#i have so many thoughts. about older jason being so gentle to his younger self

[havenandart]

been stuck in a bit of an art rut but wip :'>

[alphasmoonlit-selfships]

🎫 here’s a gush pass :3 feel free to gush about whichever f/o you want, however much you want, then send this ask to 3 other selfshippers >:3c

(@rose-wine-selfships 🌹🍷✨)

Ahh! A gush pass??!! 😳🎫 @rose-wine-selfships thank you! Better late than never right? 🥺💖 ahh!

Am going to gush on the best two fictional loves of my life if you don’t mind? 🥺 I love Atsushi so much and I want to talk about my dear Jason too! 🥺🐺🐯 I hardly do and he deserves some nice spot light too ! For those that don’t know him to well! 🥺

Come and hear my rambling under the read more ≧ω≦

Mi Tigre! Mi amore! He is such a mood and such a vibe! I love his overall person, his design, his personality, his sweet and beautiful kindness towards people who have gone through similar situations as he had and his just can’t help but want to save them from such fates. He wants the best for all those he cares about and how he believed for a long while that if he can safe others than it would be enough proof for him to continue living. Even at the cost of his own life and I just (ಥ﹏ಥ) nooo my love please,,,

It’s kind of scary how much I resonated with that… not gonna lie, I’ve always had such a mentally too to an extent when I was younger, heck even a bit now but not as drastic as my younger self thought… (then again Digimon college Au definitely tells me otherwise… ;;w;; ahh anyway),,

Atsushi has definitely grown so much and is still learning to better himself! I believe that in this new environment of being with good people of the Agency, he will continue to develop and get better. Being surrounded by a found family that cares and loves his well being, will boost his confidence! And soon he will be truly an amazing mentor towards a future main 👀 watch the manga end the way it started with Atsushi saving someone who was in a similar situation 🥺 of course not the way Dazai did 👀 but it will be a full circle 🥺 like just envision an older!Atsushi in Dazai’s place of saying his name, “My name? Nakajima, Nakajima Atsushi!” 🌅 hdkahdkalfkaldhlasads not gonna lie I just want to see older Atsushi rocking his confidence and growth 💖🥰

Overall, I don’t think I’ve ever come to love such a main character before? The way I resonate with him makes me all warm and fussy and has allowed me to see,,, a lot about myself and reflect on it better. His path to healing isn’t linear, it’s been a constant up and down motion 🥺 I really don’t want to see him encounter more bad things ;;;~;;; but I know it’s to progress the story and for him to get better; but please Asagiri-sensei, don’t be so bad on him ;;0;;

I love mi Tigre so so much UwU he truly my source of comfort and love daydreaming of sweet and silly romantic things with him 💖 the ideal relationship and try to definitely lift myself up in anyway I can with him, especially during my depressive moments. Which happens a lot especially when it comes to comparing myself to others ;;w;; it’s a terrible thing and I swear I break my own heart so many times a day,,, but I know despite it all Atsushi loves me entirely because I am me, there is none other like me 🥺 all his kisses warm my soul ♥️(*´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥﹏°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ )人(´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

Now!! TO MY PRECIOUS GENTLE STORM, MY RAIN, MY DEAREST MATE 🥺‼️🐺🌧

Aghddkjahdkfkaljddj!!! The best boi, the best oc I love so dearly like! 🥺 Jason “Jaystorm” Grey! He is my own fictional OC that I created sometime in 8th grade I believe? About 2010! So almost 11 years I think!

He has dealt with a lot of my creative mind and just pure high school into college anguish ;;;w;;; my gentle storm hasn’t had the best life, in either Au or actual story he’s in. Legendary Wolf Warrior’s story, he and his later sister where born from an affair situation. While not much suspicion was raised with him, he later had to endure a lot of traumatic events in his life.

First, with his older brother leaving him behind to deal with his alpha father’s (older brother’s biological dad) anger.

Witnessing his actual dad (Jason and Lula’s dad) get murdered in cold blood, right in front of him, believing it was his fault for him trying to run away with his brother.

Become physically and mentally abused by his alpha, who was trying to shape him into something worse under all this abuse.

Witnessing said alpha, murder his mother for supposedly sending away his sister through a river. And because of the affair she had that birthed him and his sister. Who’s fate is unknown to him for a long, long time until they are much older.

And then the aftermath of standing up to alpha’s abuse and fighting back for all the years of torment he was put through. Gaining his powers of the Storm in the process. But Jason, bless him, never wanted to be the one to kill him, he just wanted to leave of his own accord, but this terrible wolf that raised and abused him wanted to fight and kill him for trying to leave.

Because of this, he is often plagued with nightmares and believes he sees him in the far distance for a long while after he travels on his own. The mental and emotional abuse staying with Jason for a long while. Even after when he arrives at the Forest of Dreams, being the last warrior to arrive of the seven that exist.

He has no control of his powers for a long time, sometimes drawing storms with the slightest anger. He had no idea how to fight without almost killing someone else in the process. Jason had so much guilt and fear of losing control of this higher power he possessed, even scared of losing the other warriors because of his lack of strength and skills at them. They, who have had their powers for far longer as younger pups.

But of course he has them too, despite his insecurities and fears, the others help him and show him how to better control such a power, especially at his age. They don’t turn him away as he worried so much, they train him and tell him to control his emotions that cause a major melt down of his powers.

Danielle especially (me in that sense UwU), who understands what it means to let one’s emotions get the best of them, helps him find his balance and most especially helps him talk about his past.

He definitely says it so nonchalantly, never realizing how bad his life was for a long time. Actually believing most alpha’s in wolf packs led with such a tyrannical stance. More than surprised by Dany’s father’s lead and his genuine kindness to others and other animals around the Forest of Dreams. A lot of it is due to the abuse of his own alpha and how his mind was filled with such negative things, especially about himself.

Jason does feel like an outsider most of the time, even more so than some of the other animals/humans who lived similar lives, but especially because of his powers. But he grows from when he first arrived in FoD, he learns to socialize more, how to hunt and give to the forest, how live a life of his own and not be ruled over by past influences. He looks back on his younger self a lot and reflects on how he wished to save that young version of himself from so much.

But he has in a sense, by living on his life and being everything his alpha never was and tried to instill in him. He has a new family, one that is genuine and true and would never leave him despite the terrible things that happened. 🥺🌧

Jason is my best mans, the best boi that deserves the world and much peace. Many think the Storm power for him is kind of odd considering his pretty pacifist nature and gentleness. I think it fits him perfectly anyway 💖🌧 he is pretty similar in Digimon Au, though most of his strength and growth is him and his experiences and also the voice encouragement by his Digimon, Raiwolfmon. Even so, he is still a dear and precious person, nothing like the terrible “father figure” that raised him. He is all his own and so much better.

Well I’ve talked for too long 👀🥰 I hope you enjoyed my gush ramble on the two loves of my life! 🥺💖🥺💖🥺💖 I love my Atsushi and Jason so much and this gave me so much time to reflect on them, especially Jason 👀♥️ he is the best boi and love him so much in private a lot UwU but hopefully I can do more DanyJay things 💖🥺🌧🥰

Thanks again for the gush pass rose! 🥺 sorry for the long wait too UwU, bless you! 💖♥️🥺♥️🥺♥️💖 and excuse my rambling and maybe confusing spasm speak to explain things ;;w;; by all means I’m here to answer all the questions 👀😳

[msephy]

Upbringing chap 12/13

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11

Cross-posted to AO3

Earth 53 - Jason Todd

The climb to Nanda Parbat was even harder than the one to Ra’s al Ghul’s stronghold and Jason could only feel relief at them being so close. Was it a coincidence or had Ra’s been looking for the place? Coincidences were rare, where he was concerned.

Only a small group accompanied them: five bodyguards and, of course, Bruce. Jason counted on Talia to insure Damian would get back to Gotham or, at least away from the League. The brat himself might be able to elude her if she tried to bring him anywhere else.

Besides, he was wearing his gear from the Cave. Knowing Bruce, several pieces had to be bugged. They’d find him alright – if they managed to get away from Ra’s.

It wouldn’t be long, now.

They reached the top of the crater where the temple laid. It was an ancient construction, looking both immovable and strangely out of place in this landscape of even older mountains. A single monk in orange robes was walking in the green gardens which surrounded the temple and made it even more unseemly in the blinding whiteness.

“The temple of Rama Kushna,” Ra’s breathed out. “I’ve looked for it for so long.”

So even he could still be impressed from time to time. Though Jason guessed he was more interested in his objective than in the place itself. Yet it had its own power, and so did the order within.

Jason let himself drop to the edge of the monkey bridge which connected the temple to the outside world. Good defense, Jason though. Even for him it would be hard to reach it from the other way, the climb being much harder from that side.

He started on the bridge before Ra’s could, unwilling to let him be the first to contact the monks. Jason might be disrespectful most of the time, but he didn’t think himself to be above those people. Ra’s thought himself above everyone.

The others followed, making the bridge swing gently from one side to the other. By the time Jason had reached the end, several monks had gathered, anxious and surprised.

“Welcome to the temple of Rama Kushna, traveler,” one of the said.

Jason bowed politely. “My apologies for interrupting your peace. The man who follows me asked for a guide to the fountain of life and so I brought him here.”

“I’m Ra’s al Ghul,” Ra’s said in an authoritarian tone. The jerk. “Where is the fountain?”

“It’s not hidden,” the monk answered in a moderate tone. “It’s right beyond the temple, in the garden. But you should know… Only the pure of heart can enjoy its blessing. It brings death to those whose spirit is not pure.”

Jason tensed, worried about Ra’s reaction. He’d known, of course, but thought mentioning it to him would be a bad idea.

To his surprise, Ra’s scoffed, sounding rather amused. “Not being straight with me, Shadow of the shadow? Do not worry, I don’t fear the fountain’s judgment. Do you know, I’ve always believed it must be the prototype of the Lazarus pits I myself use.”

“Yeah well, sorry but that’s not exactly good news,” Jason commented.

Ra’s ignored him to follow the monks’ instructions. Bruce joined Jason, looking at him intensely through his white lenses.

“If you expect Ra’s to die…”

“I expect Ra’s to be Ra’s,” Jason interrupted. “Either he’ll die, or he won’t. Either way it will be his choice. You can’t force right decisions out of people, Bruce. You know that.”

But didn’t he still wish to. Yet Bruce didn’t protest further, following Ra’s with a frown. Jason rolled his eyes. Worst-case scenario? Ra’s was hurt without dying and demanded Jason’s body. As far as he was concerned, Ra’s dying was the best­ scenario.

Still, he shadowed them, as did the leaguers.

The fountain was of the purest water, far from the toxin green of the Lazarus pits. Jason swallowed. He’d seen it before, once, yet it was still breathtaking. Not that it looked like much: just a naturally formed rock sprouting water, which was gathered in a round basin dug into the stony ground.

Ra’s removed his tunic while one of his guards unlaced his shoes, leaving him only in his pants. His state was even more visible now: his ribs showing under a fragile, gray skin.

Yet Bruce stepped forward. “Ra’s. You can’t possibly think to go inside. If what the monk said is true…”

The Demon’s Head raised a hand.

“Detective. Do not presume.”

Jason snorted, which removed some of their impact from Ra’s words. Yet, it sufficed. Bruce stepped aside, fists clenched. There would be a backslash if Ra’s did die, Jason suddenly knew. Bruce would blame himself. Didn’t he always?

Well, fuck him. People did have the right to make bad choices. You couldn’t control everybody, or else, you’d be – Brainiac, or something.

Ra’s stepped inside the fountain, sitting down under the gentle stream. He didn’t scream, didn’t start burning or melting. Was he really pure? Jason hadn’t dared to test the fountain, the one time he’d come.

He had come for it specifically, of course, like most people who reached the place. He’d found its coordinate in the Batcomputer and had thought – why not? Maybe if would clean him from the Lazarus pit’s stain, or maybe it would kill him, putting things back how they should have been.

But in the end, he had not dared. Yet here Ra’s was, sitting fearlessly in the inoffensive water.

Inoffensive, but healing. Already Ra’s skin was looking better, his flesh and muscle filling in, youth coming back to his face. He smiled, noticing their surprise.

“Do not confuse purity and morality, Detective,” he told Bruce without heat. “The values you think so highly of are very new to this world. As positive as you might think them, such a stream wouldn’t judge them more worthy than any other.”

“You kill people,” Bruce answered, tense. “Nothing can find that pure. You seek unbalance, in others, by killing them, and in yourself, by staying alive for so long.”

“Maybe it is so, from your point of view. Yet my intention is indeed to cleanse this world.”

Ra’s closed his eyes, breathing in as the fountain kept healing him, a clear dismissal. Jason moved to Bruce’s side, taking his arm to thug him away. “We should leave.”

“The monks…”

“Can defend themselves. They’re blessed by Rama Kushna, you know.”

Jason wasn’t even kidding, and it must have been apparent in his tone because Bruce didn’t resist further. They politely saluted the monks, who escorted them back to the entrance. Maybe Jason would go back, in his world. Not right away but – later. When he would have found his center at last.

They’d left the League’s stronghold at dawn and, even though the return trip was long, they managed to reach the Batplane right before dawn. To their relief, Damian and Talia were waiting for them there.

“Father!” Damian stopped just short from Bruce, clearly unwilling to behave like a child. To Jason’s surprise, Bruce ended the movement by hugging the kid. Damian squealed his protests without pushing him away.

Talia inclined her head at Jason. “My father?”

“Healed and well. We left before him but I don’t expect him to meet any surprises on his way back.”

She nodded, looking relieved, then she smiled. “Thank you, Shadow of my shadow.”

“Isn’t it Bruce who’s Damian’s dad?” Jason asked, just because, fuck, what was it with her coming into him?

As soon as he said the words, Talia’s face emptied of any expression and, from the corner of his eyes, Jason could see Bruce straightening up guiltily. Riiiight.

“Anyway, we have to go,” Jason decided. “Thank you for your help, Talia.”

“It should be I thanking you, Jason from another world. I trust the one from this one will soon return?”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re looking into it.”

Bruce nodded at Talia awkwardly, then nudged Damian into the Batplane. The kid didn’t protest: the day had been a long one. They left without further discussion then put on the autopilot so they could take turns sleeping.

Even with a few hours of eyes-closing, Jason still felt wasted when they finally landed back in Gotham. He would be relieved to slip into his bed and have a real, good rest, knowing the local Batfamily was safely home.

He opened the Batplane’s door, hoping to head upstairs to do just that – and stopped dead as Jason Wayne looked up to him. He swallowed, looking around, not knowing if he wanted him to be alone or if he hoped he was.

But no: here he was, looking up at him from afar. Bruce. His Bruce.

###

Earth 53 – Jason Wayne

The first thing Jason felt when the Batplan’s door opened was relief: Bruce was there, mostly unarmed despite a few cuts he’d definitely want to check, and so was Damian, who jumped down without wasting time.

Then Jason took the time to properly look at his double and… yeah. Doppelganger might be the right word. He was wearing his own gear, the same type he’d found in the flat he’d woken up in the other Earth: reinforced pants, combat boots, leather jacket which likely was reinforced too, and way too many weapons for someone who moved like he was one.

He looked as bad as Jason had feared. Yet, from what Kal and Dick had told him, he hadn’t hesitated to follow Bruce when they’d found out Damian’s life was in danger so maybe he should take appearances for what they were.

Besides, it’s not like he didn’t understand where he came from.

It was also hard not to notice how this other Jason had tensed all over when he’d seen the Bruce

“Nice to meet you,” Jason said, going forward, hand raised, to cut the tension. “I’m the local Jason. Thank you for bringing back my brother and nephew in one piece.”

The other Jason – this was going to become tedious soon, thinking about him that way, he should think about him as Todd instead – looked taken aback, but recovered quickly and shook his hand almost without trying to crush it.

“My pleasure,” Todd said, his tone clearly ironic, yet… it was probably true.

Jesus. This really was like talking to a younger self. How weird.

Jason smiled his most Luthorian smile, and was rewarded by a frown. Bruce – his Bruce – damnit – rolled his eyes.

“I know, I know,” Jason said. “No need to antagonize our host. I can’t help myself.”

Forgetting his doppelganger for a moment, he went and hugged Damian, then pulled Bruce into the hug with them, because he could. Feeling their presence physically was a relief. They were there. They were fine.

Then Bruce winced. “Alright,” Jason said. “Damian, to the shower. Make sure you aren’t hurt anywhere and if you aren’t careful enough, I’ll check you myself. Bruce, to the med bay.”

Damian obeyed without protesting too much, which was unusual, but then, considering the circumstances, Jason was not surprised. Todd raised his eyebrows at Bruce, who grimaced back, removing his cowl.

“I wouldn’t have to behave like you mother if you behaved more responsibly by yourself,” Jason commented.

“Please, don’t,” Bruce grumbled.

The other Bruce – yeah, he wasn’t going to call him Wayne, that would be just too weird – almost smiled.

“If it makes you feel better, he did the same with me, and I’m ten years older than him.”

Jason’s brother didn’t seem to know what to do about that comment. “I’m not sure if I should be reassured, or worried that he’s going to do that my whole life.”

“That’s what older brothers are for,” Jason sing-songed, nudging Bruce into removing the top part of his armor.

Cuts everywhere. That’s what he’d though. He started cleaning them.

“Todd, can I ask you to go tell Dick you’re all back and fine? He’s hard to wake up and might just mumble something but he’ll remember in the morning.”

“Sure.”

The tone didn’t match the answer. Was he hurt, too? The other Bruce was checking on him from afar but Todd’s movements only broadcasted discomfort, which could be largely attributed to his adoptive father’s presence. Or was it because of Jason himself?

Nevertheless, Todd removed his guns and knives then the most obvious parts of his armor before heading back upstairs. The other Bruce raised his eyebrows, but didn’t comment. Todd didn’t look in his direction, which wasn’t quite the same as ignoring him successfully.

“Bruce, a hand?” Jason called, mostly to distract him.

This brother grunted at having two people stitching him back up at the same time, uncomfortable himself with this unknown person being so close, but that’s what he got for getting himself cut like that.

“Ra’s?” Jason asked while working.

“Alive and well.”

“Mh. Talia?”

“Helped us,” Bruce confirmed, to Jason’s relief. “She says hi.”

“She doesn’t.” She never did.

“She doesn’t need to.”  No, indeed.

Jason finished working alongside the other Bruce. When he was satisfied, he nodded and let his brother take his own shower, his wounds taped with waterproof bands. Damian had finished in the meantime and headed upstairs to his bed, not without Jason hugging him one last time. Damian didn’t even protest.

Jason sighed when he found himself alone with the other Bruce. “What a family we both have.”

“You take good care of them all.”

“Thank you,” Jason answered. “I’m mostly sad about how Damian has been treated by Ra’s, though. Even Talia… I like her, but even though she protected him this time, I’m never sure she will next time. Oh I don’t think she’d kill him, even to save Ra’s life, but manipulating him into doing what she wants?”

He shrugged. That’s how she’d been raised. She didn’t see the wrongness in it.

The other Bruce sighed. “I know what you mean.”

“Yeah, I guess you would. Sorry but I can’t believe two of you were stupid enough to sleep with her. I mean. It was obvious she tried to seduce because Ra’s wanted her to.”

“She did?”

“Well, she did like us, I think,” Jason amended. “It wouldn’t have been quite that effective if she didn’t. But still.”

“Don’t underestimate her,” Bruce tempered. “I slept with her after having had a vasectomy and she still managed to have Damian.”

“Huh,” Jason said, very intelligently. Maybe he should have enjoyed the sex, then. He sure had wanted to, back then. Though the idea of her showing up with his son… It has been hard enough to have her show up with his nephew.

“Yeah well,” Jason sighed. “I’m still glad to leave that particular worry to Bruce. Besides, I get to enjoy Damian’s charming personality nonetheless.” He grinned.

The old Bruce smiled, likely understanding that he was only joking. They sat there in companionable silence for a couple of minutes, then Jason’s brother finished his showered and joined them, wearing the dark grey fatigues they kept in the Cave for such occasions.

“I’ll head upstairs, have some sleep before starting the day. How’s Dick?”

“Asleep, I think,” Jason said. “I just sent Todd tell him you were all fine, so you can head directly to your bed.”

“Hmpf.”

“If you try to hack into the computer from your room to fill the files today, I will see it.”

“Maybe I should prevent you from going to the office when you didn’t sleep either tonight.”

Jason yawned at the thought. “I might actually stay at home, today. I mean, I’ve been off for a few days, I assume you pretended I was sick?”

“I did. Take your Friday off, too. I’ll give you a hand to catch up on Monday.”

“Noted. See you, then.”

“See you, Jay.”

Jason smiled as he watched his brother go back upstairs. The other Bruce titled his head.

“You don’t have to stay.”

“You sure? Todd might go to bed right away too but if he comes back downstairs…”

“Then I’ll handle him.”

Jason looked at this older Bruce, who wore so many traces of the hard live he’d lived, and who didn’t seem remotely tired despite the lack of sleep.

“You’ll hold the fort?”

“I will. Go to sleep.”

Jason stretched, getting up. He knew he could rely on his little brother, of course, they’d both risk their lives for each other – and they did, numerous times. But he felt responsibility toward him, like he didn’t toward this other, older Bruce.

It was nice.

“Alright. Don’t kill each other, if Todd comes back down.”

“No corpses where Alfred can find them. Got it.”

Jason grinned, then, after a short hesitation, went to this other Bruce and hugged him like he’d hugged his brother. He felt him startle but then Bruce recovered and closed his arms around his adoptive son’s doppelganger. He was a very good hugger.

“G’night,” Jason said, letting him go.

“Good night, Jason.”

###

Note: comments are very welcome :)

[smudged-writing]

The King of Souls, Prologue.

I don't know if I'll post anything else from this work, but here's a sneak peek!

@the-twisted-otaku <3

Enjoy!!

-----------------------------------

   At the age of fourteen, Edgar didn't exactly dream of having to defeat the King of Souls, but being the heir to the throne meant you'd have to show you're worthy. And the challenge his father bestowed upon him, was the one bestowed to his eldest brothers too, the killing of the King of Souls. That said, his brothers never returned. 

   The King of Souls was a ruthless criminal, a thief, a murderer, a mage. And mages were dangerous. Well, not that a mere thief or a murderer isn't. 

Mages never put their magic to good use. They held a grudge for being hunted down. Few were still alive, and they were all evil people, the ones spreading fear mercilessly across the Kingdoms.

   And as it was with his brothers, Edgar knew he wouldn't come back alive. 

   Jason and David, his eldest brothers, were both muscly and incredibly strong. They could do anything they'd put their mind into. In short, until they were beaten by the King of Souls, they were undefeatable. Edgar, however, was skinny and weak, he used cowardly tricks to escape dangerous situations, and everyone, himself included, could bet that he wouldn't make it back alive. 

   "But, Father... I can't defeat the King of Souls..."

   "It is the kingdom's law to send the heir in a quest to defeat the kingdom's most feared villain. In our time, it is the Soulstealer." 

   The King of Souls' nickname didn't sound any less hostile. 

   "I know, but..."

   "As I did with your brothers, I am sending you away with a heavy heart, son. I will be praying for your safe return, along with your mother and your sisters." At those words, Edgar only swallowed and lowered his eyes. He knew he couldn't refuse the law. A law passed down for countless years, for centuries. He took in a deep breath.

   "Yes, Father." 

   "Good, good. Now, tomorrow is your fourteenth birthday. We'll hold a great banquet, and, the day after, you will set off." 

   "Yes, Father." With a heavy heart and a lot on his stomach, the blond boy turned to leave. He was stopped however, by his father's changed, gentle voice.

   "Edgar, please, forgive me for this. I can't do anything else. Please, please come back alive, son." He walked towards him, red cape fluttering with each step, his brown hair had began turning white in places, and as he stopped before his son, his forever unwavering expression broke, his lips trembled, his eyes shone with tears. "Edgar, I wont be able to stand losing you, too." 

   That scrawny, scarecrow of a boy, that good-for-nothing heir to the throne, had somehow won his father's love. The father that, for as long as Edgar could remember, was cold and distant towards each and every one of his children. The father which never showed any trace of emotions, apart from anger, displeasure and that forever-neutral expression. That man, that King, was now on the verge of tears, and for whom? His third son, the one who was called the shame of all the heirs, Edgar Ansley, the soon-to-be fourteen year old for which nobody but his mother and sisters cared about. 

   "Father, I am..."

   "Let's leave the formalities, Edgar."

   "Dad, I, I don't think I'll come back..." and then, before the silence could settle in, he looked up, into his father's blue eyes, and his voice broke. "I don't want to go..." 

   "Believe me, I wish, I wish I didn't have to sacrifice you too. When Jason never returned, I cried for two full days. When David never showed up, I did the same. I don't want to mourn any more sons. I don't want to lose you too. Not only me, but your mother won't be able to survive it either. You know how much she loves you." His strict father was now speaking softly, friendly. 

   He took Edgar into a warm embrace. The teen held his breath. It was the first time the king had done something like that, and the prince was left in awe. Surprised, hesitant, he wrapped his hands around his father. And, like a small child would do, he squeezed further into his father's arms, silently asking for a way out. 

   "I'm so, so sorry, Edgar." 

   *Then don't send me out, dad, please.* He wanted to say that, but he knew he couldn't.

    "It's gotten late, go rest. Tomorrow is a big day, son." At his words, Edgar only nodded.

   Before leaving the room, he whispered a choked "Thank you" to his father, who nodded in return. It was fine like that. At least now he knew his father loved him. 

   The dawn that rose brought his birthday along. It wasn't exactly a joyous occasion. All the presents he'd gotten would be useless after tonight. He'd be dead by the next week either way. His mother greeted him with a good-morning kiss on the cheek, as she always did, although that one lasted longer. His elder sister, July, gave him a warm embrace, a soft whisper of "congratulations" in his ear. And the smallest of all three, Anya, his younger sister who was only five years old, gave him a messy drawing of a few flowers, and a stick figure standing in the middle of them, wearing a crown. Edgar couldn't help but smile at it. He picked her up and spun her around, the little blonde girl laughed and yelled in excitement. Edgar came to a sudden stop as he put Anya down. He had to cherish these everyday moments now. He had to. For there would be no everyday for him after the next day. No sisters, no mother, no father. And then, it would be July's turn to sacrifice herself to the law. And Anya would be the only one alive, the last, precious heir. The law doesn't apply to the last heir. If the male heirs have been eliminated, it's the female's turn to retrieve the throne. But the last child, be it male or  female, is never sacrificed. They are safe from everything. Every inch of them, guarded. Unlike, of course, Edgar and his brothers and sister. They were replaceable by law, as it seemed. Edgar swallowed, threw the hateful thoughts out of his mind.

   He looked at his family instead. July was seventeen, if she'd been a boy, she'd probably have died three years ago. She was David's twin sister, and the one who grieved the most after his loss. Her brown, shiny hair was caught up in two long braids, and her bronze eyes were big, like almonds. Edgar really loved her, she'd been like a second mother to him, even though she wasn't that much older. He appreciated her. 

   "How are you today?" His mother asked, although quite hesitantly.

   "I'm alive," he scoffed "...for now at least." The queen wore a dark expression, as she pulled him back into her arms. 

   "I'm so sorry." 

   "Its not your fault, it's the law." He tried to keep his voice from breaking as he returned the hug. 

   "Screw the law." July gently ruffled Edgar's hair as she said that.

   "July, language." Their mother scolded, and the girl only sighed. 

   It was still early in the morning, but the preparations for the evening banquet had already started. The enormous dining room was now decorated with white ribbons and flowers. White symbolized growth and one's pure heart. Edgar wasn't sure he was worthy of it. And for that matter, he wasn't sure if either of his brothers was worthy of it. "Those who aren't brave enough to complete the challenge bestowed upon them from the king, aren't worthy to grow up." That mentality destroyed his brothers and would most likely destroy him too. It would probably destroy July, too. It would leave his parents grieving, it would leave Anya alone, burdening responsibilities and deaths. 

   He shook his head. There was hope. He could win against the King of Souls. He was decent at swordfighting and actually good self defence. Thinking of that, he almost burst out laughing. *There's no way Jason and David couldn't do it and I can.* 

   Being with his mother and sisters all morning, he felt rather lonely in the afternoon, when he had to speak to each and every one of those unlikable nobles. His father dragged him to meet each and every important noble in the Kingdom, and he couldn't have been more uncomfortable. He kept looking at the clock, wishing the time away.

   The celebration lasted until late in the afternoon, when all remaining guests were asked to leave. It was always like that. When eight in the afternoon had passed, the guests had to leave, so that the heir could prepare for the upcoming quest and receive the king's blessings.

   Edgar's stomach was heavy. Hell, his heart was heavy. His feet were unliftable, as he walked towards his father's -the king's- throne. 

   The king held his sceptre out as Edgar kneeled before him. The sceptre lightly touched the boy's right shoulder, before the cloaked man began speaking. 

   "I deem you worthy of your right to the throne. May your quest prove you worthy of being a ruler brave and fit for it, too." He lifted the sceptre from his right to his left shoulder and tapped it there twice. Edgar lowered his head even more.

   "I pray so too, father."

   The sun didn't rise with the new day. Or, well, it did but it wasn't visible, what with the heavy clouds and all. Edgar didn't take that as a good sign. The heir to the kingdom's throne got out of bed groggily, woken up by the hasty murmurs of the maids. 

   "Good morning." He said.

   "Good morning Young Heir." One of the maids, the blonde, Marina, smiled warmly at him as she answered. The other, Sarah, wore a bitter expression. She knew, the chances of seeing the boy again were low. Even so, a few moments later, she forced a smile and nodded at him. Sarah was the maid who'd helped the queen give birth to Edgar, she helped raise him. He was like a son to her. And Edgar too, confided in her as if she was family. He knew it was as hard for her as it was for him. 

   It was a heavy day despite the warm, sunny weather that had gotten rid of the black rainclouds in only a few hours. Nobody in the castle exchanged many words. Before being summoned by his father, Edgar had climbed on the castle's brick rooftop, looking at the view one last time before his journey. 

   The vast blue sky, the ever continuing ocean, meeting with the Maze Forests and the green that stretches from side to side, across his father's glorious kingdom. 

   Sitting there, Edgar was thinking about his bothers. He wondered if they felt like that too, before they left. He remembered seeing them brave, ready for everything back then. He remembered how he admired them, how he prayed for them, how he wailed and sobbed when their bodies were found and brought to the castle. But now, he wondered if they were just putting on a front. He wondered how they felt, snowing their efforts would go to waste. Edgar was weak, so he was prepared, but they were strong, so it must have been hard for them to accept fate. The boy was holding an apathetic stance for it all. He knew he'd let everyone down. Growing up, he was told he was the weakest of the male heirs, but he knew that himself. Fencing and fighting, hand to hand combat, every technique he'd tried, his brothers were better than him. He couldn't bring himself to think about harming someone back then. Not that it was any different now. Just, now it was necessary.

   The King of Souls. The name made chills run down people's backs just by itself. The man was said to have murdered villages and whole tribes, before settling in the Maze Forests, ten years ago. The King had sent him a treaty for peace more than once, letters that had returned to the castle along with a newly handless messenger. That man never held back. Why would he now? He wouldn't care for Edgar's age, he didn't for his brothers so why would he care for him? He wouldn't care he was still a child. He'd focus on the fact that he was a trespasser, on the fact that there was a stranger in his territory. A target, waiting to be eliminated. 

   At least, that was the image Edgar had in his head as he climbed down the stairs to the interior of the castle. He walked a few meters to the Throne Room, before stopping in front if its doors. The magnificent gates were drawn with detail, portraying heirlooms and heritages. They ended near the ceiling. They seemed huge and heavy now. He wondered how he'd push them open. His courage was gone. He knew he wanted to come back alive, but that wish was useless. Wishing about it wouldn't help him win. He knew. He was aware of that, when he pushed open the heavy doors, weighted down with responsibilities. 

   "My son, rightful heir to the throne..." sighed the king. 

   "Father, king of the Stemma kingdom." Edgar replied, with a somewhat shaky voice. His mother and sisters were standing on his father's left. On his right, stood the sceptre. It was always there though, as was his family. His stomach twisted into a knot, Edgar realized this was most likely the last time he was seeing that room. A sight escaped his lips and Edgar found himself staggering before taking the first step towards the throne. He swallowed his anxiety and moved forward. Just as he keeled down before his father, the gates opened and closed, revealing a tall, skinny silhouette, a man wearing an armor. A knight.

"I apologize for my tardiness, your highness." The manly voice wasn't deep, like his father's, and Edgar could recognize it. The face of the young man also rang a bell for him. The shiny black hair and the bright blue eyes, he was the second best guard of the Elites, losing only to the Commander, a thirty-five year old man, with unparalleled skills. Behind him, a girl, maybe Edgar's age, maybe younger, who seemed to think that she was hiding from them. Then, the young man's voice rang again.

"Maria, what do you think you're doing in here?" Upon looking at her, he then looked back at the king. "Excuse her, your highness."

The king smiled, "It's okay lad. Come forth, bring her along."

The knight kneeled, and so did the girl, same black hair, same blue eyes. Edgar stared at them for a few seconds, before he remembered. *Oh. Right, I forgot, I'll have to have some company.* his brothers had a guard appointed to them too, and frankly, her forgotten about that. Ugh, it was bad enough he was a terrible swordfighter, or fighter at all, but he'd probably have to take lessons from the second best now, huh? How would that help him? He'd still end up dead.

He didn't shake his head to shake the thoughts away, instead he raised his head to look at his father.

"You are hereby a man with a mission, my son. A sacred one. I pray for your journey to be sweet, and for the Maze Forest to be kind with you." After a deep breath, the king rose from his throne "I pray you return safely to us, both Knight and Heir, so that the curse of the King of Souls may come to an end."

Edgar lowered his eyes.

"Now, you can begin your journey. And if this is the last I hear of you, then so be it, it is all the will if the gods and our ancestors, the people of the ancient laws." His voice broke a little when he said that, and the queen's expression darkened.

"With your blessing, Father, I shall set upon this journey for freedom to my people, freedom from fear, for the murderer that is the King of Souls." Edgar didn't know where he found the courage to not only say those words, but shout them. He got up, his expression filled with pride and determination. After bowing to his family and whispering a soft "Goodbye.", Edgar walked out of the room.

The knight heard the softspoken word that had escaped the boy's mouth before he stormed off the room.

"With your blessing, Sire." Both he and the girl bowed to the royal family and before closing the gates behind him, the Knight swore to the king to do his best to bring his son back. To that, the older man only nodded, a shaking smile on his lips.

The gates finally closed.

[thxyx]

[thiya’s trash] 012; 2jaenetwork intro

This is late, isn’t it? Ah, I’m sorry, I just wanted to finish this fic.

Anyway, hi! My name is Thiya (you can also call me Thi) and I’m from India. I’m a huge 2jae enthusiast and I write a lot of fanfiction about them. I’m pretty shy and intimidated easily by people so if you’re up for talking do approach me because I will not no matter how badly I want to talk to you. I got into K-pop early 2016 and into GOT7 during December 2016. I was sold to 2jae that easily. I love them so much. I’m also not very good at talking about myself, can you tell? I’m going to quit the intro now - I think my writing says a lot more about me than anything else I can say.

Title: Symphony

Word Count: 4,598

Genre: Fluff, mostly. It’s very cliche stuff, jeez.

Other notes: I wanted to make it six posts but I don’t have that much patience. Also the parts are named after songs, but I accidentally referenced so many other songs and I was laughing about that. This hasn’t been proofread. Super cliche stuff.

1. Rewind

Sharing an apartment with someone who has a tendency of hopping onto your train of thought often means that that person will never leave your thoughts, and Choi Youngjae knows that better than anyone.

Work is his haven of solace, where he can focus on computing the numbers on his screen and his heart can keep itself together without melting into a gooey mess all over his rib cage. Back at his apartment, he has to face the sight of his housemate—a ridiculously beautiful sight, that much is true—, and he gladly would if it wasn't for the effect it had on his heart and his mind.

Im Jaebum is unfair to Youngjae, and he doesn't even have a clue that he is.

It's in his lazy gait, his relaxed exterior. It's in his smile that makes his eyes crinkle into crescents. It's in his bad jokes and blatancy. It's in his quiet caring manner that one can't detect very well under the tough appearance, with the ripped jeans and the multiple piercings. It's in the way that he can't pass a cat without petting it.

It's even in his faults, from his fiery temper to his firmness about right and wrong. It's in the way he's a stickler for respect. It's in the way he leaves his books all over the apartment and the sheepish way that he asks Youngjae if he's seen his fourth Harry Potter book.

It's in the small moments that they share, that they can't keep from sharing, since they're confined to the same small space for quite a significant portion of their time. The small moments that Youngjae's mind has the habit of replaying too many times over, just pulling it back and rewinding every time.

It's in the way he wakes Youngjae up, with shaking progressing from gentle to merciless, a small murmur of “Jae, wake up,” to “Choi, if you don't wake the fuck up right now, I'm eating your breakfast too.”

And this morning is no different.

“You know, I spend so much energy just waking you up every morning, it's surprising that I don't have a six pack yet,” sighs Jaebum with a shove to Youngjae's shoulder.

Youngjae, who's almost awake by now, tries to not think about that. He sleepily attempts to lash an arm out at Jaebum, but it comes off as more of a defeated flap.

“Okay, that's it, I'm done.” Youngjae doesn't realize fast enough when Jaebum slides his arms below Youngjae's knees and neck to pull him clean off the mattress.

With a yelp, Youngjae wraps his arms around Jaebum's neck, eyes snapping open at the shock of being separated from his mattress. Jaebum laughs, and Youngjae can feel the vibrations of his chest, which causes such a wave of emotions in him that he presses his face into the side of Jaebum's neck, only to take an almighty inhale of the scent of Jaebum's soap and realising that he just made his situation worse.

Jaebum's chuckling softly all the way until the living room, where he dumps Youngjae in a not-so-gentle manner on the couch, prompting an annoyed whine from the younger. “You're mean, Im Jaebum.”

Jaebum smirks, and Youngjae's heart combusts a bit inside his chest. “And you're cute, Choi Youngjae.”

Youngjae groans and covers his face with his hands, but his brain is at it again.

Pause. Rewind. Play.

2. A

As Jaebum catches Youngjae's eye for the seventh time in ten minutes, he wonders if the younger knows that he's being that obvious.

It's frankly quite amusing to Jaebum, who is—fortunately or unfortunately—highly observant, and has thereby picked up the indications that point to a very obvious conclusion: His housemate has fallen for him.

Does Jaebum have a problem with that? Absolutely not.

For one, he is the gayest gay to ever gay, so that part of the problem is non-existent. For two, Youngjae is probably his best option, on an absolute scale, not a relative one. Jaebum thinks that he could wait ages, but would still not come across someone as crazily sweet and adorable (the adjectives ought to be in italicized, bold, triple-underlined letters, because that's the amount of emphasis that Jaebum would like to place on that), or someone who was good at advice despite being younger, or someone who was just good company. Youngjae wasn't ideal—then again, no one was—, but his positives definitely outweighed his flaws.

So yeah, Jaebum definitely doesn't mind. In fact, he might just be falling himself, a progression that's causing him to do things that emotionally infuriate Youngjae, like being unnecessarily close or touchy. There are obvious ulterior motives here, because all that is what Jaebum wants too. He likes being close to Youngjae, falling asleep on Youngjae's shoulder when whatever they're watching gets too boring, catching Youngjae's gaze and receiving a guilty smile.

Jaebum would say something himself, but he wants to give Youngjae the moment, and that's annoying him as well, because Youngjae just won't take the prompt, no matter how obvious it is.

Which is ridiculous, because even without the words, Jaebum has figured it all out. When will Youngjae stop acting like this? Unbelievable.

They're up late on a Friday night, celebrating the end of another work week, and like usual, Jaebum falls asleep after the third episode of the TV show that they're making their way through, which currently is Riverdale.

When Jaebum blinks his eyes open, he suffers through the usual sleep-induced confusion stage, registering the identifying factors of his surroundings, like the fact that Youngjae is curled up and tucked into his side, and the fact that Jaebum fell asleep with his cheek resting on Youngjae's head. The laptop has been shut down and the only noises he's hearing are the tinny noises from the game that Youngjae's playing on his phone.

“Oh shit,” swears Jaebum in a mumble that makes it seem like his mouth has been stuffed with cotton. “I fell asleep again, didn't I?”

“Yup,” deadpans Youngjae, with an undertone that suggests that Jaebum might be more than a little stupid if he can't figure that out by himself. “You didn't even stay up long enough to find out who murdered Jason Blossom.”

“Fuck.” Jaebum rubs his eye with his fist and lets the world sink back into focus. “Don't tell me, then.”

“Mhmm,” hums Youngjae absently, focused on his game. “We can watch it over tomorrow afternoon, if you're not planning to fall asleep then.” Youngjae never minded watching something over as long as it was up to his standards, so Jaebum doesn't blink before agreeing.

“Now go sleep, idiot,” chides Youngjae, tearing his eyes away from his phone as the victorious game music plays. “You've barely slept the whole week, and you're causing me to worry.”

“Wouldn't want to do that,” smiles Jaebum playfully as his heart flutters in his chest like a restless bird in reaction to the concern shown. He leans over to press his lips to Youngjae's forehead. “G’night, Jae.”

There's a slight stutter to Youngjae's voice as he returns the words, which is the reason for Jaebum's self-satisfied smile that he wears as he walks to his room.

Now it's just a matter of time.

3. Confession Song

Trust me, Youngjae, Mark had said. It may seem cliché, but it will work, Youngjae, Mark had said. Easy for Mark to say. So easy. If Youngjae had been in the music industry instead of giving up that dream for him accounting degree, he would’ve had it as easy as Mark when the older had asked his fellow producer out (Jinyoung, Youngjae recalls the name to be).

Youngjae stares at the iPod in his hand, the name of the recording (which is 'Um, you should maybe listen to this’), and he wants to die. Did he just write a song to confess to Jaebum? Well, he didn't just do it. He stayed up for three whole nights to finish the whole thing, having to recall all the things he had to do to put together a song (the last time he'd done that was in high school), and recording over and over until his voice resembled ragged ribbons ruffled by the wind.

His hands shake as he places it on the kitchen counter with a pair of earphones. The iPod has been emptied of all tracks except this one, and Youngjae's heart is beating so loud that he can hear the drumming in his ears. He's two seconds away from shoving it into his pocket and disposing of it when he gets the chance, but no. He's put this off for too long.

He stares at the device again, then picks up his backpack and leaves. Jaebum's still in the shower, and Youngjae hadn't been lying completely when he had explained last night that he'd be leaving early for work this morning. He did have an early meeting—maybe not one that warranted leaving that early, but early regardless.

Youngjae spends the entire day feeling like he's walking on glass. He thanks every star of his that he forgot to take his phone with him this morning, because he'd run it down the previous night nervously playing games whenever he needed a break. Now he'd have to wait the whole day until he saw Jaebum and witnessed his reaction.

God, his neural endings feel like they’ve been set on fire, because every sound is making him jump. If Jaebum’s eventual reaction doesn’t kill him, the nerves just might.

=

Jaebum hums a small tune to himself as he takes the steps up to the apartment, a take-out bag hooked in his hand. He got to leave the office early enough today and decided to pick up dinner from Youngjae’s favorite restaurant on the way back, just because.

He’s just unlocked the door and placed the food on the dinner table when Youngjae walks in, tie hanging off his neck with the top button undone, his jet-black bangs a mess over his forehead. He looks like he’s been to hell and back. Jaebum wants to give him a huge hug and a couple forehead kisses and make him smile again.

And now Jaebum wants to punch himself in the face because when did he become so cheesy when it came to Youngjae? Jeez.

Youngjae gives him a odd look when he meets his eyes. It’s one that’s calculating, cautious. Jaebum doesn’t really understand it. “Hey, you,” he smiles. “I take it that work was as usual?”

“Mhmm, yeah,” answers Youngjae, his eyes narrowing by the tiniest fraction, as though trying to analyse Jaebum, pick some damning hint from his expression. Jaebum doesn’t get it. “Did you listen to…?”

A crease forms between Jaebum’s eyebrows. “Listen to what?” He’s confused now. What did he miss?

“I left, uh, you know what, never mind.” Youngjae pinches the bridge of his nose as though regretting all of his life decisions, and suddenly his phone starts ringing from the corner table where it's been connected to the charger.

Youngjae strides across the room to pick it up. “Hello?” Pause. “My folder? Yeah, I left it at work but I'll pick it up tomo—Oh, you have it?” Pause. “You're downstairs? You didn't have to do that!” Pause. “Okay, I'll be down in a minute.”

Jaebum raises his eyebrows, asking for a explanation as Youngjae puts his phone down. “Yugyeom has the files I left at work, and he's downstairs, so I’m going to pick them up.” Jaebum shrugs, and Youngjae walks out the door.

Jaebum wanders to the kitchen to fetch two sets of cutlery when he sees Youngjae's iPod sitting on the edge of the counter, tucked behind the sugar container and almost completely hidden from sight. Jaebum frowns. He's generally the one leaving stuff in all weird places.

He yanks the iPod out of its hiding place and a pair of earphones trails behind it. The screen lights up when Jaebum clicks the power button to see if the device is still functioning, displaying a rather oddly named song.

He stares at the screen for a couple seconds and then bursts out laughing. Youngjae did not. Youngjae did not. Jaebum can't believe him. This must've been what Youngjae had been referring to earlier.

That cheesy, cliché male. Jaebum’s smile turns a little softer as he puts the earphones in and clicks play. Youngjae's blissful singing voice filters through the earphones, and Jaebum can tell right off the bat that this is exactly what he expected. A soft, melodious backing track and lyrics that warmed him from head to toe pronounced in Youngjae's honest and emotional voice.

Jaebum buries his face in his hands because it has turned scarlet and is burning so much that he's pretty sure that he's radiating enough heat to raise the temperature of the entire apartment. The very thought of someone writing a song for him has been unfathomable his entire life and then this? God, Jaebum doesn't even have words to describe his feelings at the moment.

Once the song has ended, there's a pause, like a microphone is being adjusted, then a tentative voice speaks. “Uh, hyung? I'm pretty sure you understand the context of all of that. I am rather obvious, am I not?” A small guilty laugh, and Jaebum grins like an idiot. “But anyway, all of this is a hundred percent really, and I guess that scares me in a way.” A pause. “Maybe I shouldn't have said that. It's just—jeez, I like you so much, okay? I had to say it. If you don't feel the same way, just wrap the earphones around the iPod and leave it where you found it. I'll understand, and you can just forget about all of this. I don't think I'd be able to handle the conversation. Alright.” A beep, and the recording ends.

Jaebum places the iPod back on the counter, contemplating on what reaction to exhibit once Youngjae came back upstairs. Yugyeom tends to talk a lot, so Jaebum knows he still has a couple minutes. He picks up two sets of cutlery and sets them next to the containers of food, sifting through scenarios in his head.

The front door slams just as Jaebum has come up with an elaborate plan to feign ignorance at first, and then drop a reference a little later to fluster Youngjae and successfully let the cat out of the bag.

However, that plan goes to shit as soon as he meets Youngjae's eyes, and a smile ripples across his face—an unbridled force of nature, emotion-heavy and resistant to any attempt to suppress it.

Youngjae narrows his eyes. “What are you smiling for?”

Jaebum presses his lips together, wanting the huge bubble of feelings in his chest to stop trying to come up his throat. “Nothing,” he attempts to shrug nonchalantly.

“You're turning red,” points out Youngjae slowly. He digs his fingernails into his palm. “Are you sick? That's one of two explanations I can think of. Did you listen to—?”

“No,” lies Jaebum, before a waterfall of giggles begins spilling out of his mouth.

“You're a really bad liar,” comments Youngjae with an embarrassed laugh, as Jaebum walks over to him.

“I am, am I not?” grins Jaebum, stopping a couple inches in front of Youngjae.

“Totally,” says Youngjae, placing his hands on either side of Jaebum's smiling face. “Holy fuck, your entire face has gone crimson.” His hands slide down Jaebum's face and neck to finally rest on his chest, Youngjae staring at the fabric of the shirt instead of Jaebum's face.

“Your doing, I believe,” teases Jaebum, wrapping his arms around Youngjae's waist and pulling him closer. “That song was insane. In the best way. Didn't expect you to do that.”

A small embarrassed laugh escapes Youngjae's mouth. “Didn't expect myself to do that either.” His breath catches just the slightest, but then he lets out a relieved sigh, which Jaebum can feel because they are in proximity that close.

And Jaebum can't resist the urge to tease Youngjae a bit. “Honestly, I thought you'd never say anything. I was on the verge of giving up hope and confessing myself.”

“Shut up. I'm an obvious procrastinator, I know,” grumbles Youngjae, a small smile on his lips.

“Oh, you don't say. So obvious that—” Jaebum's words are cut off when Youngjae presses his lips to his in a sharp, sudden kiss, a short one that Jaebum doesn't even properly register until it's over.

“Kindly cease your harping on that,” grins Youngjae, evidently proud of himself.

“I thought I'd have to take first turn,” says Jaebum, looking a little shell-shocked, but very, very pleased.

“You can be the second. And third. And so on and so forth,” says Youngjae, a smidge of shyness creeping into his words.

Jaebum laughs and leans his forehead against Youngjae's. He doesn't say it, but he wants to be Youngjae's last.

4. It Hurts

Nothing is perfect. No task, no option, no situation, no relationship. There is a relative scale of imperfection, from a slight misalignment to survivable to seriously, we can't fix this. The ranking of anything on this scale depended on how the subjects concerned treated it. No more, no less.

Disagreements also have a scale. There's bickering. Then there's plain disagreeing. Then there's arguing. Then there's fighting. Then there are the full-blown fights that rattle the infrastructure of the very relationship, the fight version of an earthquake, negating the surity of the future of the relationship.

One progresses to the other, when neither party manages to call a ceasefire, or makes any attempt at all to stop the snowballing.

Jaebum is a stubborn person. Youngjae, not so much, but the characteristic is simply exhibited to a lesser degree in him, not really non-existent. Fights are inevitable—they always have been—and mostly they find their way around them. But there happens to be one sore topic that they simply cannot see eye to eye on, and that causes all their problems—the future.

Jaebum is always one to plan way ahead, jumping decades ahead to decide outcomes for then. Everything is a long term problem with him. That's just the way he is.

Youngjae, on the other hand, is not that kind of person. Living in the moment is more his thing. Simply living, making decisions in the moment, without worrying about the consequences.

Which is why Jaebum reacts that much when Youngjae can't give him a straight answer on how serious it is, what they have. Is Youngjae a part of his future plans? Because that's what Jaebum wants, though he won't say that out loud because he's not sure of what Youngjae thinks. Whenever he voices the question, Youngjae will tell him to stop overthinking, give him a soft kiss, and tell him to just enjoy what they have in this very moment.

But that's difficult, isn't it? Because what if Jaebum makes all his plans around this boy, only to figure out that what they had was nothing but a fling? Fleeting. Ephemeral. No forever. So he persists, calculating his timing and phrasing, but it all goes to shit every time.

It'll start off with a comment from Jaebum, accidental or otherwise. Youngjae will make his comeback, because when it comes to this he simply cannot resist. Thus begins the downward spiral into a fight, until one of them says that they're tired of it, and they simply stop talking about it, no attempt of resolution made.

Shoving a problem under the carpet is the worst possible way to handle it, so it's no surprise when one day the metaphorical carpet is ripped away and the problem makes its presence known in the ugliest of forms, resulting in one extremely large fight where every negative mental receipt kept comes up, when they stray so far that they forgot where they started.

Jaebum shuts himself in his room—the one he hasn't slept in for ages—and Youngjae goes to his, throwing a set of clothes into his backpack along with his laptop and files from his latest client, and texts Mark once he slams the apartment door behind him, informing the older that he's staying the night with him, because he really needs a break right now.

Then out of spite, with fury burning through his veins, he switches texts to send another few texts.

Jaebum <3

[ last seen one hour ago ]

you believe you asked for an answer<<

here it is<<

we're over<<

He stares at his screen for a few seconds more, until the words blur into ambiguity. He's about to put his phone back into his pocket when it buzzes once.

Jaebum <3

[ online ]

>>best news i've ever heard.

>>have a great life, youngjae.

Jaebum stares at his phone as the ticks next to his message change color to confirm that they have been read, tear after tear trailing down his cheeks.

He got his answer. Now he thinks he could've gone the rest of his life not knowing.

5. Sign

They say the words uttered in anger are the ones you most regret.

They're right, because if there's one thing that Youngjae has been feeling nonstop for the last one week, it's pure, unadulterated regret.

He's been staying with Mark since the fight, and Mark had been nothing but accomodating, and Youngjae tries to repay him the best he can. Mark's boyfriend is sweet as well, babying Youngjae by making him eat second helpings and making sure he doesn't stay up working too late and tire himself of—Youngjae feels like he's found a second mom in Jinyoung. The ache of familiarity that fills his chest when Mark looks at Jinyoung with absolute fondness makes Youngjae realize that it'll take him more than a while to get over Jaebum.

The night of the fight, Youngjae had sat up talking to Mark until three in the morning, verbally contemplating at length about how big a mistake he made and the fact that this is all his fault. Mark is one of the best listeners, and he doesn't have much advice to give, the only thing he had to say being “Well, it all comes down to what will make you happy. It's just that simple.”

What makes him happy? The answer is simple, and he can feel it in his bones, his nerves, his muscles,every time that he goes back to the apartment to fetch something or the other of his, when he knows Jaebum is at work. His subconscious murmurs that he keeps making excuses just to go back there, and he has nothing to say to contradict that.

He misses his home, with its walls painted in pastels, with its sense of disorderly order, like order was attempted to be maintained, emphasis on attempted. He misses his home with Jaebum in it. He misses Jaebum.

If home is where the heart is, then Jaebum is Youngjae's home. Youngjae already knows that he's not going to be moving on anytime soon, that the possibility of him doing that is next to zero, because he doesn't even want to do that. He wishes he could tell Jaebum that, ask for another chance, but he's afraid that Jaebum's pride will prevent him from taking Youngjae back.

Until ten days after the fight, when Youngjae goes back to get a USB drive of his, and he finds a piece of paper taped to his bedroom door.

Jae, I know you've been dropping by. When my books are suddenly straightened and my jacket is not draped over the couch, I know that's your doing. Either that or some other neat freak has been sneaking into my house and I need better security. I'm hoping it isn't the latter.

Anyway, we were stupid to fight, and I can't go on like this. I was so focused on the future to realize what I did have. I'm leaving work early today. Come back home in time for dinner, okay? I miss you.

Youngjae stares at the note and lets the words sink in, smiling as he reads them over a second time. That's all the cue he needs.

6. Never Ever

Youngjae swears at the traffic in front of him. Then he swears at the thought of his boss, who thought it was okay to keep Youngjae late on the one day that be wanted to get out early.

He pauses in front of the apartment door, key frozen next to the lock. He takes a second to smooth down his hair, knowing that he looks like a mess. He just wanted to get that fast enough, and the sensible side of him reminds him that Jaebum anyway does not care how he looks.

He inserts the key into the lock and twists, letting himself in. Jaebum, looking freshly showered in a large hoodie, is by the island countertop of the joint kitchen, emptying a bag of chips into a bowl, an act he pauses once he notices Youngjae.

The air between them hums with a nameless energy, neither good nor bad. It's laced with the slightest bit of acceptance, because they both figured they'd end up back here.

“So I know I fucked up,” starts Jaebum, words slow and disjoint. Huh, just like him to blame things on himself. “And we have issues to discuss.”

“But please, none of that now,” interrupts Youngjae with a soft sigh. Just seeing Jaebum again has triggered in him so many emotions that he can't even begin to separate and analyse each one. “I'm just so tired.”

Tired from working so many nights, just to prevent myself from thinking about you. Tired of running. Tired of being angry. Tired of being away from you.

Jaebum understands that, so he simply holds his arms open so that Youngjae can walk into them. Burying his head into the hollow of Jaebum's neck, Youngjae lets out a breath that he didn't even know he was holding. Jaebum smells like cherry soap and minty cologne. He smells familiar and welcoming.

A feeling of relief washes over Youngjae. It feels like he's come home.

“I missed you, Jae,” whispers Jaebum, leaving a kiss on Youngjae crown. “So much.”

“I love you,” blurts out Youngjae suddenly. It's a thought that he'd been meaning to mention for a while—ten days to be exact. Only living without Jaebum made him realize how much he actually cared for Jaebum.

A pause. “You mean that?” The words are laced with suppressed emotion, uncertainty, a plea, a hope.

“Of course I do,” smiles Youngjae, giving Jaebum a little squeeze for emphasis. “And I am going to love you the same in the future.”

“Oh.” Youngjae can hear the smile in Jaebum's voice, in that one syllable. And all their arguments, they’re all solved right there. It’s an admission of defeat, but not a sad one. One that feels more like a treaty, a peace offering. Something that makes both sides happy. “Okay then.”

“That's it?” asks Youngjae, feigning offence. “I tell you all that, and that's how you reply?!”

“A bit… overwhelmed,” admits Jaebum, a little relieved laugh escaping his lips. “But I’m glad I don’t have to let you go. Ever.”

“Never ever?” asks Youngjae.

“Never ever ever,” adds Jaebum, beginning to giggle. It’s contagious, so Youngjae also starts laughing.

“Never ever ever ever?” asks Youngjae between wheezy chuckles. God, he’s so drunk on the feeling of contentment. “This chain is never going to end, is it?”

“It doesn’t have to,” obliges Jaebum, ruffling Youngjae’s hair. “We’ve got all eternity.”

=

[blackandbluegrayson]

Number 41 for Dick and Damian please? ^-^

We need to talk.

(That one has taken me forever. Too many ideas I try to cramin one, I hope that make sense.)

“I already told Alfred earlier, I didn’t see or hear fromhim.” Dick says holding his cellphone between his ear and shoulder to unlockhis apartment door. Not easy taste with his duffle bag on the other shoulder “Ijust arrived home. I will check here and then head for Gotham.”

He listens a moment as he pushes open his door and put hissports bag on the ground. “Of course B, I will call if I find him.” He rollshis eyes so hard that he pretty sure Bruce hears it over the phone. He frownswhen he realizes that his security system is already turned off. “Look I gottago. Talk to you later.” He says quickly and hangs up.

He’s pretty sure who is already there but he didn’t take anychance. He closes the door slowly without a noise and reaches in his bag to getone of his escrima sticks. Quietly, he makes his way in the main room on hisguard. He frowns when he sees the living room empty and in the same state he hasleft it before going on the mission with the Titans.

“Your security is really lacking.”  The familiarity of the young voice is theonly thing that stops him from lashing out.

Dick turns his head toward the source of the sound. Damian issitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea in front of him. He lets out asigh and throws his escrima stick on the couch. “Damian. What are you doinghere.” “Your kitchen is least like a war zone than the living room.” He answers as hetakes a sip of his tea. Dick rubs his face. “Not what I mean. Look I’m always happy with you droppingby but normally you let me know beforehand.” He didn’t mention that theirfather is looking for him all over Gotham, he feels that talk about that wouldonly make Damian run again.

“We need to talk.” The teen says seriously.

Instinctively Dick flinches at those words. Damian issounding so much like Bruce for a second he feels like he is ten years oldagain. It’s not his fault when his brother manages to make any conversationsound like an urgent board meeting. He resizes himself and walks into thekitchen, takes his coat off and sits at the table with his little brother. “I’mlistening.”

The boy straight up in his chair and look at him in the eyes.“I want to discuss the feasibility of restarting our partnership.”

“You know we can worktogether anytime kiddo. You always welcome in Blüdhaven.” Dick says with agentle smile.“You don’t understand Grayson. I mean as a more permanent arrangement.” He repliesand lowers his eyes on the cup in his hand. “You are doing a more thansufficient work here in Blüdhaven but with some of Gotham criminal trying tohide here, you have a handful. Not mentioning you have to balance yourresponsibility between this town, Gotham and the Titans.”

The oldest watches him for a moment. It is clear that thereis more to this but he can’t be too blunt as his ask or Damian would closehimself off. “People might wonder why Robin is moving to Blüdhaven.”

“TT, events with their limited brainpower, I think that most criminals have realized we are members of what the mediacall the bat clan or Bat family.” He says with disdain on hisface before looking away again. “Anyway, I think it’s time for me to retire ofbeing Robin.” Damian’s voice lowers.To say that confession is throwing Dick out the loop is an understatement.“What?”

“Youshould not be surprised Grayson. All of you have outgrown that role at somepoint.” The boy says.Dick shakes his head. “Damian, you realize that none of us really retire frombeing Robin. Bruce fired me, Jason died and I took it away from Tim to make youmy Robin.”

“Eitherway, you have all found your own identity after that.” Damian finally looks backat his brother. “I would only befit for me to find mine. I can’t be Robinforever.”At this point beating around the bushes won’t give him an answer so the oldervigilant decide to be more direct. “Tell me, Damian, what truly brought thisup?”

Dickknows right away it wasn’t the thing to say when Damian’s face scrunches with anger.“You can simply tell me if you aren’t interested. I begin to recognize when Iam unwanted.” He rises from his chair ready to fleet, but the acrobat is fastenough to grab his wrist.

“Damianthis is not what I said. Don’t twist my word.” He says firmly.

Theyounger man glares at the hand on his arms and Dick knows that anyone else wouldhave been threatening to lose that hand. “Grayson.” He growls in a warning tone,but he could fool his brother. Dick could see the hurt and vulnerability in theyounger vigilant face.

Thatis the missing piece he needs to complete the complex puzzle that is DamianWayne’s emotions.Dick squeezes his wrist a little so the boy would look at him. Only when thosegreen eyes meet his that he continues. “Is this about Bruce and Selinaexpecting a child?” he asks softly.

Thatwas the new has fallen yesterday and that what has brought his younger brotherhere in the first place.

Thelook on Damian’s face is answers enough. Even if the younger man has seemed to accept Bruce and Selina’s wedding, Dickknows it has hurt him. No matter how old Damian would get, deep down he is stilla ten-year-old boy that want his parents to be together. He might have keptmost of his complain for himself for his father’s happiness’ sake, but the newsof a new sibling seems to have been too much.

Dicksighs and pulls his brother closer to him so he could wrap his arms him for ahug. The lack of fighting or complain and the fact that the younger boy lean inhis embrace worry him. This is affecting way more than he wants to admit. “Talkto me, little D.,” he mutters in a soft and patient tone.

Damianpresses his face more in his brother’s shoulder. “Father is getting the heir healways wanted… My chance of becoming Batman is becoming thinner.” He saysweakly. “. I was trained for this all my life and now my destiny is slippingthrough my finger. I….I don’t know what else I can be.”

The older vigilantes rub his back softly trying to reassure him. “Damian, youare a bright young man with all his life in front of him, you can be anythingyou want.”“Except Batman apparently.” The teen move back as much as he can with hisDick’s arms still around him. “Save me you’re pre-construct reassurance, Richard.I thought you have a higher opinion of me and my capacity to not treat me likea simple child.”

Dicksays. “It’s true … you don’t have to be what people want you to be, but becomewhat you want.”

“Iam supposed to be my father’s legacy … that what I wanted.” He lowers his eyesunable to face his brother. At this point it’s hard to know if Damian is tryingto prove a point or trying to convince himself.

Dickwatches him. He remembers how lost Damian has been when he have thought Dickand Shawn were having a baby, how he feels like he was being replaced. He canimagine this is so much worst for Damian at the moment. “You still are Bruce’slegacy. That new baby is not here to take your place.”Damian frowns a bit. “You don’t know that Grayson.”

Hesmiles softly. “I know so. You know why? Because I was here first. I have beenhere to witness every new kid been added to our family. Sure we have one of themost messes up families I know but we are always there for each other. Bruce isterrible at showing his emotions but he won’t stop loving you because of thatbaby.” He runs his finger in his brother’s hair. “You are his son and nothingwould ever change that.”

“But I am supposed to be his heir…” Damian begins clearly missing the point. Itnot the first time that Dick feel like going to Talia and Ra’s and give them apiece of his mind about how they have mess up a wonderful boy self-worth, andsadly he knows it not the last time he would feel like this.

Dick let out a sigh. “Maybe one day you would be Batman, maybe not. No one knowswhat the future is holding.” He reaches to cup his cheek so they would lockeyes. “But you already carry the torch of one legacy: mine.”

“Idon’t think I follow you.” Damian mutters weakly.

“Asmuch as never plan for this, Robin is my legacy.” He says and smiles sadly.“And I give it to you. I won’t force this on you if you really don’t want to beRobin anymore, but I can’t think of anyone better than you to watching Batman’sback.”The younger man blushes and lowers his head. “What if I really want to find myown hero persona?”

Dicksmile at him. “Telling B to suck it up and become your own man; that is part ofmy legacy too.” He laughs weakly and slowly letting go when he is sure he won’trun away. “You can’t escape it kiddo.”

Damianrolls his eyes and sits back down in the chair he was occupying earlier. “Youseem so eager for me to follow your legacy; maybe I should begin to look to bethe next Nightwing.” It was a weak attempt teasing but Dick would take this as asmall victory.“Sorry Damian but I’m not planning on retiring anytime soon.” Dick laughssoftly. “But you know Nightwing can always use a Flamebird at his side.”

Theteen raise an eyebrow. “Flamebird?”

“Wait,wait, wait. You are trying to tell me you are the one that have regular sleepover at the Kent and Clark never told you the legend about Nightwing andFlamebird?” Dick can’t hide his disbelieved.

“Thosearen’t sleeping over, they are tactical relocation.” Damian blushes and looksaway. “Not my fault that Kent refusing to understand I don’t need adultsupervision at all times.”

“Thatdoesn’t excuse that anyone have told you that story. It’s changed my life” Dickgets up. “Let me tell you about it during Dinner.” He grabs a bunch of pamphletsfrom the top of the fridge and drops it on the table. “I would even be a greatbrother and let you choose what we eat.” Damian looks at the paper and smiles weakly. “If I have to endure your storyyou have to let me patrol with you.” He says. Dick nods at him, “That for sure. Take time to choose I have a call to make.”

Damiangrabs one of the take-out pamphlets and opens it. “Richard, tell father Iapologize and … offer my congratulations to him and Kyle.” He says quietly. The older man smiles weakly, he knows he could not fool him. “Sure.” He ruffleshis hair softly before he moves into the living room. He wonders if other familieshave that kind of drama on daily basic as he watches his brother in the kitchenher realize he didn’t care. As much as he wants to keep Damian here with him he knows he needs to go backto Bruce and make peace with him. He knows Damian have all the qualities to becomea fierce Big Brother for the little bat that is coming in there life. Untilthen, he just glad Damian still found solace with him after all those years. “Weare truly the greatest.” He mutters as he calls Bruce.

[maybe-its-5sos]

Let her go (Damian Wayne imagine)

Requested: Yes Request: I was wondering if it would be possible if you could write a Damian Wayne imagine where he breaks up with his girlfriend (for superhero reasons) and then the bat-fam helps him win her back   Summary: Damian breaks up with you because he fears putting you in danger.  Word count: 1047 Warning(s): angsty, but like fluff as well Tag: @pinkwitch21 Note: I’m pretty sure I’ve done something similar before, so I’m sorry. Also, this is written to celebrate 3000 followers since Dami is the main boy I seem to write for, so I tried to make it a bit longer than usual :)

Never in his worst nightmares had he thought that it would come down to this, but what else was he supposed to do, let you suffer because of him? He just couldn’t do that to you.

He was afraid. Not at all because of himself, but because he couldn't get all the scenarios playing in his head to stop. Seeing what happened to him or Jason happening to you would kill him. His heart would break, he would no longer wish to exist, so as much as he loved you, he knew he had to let you go, for your own safety.

He was contemplating whether or not he should tell you the truth. You obviously already knew about his free time activities, which didn't just include walking Titus and brooding in the manor. But he knew that you would never in a million years accept the truth. You would cling on, refusing to leave. You would want to make it work.

"If you love her, let her go" He bitterly chuckled to himself, giving himself a once over in the mirror for the last time, trying to hide the sadness in his features. He was really doing this.

The words he spoke hurt more than anything in the physical world could. They were much harder to say when it came to it. He struggled to keep his composure. He wanted so desperately to hold you as tears slid down your gentle face, shivers racing through your gentle frame, sobs falling from your lips. It honestly hurt him more than words could express, more than anything he's ever felt before. He tried to soften the blow as much as he could but telling you that he never loved you would never be easy, lying hurt his pride, hurting you was breaking him apart. At the same time, your heart was aching, believing everything in this relationship was a lie, even though it was more than difficult to believe.

The look on your face when you finally turn away, your posture deflated and small, nothing like your usual confident and good posture and cheerful walk. His heart broke completely, tears tugging at the corners of his eyes.

He speed walked to his room, taking three steps at a time up the stairs, slamming his door and plopping face first into his bed, thinking of all the good times you two had. He had to hide the picture of you two on his bed side table in the drawer to minimize the pain in his heart and mind.

He was raised an assassin, he wasn't supposed to get emotional over things. He can kill without blinking an eye, but his heart was aching. Luckily, or so he thought, before he could drown in his self-pity, he was called to the cave, to get ready for patrol. He hoped that crime fighting would take his mind off of things. Today he was patrolling with Dick since Bruce was busy with work related issues.

It was peculiarly quiet during the patrol, not that there were no criminals and not that Damian usually talks much, but there's usually a snarky comment here and there, especially when Dick was around, but today, today there was nothing. In all honesty, it made the hairs on Dicks' neck stand up, feeling as if Damian was completely unpredictable. Damian couldn’t help but feel distracted, missing one too many punches, and getting hit one too many times.

Dick pulled him to the side after dealing with yet another criminal that night. “What’s up with you, I’ve never seen you fight this bad Lil D,” He asks the younger boy. “Nothing,” He mumbles, trying to walk away, but Dick quickly catches him by the shoulder. “That shit might work with Bruce, but It won’t work with me,” Dick says firmly. Damian was in no mood to fight back today, he had no fight left in himself, to be honest, he felt drained. “I broke up with y/n to keep her safe.”

Suddenly Dick had nothing to say, he was shocked, to say the least. You had kept Damian somewhat tamed, making him show his genuine self. For a while, Damian’s relationship with his family had started getting better, just because you had been there to mediate. This meant that things would Wwere possibly be getting worse than they had ever been before, and as much as no one in the family really got along with Dami, his happiness did matter to them more than he could have ever imagined.

Dick didn’t poke at it for the rest of the night, and they went back home early, Damian nearly running to his room, locking the door. He didn’t want to see anyone.

Dick obviously as a good older brother had to let the family know what’s up. When usually the brothers would have used this situation to their advantage, they knew it’s best not to poke the tiger with a stick, because the consequences were going to be dire.  

For a few days, Damian wouldn’t leave his room, unless he wanted to let out some steam by working out or for patrol. All his meals were delivered to his room by Alfred, who observed the absurd mess in his room, that would have normally never been there, and the extra holes in the walls.

Then he started coming to the family dinners once again. At first, everyone was quiet, no bickering, no pointed glances that were the norm in a Wayne manor dinner. The only looks shared were looks of concern for Damian and his well being. But at some point, it got too hard to not do anything. “You should get her back, Damian.” Jason says, an agreeing noise coming from everyone in the room, only silence meeting them. “Damian, she was the best thing that ever happened to you, and we all know it.” Jason pipes in, much less aggressively than he usually would.

“Yes she was, and her getting hurt, or much worse, dying, would be the worst thing that could ever happen to me.” He says, taking his plate to the sink, signaling that the conversation was over. Everyone knew then, that Damian intended on letting go, rather than putting you in any sort of danger.

Masterlist Ask

With love, -K

[unavenged-robin]

Badly injured Dick or nightwing with Jason getting all mushy snd emotional thinking Dick's actually dying this time (because fake deaths don't count in Jason's book). Pretty please if that's okay.

Sorry this took so long but I loved the prompt the minute I saw it! :)

Read on AO3

It’s almost morning when he walks into the cave expecting a good, big, fat fight. Screams and accusations thrown at him with deadly intentions, and then fists and kicks and bo staffs and daggers to finish the job. He’s ready to take it too, honestly. Well, not the daggers maybe. But insults and a couple of fists? Yeah, he’ll give the kids that. He knows he deserves it.

But the cave is quieter than ever, only a distant beeping of machines and the lazy flapping of wings from a couple of insomniac bats to fill the silence, and as Jason carefully ventures towards the med bay it becomes pretty evident that there are no little birds hidden in the shadows trying to kill him. How weird.

The only thing that hits him the moment he sets a foot in the infirmary, is the strong smell of blood. It’s not a strange occurrence, and it’s definitely not an unfamiliar one, but his stomach turns anyway.

He finds Dick exactly where he expected him to be, strapped to the gurney in the middle of the room, wrapped in bloodstained bandages quite literally from head to toes. Five bullets, Tim said. One grazed him just above the right ear, one in the shoulder, two - the worst ones - in his chest, and one in his left leg. A big, blue, Nightwing-shaped bull’s eye, that’s what his brother looks like. And it’s Jason fault.

“Hey”, a tired voice says, and Jason shifts his gaze to look at Tim, currently sitting crossed-legged on the floor of the room at the feet of Dick’s bed, hands tinkering with a device Jason doesn’t recognize. He takes in the dark circles under his eyes, the messy hair, the rigid posture, and his brain immediately conjures a red neon sign flashing the words not good into his mind.

“So?”, he asks anyway.

Tim bites his bottom lip and shrugs before he answers.

“We did all we could, we just have to wait for Leslie.”

His voice is flat and just above a whisper, no detectable emotion behind it. Jason knows better. He knows pain, and he knows worries, and he knows his family. But pain and worry are one thing, and anger and betrayal are another and those emotions they usually do not hide.

“Look, Tim…”, he starts, clearing his throat, but his brother immediately shushes him with one hand, gesturing towards the bed Dick’s resting in with the other.

Confused, Jason turns around, and that’s when he notices Damian curled up into the chair next to Dick’s gurney, Tim’s cape wrapped around him. Asleep.

Well, at least that explains the silence and the lack of violence, Jason reasons. Damian is in no better shape than Tim, looking tense and angry even in his sleep, and granted, being Damian, this could be just the normal way the kid naps, but Jason has his doubts about it.

As already stated, he knows his family, he knows which people are important to them. And Dick’s been at war with Bruce for the first place in every Robins’ heart for a long time now. Winning, for the most part.

He wants to say I know it’s my fault your brother’s dying, and I’m sorry, and so much more. Instead he keeps his eyes on the sleeping boy and softly asks: “Shouldn’t he be in bed? I don’t remember that chair being particularly comfortable.”

Tim raises an eyebrow at him but has the good grace not to call him on his bullshit. He’s a good person like that.

“I need to be at WE in a couple of hours”, he explains in the same low voice. “And we don’t know when Bruce and Alfred are going to be back.”

And, of course, neither of them want to leave Dick alone. Jason sighs.

“I’ll stay.”

Tim tilts his head and looks at him.

“Really?”

“Yeah. You two catch a couple of hour of sleep.”

Tim wants to say something. Jason can see it in the way he bites the inside of his mouth, can feel him considering the pro and the con of the argument that will positively arise if he decides to make a comment on it.

“Just make Dick proud and get the kid to bed, Red”, Jason says, offering an easy way out for both of them.

“I can stay with you”, Tim offers back. “I don’t think I’ll sleep anyway.”

He could stay and they could talk and Tim could prove to Jason that he’s not angry, that he doesn’t blame him, that he’s welcomed and wanted and unblamed, and Jason really, really doesn’t want to hear any of that right now.

“Then just lay down on your bed and pretend to be dead. It’s a good exercise”, he snaps.

Tim considers him carefully, furrowed brow and attentive eyes. He’s weighing his options again, trying to decide whether it is worth to push or if it’s best to leave it alone. Sometimes he’s so similar to Bruce it irks Jason for no other good reason.

But unlike Bruce, Tim usually makes the good call in this kind of situations, and this time is no exception. So Jason watches him standing up with a sigh and approach the sleeping Robin, and finds himself not really that surprised to see him gently brush the kid’s hair from his forehead before settling his hand on the little shoulder to shake him.

“Damian? C’mon brat, let’s go to bed.”

Damian moans - a very childish, very sleepy and very cute moan - but gives no other indication that he’s awake or that he plans to wake up in the nearest future. Tim sighs and decides to play dirty.

“Damian? If you don’t get up I’ll carry you.”

That does the trick.

In a fast sequence the kid opens his eyes, yawns, stirs and hops off the chair while grumbling all the time. Jason waits for Damian to see him, bracing himself for the kid’s reaction - the first proper reaction of the night, he thinks, because when it comes down to fighting, Damian never disappoints.

But be it the drowsiness from the interrupted sleep, the fatigue of the long night, or the vivid concern for his favorite person’s well-being, the kid barely spares him a glance before focusing his entire attention back to Dick.

Damian moves closer to the edge of the bed, fingers outstretched towards but not quite touching his older brother’s hand, a silent confusion on whether he’s allowed or not to claim it for himself.

And yet, a hand for a hand they say, and Tim’s one is quick to find again its place on Damian’s shoulder. It lingers there for a moment, then moves to the back of the child’s head, rubbing softly the nape of his neck, and the gentleness of the gesture followed by the resounding lack of violent reactions feels like a punch right into Jason’s throat.

Tim says something, Damian answers, Jason puts his hands in the pockets of his jacket and doesn’t listen to it. He knows what it’s about, and he leaves it to Tim to convince the kid to do the smart thing. He’s ready to undergo a fight but he’s not going to provoke one. Not tonight. The voices start soft, then grow in harshness but not in volume. An entire fight made out of whispers, surely a novelty for both his younger brothers. But Tim never withdraws his hand, and Damian never steps away from the comfort it offers, so - again - Jason really knows better.

When they leave, walking side by side, Tim’s hand is back on Damian’s shoulder, and the kid is rubbing his eyes with his own.

Jason’s not used to associate his family with tenderness - or with anything that is not blood and sacrifice and a bittersweet homesickness, to be honest - but he knows he’s at fault there. There are good memories somewhere in his past, warm nights and simpler days. Years worth of brotherly resentment put aside the moment a soft touch was required, a hand always offered easily and unconditionally, no matter the past.

He takes the chair Damian’s just left and forces himself to look at Dick again. After that first and only glance at him, his eyes have been wandering on everyone and everywhere else, grateful to the distraction Tim and Damian provided. Now he has no more excuses.

Dick’s profile in the dim lights comes out more authoritative than Jason would’ve ever thought. All sharp angles and straight lines, no smile and no baby blue eyes to soften his brother’s features.

Not good, yeah. Bad. Bad enough for Bruce and Alfred to leave everything else and go fetch Leslie from the other side of the world. Bad, but hopefully just not the worst kind of bad, although it’s hard not to be fatalists when you start the day knowing that every night can be the last night. When there’ve been so many last nights already.

“I think I broke the kids, Dick”, Jason starts, leaning forward as if he were whispering a secret. “I mean, you broke the kids - or at least you being like this did - but since you are my fault I guess that for the associative property of guilt multiplication they’re my fault too. Three siblings out of four in one night must be some kind of record, don’t you think?”

Dick keeps what he thinks to himself, and Jason sinks back into his chair, nervous fingers tapping against his knees. He is suddenly very self-aware of having hands and not an idea on what to do with them.

“Look, I don’t want to be the moron who gets all monologue-y in front of a hospital bed - this is not even a hospital bed, by the way - but I…”, already am, his mind supplies. Jason shakes his head, looks up at the ceiling, rubbing his face with one hand. He feels stubbles under his fingertips and tries to remember when was the last time he took a shower. He lets his thoughts wander far away from the room for a moment or two, lulled by the soft beep of the machinery around Dick’s bed.

“It was my case”, he finally says, closing his eyes because for some reasons there are words that need to be spoken in darkness. “And I know I asked you to take a look between one thing and another, but for fuck’s sake, when did “take a look” become “get yourself trapped with a bunch of bad guys when you’re not in your costume” in your head? I mean, what the fuck Dick, you were- are supposed to be smart. You were the goddamn Batman.”

Silent consent from Dick. Maybe dismayed ascertainment that life is bullshit sometimes.

“If you die”, Jason whispers, eyes still closed. “It’s going to be my fault. They’re gonna say it isn’t, but we know better, don’t we?”, so you’re not gonna die, are you?, but that he doesn’t ask.

There’s the soft sound of a dipping mattress, and Jason freezes because he knows Dick’s not the source of it. Knows that if he opens his eyes there’s going to be a Robin sitting at the foot of the bed, and is not going to be Damian.

Bullshit. So much bullshit in his life.

“He’s not going to die”, he says, louder this time, and his voice fills the room with anger and fear. “He’s not going to die, so back the fuck off, kid.”

Just like Dick, Robin keeps his opinions on the matter to himself.

Blindly, almost unconsciously, Jason reaches out for Dick’s hand, the one Damian was too scared to take before. He holds it fiercely in his own, and the warmth reassures him more than a thousand words could have, but not as much as the eight that follow his outburst.

“Jay?”, Dick asks groggily, sounding like he’s not sure about what direction the real world is. “Who the hell are you talking with?”