as she continued to flail, wondering if anyone would get to her in time.

She wonder if this is how-

“Amira!” She heard someone yell, but she couldn’t turn to see who it was. Didn’t matter as Wally’s face soon made it to her vision, Amira feeling her chest hurt even more when she saw how red his eyes were. “Amira, don’t worry! We’ll-”

“Smash it.” Amira found herself saying, looking over to where Wally had barely missed stepping on the akumatized bracelet. 

“What?”

“Step...on..it…” Amira said again. “Then take my earrings.” A wince. “Tikki will help from there.” She managed to say in two breaths.

“But what-”

“Hurry!” Amira wheezed out, hating how her vision kept swinging between pitch blackness and her tunneled vision. 

At least she was able to hear Wally crush her bracelet and Tikki’s voice before finally succumbing to the darkness.

“Amira!”

--

“Don’t be bemused! It’s just the news! 

After seven grueling hours, our heroes have finally done it!” The news channel showed off the Eiffel Tower, free of fog and a swarm of ladybugs gathering at the top. “They’ve placed evil back into its place!” Then, the ladybugs dispersed, many Parisians watching how little there was this time around compared to other fights. ”They’ve once more proven to be a team to be reckoned with. 

Thank you. Thank you for keeping us safe, Miracle Team. You guys are truly Paris’ pride and joy...our heroes!”

Next

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober 2020 Day 8

Abandoned | Isolation

Ao3

Warnings: Depression, Panic Attacks, Claustrophobia, blink and you'll miss it Suicidal Thoughts.

Dedicated to @ckbookish! Hope you don't mind me tagging you 👉👈

-o-o-o-o-

"That's great, Dami! I'm happy for you."

Dick held the phone between his ear and shoulder, listening to Damian ramble on about an advanced theater class he got into because the teacher felt the current intermediate class he was in was wasting his potential. He carefully scrubbed the sides of the bowl he had just finished eating about five servings of pudding out of and set it off to the side. He wiped his hands then leaned against the counter, smiling. 

"Thank you, Richard," Damian said. His voice was just as stiff and careful as it always was, but Dick could hear the excitement and gratitude sprinkled in there. The kid was opening up. Expressing himself more and more every day in ways the place he came from had never allowed him to. Dick couldn't remember the last time Damian genuinely threatened anyone with violence, let alone threatened Tim. In fact, last he heard, Tim and Damian were going to go to the Gotham Zoo together next weekend. There was no real reason for them to. It was just to attempt at hanging out and Dick couldn't be more proud. 

"When will you be switching to the new class?" Dick asked. While he did, he began to migrate from the kitchen counter towards his bedroom door, careful to not trip on anything that was laying on the floor. Not for the first time this day, week, month, or year, Dick made a mental note to finally deep clean the place. "Like, is this a tomorrow thing or…?"

"At the end of the term, actually," Damian answered, his voice dropping ever so slightly. Dick hummed in sympathy. He sounded very excited about it, it must be agonizing for him to find out he needed to wait another few months for the first term to come to a close. 

"Well, I'm sure you'll have fun being the best in your current class until then," Dick joked, finally reaching the door to his bedroom and placing his hand on the door handle. Damian scoffed over the phone.

"I am not the best, unfortunately." Damian didn't sound that torn up about it, which was good. Admitting someone was better than you was good character growth. It proved that Damian was letting himself start from the bottom of something instead of immediately being at the top. "There is another girl, her name is Abigail. She has been taking classes since she was a toddler because her mother runs a local theater group."

"So she's as good at theater and you are with a sword," Dick confirmed and Damian hummed. 

Dick opened his door, mentally planning out the least tedious way to get undressed, in bed, and asleep as quickly as possible. First he needed to end the phone call, as much as he didn't want to. He started a new job tomorrow, so he needed to be rested. There was a swimming pool downtown that was looking for an assistant coach for the children's gymnastics classes they held there. Dick took up the job the moment he saw it. Or well, the moment he was no longer swinging past it as Nightwing and was back in civilian clothes. There was a good chance that he could work his way up to being a head instructor with his own classes, considering the woman who hired him didn't really seem the type to enjoy children very much. Dick gave it two months tops before she began to just not show up, making it so he was promoted. 

"I suppose so," Damian said, "she won't be moving up with me however. She has… friends in the lower class that she doesn't want to-"

Dick missed out on the rest, because the moment he stepped into his bedroom and closed the door behind him, his feet were knocked out from under him and his phone flung from his hand. Decades of experience made it so he was immediately able to go from zero to a hundred, allowing him to scramble up from the floor and throw a punch at the closest shadow like clockwork.

His fists met air. With wide eyes, he spun around his room, heart in his throat as he tried to figure out what had shoved him to the floor. 

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. All he could see was his messy room, his unmade bed, his open closet, and his closed window.

Suddenly, Dick heard a noise sound across his room from where he threw his phone. Dick rushed across his room and searched for his phone like he had been jolted by a bolt of electricity. He hated how confused and worried Damian's muffled demands sounded. 

"Richard! What happened?!"

There! Dick bent down and reached out his hand to grab the phone-

And then his hand went through the phone. 

Dick stared down at his empty hand and the phone that sat unmoving on the ground, everything going deathly still as he tried to… process what happened. If it was actually real. 

Okay. His nerves were just shot. He tried again, this time a little more slower and careful. He watched with disbelieving eyes as his hand once again just… went through the phone. It just laid there, undisturbed, like Dick wasn't… even there. 

Damian's voice rose in volume and Dick kneeled down, noting now how he was fully grounded on the floor; his shirts and other various objects around him phased through him like holograms. Okay, okay so something was definitely wrong. "Damian?" Dick asked, but Damian didn't say anything, just continued to shout for Dick to answer. 

"Damian!" Dick yelled louder, but Damian didn't say anything that counted as a reply. 

"Richard, if you don't answer me, I will fetch father!"

"Bruce might be a good idea there, Dami," Dick breathed, falling back onto his rear end and watching how he simply went through everything. He brought his hand back to his phone and purposely stuck it through, his fingernail soundlessly tapped the hidden floor beneath. 

Curious, Dick knocked on the wood, and when no noise reached his ears he hit it harder. 

Nothing. He can't touch anything and apparently he couldn't be heard. 

And suddenly, Dick was filled with the crippling realization that he had… no idea what to do now. He just sat there, listening to Damian panic until he eventually hung up to fetch Bruce. Dick sat there, running his fingers through everything he couldn't touch around him until he knew the entire space around him by heart. Dick sat there, and it took him… awhile to work up the energy to stand up and figure this out. But when he did, he forced himself to not let the confusion, horror, and fear stop him. He walked around the room first, looking for something that must have made him like this. There were no sigils that he could see, and if one was hidden under the things he had left on the floor, he wouldn't know because no matter how hard he focused or how many times he tried, he couldn't get anything to move. He went to sit down on his bed to think this through, but then his hand went straight through the mattress and he barely caught himself in time to avoid landing on his rear.

Thoroughly freaked out now, he ran through his dresser, heart pounding to the upbeat rhythm of his phone as Bruce began to call him. Dick didn't pick up the phone, he knew he wouldn't be able to. 

He couldn't touch anything. He couldn't. Touch. Anything. His feet would hit the ground and have no volume. His hands would slap against the wall but nothing would sound. He tried not to panic, but when he went to go out his door, it didn't move. He tugged on the door handle. It didn’t budge. Not a single millimeter. 

And okay. Okay he was beginning to panic now. He sprinted to the window and slammed his elbows against it, but it was like the glass was replaced with a transparent sheet of solid steel. 

Was this some sort of hallucination? Had whatever knocked him down drugged him somehow? Did he hit his head?

He was hyperventilating—this he knew for sure but suddenly he didn't know how to stop it—and without thinking he ran back to his door, banging his silent fists against the wood and tugging on the frozen in place handle. 

Oh gods. This was really happening wasn't it? Somehow, he had found himself unable to move anything. Unable to go anywhere. Unable to- to-

His knees gave out, causing him to slide down against the door and press his forehead against the unmovable force before him. He couldn't- he couldn't breathe. Somewhere, at the back of his head, a voice told him that he could breathe. He could take breaths right now and calm down. He could count five things he could see, four things he could touch, three things he could hear, two things he could smell, and one thing he could taste. He could calm down and think rationally and explore his situation a bit more calmly. But the moment he opened his eyes after not realizing he had them closed in the first place and saw his leg phasing through his empty trash can he knew he couldn't go anywhere from there without having a full blown mental breakdown. 

So he closed his eyes, tried making noise on the door once again, and tried to keep his breakdown to a minimum. 

Just hyperventilating. Just fading. 

"Help!" He shouted before he could really consider what good that would do. He was at the top floor of his building and the neighbors across from him weren't home until early in the morning thanks to the graveyard shift. No one will hear him… even if he could be heard. 

His phone began to ring again and Dick stuck his fist into his mouth and bit down on his knuckles to keep from screaming. 

He sat there—trying and failing to breathe, trying and failing to not cry—and continued to sit there until eventually, he found himself leaning against the door with half lidded and tearful eyes, staring at how his body continued to not touch a single thing.

He let his eyes fall shut one final time and let the stress and anxiety and confusion whisk him away into a very troubled slumber.

-o-o-o-o-

When he woke up he was immediately made aware that his current situation was, in fact, not a nightmare. 

And so much worse than what he could even predict. 

He awoke to him falling backwards, a crick in his neck and spine suddenly becoming undone as the door he was leaning against suddenly opened, hitting his head with a disquietingly silent bonk on the floor of his living room. For a hopeful, blissful moment he thought whatever happened before he passed the fuck out was all fake and he had just imagined the entire thing, but then he opened his eyes and lifted his head…

Just to see a pair of legs sticking out from the middle of his  intangible chest.

His breath hitched, his eyes flicking up to see a worried Bruce literally standing inside of him. The threat of hyperventilating once again became a very real thing as Bruce stepped past him, into the room, and started calling his name. 

"Bruce!" Dick shouted, scrambling up from the floor and running back into the room that had previously been his impenetrable prison. He instinctively tried to grab his shoulder, but ended up flinching back violently when his hand simply went through Bruce. He couldn't feel Bruce at all. None of the course fibers of his winter coat brushed against his touch receptors. "Bruce! I'm here!" He tried again, but surprise surprise, it didn't work.

"Is he there?" A new voice said, and Dick just managed to turn around in time to watch Damian walk into the room with wrinkles between his brow and bags under his eyes, shining black against his olive skin. Dick jumped away from Damian's path as he approached their father and watched with a frown as Bruce bent down and picked up his discarded phone.

Then, Dick's phone suddenly began to ring, causing Bruce to scowl. Frightened, confused, and curious, Dick slowly approached to read his phone's screen. 

It was close to 6am. Bruce must have driven here as quickly as he could after Damian probably took a few hours to panic to himself and work up the courage to tell Bruce that he thought something was wrong. Though, Dick didn't ponder over why they were here so early for very long. The number calling belonged to his new boss.

He was supposed to be at work thirty minutes ago.

"Shit," Dick breathed, stepping back as Bruce clicked the answer button on the phone and held it to his ear.

Immediately, there was the sound of the lead coach’s nasally voice. Coach Shah. Short, lean, toned, full of freckles, and rocking curly red hair. The woman who was definitely a phenomenal gymnast, but probably shouldn't be allowed to work closely with kids with her grumpy attitude. She didn't sound entirely upset from the muffled tones on the other side of the speaker. Maybe she was saving the angry for later, letting the passive aggressiveness of her annoyance at him for being late to his first day of work steadily drip into her tone. 

Bruce finally opened his mouth. "I'm sorry, but I'm not Mr Grayson."

Dick winced at the sound of her confused squawk. Bruce proceeded to explain that he was Dick's father, and that he couldn't find Dick anywhere. Bruce's frown slowly began to deepen as Coach Shah began to probably explain that Dick was her newest assistant and that she hadn't seen him. Shockingly, the phone call didn't end with Dick being immediately fired. Just with Bruce clicking the screen off and looking down at Damian with barely contained worry. 

"You said he just shouted then stopped responding?" Bruce clarified.

Damian nodded, looking at the phone still in Bruce's hand like it had threatened him. 

"Okay," Bruce sighed, brushing his free hand over his jaw. "Okay. Let's look for signs of struggle."

And this was how you could immediately tell that the Wayne family was nowhere close to normal. Normal families would call the police. 

The batfamily searched on their own, then only called the police later to keep up the civilian facade. 

Dick stepped slowly back, then flinched forward when his shoulders met the walls solidly. The feeling of any walls touching him while his feet stood through the things on the floor almost made him want to bend over and vomit. But thinking about vomiting also made him stress about what would happen then and what the sick would touch or if it would make any noise at all. It was repulsive and horrible to think about, so he found a tiny place of clear flooring that wasn't near any walls and folded his arms across his chest.

He watched Bruce and Damian comb through his room, looking for any signs that his disappearance wasn't on his own power. Dick hoped they found something. A reason for why he was a ghost in his own room. 

A solid thirty minutes passed before Bruce deemed Dick's bedroom clean. Evidence wise. Not literally. Dick was pretty sure his room was in an even bigger mess than what it had been before. He jerked out of the way of Bruce as he walked ignorantly past Dick towards the living room. Damian followed along, dragging his feet. 

It was then Dick noticed Damian's hand wrap around the door’s handle. Pure terror shot through Dick's veins, which gave him just enough courage to quickly dart forward and purposely run through Damian into his living room before he was locked back in there again. He didn't know he was gasping and choking back horrified sobs until he felt the first tear tickle down his cheek and off his chin. 

And this all felt so real suddenly. Like not being able to touch Damian—one of the most important people in Dick's entire life—was what gave it the official stamp of reality.

Dick was a living, breathing, walking ghost. 

He couldn't touch anything. He couldn't be heard. He couldn't open doors or pick up phones or touch the shoulder of the man he had considered his father for longer than he had known his birth father. 

It was all he could do to stand and force himself to breath—but did he even need to keep doing that?—and let his tears silently fall. He watched Bruce and Damian sift through the rest of his apartment and finish empty handed. It was hours later when Bruce suggested going back to the cave and checking Dick's phone for any possible clues. So, after Bruce hid a few sensors around to warn them if Dick "came back", they went to the front door while Dick made sure to stick as close as he could without going through them. He wiped under his eyes as they approached Bruce's car, his heart stuttering when he realized he didn't even know if he could even sit in the car with them without phasing through the seats. He might have to walk back to Gotham. 

That would take… hours. 

And oh God, would he starve? Would he be slowly forced to thirst to death because he couldn't touch any of the substances he needed to live? 

Bruce opened the drivers door and Damian opened the passenger. Instead of thinking about the very real possibility that Dick probably had less than a few days left to live—if he was alive at all—Dick once again forced himself to go through Damian. 

Somehow, against all odds, Dick was able to touch the car. Except, when his knees went through Damian's lap to touch the cushioned chair and his hands shot through Bruce's shoulder to support himself jumping into the back of the car, the normally well padded leather was stony and unrecognizable to his touch. It didn't give under the pressure of his weight or grip. It didn't sink around his touch. It remained like cement. 

It felt like cement. 

Dick curled up in the back seat, his heart jumping madly when both the drivers and passenger doors closed. He suddenly felt like a trapped animal. He had no will here. He didn't even bother to try the door handle of the back seat, because he knew it wouldn't go anywhere. The doors wouldn't open for him. The walls wouldn't bend. He brought his knees up to his chest as Bruce drove onto the road and as Damian turned on the radio. 

And he… simply watched out the window and tried not to make too much noise that no one would hear anyway. 

-o-o-o-o-

Getting out of the car door was more adrenaline inducing than standing toe to toe with Killer Croc. It was a good thing Dick was so flexible and had decades of experience with flipping his way through life. Thanks to that, he managed to jump out of the car just in the nick of time.

Seeing the manor like this hit differently. He was barely aware of Bruce and Damian walking past him towards the front doors until he saw Alfred open those aforementioned doors. Dick had to sprint to get inside, and he tried his best to not flinch as the door shut behind him. He didn't succeed. 

Not that anybody saw. 

"Master Dick?" Alfred asked, and more a heart stopping moment Dick almost thought Alfred was talking to him. 

But then Bruce shook his head and began to shed his jacket. 

"No sign of him. His apartment was locked and there was no sign of forced entry."

Alfred frowned and Damian shoved past them all, his body moving with less confidence than it normally did. Dick watched him go, desperately wanting nothing more than to race after him and gather him into the world's bestest hug, but Bruce was heading to the cave with Alfred trailing along. Dick had to help in whatever way he could to push Bruce into finding out what happened. Damian… could wait. He'll have to wait. It wasn't like Dick could do anything for him if he decided to follow after the clearly upset teen anyway. 

"It's almost like he just vanished, Alfred," Bruce continued, his voice oddly wet. Dick's heart tied itself in a knot. "Into thin air."

"No one simply disappears into thin air," Alfred sniffed. "You will find him."

"Yeah," Bruce agreed, sounding unsure but determined at the same time. They walked into the study and Dick carefully followed them both into the cave through the narrow passage of grandfather clock. 

Bruce quickly got to work and Dick stood back, careful to not touch anything. Bruce started the search as he always did, by sifting through traffic cams around the scene of the crime. And since it was Dick's apartment, he also had access to the normal security measures Dick had installed. 

Hours passed and Dick soon found himself sinking to sit on the floor of the cave, watching as Bruce found nothing after nothing after nothing. 

Dick could relate. He certainly felt like nothing.

-o-o-o-o-

Dick couldn't thirst or starve. He found that out on day three of this entire mess, slinking around from open door to open door, doing nothing but breathing and existing. Well, existing to no one but himself. He hadn't even realized he wasn't starving or dehydrated until Tim, Cass, Jason, and Duke showed up three nights later for a quick family dinner. Dick was touched that Bruce called them, and even more touched that they all came. But, as much as he was touched, he was also jealous of the meal Alfred provided. Frustrated that he didn't exist enough to join. 

Bruce filled them all in on what little they knew on the situation and then they all spent the night patrolling Blüdhaven for clues. Dick didn't get into the Batmobile in time to follow along, so he spent the entire night trapped in the cave with Alfred's silent company. 

He spent the nights wandering the hallways and avoiding everything he could walk through. He'd walk and walk and walk until he'd sit down in the middle of the dining room floor, where the carpet was short and didn't stab him like the shaggy carpet of bedrooms did. Where the animals were least likely to unknowingly fall asleep inside of him. 

On the fifth day, he thought Alfred the Cat was watching him. He cried for hours later when he found the cat was just watching a fly. 

Days ticked on. Dick was reported missing to the police. Damian talked less and less, smiled less and less. The others went back to their lives with "keep me updated" being mumbled before they went. 

Dick continued to not exist. 

When the second week passed by, Dick found himself sneaking outside when Alfred went to get the mail. He didn't know why. Maybe it was because it was raining and he was wondering if he'd be able to feel that. 

He didn't. It just went through him and he ended up being trapped in the cold air outside, exploring the wet grounds and not making a single splash, until night came and Damian let Titus and Ace out for a quick potty break. 

By the time the third week came around, things really started to change. It seemed Bruce was constantly talking to people. The police, the Justice League, Dick's friends, everyone who were trying to track him down… and it killed Dick to stand back and watch, clutching his stomach as nothing turned up and Bruce kept coming up with nothing. Dick wished he could leave some sort of message. A way to tell Bruce that he was right there. Just invisible and silenced. But there. 

Dick would love to tell Bruce that he was right there. But at this point, Dick really began to wonder if he was really there at all. 

What if he was dead? Living people didn't go for three weeks without eating or drinking and remain alive. Alive people don't walk through furniture or get trapped simply by closed doors. 

But he couldn't tell Bruce. Which was why when the third week came up and Bruce once again ran into a dead end, he wasn't really all surprised to watch Bruce angrily hurtle his phone across the room and collapse into his chair with his hands in his hair, dangerously close to ripping the fine strands from his scalp. 

The longer Bruce sat there, the more Dick was sure Bruce had finally given up. Batman couldn't find him. It was the waiting game now. Sit and wait and hope. 

Dick left the room shortly after, his mind racing, loneliness running like a poison through his veins. He went to find Damian, but when he found the kid cuddled in a giant beanbag in the library, Alfred the Cat on his shoulder watching him draw carefully, he knew there wouldn't be anything here to reassure him that he'll be found. He walked around Damian anyway, bending down to look at what he was drawing. 

His heart clenched. It was a portrait of Dick. Damian was carefully working on the details of his top lip, shading each little bump and pore with incredible accuracy. 

Dick didn't look more at it. He left the library and roamed the halls, looking for an open door that he can sneak into and get some alone time. Just to calm down. Just to reassure himself that there was no way his family would leave him like this forever. 

That they haven't truly given up on him. That the whispered words of maybe he's dead and he's not coming back, is he haven't actually been said. 

He finally found a room with an open door and he immediately squeezed inside. The room was smaller, which made his anxiety climb ever so slightly, but it was also close to empty with a clear enough space for him to sit down and meditate without touching and going through anything. The door must have been opened by Damian. The kid had been searching out silent places to be alone quite often recently, sometimes forcing Bruce to search the halls, calling his name loudly until Damian finally revealed himself. 

Dick sat down and breathed.

Of course, it couldn't be so easy. His brain immediately recalled back to Bruce looking defeated. To Damian painstakingly crafting every detail of Dick's face with a pencil like he was worried he'd someday forget what Dick looked like. To Jason not having been over in way too long; reports in Blüdhaven of Red Hood being spotted on multiple occasions. To Tim who accidentally referred to Dick in the past tense a couple days ago and looked sick with himself the moment he realized what he said. To Cass who would somehow stroll the same halls as him when she's over until they pass by his bedroom door and she would stop and frown and walk away. To Duke who looked at his portraits Bruce had on the walls and look like he desperately wanted to understand something that he'd never actually be able to now.

They've all given up. He knew it was only a matter of time before there was an empty casket funeral. 

He wondered if he could make that a reality. Death. He didn't need to eat or drink. What if he just… stopped breathing? What if he clawed out his own throat with his nails? What if the next time Alfred opened a window to air out an old, unused room on the highest floor he just jumped out? 

Or would the world be so cruel as to keep him like this for the rest of eternity? Forced to watch as he's given up on, buried, and forgotten? He didn't want to die. Not like this. Not in name before body. 

And not for the first time since Dick inexplicably became a ghost, he felt his throat choke on the beginnings of a sob. 

He curled up a bit, trying to staunch it because he had quickly become annoyed with the sound of his own voice. Why could he still hear it when no one else could? It was awful. Like his words and noises we're all just in his head and he was only hearing what he thought he should hear. 

He gasped wetly, wiping under his eyes and trying to stop this all from happening again. He had already cried enough these last few weeks. He couldn't keep crying every time he felt alone. 

He bent in on himself further, his arms curling around his stomach in such a way that if he imagined hard enough they belonged to someone else and he was in another's calming embrace. It didn't work though. He knew he was alone. He couldn't pretend. 

He was so deep in this attack of utter turmoil and unhappiness that he didn't notice approaching footsteps until he heard the sound of creaking door hinges followed quickly by a click of a door latch. 

Dick looked up with blurry, panicked eyes. 

The door. The door was closed. 

"No," Dick breathed. "No no-" he scrambled to his feet, all the blood rushed from his head and combined with the terrible spike of horror to make him perfectly lightheaded as he stumbled to the door and wrapped his hands around the knob. It didn't budge. "NO!"

He spun around, barely aware of his already panting breaths and frantically searched the room for a hopefully open window. 

The window was closed. He didn't know why he even looked. 

"Fuck," he gasped, grabbing his chest as it constricted tightly. More tightly than what he had felt in a long time. It felt so painful that it was all he could do to turn and bang a closed fist on the door. He wondered if this was what a heart attack felt like. "HELP!"

He didn't know why he was calling out. Hitting the door like he thought it might make noise. 

No one would hear him. 

"ALFRED!" Dick screamed. "BR-" he was forced to stop mid-word on that one thanks to a heaving gasp that curled dangerously in-between his ribcage. He swallowed. Or tried to. "BRUCE!"

He kicked the door. Covered one hand over his mouth and tried to calm down. Tried to not think about the solid walls and the solid door and how he was powerless to leave this room. Why did he come in here in the first place?!

He couldn't calm down. All he could think about was how screwed he was. How hopeless everything was. He kept his hand on his mouth as his legs eventually gave out. He brought his knees to his chin and laid on his side atop the carpeted floor, babbling cries and names and pleas until his throat was raw and everything woozy. 

He didn't know how or when he finally passed out, only that he woke up to a still closed door and a still small room, and it took every ounce of his will power to not immediately cry again right then and there. He stayed curled up on the ground and closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around his stomach and tried to pretend that everything would work out. Eventually everything would be okay. 

He was wrong. 

It took two weeks for the door to open for Alfred's regular airing out of the rooms to reach the one he was trapped in. 

By then, he didn't even know if he should bother to stand up and walk out. 

Not when he was surely no longer alive. Not when he felt perfectly content just laying here being dead. 

But the thought of that door closing again and him having no power over it eventually managed to force him stumbling to his wobbly feet and walking out. 

He didn't know what to expect when he shuffled slowly deeper into the manor. More than a month has passed since his disappearance. Most people don't keep a whole lot of hope for a missing person to return after this long. By this time, people normally began to suggest funerals quietly between each other. 

It didn't take long to find the family. What shocked him though was that everyone was together in the living room, even Alfred who must have finished opening certain doors and windows to refresh the stale air inside the rooms they belong to and walked back quicker than Dick. A movie was playing, some Pixar movie Dick hadn't seen before because of his busy lifestyle. 

And for some reason, this hurt more than if he came in here to find them alone, mourning, depressed. 

They're all watching a movie together. Bruce on the recliner, Damian squeezed between him and the arm of the recliner even though there was more room in other places. Jason sprawled over the three cushioned sofa, his legs resting over Duke, Cass, and Tim like a makeshift blanket. Alfred had his own recliner to himself, reading a book to himself but occasionally glancing up towards the screen. Steph was there too, but she had made herself comfortable on the floor with the entity of the living room's decorative pillows.

They're all watching a movie together. 

Dick had been trying to get that to happen for months. And they're doing it now, when he's gone with no foreseeable way to get back. 

Dick slowly sank to the floor and watched them poke each other and whisper quips to each other and laugh at the funny bits with each other. 

Was this the life he was doomed to have for the rest of eternity? Chasing open doors and watching people move on from him? Do things simply in his memory? 

If he had tears left to cry, he would have shed them.

Instead, he just sat there and watched. 

-o-o-o-o-

Dick's funeral was four months later. The gossip channels and media said they have finally given up. Dick thought they held on for longer than most. 

He didn't attend his own funeral. He didn't want it to feel final. He didn't want the undeniable proof that they've stopped searching. He didn't want to see them cry for him. 

So he walked the manor grounds opposite of the family graveyard. He kicked his feet as he walked, pretending that his footsteps carried weight on the grass and that he was solid enough to disturb the smallest pebbles on the stone pathway. 

Maybe he was dead. Maybe this was hell. He didn't remember where he went, if he went anywhere, when Lex Luthor killed him, but maybe this was it. He didn't know what killed him or what happened to his body, but he was starting to become convinced that he really was simply a ghost, cursed to walk the world and watch people move on and live on without him. 

Half a year ago, that would have settled horribly into his gut. Now? He was numb. 

He continued to walk, to let his mind drift. Pretend he was alive for a little while longer before he returned to the manor and the services and dinners and receptions were over. Decide what to do now that his life was now officially over. 

He sighed and ignored the feeling that he's just as trapped out here in the manor grounds as he was in that room all those months ago. Ho continued to roam.

Though, the sound of a humming voice had him stopping in his tracks. 

No one should be over here. They all should be back at the funeral. Dick immediately focused on the noise, not even bothering to step carefully or approach cautiously. It wasn't like Dick could be seen or heard anyway. He just wanted to see who had snuck into these parts of the grounds while his literal funeral was going on. It was strange and horrible to think about, but come on? A little respect please? He hoped it wasn't some paparazzi. It meant that they'd somehow gotten through Bruce's security… which also meant that Bruce was more depressed about this than what Dick initially thought. He'd seen Bruce get low these past few months, but never low enough to sacrifice the safety of the people he provided shelter to. 

Dick walked towards the grove of trees that the humming was coming from and frowned when he eventually saw the back of a person strolling through the controlled nature. The man was taller than Dick—which wasn't a difficult achievement—and was wearing a simple brown-orange hoodie with dark blue jeans. His hair was dirty blonde and styled up like someone glued a giant ball of cotton to his scalp. Dick didn't recognize him, which instantly set off alarm bells inside his head. The open house reception should be over but the rest of the services were all reserved for close family and friends of Dick's. But this man… he couldn't be someone that was invited. 

Not for the first time, Dick felt the crippling weight of helplessness wash over him. This man could be dangerous, but Dick couldn't do a thing. He couldn't warn anyone. 

He could just watch it happen. 

Or… ignore it. 

He shook his head and sighed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of the same pair of sweats he'd been wearing since that fateful night half a year ago. He almost began to approach further, because even though he was helpless to change anything or warn anyone, he was still curious… but then the man turned around and Dick was stopped in his tracks. 

He didn't... He didn't have a face. 

Dick gaped and watched as the bumps in the man's face that must be cheekbones rose ever so slightly. 

"Oh!" The man said, even though he had no mouth. Dick had absolutely no idea where the sound came from. "You are here!" 

Dick turned around behind him, and saw nobody. Something fluttered in his chest. A hope he didn't dare grasp at even though… even though… the man could only be talking to him. 

"We lost track of you after the convergence. Most people stick around where they disappear!" 

"Are you…" Dick tried, his voice barely recognizable even to himself, "are you talking to me?" 

The limited features of the man's blank face softened. "Yes I am, Dick Grayson. You've been lost a long time."

And Dick… didn't know what to do. This entire time he's had absolutely no contact with anything in the world. He couldn't move anything, couldn't touch anything, couldn't speak or make himself known. This scene before him, one where his voice was heard and he was answered… it was so foreign. Unreal. Dick almost reached down to pinch himself. 

"But luckily," the man continued, "after a long time searching for you at your home city, we figured you must have found a way to your family. That or began to aimlessly wonder like others like you sometimes do."

"Like… me?" 

"Yes," the man nodded then took a step closer. Dick stood his ground as his thoughts ran circles in his brain. What was going on? "You're trapped within the folds of reality, Dick Grayson. It's not something that commonly happens, but something that can be catastrophic if we cannot find you immediately." He paused. "You are Nightwing in this world, are you not? You must understand how the universes work in odd ways."

Dick wanted to nod. Laugh. Cry. Step forward and see if he could touch the man. But he didn't. He just stood there as the man continued. 

"You see," the man said, bringing a hand up to his featureless chin, "what happened was that this universe brushed sides with another one. One that's almost exactly the same in every aspect to yours. Normally, when universes brush, they're so different that they reject each other and go on their merry way down the time stream. The problem was, that because these two universes were so similar, reality as we knew it, well, it got a little confused. It tried to sort out what belonged to what. It gets it wrong sometimes, which is why you're like this. In the universe you brushed with, Dick Grayson was dead. Everything else was exactly the same, but because you were dead and alive the universe decided to make you both. This is why you're stuck here. The universe can't remember if you should be living or dead."

Dick never pretended to understand the multiverse. It always seemed the rules were constantly changing. Shifting to accommodate spontaneous things. It seemed the only one who truly had a grasp on the entirety of the universe was Bart Allen, but the kid was shockingly tight lipped about most secrets of reality despite his superhero name of Impulse. 

And really, Dick didn't care how he ended up like this. All he could really think was how this man could see him. Was looking for him. Something was finally going to change. Whether he was supposed to be fully dead or fully alive... He didn't really care.

He couldn't stand around, trapped in his own intangible body, and do nothing for much longer. 

"So… what does this mean?" Dick asked. "What happens now?"

The man's face squished oddly, and Dick couldn't figure out what he was thinking at all. "What happens now is that we make things right. Return you to the universe you're supposed to be dead in, and keep you in the universe you're supposed to be alive. It will be painful, but don't worry, neither of you will remember a thing."

"Neither-?" 

Dick's question didn't get much further, because in an impossible blink of an eye, the man was right in front of Dick, hand pressing against the side of his head with his thumb pressed above the bridge of Dick's nose. Lightning shot through him, and his vision whited out. Everything became too much and so little at the same time. Hot and cold. Loud and silent. He might have screamed or he might have sighed.

Either way, the sensation didn't last for long. 

Soon he wasn't feeling anything at all.

-o-o-o-o-

Damian hated this. He knew death and sorrow unlike most others. He had seen men and women fall in so many ways it was impossible to list them all. He had seen the way a corpse would slowly rot, and stink, and collapse. He had seen bodies feasted upon by wolves and flies alike. 

He knew death. Yet, for a number of reasons, he just couldn't comprehend this one. 

Because Richard couldn't be dead. He couldn't be. He was simply missing. Nowhere to be found. 

He wasn't dead. 

Damian didn't understand why everyone else insisted on believing otherwise. Father had said that he's searched, and for some reason that meant if Batman couldn't find him then he must not be able to be found. No one besides Damian argued with him. Even Timothy didn't believe him.

He at least had the decency to look ashamed when Damian called him out on it. 

However, it seemed Damian's thoughts and feelings on the matter didn't, well, matter. Even though he was the last one to speak to Richard. Even though he knew for sure that Richard was somewhere alive out there, doing everything he could to get home. Damian swore he would continue to believe in that. No matter what. Even if these months turned into years. Even if Damian no longer remembered every detail of his face by thought alone. 

Father wouldn't let him skip out on the fake funeral though. 

Which was horrible for a massive amount of reasons. All of Richard's friends were here, sobbing and blabbering like children. The empty casket sat above a deep hole with flowers piled on top, and one by one someone would approach, say something emotional out loud or under their breath, then leave the flower in the mockery of Richard's life. 

Damian was glad that his immediate family went first. That way he could slink to the back of the crowd and hold Titus by the leash. Watch from afar. Plan for the millionth time on how he was going to fix this. 

That speedster… Wally West was in the middle of breaking down on top of the casket with large tears cascading down his cheeks when Damian felt a tug on the leash. Damian frowned and looked down at his normally perfectly behaved dog to see the animal trying to tug Damian towards the unoccupied grounds of the manor. Damian tugged Titus gently back, tutting at him under his breath. 

Except, Titus didn't stay at Damian's side for long. The animal took one wide eyed look at Damian before turning tail and sprinting. The leash was yanked out from Damian's hand, and it was all Damian could do to not shout in surprise or outrage. 

He nervously shot a look at the casket, where Donna Troy was now saying her goodbyes while West leaned onto her for support, making sure no one was watching him, then turned to chase after his disrespectful dog. 

It might be a fake funeral, but it was a funeral nonetheless. 

Damian ran after Titus, jumping over shrubbery and flowers like they were the gaps between rooftops, diving for the trailing leash whenever he got close enough. 

He never got close enough. 

Out of breath and covered in grass stains and twigs, Damian watched with glaring eyes as Titus took refuge in a carefully planned grove of trees. Thankfully, Damian saw the dog halt on the other side of a bush, bending his neck down to sniff at something. Probably a wild animal. Even though Damian could have sworn he trained Titus better than to chase rabbits or squirrels. 

Damian stuffed his hands in his suit pockets and began to stomp his way over. 

"Titus! Quit this misbehaving!" 

Titus looked up from what he was sniffing, whined, then bent back down. Completely ignoring Damian. 

What was going on with that dog? 

Damian walked around the clump of bushes and between the trees, extremely curious as to what was so important that Titus would disregard orders for it.

When Damian saw what Titus was bent over, Damian felt every single molecule of air leave his body like he had been sucker-punched in the stomach. 

"Richard?" Damian breathed. Double took. "Richard!" 

He sprinted forward and Titus quickly jumped out of the way. Horrified and terrified and shaking, Damian grabbed Richard's shoulders and turned him around, for he was laying face down on the ground. 

Richard groaned, but didn't open his eyes. Blood trickled down the corners of his lips and nose. His clothes were filthy. He looked like death. 

But he was alive.

Damian turned to his good, good dog. "Go! Get father! Hurry!"

Titus didn't have to be told twice. He barked then sprinted back to the forest. 

Damian turned back to Richard, running his hands across his body, taking in the loss of weight, the eye bags, the stains of mud all over his clothes. He shook his shoulders, trying to wake him up, but Richard remained asleep to the world. 

It took a second to realize he was crying. 

Thankfully, he was able to wipe them away when a confused and worried Bruce Wayne busted into the grove of trees along with the rest of the family and even a few of Richard's friends. Gasps and shouts filled the air, and Damian soon found himself pushed back as Dick was rushed to by the adults. 

The ambulance was called not long after. 

The drive to the hospital seemed like a dream. 

The wait felt like it took years, but Richard only took about three hours to wake up, severely starved and dehydrated and not a single memory of the past five months.

And somehow, everything went back to normal. Richard was released from the hospital a few days later with a strict meal plan and physical therapy schedule. His memories didn't return, but sometimes Damian noticed things had changed in Richard since then.

Like his new and strange fear of small spaces and closed doors.

It didn't matter though. Damian was just… overjoyed that he was right and that Richard was still living a breathing, even if it seemed he had simply vanished and reappeared from thin air, with no trace of anything in-between. 

All that mattered was that the family was whole again. Richard was on the road of a full recovery. 

No one could ask for more.