#hear the noise from a telenovela in the distance

[mblue-art]

abscond

[maevesdarling]

Take me home tonight - Chapter 2

Wohoo, since I’m finally done with the semester, I found some time to finish the next chapter. It’s pretty emotional, so be prepared. I can’t tell you when the next chapter will come out but I’m planning on having it done by the end of the month so... fingers crossed!

Pairng: Walt Breslin/ Sal Orozco

Warnings: Nightmares, Canon typical violence, mentions of minor character death, blood, character injury, character death (only in a dream tho), PTSD, Beginning of smut (at the end of the chapter)

Walt spend the next two days cleaning the house as best as he could. He fixed the broken door in the guest bedroom, that hadn't been used since he moved into the house, and put new sheets on the old bed, dusting off the furniture and cleaning the windows. He wasn't exactly sure how long Sal wanted to stay and the couch wasn't the most comfortable place to sleep on so the guest bedroom would do.

Then he went and got groceries. Fresh vegetables, some pasta and cheese in case he felt like cooking for Sal and himself.

He knew fixing the entire house in two days was nearly impossible, but when he sat down on the couch on Thursday evening, the dog by his side, Walt was impressed with himself and the work he'd managed to get done in such a short time.

"I know you can get anxious around new people, but I promise this friend of mine we're meeting tomorrow will treat you well, so no barking, you understand me?" Walt asked the dog sternly. Fucking hell, I really should go outside more, I'm talking to a dog. He thought, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

To say he was a nervous wreck was an understatement. His heart was beating so loud, he was sure Sal would be able to hear it all the way from San Francisco or wherever the hell he currently was, and there was a slight tremor in his hands that just wouldn't go away. Even the animals started to notice that something was wrong, the dog wouldn't leave his side and slept at the end of his bed, his one eye constantly following Walt wherever he went, and the chicken flocked together more than usually when he went to feed them. They came up to him, clucking in excitement and when he got up to leave, a few of them always tried coming after him. Only the goats seemed unbothered by his behavior, they sat in their pen, eating grass and occasionally tried to tackle one another.

That night, for the first time in months, Walt had a nightmare.

In his dream, he was back at the airfield.

It's dark and the only source of light is coming from the stars and the distant car headlights behind him. He's panting, his lungs are stinging with every step he takes, the gun in his hand feels light, too light. He's out of bullets.

A shot rings through the air and somewhere behind him, a body falls to the ground, just as Walt reached the safety of the woods. He turns and his heart seems to stop.

The figure lying a few hundred feet from him is Sal.

He's bleeding from his leg. It looks bad, there's already a large pool of blood forming on the grass, he thinks the bullet might hit an artery. There's no way he'd get Sal all the way back to the safehouse with a leg like this and yet, he turns on his heel to get to Sal. Except the bushes around him seem to have come to life, some of the vines have curled around his legs, he tries, he really does, but he can't move.

His finger claw at the vines, the more he rips at them, the stronger they get. His heart is pounding in his ears. A car is approaching, he's gotta hurry!

The gun falls to the ground and gets swallowed up by leaves and roots, yet, Walt is still fighting. He manages to fall and tries to pull himself forward with his arms. He needs to free himself quickly because there's a figure approaching Sal, oh god, he can never make it in time, where the hell was his gun? With one arm, he's searching his pockets for the pack of extra ammunition, with the other, he's frantically pawing at the dirt underneath him to find the gun, only there was none. How could that be?!

He can hear Sal pleading in the distance. This is wrong, his brain tells him. Your brain is just messing with you! Sal made it off the airfield alive, it was Amat who got shot by Calderoni, not him. Only it feels so real!

The sound of a gun makes him flinch, Walt stops in his motion. He feels like he can't breath, like his heart has stopped beating. Sal is lying motionless in the grass, blood, brain and pieces of his skull scattered around him. The figure who shot him comes into view and looks directly at Walt. An identical pair of eyes is staring back at him. He's looking at himself, towering above a lifeless Sal, the gun he used to shoot him still smoking ever so slightly in the light of the car's headlights.

"You did this." He can hear his own voice shout at him. "You killed him. Just like you killed the others because everything you touch dies!"

Walt wakes up with a scream. He yerks off the bed and topples to the floor with a groan. The darkness from his dream has found it's way into the real world. He forgot to pull the blinds shut again and outside the window, clouds have pulled a tight curtain around the full moon that was previously illuminating the sky.

The dog whines and jumps off the bed to check on him, licking his face in a calming motion. "It's alright, bud. Just a bad dream." He mumbles, scratching behind the dogs sand colored ears.

He sits up, noticing that, just like in his dream, he can't move his legs. They're tangled in the bedsheets. He sighs and begins to untangle them before shuffling into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.

His throat stings even after he finishes the cup and he contemplates drinking straight from the tab to satisfy his bodies needs, but then he decides against it and refills his empty cup instead. He's leaning against the kitchen counter dressed only in his boxers and a loose fitting t-shirt, his bare feet are stinging from the cold tiles.

He finishes his second cup and makes his way into the bedroom once more. The dog is lying on his previous spot, watching him. The brunette gives him a little pat on the head before slipping under the covers.

Still, sleep won't come to him. Walt is lying in bed, tossing and turning around, yet every time he closes his eyes, the memory of a lifeless Sal lying in a pool of his own blood comes back to him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he can see Danilo standing in the corner of his room, half hidden behind his wardrobe, one half of his face is covered in blood, there's a pitch black hole where his eye used to be. The ghostly silhouette doesn't move, he's just watching him with a pitiful look that is deeply unsettling to Walt. He pinches his eyes closed and tries his best to ignore the horrors his mind has come up with. Thinking instead of all the work he's got to do come morning. In his head he goes over each task. Feed the dog, let the chicken out of their coop, refill their water… After what feels like forever, he falls into a light slumber.

By the time the sun is rising above the old apple trees in his backyard, Walt is long up and sitting in the chicken pen outside, nursing a bottle of beer in his hand. He shouldn't be drinking this early in the morning, yet he can't stop himself either. It's the only way the tremor in his hands will stop.

He's holding one of the hens in his arms, stroking her soft brown feathers while she is making happy noises and turning her head from side to side. He's still shaken up from the night but the fresh air helps him clear his mind. Outside the chicken pen, the dog barks and reminds him that it's time for breakfast. He's not feeling very hungry but gets up to make himself a cup of coffee nevertheless.

Morning comes and goes and he's not really doing anything. There's hardly any noise from outside, almost like the entire farm is holding their breath in anticipation.

He briefly falls asleep on the couch, which isn't a good thing given that his back was just feeling better but he can't blame himself after the night he had.

4pm rolls around and still no Sal. He hasn't eaten anything all day and his stomach is growling, reminding him to take care of himself so he pushes himself off the couch and starts working on a sorry looking sandwich that he eats in front of the tv, there's a telenovela he doesn't pay attention to on.

At around 6pm, just when he's slowly drifting off to sleep again, the sound of a car moving up the gravel path towards the house startles him. The dog jumps up from his bed and sprints over to the door, barking at the intruder.

"It's alright, boy, calm down." He says, gently and yet firmly pushing the dog out of the way to open the door.

A black SUV is parking on the gravel in front of the house, the drivers door is open.

"Walt!" Sal's voice comes from the barn. "There you are… Hi…" Emotions threatened to overcome him. There, standing on the gravel was Sal. He didn't look much different than the last time Walt saw him. He wore a tight, black shirt and an old, worn leather jacket Walt vaguely remembered him wearing before, jeans and some boots. His hair was a bit shorter than usual, he must have had it cut recently, but he still wore the same type of moustache, and he still had the same smile on his face. This was Sal. His Sal, in flesh and blood. He was here.

Suddenly, Walt's throat felt incredibly dry. For the first time, realization kicked in. This was real. His best friend, his partner, his lover, was here.

Before he had the time to even consider if he was going to hug Sal or simply stick out his hand in greeting, Sal had already wrapped his arms around him, squeezing him ever so slightly. Walt was physically unable to breathe. His body was frozen in place. Instantly, Sal pulled away, watching him in concern. "Shit, I- I'm sorry-"

"No… Please, don't say that…" Walt whispered. There was something wet on his face and when he touched it, he realized he was crying. "I missed you so fucking much." He sniffled.

"Walt…" Sal breathed, he looked like he was close to crying as well.

"Let's- let's get inside, okay? Can't have the neighbors seeing me like this." He huffed, furiously wiping his eyes.

The dog was waiting for them by the door, with his tail between his legs he was watching Sal approach. " 's alright buddy." Walt tried calming him down. "Let him sniff your hand, he doesn't like strangers but he doesn't bite I promise."

Doing as he was told, Sal held out his hand for the dog, allowing the sand colored animal to take in his scent. He relaxed a bit but was still a bit uneasy. "Sorry, he'll calm down eventually…" Walt remarked, pushing the front door open and ushering both Sal and the dog inside.

"You want something? A coffee maybe or a beer?"

"Thanks, I'm good." Sal said, taking in the living room. Walt followed his eyes as they landed on the dresser. There was an old snow globe he had found in the attic, a dying plant, a picture frame with a picture of Walt, his brother and their family, on of him fishing on one of the many lakes surrounding the property. The dog was sitting in the boat besides him, they were both facing the camera and even the dog looked like he was smiling. Another, smaller picture showed Sal, sitting inside Walt's old truck. He was wearing sunglasses and leaning against the window, smiling softly into the camera. The warm midday sun illuminated his face and gave the picture a warm look. Walt had taken the picture on one of their many stakeouts and kept it with him through all the years. The picture had deep lines from being bend over the years and one corner was slightly chipped.

The brunette could see Sal's thoughts racing. His eyes wandered from the picture frames to the old couch, and from there back to the dog that was by now standing behind Walt, hiding from the intruder.

"You… This is a really nice house, Walt."

The brunette nodded. Damn, this was awkward, Walt hated the distance between them. The fact that he felt like a stranger was talking to him. This was Sal for fucks sake, the man who knew him best on the entire fucking planet. Who'd seen him at his lowest, and at his highest, his best friend, who went fishing with him, who spend hours teaching Walt how to cook, even if it was just a simple omelette, who made sure that he was taking care of himself. This was the man who shared his bed with him more times than Walt could count. Who held him during the night, whispering sweet nothing into his ear. No amount of time could erase those memories, this was not a stranger, Sal was his home.

"Please-" He started, not really knowing where he was going. Silence fell once more between them. "Where have you been, Sal?"

Sal's shoulders sacked in defeat. It seemed like there was a weight on his chest, pressing him down. He sighed, sitting down heavily on the couch and burying his head in his hands. "It's a long fucking story, Walt."

The older man pulled out a chair from the kitchen and sat down, facing Sal. "We've got some time." He said, instantly feeling guilty for the way his words had come out. He sounded like he was interrogating Sal. "Sorry, I- just tell me what happened… Please?"

Sal nodded, visibly searching for the right words to start. "… Okay… So you remember I was going to San Francisco? I took a job offer and- shit- okay I wasn't honest with you… I told you it was a simple desk job, it wasn't. I was an undercover agent for almost three years."

Walt inhaled sharply, resting the urge to jump from his seat. "W- You didn't tell me?! Sal!"

"Please! I wanted to tell you! I wrote a letter that I planned on sending, but I almost got found out sending it off so I decided not to contact you any more. Walt! Everything I did was trying to protect you! If they'd found out I was an undercover cop, shit I don't care whatever they'd have done to me but they would have hurt you as well and I- I didn't want that to happen. It was so fucking hard, staying away from you, all that time, I- I didn't even knew if you where still alive, if you wanted to ever see me again or if you found someone else-"

Now, Walt did jump up from his chair, fast enough to make the dog whine in discomfort. "You thought I'd replace you with someone else?! Why? Why would I do that? I thought I made it clear that there is no one else for me, I tried, Sal, it didn't work. There's no one I'd want to spend the rest of my life with… Except you…" His voice faltered at the last words as he sunk down on his chair again, the tears from earlier had returned and where running freely down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry." Sal sobbed, his voice sounding like a child that had been scolded. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you…"

"What if something had happened to you? You talk about protecting me, but who protected you? What if you'd died? I would have never found out, I would have spend the rest of my life looking for you…"

Wrapping his arms around himself, Sal cast his gaze towards the ground, unable to look at Walt any longer. This was unlike anything Walt had ever seen his partner. Sal was usually the emotionally stable one, the strong one, the optimist, who picked up the pieces when Walt shattered internally, who held him and told him that everything was good to be okay.

"No more of this." Walt said in a determined voice, crossing the distance between himself and the younger man. "We can discuss this again tomorrow, if you like. But no more of this, please. I can't stand to watch you fall apart."

Wiping a tear from his eyes, Sal gave him a loop sided smile. "I've been falling apart ever since I left you."

"Well," Walt said a bit dumbly. "You're here now. And I ain't letting you leave any time soon." That earned him a tiny laugh.

This close, Walt caught his partners familiar scent. He was still using the same fragrance as he had four years ago. "Shhh…" The brunette tried, sitting between Sal's legs and stroking along his arms. He had always loved Sal's forearms. They where muscular and and soft and fitted perfectly around the brunette's waist when they were lying in bed.

The touch seemed to calm Sal down, he stopped crying, dark eyes meeting Walt's.

"Kiss me." Sal breathed into his ear, asking, no begging, for Walt to touch him, to show him how much he still meant to him.

And Walt did.

He poured in all the love he still had for Sal, all the pent up feelings he had tried to keep at bay for the last four years.

His hands found Sal's face, cupping his cheeks and mapping the familiar territory. Every hair, mole on his face, every line, it was all still there, still so familiar. They both moaned into the kiss, melting against each other.

Only when the need for air was stronger than the need to continue kissing, did they pull apart, panting. A trail of saliva still connecting their mouths.

"I love you, Walt. I love you so fucking much it hurts, I-"

"I love you too, Sal, I love you, I promise."

"Show me. Please."

[draconida]

Shance Fic Recs

Well, while I was in my AO3 profile, I realized how many bookmarks I have! So I've decided to make fic recommendation lists.   [This list will have other parts, and I include fics with Kuro and Sven]

1- Black to Blue by PuppetMaster55

Lance, the undisputed (no longer, since he finally got the team to stop questioning his position like a month ago) leader of Voltron finds himself in the absolute strangest scenario: being the Blue Paladin.

Lance, still finding his place on team Voltron, wakes up to the weirdest world: one where he's the Black Paladin.

OR, I take a universe where Lance was always the Black Paladin and have him swap bodies with canon Lance, throwing both sets of teams for a trip.

[This fic is the beginning of a series in process, super recommended]

2- Black & Blue by starboyshiro (this author writes a lot of love to Shiro)

“Something wrong, babe? Did you have a bad day or something?” Shiro asks, plopping down on the couch next to Lance.

“Nothing happened, I'm just looking at all of these cute cats thinking about how much I want one, but can't have one.” Lance frowns, resting his head on Shiro's shoulder as he continues to scroll through Instagram.

Shiro can't stand to see his boyfriend upset. That's been a proven fact since Day One of their relationship. It's only natural that when Lance mentions his disappointment at never owning a cat, Shiro goes above and beyond to cheer him up…

3- I Fold by starboyshiro [Explicit]

“Do you even know who I am?”

“Am I supposed to?”

“Most people around here do.”

An intense poker game turns into a rather steamy night. Can this scrawny grad student handle the force of the famous journalist Takashi Shirogane?

4- Is That A Bowl Of Popcorn In Your Lap Or Are You Just Happy To See Me? by munchiesafterdark [Explicit]

“How many bags should I do?” Shiro called, waving the four unopened packs in his hand at Lance questioningly.

“I think two should be fine,” Lance shrugged. “We can always pop more if… we…” He trailed off, train of thought vacating the station as Shiro turned his back to him to put the remaining packs of popcorn into the cabinets. His hips swayed to an unheard rhythm, defined muscles flexing as he reached up and slid the popcorn into place on the top shelf. Lance’s eyes trailed down to the V of his back, the sweats hanging low enough for him to spot the curve of his round ass. Yet another anomaly of those pants was the manner in which they accentuated his bottom while still remaining baggy around his legs.

The obnoxious ding of the microwave nearly startled Lance out of his skin. His shift on the couch must have been audible, Shiro raised a brow at him over his shoulder, a cocky smirk crossing his lips as he leaned over to retrieve the finished bag of popcorn.

Fuck, he was toying with him! Well, two could play that game!

5- Nasty Smoothie by strawberrylovely

Lance works in a smoothie shop. Twice a week, a certain customer comes in and orders a nasty smoothie. Lance is head over heels.

6- A Hit and A Miss (tletoe) by strawberrylovely

Basically, Lance goes to a party with Hunk and blows his friend a kiss. However, he wasn’t expecting the cute stranger standing in front of Hunk to think the kiss was for him.

7- you should let me (love you) by godsensei

There’s something in the bathtub. Suddenly, Lance is pissed at his past self for watching so many horror movies with creepy shower scenes. He’s certainly too young and beautiful to die like this, right?

Right, totally.

He hesitates, but creeps forward, peeking slowly behind the curtain.

Hm. There’s a hot guy in there.

8- just call me daddy by proletaricat [Explicit and omegaverse]

It's the typical a/b/o story - someone's off their suppressants, surprise heats, bam sex! Except this time Lance escapes capture with the help of Hunk and Shiro has to apologize for his behavior later, interrupting Lance in the middle of his Altean telenovela. Then they bang. It's... it's basically just a PWP with daddy kink and knotting.

9- Sometimes Playing Around with the Occult Can Turn Out Well (Like... REALLY well) by gorgawesome [Explicit]

Lance had the best costume prepared for this Halloween Party. He was totally gonna slay and finally get laid for the first time in MONTHS!

Except it's Halloween Night and he's stuck looking after the family bookstore, because local robberies or something. Honestly? He was too busy pouting to be listening.

Can an awful, boring night turn for the better? Yes. Yes, it can.

10- I found religion between your thighs by KillTheDirector [in process]

He had been topside for over four decades, enjoying the freedom he never had down in the pit. Routines were established then broken then reestablished, but Shiro abided by them because that’s what kept him alive.

Then he met a witch that was more suited to being an incubus than him.

11- One Symbol Off by Silas_Writes [Explicit]

anonymous whispered: Incubus/succubus shiro and witch lance use summoning circles and potions inappropriately

12- To Seduce the Seducer by singtolife [Explicit]

At a college party, Shiro meets Lance, and they hit it off immediately. Only to find out after they have sex that this amazingly sexy guy was a little too good to be true.

13- Blue Skies in Stockholm by Shanced [Explicit, non-con and Kuro]

Lance gets captured by Shiro (who was fused with Kuro by Haggar) and the rest is self indulgent kinky sex. Lance gets raped and wrecked by Shiro and develops Stockholm syndrome, or the likes of it, Shiro can apparently unfuse with Kuro and they have a really good time.

14- Treadmill by kitausu

At 2 minutes of torture in, Lance heard the buzz/click noise of someone’s electronic key activating and opening the door to the gym. And of course, because this was Lance’s life, Hunk had pushed him onto a treadmill with a mirror right in front, affording him an absolutely stunning view of the man walking through the door.

Had Lance loved till now? He was pretty sure that he had never even felt an emotion before seeing the beautiful male specimen reflected beside his face in the mirror.

or, Lance waxes poetic about Shiro's everything, and Hunk set it all up in the first place.

15- Black & Blue & Red All Over by thesynapticsnap

When Lance shows up to the gym with a limp and covered in bruises, Shiro assumes the worst (spoiler: It’s nothing bad! Nor anything kinky, surprisingly).

16- Car Door Blues by ShiekahKami

Shiro never would have expected that accidentally knocking that cute guy out could change his life for the better.

17- Give It a Shance by YonaDawn [in process]

The domestic life of Shance. At least until they become Twitter and Youtube famous. Then it's a wild domestic life.

18- Bowling for Balls? by EllaAniMine

They were just supposed to be bowling... It was harmless fun, or it was supposed to be.

Lance thought he was being funny, but a message that was supposed to be a joke was sent, and now Lance isn't laughing.

19- llévame si quieres by kalakauuas

Shiro takes his dogs to the park and meets the world’s cutest uncle and his niece.

"Lance and his little niece, petting Shiro’s dog, looking soft and serene; it’s like nothing could ever be truly wrong in the world if this is able to happen. What Shiro wouldn’t give to have this sight in front of him over and over again. He scratches Sirius behind the ears, and gets a reassuring lick in return as an act of solidarity. You’ve got this. Man’s best friend, for real."

20- (Mg,Fe2+)2(Mg,Fe2+)5Si8O22(OH)2 by starboyshiro

Lance and Shiro decided to expand their little family and adopt a dog. What they name him is rather questionable.

21- You're Worth More by AbandonedLibrary

Lance wanted to prove his pod his worth after that jackass rolo came in with black pearls in hand.

As the pearl expert in the group he needed to keep his name sake.

Though... Lance learned there are things worth more than pretty pearls.

22- Curiosity Caught a Cat by c0cunt

Shiro has been distancing himself from his friends and family for a long time. All he really has now is Matt's cat, Zekrom. At least, until a man crashes into his balcony to pet his cat.

23- Head Over Heels by saecchii [Kemonomimi and Explicit]

Shiro gains a new roommate, who he is absolutely smitten with.

24- Stray Cats by kitausu

Lance is really enamored with the cute guy who keeps coming into his pet store and buying WAY too much cat food.

or, Shiro moves into a new apartment and sees how many strays there are in the parking lot and just HAS to feed them.

25- Kiss the Bees by kitausu

Lance is smitten with the beekeeper next door.

26- BlueVoice by kitausu [Explicit]

Lance runs a relatively popular voice RP blog and one day hears his own voice coming out of the headphones of the really hot guy next to him at the gym.

27- Change of Plans by kitausu

When Shiro is left at the alter, he decides to go on his honeymoon alone. Enter Lance, the man Shiro had hired to take him and his would-be bride on a month long tour of Europe.

28- To The Grooms by AChapterCanBeABook

There is no better way to celebrate the best day of your life than reminiscing with the people who you love the most and who have been with you through nearly every step in your life. Let's not forget a little bit of embarrassment which goes along with best men speeches, especially if your best man is your brother and the other best man is his accomplice in this whole thing. nevertheless, it doesn't fail in livening up a wedding as well as making in just that much more sentimental.

29- Tell the Truth by thesynapticsnap

Lance is bitten by a 'love bug', turning him into a blushing, stammering mess around his crush- Shiro. Shiro helps him deal with the negative side effects, learning more about Lance's crush and considering his own feelings as they talk.

30- Guess Again by thesynapticsnap

Keith confronts Lance about something he witnessed during a team mind-melding exercise…too bad he’s got the wrong culprit.

31- Smooth by thesynapticsnap

Lance’s first meeting with Shiro doesn’t go as planned – it turns out so much better than he expected.

32- Blind Date by kitausu

“What’s the crisis? I thought you had a blind date? Didn’t go well?”

Lance wailed, collapsing into the couch with a dramatic sigh.

“Yesss, Hunk. He’s too handsome. He’s just so hot. You would not believe what he did to me. I still can’t believe it.”

or, Lance goes on a blind date and can't handle how hot Shiro is.

33- SandMan by Might_suck_but_thats_ok

Shiro goes on a blind date with Lance.

34- Lucky by zombiegardener

Shiro accidentally tells Keith that he's dating one of his frenemies from high school over a Saturday morning phone call, because how is this his life?

35- Boundaries by zombiegardener

It's really hard to keep a relationship secret when you're making out in the middle of a hallway.

36- beauty queen on the silver screen (living life like i'm in a dream) by heavenlyrare

What do you give to someone who already holds the world in their palms?

OR

The sweaters Shiro’s mom knits him every Christmas actually serves a greater purpose for once.

37- Text Me by strawberrylovely

Shiro, trying to get away from two girls who won't stop flirting with him, sits down next to a stranger who he pretends is his boyfriend. The stranger, who has pretty blue eyes, goes along with it.

38- Undateable by strawberrylovely

Lance just wishes someone would date him. Shiro offers to do just that.

39- Black Friday by strawberrylovely

Lance is gonna get that stand mixer. Unless of course a handsome stranger gets to it first.

40- Midnight Tradition by strawberrylovely

Lance goes to a New Years party and meets a guy named Shiro. They may be strangers, but they kiss at midnight anyway. After the party, Lance doesn’t think he’ll ever see Shiro again. That is until the next New Years party when the two meet again and a tradition starts.

Parts 1 / 2 / 3

[batbirdies]

Lol I also realized I switch between past and present tense in this all over the place. A terrible habit that I ignore when I’m trying to speed write, and fix later when I rewrite...so apologies.

[requiescat-aria]

The Once And Future King | ??? | Chapter 5

Ricardo has learned not to take Enji’s words to heart. Or, well, try not to. He knew his whole goal was to hurt and have fun with it. Boy did it hurt, but it was all meaningless. So instead of pouting this time, he just chuckles. 

“Didn’t you hear Kousuke here?”

He points at her, his body facing the idol while his smirk is focused on his assigned telenovela enemies. You know who you are.

“Arms trafficking is right. I had no clue that was the truth about Caballero until the last case. But now, now I know. I know what my mother had been preparing me for this whole time. And I’m ready to take that spot. You still think you can’t fear me? Do you know what kind of business that is, hm? I could send people after any of you to keep you silenced.”

With his index finger still up, he stomps towards Kousuke and plants a glare in her direction.

“We would do anything to protect the Caballero empire and myself.”

The people who still mattered, they had to know. They had to know that Ricardo wasn’t aware of this secret before the motive. It’s right there, on Julio’s phone. A part Kousuke didn’t read out loud. Maybe then, Nori would forgive him. He needed to get his hands on that damn phone.

“So don’t you dare fucking touch me again, you little shit!”

With that said, Ricardo charges at the idol in an attempt to grab her wrist and take the phone from her.

No matter how much Kousuke wanted to believe otherwise, she found herself backed up and unable to escape. She didn’t even try to look towards anyone else for help as Ricardo closes distance between them. She shuts her eyes tight and keeps the phone, one of her last mementos from Julio, close to her. 

She’s alone and even though Kousuke can’t help but let out a little scream she knows no one is going to save her.

[ ♫ ♫ ♫ ] 

As this was going on, it was easy to ignore the dead body in the room. Even after however long it has been since Julio passed away, his corpse had started to blend in with the rest of the furniture. What wasn’t being thrown around and swung at other people at least. Maybe Ricardo got stuck after stumbling over Julio’s leg. Or slipping on the blood on the floor. Or, being averse to the blood just not wanting to step in it. 

It’s not like Julio could have grabbed him to keep him from Kousuke, right? He’s dead, after all. Again. He should be on his way to being processed like everyone else who passed away.

So how come his slumped over body is sitting back up in his seat? Why is his arm stretched out and gripping the front of Ricardo’s shirt? Why are his eyes opening, his face twisting into that cruel smile everyone saw moments ago in his testimony?

A dead body surely couldn’t stand up from its seat, towering over Ricardo and looking down at him, right? And how would Julio’s corpse speak to him as he beamed down, grinning? 

“Did ya miss me?”

Maybe with how much he was smiling, Julio was happy to see Ricardo. But that was definitely a shiv poking against him. It seemed he had a few on his person, even now.

“Hey, Rico. There’s a handkerchief in my shirt pocket. Wipe my face off, won’t you?” 

Like hell he was going to do that. What is going on. Why is Julio there. Why is he grabbing his shirt and threatening him with that horrible smile? This was supposed to end. His own paranoia and fears were supposed to end. Ricardo went through all that trouble to have this end. He won, he won, why is this nightmare still happening?

“You...Why are you… It can’t be.”

“IT CAN’T BEEEE!”

Ricardo had won. But this feels like the biggest L of his life.

“Get away from me!” 

The businessman squirms and struggles to get away from his victim’s hold. But it’s useless. That’s a whole Julio with extra vengeance grabbing him like a ragdoll. The only thing left to do is to comply.

So out of pure terror, Ricardo eventually and quickly reaches for the handkerchief in Julio’s pocket and almost slaps it against the other’s face. Mostly just to cover it and the blood. 

His face mostly wiped off, Julio looks down at his own bloodstained shirt, and makes a *tch* noise. But his expression softens when he turns towards his partner in crime.

Kousuke had stayed still, unable to tell if what she was seeing was a terrible trick Jim was playing or actually happening. It was too good to be true. She must be dying a second time.

“Good to see you again, Kousuke. Sorry for scaring you.”

Ah. That’s really Julio. That’s his voice and everything. With no warning and choosing to not pay attention to the blood on his shirt, Kousuke hugs him tightly, sobbing as she does so. 

“I- It worked--! It really w- worked…!!”

She wasn’t going to let go of him any time soon. 

[batbirdies]

NaNoWriMo 2019 Batfam fic

So, apologies to anyone who already reblogged or liked this post because I Accidentally DELETED like a MORON. 

I’m posting rough excerpts from my NaNo project this year which is a fanfic centered around Jason Todd eventually agreeing to dog sit Titus while Bruce and Damian are out of town. Involving some deep seated issues, unintended animal therapy, snarky text messages between robins and eventually, some reconciliation between father and son.

Takes place in a murky in between time sometime after Damian was resurrected.

A NOTE: These are very rough drafts, I’m copy and pasting from my google doc, I switch tense all over the place, so apologies, but I want to share.

Part 1

___________________________________________________________________

He dreamed that night.

It wasn’t unusual, he had them at least a couple times a week, sometimes more, depending on different factors, what cases he was working, what kind of crap he ran into on patrol, and whatever damn lottery his brain was playing that night.

The downside: They were never good.

Sometimes they started out that way. Completely innocuous.

He was in a grocery store, and he was looking for something he couldn’t find but he couldn’t remember the name of it, or what it was. And he was walking down aisle after aisle of endless produce and there was a puddle on the floor, one of those yellow caution signs set up next to it, a janitor turned away from him, mopping, whistling as he went and it was far away, a long ways down the aisle but Jason recognized the tune. He knew the song but again he couldn’t place it. But it kept getting louder and the closer Jason got the less it sounded like music and the more it sounded like - like laughing.

Jason was shivering, it was suddenly freezing and when he looked down his clothes were all torn up and he - he was bleeding.

Suddenly he realized the shelves weren’t full of produce at all, they were packed full of bombs and the next step he tried  to take he tripped, his ankles were tied together. He fell on his face, right in that puddle on the floor and it wasn’t water, it was blood and the janitor was gone but that sound - the laughing, it was so loud, and it was everywhere, and he heard this awful scraping noise in the distance, something thin and metal dragging on the floor and Jason couldn’t breathe.

He tried to push himself up but his wrists were tied behind his back and everything hurt, it all hurt so much. The scraping on the floor got louder, closer, he heard footsteps, and the laughing stopped echoing all around him because it was clearly getting closer too. “Robin, kid, you’re really falling down on the job tonight.” And that awful laugh, that stifled giggle. “I really think you can do better.”

He felt the tip of the crowbar graze his side, just enough to make him shudder.

He was face down in a puddle of blood and Jason couldn’t breathe, he couldn't breathe, he couldn’t breathe-

He came to like a dying fish, gasping and choking on nothing, sitting bolt upright in bed with a cut off scream. His chest felt like iron, like no matter how hard he tried his lungs wouldn’t expand, they wouldn’t take in the air around him.

Jason threw the blankets off, feeling hot and cold all at once, and shoved his face between his knees, trying in vain to slow his breathing because there was nausea crawling up his throat and - and, shit- he managed to make it to the garbage can in the corner before he lost what little he ate for dinner. But like other times, at least, the vomiting felt like a relief. The coughing and gagging that followed were no fun, along with the racing heart and shaking hands. He spit into the can a few times, his teeth chattering together.

It felt like there were ants under his skin, just looking for a way out. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he managed to stumble to the doorway, stepping over the mess of stuff that had spilled out of the box at the foot of his bed, and flicking on the light. It burned his eyes but it at least gave him something to look at outside of the visions clouding up his head.

He still felt the sharp point of the crowbar dragging up the side of his ribs and his stomach gave another awful squeeze that had him rushing to the bathroom just to dry heave in the sink. Turning the tap on and splashing his face with water helped just a little but his mouth tasted sour and his stomach was still knotting up inside him.

Grabbing his toothbrush off the counter he nearly dropped it while running it under the water his hands were shaking so much. He could hear the awful stupid voice in the back of his head even over the stifled groan he let out when his stomach heaved again. He applied way too much tooth paste to the brush and jammed it in his mouth, barely managing not to fall down when he sat on the edge of the tub.

His ribs ached and his knees and shins and his head felt like it was gonna split open. He knew it was a phantom pain maybe because he’d been close to hyperventilating for a good few minutes at that point and he was having some kind of premature brain death from low oxygen but the knowledge very rarely helped. Instead he sat there in the blindingly bright bathroom with his eyes squeezed shut, scrubbing jerkily over his teeth and tongue trying to wash out the sour taste of stomach acid. Trying to scrub out the echoing laughs in his head, the sound of the crowbar dragging across concrete, the muffled thud of it against flesh and bone.

Of all his nightmares, the ones of the joker were always the loudest.

Sometimes he’d talk out loud to himself, or hum, just to try to drown it out but that just ended up making him feel crazier. He brushed his teeth for a long time, concentrating on the sound of the bristles against his gums, long enough that his mouth was just full of foam and there was blood mixing in with it, and then he’d forced himself to stand and spit in the sink. He splashed water over his face and just stood there for a minute, staring down into the drain and watching drops fall from the tap, gripping the edge of the sink with white knuckles, trying to support his weight with his arms cause his knees were shaking something fierce, listening to his own labored breathing.

Amazingly enough Jason Todd did not have cable, and his internet was spotty. It was annoying but the bunker he’d set up for Red Hood had better internet than you could buy plus access to the cave computer and when he moved into his place he reasoned that’s all he really used it for. He didn’t have money to burn and the apartment didn’t come with cable. But on nights like this, when the skeletons in his closet were rattling around like percussion instruments he really wished he could turn on the tv and listen to some bullshit telenovelas or cartoons or reruns of Titanic or he really didn’t freaking care.

He could read a book, that’s what he usually did, but after Joker dreams, sometimes it just - wasn’t enough. There were little tricks, little things he’d learned that helped and he went through the list in his head as he finally wrenched himself away from the bathroom sink, when it no longer felt like the bottom of his stomach was trying to climb up his throat.

There was a lighter on his nightstand next to a heavily scented candle that he lit with shaking hands, nearly burned himself before he set it down to the side and breathed in the biting scent of pine. There was a half empty carton of cigarettes stashed under his bed but he’d been trying to quit and he saved them for when things were really bad.

The trash can in the corner was a problem, one he’d rather not address right then but didn’t want to leave overnight because disgusting and so he took a spare moment to rinse some water in it and dump the contents in the toilet. He splashed some bleach in it and filled it the rest of the way with water and left it soaking in the bathtub.

Music was the next step, he didn’t remember where he tossed his cell phone when he came in and he had to stalk around the apartment before he found it sitting on the kitchen counter just inside the front door, unplugged and with a dead battery. He stared at the screen with an unexpected twist in his chest. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Abruptly, even though he’d woken without tears, just the pounding of his chest and head, he felt like he was going to start crying immediately and he sucked in a deep, noisy breath before making a point of plugging in his damn phone and going back to his room where the smell of the candle was enough to at least put him more in the present. It was the music that helped with the Joker dreams the most though and without it Jason was left feeling jittery and anxious in a way that only seemed to be getting worse the longer he sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his bookshelves trying to decide which one would be the winner for the night.

His knee was bouncing enough he’d probably wake up his downstairs neighbor before something occurred to him. The smashed up box at the foot of his bed was still just where it was when he’d demolished it on his way in. The thought of it made a different anxiety twist in his stomach.

The box was from Alfred. Sort of. The box was full of Jason’s things so he wasn’t sure if it was really from anyone except that one day after patrol when Jason had been high on pain meds, half lying down on a medical cot in the cave with Alfred working on his stitches he’d admitted he missed some of his old stuff, his books, his CD’s, some video games. The conversation wasn’t meant to go anywhere and Jason had no idea why he said anything but Alfred had told him he was free to take whatever he wanted from his old room - it was still his, after all. But the very idea of going back in there made his skin crawl.

He’d heard from Dick that it hadn’t much changed since he died and that kind of made it worse. Jason didn’t want to step back in time, no thanks. The idea that Bruce had turned it into some kind of museum to before he had died did weird things to his insides and he’d told Alfred as much. He didn’t think he could stomach it.

Alfred had left it at that, didn’t push him to keep talking about it or try to tell him he should try anyway, like Dick probably would have. Jason always appreciated that about Alf.

Instead, about a week later Alfred had shown up at his apartment with a weeks worth of meals and a box of things he’d thought Jason might want. It was a nice gesture and Jason had appreciated it but he’d found, despite his earlier musings, that he held the same sort of apprehension to the box as he did to his old room. Everything inside it was part of his old life and most of the time it all just felt - untouchable.

He didn’t know why exactly, just that his years at the manor felt like some weird mix of dream and nightmare he could never quite suss out.

But now, with the Joker’s laughter ringing in his ears he thought it might be the lesser of two evils and he hoped to anyone listening that Alfie packed his old MP3 player.

Jason slid down across his rumpled bed and slipped over the frame, nearly tripped over the crushed box at his feet but fumbled around it until he could sit cross legged on the floor in front of it. He didn’t know where to start exactly, but he decided the best option was getting the MP3 player first. So, he dug in, pulling out old sweatshirts, a couple knit scarves, an old throw blanket. The soft things were all wrapped around the more fragile ones.

Underneath his old clothes and the blanket he finds a stack of CD’s, too bad he doesn’t have a CD player anywhere...There’s a stack of notebooks, a larger stack of book books, an old baseball, and there, the headphones wrapped neatly around it, is his MP3 player. An old iPod shuffle Bruce had gotten him more because it was something other kids had than that he’d known Jason wanted one.

What he was counting on, was good old Alfie, because while the charger for the device was neatly wound up next to it, it had been literal years since Jason had touched the thing and the idea that it might have any battery left was absurd unless Alfred had gone to the trouble of charging it before packing it away for him. With still shaking hands he unwound the headphones rapidly and shove them in his ears, pressing the home button and just praying for some kind of miracle.

“Bless you Alfred.” Jason whispered out over the heavy beat of hip hop music he didn’t ever remember downloading. He took a moment to breathe, sucking in the smell of wintergreen and letting the music drown out the noise in his head. The rest of the contents still sat there in stacks, pushed to the side of the torn open cardboard or still organized neatly inside it.

This was as far as he’d gotten in a month and Jason decided to just bite the bullet and get it over with. He reached for the first thing that caught his attention and pulled out a framed photo of Bruce and Jason at a baseball game. The same one, if Jason remembered correctly, that he’d gotten the ball in the box from. Bruce stood behind Jason, a hand on his shoulder, a half crooked smile on his face that meant it was real, while Jason at 13 years old stood in front of him, grinning from ear to ear with a mit and a baseball held up in his right hand.

He doesn’t remember who took the photo, it must have been some random person at the game, but he remembered being breathless and excited about going, that he’d never been to one before. He remembered telling Bruce that the closest he’d ever gotten was scalping tickets outside the doors of a hockey rink once and being chased off by a security guard. Bruce had gotten a weird look on his face that Jason never knew how to take before he clapped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed in a way that always made Jason feel weirdly warm in the chest.

“We’ll go to a hockey game next.” He had said. And Jason had been beyond excited.

He swallowed convulsively at the twist in his stomach and set the photo to the side. He wasn’t sure he wanted it anymore. Thinking about the good times with Bruce was always bitter sweet to him now.

Usually more bitter than sweet. The phantom image of a Robin uniform always coming to mind, filled out by some other kid, standing tall and smug. Jason shook his head. He’d decide later.

Next was an old backpack, still filled with his school books. He rifled through one, finding a doodle of a bow an arrow in the corner of one of the pages, a note scribbled underneath he couldn’t actually parse. There were pages of math homework, old assignments with marks ups from his teachers, little notes in red pen.

‘Good work’

‘Nice word choice’

‘Correct formula but you made a common mistake, see me after class and I can explain it better.’

Absently he wondered why Alfred had given him his old school stuff. Not like he had any use for it now and reading through it felt like going through some other kids stuff. It did give him a weird pang of regret. Because Jason had liked school. He’d thrived despite little shitheads in a rich school who thought he didn’t belong there and some teachers alike. Jason felt a weird sort of disgrace at never having graduated High School. Hell, he’d barely started. He stashed everything back inside the bag and set it to the side. He probably wouldn’t get rid of it, thought he wasn’t sure why.

The stack of books was probably what he’d missed the most and he pulled the top most copy off and flipped it open. Jason had a pretty large stash of books at this point, and he had replaced nearly, if not all the novels he’d had in the manor when he was younger already. But it wasn’t the books themselves exactly that he missed.

When Jason had moved into the manor the idea of having books of his own to return to had been a new and glorious thing. On the street, when you needed to keep something for yourself you found a way to mark it, or make it so other people didn’t want it. He’d half ruined most things he’d snatched from stores just so they wouldn’t bother wanting them back if he got caught.

Before his mom had died he’d had access to the Library, which was great, but it meant that none of the books were his and he’d had to keep them nice and neat if he wanted to be able to keep checking them out. It hadn’t been all that easy either, with a drug addicted mother and a lowlife dad who was always bringing other lowlifes around. He’d ended up stashing them under his bed anytime he wasn’t reading them.

The books in the manor were different. They had a library, which Jason treated as such, but Bruce had also expressed that Jason could have his own books. Ones he got to keep in his room that he wasn’t required to return to anyone else or share. He could even make notes in them if he wanted, highlight whatever text interested him or that he wanted to return to.

The idea of marking them up in anyway had horrified Jason when Bruce had made the suggestion, but he liked part of the idea. It made reading feel more like he was an active participant, like he could go back and forth with the characters, like he was involved in the story.

He’d never taken a pen to a book, but what he had done was fill all of his favorites with sticky notes.

Jason still did it sometimes, though he didn’t read as much as he used to as a kid when he was only patrolling on the weekends and just had school to think about. He flipped through the first few pages of Frakenstein, one of his favorites, perusing his own messy handwriting on bright pink paper, faded with age. Again though, the nostalgia twisted hard in his stomach. He was glad to have them back, thought he might actually read through them someday, but what had been something he missed...felt a lot like something he could still never have, now that he was holding it in his hands.

There were all these mixed up, tangled feelings twisted around Jason’s childhood. Sometimes when he was high on pain meds, or drunk maybe, it softened the edges enough to make all this seem like a good idea. But harshly sober and coming down off a nightmare….they just felt kind of like a sad joke.

Like looking at the props from a movie you used to think was real life.

“Whatever.” He mumbled to himself as he grabbed a pile of the books and stacked them back up in a haphazard pile. His bookshelves were neatly organized, lining his bedroom walls on three sides. He made sure to leave room for more, and the second bedroom still had blank walls he’d thought about repurposing for just such an occasion that he ran out. Normally things were organized by genre, then author, then title. But this particular collection he would keep together. He shelved them all on the lowest empty shelf near the floor, next to his dresser.

The picture frame he stuck face down in the drawer of his nightstand to think about later, the baseball, and the mit he dug out to match, he left sitting on his dresser. The couple sweatshirts smelled like fresh laundry, which wasn’t surprising, so he didn’t bother washing them, just hung them up in the very back of his closet. They’d never fit him now, and just looking at them when he tucked the arms of the hanger through the neck hole nearly had him reeling at how tiny he used to be.

His notebooks he didn’t even open, remembering clearly enough the awful drawings he used to make and his own amateur attempts at writing. Journaling had initially been a suggestion from Bruce, back when Jason had frequent outbursts of temper and never wanted to talk about it afterwards. Bruce wasn’t exactly a shining example of talking out your issues, so the journaling had probably been a nice cop out for him, but he still occasionally did some.

The throw blanket, Jason realized when he picked it up, was the same one that Alfred had knitted him for his first Christmas at the manor and that did get him a little choked up. It was red, and a little faded, the color clashed pretty badly with his bedspread if he was being honest but he didn’t care. He took the time to make up his blankets and folded the throw neatly at the end of his bed. Then he settled himself back on the floor in front of the nearly empty box.

There wasn’t much else he expected to find in it. It was large enough that Alfred had managed to fit his old skateboard, which Jason chuckled to see. Despite his skills as robin he had never gotten very good with the thing. He left it leaned up against his bedroom wall behind the door and went in for the last item, sitting neatly at the base of the box. It was wrapped in brown parchment paper and tied in twine, about the size and shape of a book if Jason had to guess, and a badly wrinkled card was tucked underneath the string.

Jason assumed at first that it was a gift from Alfred, stashed at the bottom of the box as some sort of surprise but the obviously crumpled and reflattened card couldn’t have been the butler. So Jason slipped out the card, a nice stock with a simple picture on the front of a sailboat that looked oddly familiar to him.

Upon opening the card he was momentarily confused. There was obviously a decent amount of text written out at one point, but it had all been scribbled out pretty damn thoroughly, he squinted at it for a moment, trying to make out the words as a slow dawning unease settled on his shoulders. He couldn’t quite make out the words but somehow the handwriting still looked familiar, a messy but somehow still graceful looping cursive that could only be Bruce’s.

Jason swallowed roughly, eyes scanning the card over again and then peering into the box like it might now suddenly contain a poisonous snake. It didn’t make sense.

That there was possibly a….gift stashed somewhere in his room from Bruce that he had never known about didn’t make any sense. And the idea that Bruce would have for some reason gotten him a gift since he was out of the manor and asked Alfred to deliver it made even less. Unless it was something related to their vigilante lives maybe. Maybe it was useful to Red Hood somehow and the scribbled out card was code for something.

But something told him it wasn’t. Bruce was ridiculous and paranoid and overly dramatic at the best of times but a secret message disguised as an old gift instead of making a phone call or telling him in person on one of the not infrequent times they might run into each other on patrol made little to no sense. And the gift did seem old he realized.

Reaching in and picking it up out of the box he found the brown paper covered in a layer of dust, brushed off in a pattern that could only have been someone’s hands moving it to begin with. The twine was brittle and snapped at the knot with a very light tug.

There was a feeling Jason sometimes got, like he was swimming in the ocean and he could sense some huge and dangerous coming up beneath him, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. In general it didn’t usually represent (wrong word) anything positive but he was already waist deep in this whole thing and that feeling didn’t tend to leave him until the cause was addressed. So he took a single deep breath and tore the paper off, trying to brace himself for any possibility.

However, when the paper came off he was left with a complete absence of any reaction. He hadn’t known what to expect but somehow what he found was still entirely unexpected.

It was two items, stacked neatly one on top of the other. One, which was, upon retrospect, predictably a book. A hardcover copy of Pride and Prejudice, with a swirling and beautifully designed cover in deep navy blue, overlaid with gold.

On top of that was a slim DVD case with a photo of Kira Knightly looking artfully to the side with a blurry Matthew Mcfadyen in the background.

“What the hell.”

Jason yanked the headphones out of his ears, suddenly feeling the need for the quiet to digest whatever the heck he as seeing. He grabbed up the crumpled card again and opened it flat, smoothing it out on top of the book and squinting in concentration at the scribbled lines of pen. If Bruce wasn’t a pretentious asshole who always wrote in cursive he thought he may have been able to make it out but as it was the only thing that wasn’t in cursive was a cluster of numbers in the upper right hand side of the card that had only been partially scribbled out. He should have noticed them immediately but he had been more intrigued by what he was apparently not supposed to see.

The numbers though, they were clearly a date. A date that Jason stared at with a numbness in his bones while his brain calculated where he was and what he was doing when it was written. It was dated nearly a year ago. Right around the time that….that the two of them had talked. That Jason had agreed to play by Bruce’s rules.

“What….the hell.” Jason repeated to himself. His voice strangled and clipped. Dropping the card he suddenly flipped the book open, flipping the pages in a fan and looking for something more, turning the book face down and shaking out the pages hoping for some other information. Nothing.

He cracked open the DVD case next, popping the disc out and the little leaflet of information thinking there had to be some kind of hidden message somewhere.

“This is such bullshit.” He whispered to himself, incredulous and weirdly lost.

A strangely frantic idea was occurring to him and he picked up the card again, stumbling to his feet and going for one of the notebooks he’d stashed in his closet. He took the one on top and tore out the first blank page he came to and then spent ten minutes digging around for a pencil, ending up with the single sheet of notebook paper and the card, standing in his boxers and a t-shirt in his kitchen. The card he laid out on the countertop, putting the notebook paper on top of it. He angled the pencil carefully and began brushing gentle strokes across the paper.

It was an old hat trick Jason used to read about in ancient detective novels like it was some genius level trick, it would create a negative image of whatever had been written on the page before it was scribbled out, provided the original script was written with enough pressure. Bruce tended to have a heavy hand so he thought it’d be enough but the way the card was crumpled up made it a special challenge, leaving other divots and lines through the text.

When he was done he stared at the sheet of paper with a scrutinizing gaze.

“Damnit.” It looked like scribbles, which was exactly what it was, but maybe a tiny bit more like actual words than before. He studied it, trying to make out the individual first and last letter of each word.

The first word was clearly his name, he took the pencil and carefully wrote out “Jason�� below the scribbles.

The first line he could make out sparing words from. He went through the note methodically, writing down words he could make out, leaving a line on the page for each word he couldn’t, carefully counting each word until he was at the bottom of the card and his hands were shaking again, worse than when he’d woken up from the dream.

He stared at what he had, trying to make heads or tales of it.

Jason,

I know ___ ___ ___ this book, ___ ____ ____ more ____ ___ copy. I think I remember ____ ____ me at some ____ ____ I ______ you of Mr. Darcy. ________ I was ______ and _____ _____ if my ______ ______ right.

Maybe you’ve ____ the _____ _______ too, ____ for me to say. It’s ____ a _____ _____ ____ talked _____ books and movies. But I saw this pair _____ sold ________ in a classics __________ at the ______ Bookstore in Gotham and I _______ of you. ____ _______ you might _____ it, ___ a good _________ of the book, if ___ _______. _____ __ _____ watch it ________ and _______ notes.

I miss you.

The vast majority of it didn’t make much sense beyond being clearly about the story and probably not some hidden message, but Jason didn’t care a whole lot.

Instead he stared at those last three words, feeling a tremor run up his spine. He dropped the paper on the counter like it burned him and took a step back, swallowing convulsively. His eyes were burning and his chest felt tight and this was not the bullshit he’d been expecting in that damn box.

“Fucking Alfred.” Jason scooped up the crumpled card and the sheet of paper and stomped back into his bedroom, grabbing the book and the movie and dumping it all in the bottom drawer of his dresser with old electronics and chargers he wasn’t sure went to what to be forgotten about. The drawer slammed closed and he stood there breathing like a freight train for a split second before he went back to the foot of his bed where he tore the empty box until it was flat and recyclable, he stashed it under his sink and he fumed.

Glancing at the clock on his microwave told him it was nearing 5am, meaning he’d gotten maybe three hours of sleep and that the the sun would be coming up in a couple hours. He stomped around his kitchen, dragging out coffee beans and milk and generally making as much noise as possible while making coffee just hoping his downstairs neighbor would come pounding on the door so he could scream in someone’s face.

“Fucking Alfred.” He hissed again, feeling utterly unsteady and hollow. Like someone had scooped out his insides with a spoon. It was such a bullshit move.

Jason wasn’t an idiot. No way Bruce knew that was in Alfred’s little care package. Bruce had probably forgotten the thing existed, had probably thought it had all been thrown away. He’d clearly meant to dispose of the card, probably had, and Alfred had rescued it from the trash and kept it on hand, just waiting to leave it like a bomb for Jason to find. Probably hoped it would open his eyes.

Make him see the light.

Jason was not going to be manipulated by some shitty card that Bruce had thrown in the trash rather than actually give him. And what kind of bullshit was that? Bruce thought he could give him some crappy copy of a book and a movie with a casual little note and things would be good?

He was insane. Bruce was insane and Jason had known it for years.

Jason was shaking his head, pulling a mug out of the cupboard for the coffee and setting it down harder than he needed to. What had he even been thinking? What? That if he gave Jason a present he’d just forget about all the other shit?

Oh, except that he didn’t give him the gift. Instead he threw away the card and put the gift somewhere it was gathering dust for the past year.

There were dishes in the sink from his dinner and he went about washing them by hand instead of using the dishwasher, needing to move, needing something to occupy his hands.

Needed something to work out his aggression on so he could keep hold of the anger in his chest.

*

*

*

He’d bought Jason a gift.

He leaned against the counter sink, gripping the edge hard and feeling the sharp edges of his indignation stuttering and losing their shape. He tried to grab onto it, hold it in place like the shield it was.

But - Jesus he doesn’t really know what to think of it. So Bruce bought it for him, and then what? Couldn’t bring himself to actually give it to him? His stomach twists in knots over it. He remembers meeting up with Bruce, sharing burgers on the hood of the batmobile and agreeing to work by Bruce’s rules.

He remembers he’d been in a good mood that day, that he’d felt more exasperated and amused by the request/demand than he would otherwise normally be. He remembers Bruce being blank and awkward and the good feelings slowly draining. Remembered Bruce cutting the meeting short and making some excuse for it and leaving Jason with that same souring bitterness he always ended up with with Bruce.

He hadn’t gone back on the agreement, he wasn’t really sure why exactly. Except that maybe...maybe him asking meant he didn’t believe Jason was some kind of lost cause.

Not that Jason cared, he had nothing to prove, not to Bruce.

But sometimes there were reasons to prove things to yourself and Jason wasn’t sure he had yet.

It didn’t matter. For now he wasn’t killing anyone and he was on the Bat’s good side. It didn’t explain the movie. There was a date on the card but for the life him Jason can’t remember exactly when they had their chat at the Batmobile. It was....around that time, but was it before or after? He can’t remember, and for some reason that really bugs him.

He doesn’t want to think about this stupid shit.

But Bruce had thought about him apparently. He….he missed him.

It was ridiculous. It wasn’t true.

Jason had to resist the urge to go dig that stupid card out of his dresser and try to parse out the words again.

“God damnit!” He slammed his hands against the edge of the sink.

He wasn’t supposed to care about this crap anymore. He didn’t. He didn’t care.

Jason didn’t care and he was going to stop thinking about it.

…..God he was going to need a shit ton of coffee to make it through the day.