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ebonyheartnet · 2 years ago

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Jazz looked at her little brother, looked at his coworkers, then bust out laughing.

“I’m gonna tell them,” she managed to gasp.

“Don’t you dare ruin this for me!” Danny yelled. “It’s been three months of bullshit; I deserve to emotionally wax this asshole’s back on my own!”

Jazz fell to her knees laughing and managed to smudge the summoning circle underneath. With a final wheeze, she disappeared back into the green rift that spat her out.

“Explain,” said (the actual) Batman.

“Ask Constantine,” Danny said casually, looking at his gloves like he was inspecting his nails. “It’s his summoning, and he’s already proven that he’s a better source on my people than, ya know, me.”

Superman sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose while J’onn just smiled.

“Would the saying, “you made your bed, now sleep in it,” apply here, Phantom?” The Martian asked.

“Nice one, though I’m gonna go with, “You kept digging up graves, so the bodies shouldn’t be surprising.”” Phantom kicked back midair and smiled at the fuming Brit.

“Kid, literally any other time I would pay you to knock him down a peg, but Raven is barely holding back Trigon,” John Stewart reminded him. “We need backup now, so we need to know what’s going on.”

Danny pouted, sighed, then stood up.

“Nightwing, do you have that ghost proof camera I gave you?” Danny pointed at Constantine. “I need my payback on film.”

“Ready to record,” Dick promised.

“So thanks to my job, I was able to get my GED and apply for online classes in a few weeks,” Danny said casually. “My sister helped with that, getting me emancipated, and all of the other fun things that have to happen when you have a shitty home life. Since she’s always been taking care of me, and I’m technically still a kid by human standards, she has to sign my summoning permission slips.”

“You have an Amazon for a sister?“ Redhood blurted out, eyes still fixed on the summoning circle.

“What? No, she’s—“ Danny squinted, “Actually, I know where you live, so remind me to give you her number.”

“Focus,” snapped Bruce.

“Ancients, fine!” Danny said as he threw his hands up.

Icy gauntlets and pauldrons took shape as an aurora formed over Danny’s head. Mist trailed down his back in a cape, and he made sure to flip off Constantine as a white lantern ring took its place on his left middle finger.

“First off, don’t mansplain just because you’re bitter, and secondly, don’t piss off the person who owns 80% of your soul,” Danny said smugly. “Don’t get pissy about it, I’m giving it back once I get the rest and draw up a contract stating you can’t just sell it again five minutes later.”

“So you’re the ghost king. Can you help Raven contain Trigon?” Batman asked, not even acknowledging Constantine having an existential crisis.

“Ghost King, not-so-Ancient of space, hell’s pest control service, and undead IRS at your service,” Danny said with a grin. “If someone actually tells me where Raven is, I’ll probably have this wrapped up in under an hour.”

“Oh man, let me show you Titan’s tower,” said Dick. “If you want, you could even stay there while you’re in school.”

“I have to babysit the dimensional rift my parents made between both my worlds, but I’ll definitely visit,” Danny promised as the two ran off, Redhood close behind.

Mansplain Yourself (DC x DP)

Danny decides that attending college and defending the entirety of Earth from ghosts is too hard to maintain alongside a job. He should just get paid to do his hero work!

He shows up on the watchtower with a PowerPoint and printed portfolio proving he's been doing hero work for years. He fought a king from another dimension. He wants some of their money.

"We don't really have a budget? We can't really pay you." Says Superman.

"I am standing in space right now. That guy has a bat-themed submarine, private jet and fleet of automobiles. If you guys aren't rolling in that sweet, sweet USA defence budget cash, how are you affording all of this?"

"Uh, okay, we'll pay you." Says Batman (It's Nightwing subbing in for Bruce tonight and he panics!)

Constantine is cranky. This is a ghost. Ghosts are dead. Why the fuck would he need human money?

Danny's first paycheck clears. He moves out of his parents house and it's all good!

And this is when the trouble begins. Real Batman has noticed the money moving, and questions about the paperwork for the Justice League's 'new employee'.

Constantine is still crank though, and when Danny comes in for a skills assessment he steamrolls the poor guy. Talking over him, correcting him etc.

Danny is tired, he has a paper due before midnight and he doesn't even know what this guy's problem is. So, Danny lets him mansplain his own powers to the Justice League.

The Justice League paperwork for Phantom the Infinite Realms Ghost reads like this:

Senses others of his kind (see appendix 5a)

Intangibility

Self-sustained flight

Knowledge about Infinite Realms (see general database - dimensions, subsection 52), and it's inhabitants.

Danny figures he'll get payback for all his colleges listening to this cigarette-smoking hack over him the first time any of them see him actually fight. But the first fight he's in with them is an easy one, he only really needs to fly and lift some heavy-ish stuff. Then the next one is a false alarm. Then they keep giving the hard jobs to Superman.

Then, about 6 months in - Danny's file now has Super Strength (see appendix 12f) - added. Kal-el goes down. Hard. A single, brutal hit.

…And Wonder Woman takes his place in the plan with ease.

How long is it going to take before Danny gets to (legitimately) show off for once?! He can't wait.

#dp x dc #ebony writes the thing

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thelittleredheadedmusician · 4 years ago

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Negative Effects of Habits

PG 2,921 words Gen AO3

There were weirder places to wake up than Gotham City – believe it or not – though that really only applies if you also fell asleep in Gotham City. Which Mia had not.

This wasn’t the safehouse that Ollie kept. Or the one Roy kept. Or Dinah’s apartment. Or even the fancy loft the Queens publicly owned. Mia was fairly sure this was a warehouse. An abandoned one by the dust that tickled her nose.

She pushed herself up from the wooden pallet she was laying on, thankfully it seemed that her pajamas had made the trip with her. Mia might have to start sleeping with her boots on after this because she wasn’t eager to introduce the bottom of her feet to the broken glass and rusty nails that were bound to litter the dim space. At least she had her tetanus shot up to date. Though she was a little annoyed Ollie’s paranoia was rubbing off on her.

And how did Mia know it was Gotham that she woke up in? Well the man’s voice that floated out of the darkness was cursing up a storm about the city. So, Mia had a pretty good guess that was where she was.

“Hello?” Mia called out cautiously. She curled her fingers into fists and shifted her weight the way Dinah and Ted had taught her. No bow didn’t mean she was helpless, Mia could pack a punch and she was proud of it.

The cursing quieted. “Someone there?” the voice called back, a low grumble with an accent. British, not anything crisp and high class but beyond that Mia couldn’t place it.

“Yeah! I’m here! Not that I actually know where here is.”

A chuckle sounded from the darkness. “Ok, love. Just hang on, I’m on my way. D’you think you could give us a shout? Lighter only does so much.”

“Normally when I wake up in places like this, I have a flashlight or a flare or at the very least my phone. I’m not really a fan of this gloom,” Mia offered.

A laugh came again, closer this time. “Don’t tell me, you’re a cape?”

Mia weighed her options, no harm telling him if she didn’t say which cape she wore. Right? Even though there was a touch of venom in the voice now. “Well right now I’m more of a plaid pajama than anything.”

“Clever,” he said, a light materializing and the man coming with it. He looked vaguely familiar, a glint of blonde hair, loose tie, and sweeping trench coat revealing itself in the flame. His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of Mia with her flannel pants, oversized t-shirt, and bare feet standing on the wood. “You’re not the chipper Batgirl, are you?”

“Nope. Definitely not,” Mia tried to assure him.

“You sure?” An eyebrow lifted as his eyes narrowed.

Mia frowned. “I’m positive. I went to sleep in Star last night. Where I live.”

“It’s just the hair and the locale,” he waved his free hand vaguely.

“Maybe I’m Supergirl. Or Miss Martian,” Mia said defensively, “she shapeshifts. Stargirl’s another blonde. And how do you know Batgirl doesn’t wear a wig?”

He laughed and tried to wave her off, “Ok, ok, love. Point taken. So, who are you? If it’s not one of the above.”

It was Mia’s turn to level him with a skeptical look, she didn’t have the best record with keeping her secret identity in check but that didn’t mean she had to go blurting it out to strange men just because they had a light and she didn’t. “You first,” Mia countered quickly.

His lips twisted into a smirk. Nodding, he reached into his coat and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tugging one from the box with his mouth and lifting the lighter to it. Once the pack was put away and he’d pulled a long drag he smirked around it again. Taking the cigarette between two fingers he exhaled a stream of smoke and the words, “John Constantine, at your service.”

Mia pulled her own lip between her teeth; Ollie had warned her about this man. So had Dinah and Roy. He was a powerful magic user who only helped if it suited him. He saved the world because he was a current resident of it, no other reason. More importantly though, he left a well recorded trail of death and destruction in his wake. Granted, Mia had no idea how she got here, in her pjs no less, so maybe some magical assistance wouldn’t be so bad.

“Speedy. As in the kid with the bow, not a runner.”

John – Constantine? The first felt too casual, the latter too formal for someone who’d seen her in her bleach stained pajama top – chuckled at that again. “I met your mentor once,” he gestured with his cigarette, the smoke curling up into the rafters, “he’s a whole lot more tolerable than the rest of the super friends. So, we’re both in the same boat here?”

“What do you mean?” Mia rubbed at her bare arms; she was starting to get chilly standing here.

“Figure of speech, love,” he winked.

Mia rolled her eyes, “I know that. And you knew what I meant.”

He shrugged and kept smoking, making her wrinkle her nose at the smell. “Well, you said you woke up here, right? I didn’t get to Gotham the conventional way myself.”

“Great,” Mia sighed. “Magic.”

“Now that is the type of response I wish more people had.” John dropped the butt of his cigarette, grounding it out beneath his heel. “C’mere, I’ll give ya a lift.”

She raised an eyebrow as he held out his arms, flicking the lighter closed and plunging them into the half-light of morning that made its way through the grimy windows.

“I’ll carry you out so you don’t cut your feet,” he sighed. “Mage’s honor. I’ve never seen the point of scouts.” She could still see the slash of his smirk in the dark.

She hadn’t wanted to step off the pallet in the first place but Mia felt more than a little awkward just letting him carry her. “I’m heavier than I look,” she warned. And it was true, since moving in with Ollie she’d put on weight and more than that, muscle.

“I can handle it, love,” something about his smile changed, seemed kinder. Mia nodded and John stepped closer. She slung an arm around his shoulders and held on as he slipped his arms under her knees and around her back and lifted her up.

Mia was hit with the scent of stale smoke and sweat and a wave of memories of her old life. She stiffened involuntarily. Freezing at the images and sounds that flashed through her mind at the smell.

John must have noticed because he stopped walking. “You alright?” He sounded genuine in his concern; Mia knew what the opposite sounded like.

“Yeah, fine, thanks.” Mia didn’t believe herself and she knew that John certainly didn’t but he kept walking and didn’t bring it up.

There was a door, heavy metal with rust peeling the paint off in flakes. John spun slightly so he could kick at it before shouldering it open. Mia squinted at the sun managing to break through the clouds. The parking lot around the warehouse was cracked macadam but relatively clean of debris and gravel. John set her down on a patch and Mia muttered her thanks, shocked a bit by the cold ground against the bottom of her feet.

Rummaging in his coat, John pulled the lighter and cigarettes out again. He offered her the pack this time and Mia leveled a flat look. “You really think you ought to be giving cigarettes to teenagers?”

His smile flashed behind the cupped hands of his lighter. “Just trying to be polite. So, who did you piss off?”

“Recently?” Mia returned the smirk as she thought about patrol the past couple nights. “Some gang bangers, a couple jackass pimps, handful of corrupt cops, and some neo-nazis just for good measure. Though there was an overlap between them and the cops.”

John laughed, “A girl after me own heart.”

“Hmm, sorry I swore off older men. And smokers.”

He motioned at her with his cigarette, “Now if the Justice League talked like that I might be more inclined to help them.”

“You obviously don’t hang around with enough sidekicks,” Mia raised her brows. The sass might be a natural trait, but it was honed by a tried and true tradition that she upheld.

“Actively try to avoid it. Do my best work alone, ta.”

“That why we’re still standing around instead of figuring out how we got here in the first place?” Mia crossed her arms and tilted her head in the way that made even calm and collected Conner shoot her an exasperated look.

John’s smile just slipped a little and he shook his cigarette in her direction. He half grumbled before turning away and taking another drag. “Well, I have a running list of those out to get me and believe it or not neo-nazis are on it.”

Mia lifted a brow. She wasn’t exactly surprised but…

“I’ve been a part of the punk scene since before you were born, love. Skinheads were never welcome.”

She matched his smirk. “Point taken. So how do a bunch of alt-right assholes manage to get us to an abandoned warehouse in Gotham. Why? And how’d you know it was Gotham?”

“Places give off energies and if you know what to look for you can sense it,” John said around the end of his cigarette, lighting another off of it.

“Like, auras?” Mia paid attention to Conner’s hippie friends. Even if she thought their healing crystals were a load of bull.

“Like auras,” John agreed with a grin. “Gotham’s is very distinct and very overpowering. S’a bit like waking up with a hangover and a bloody skunk shoved under your nose.”

“Delightful,” Mia said dryly.

“Ennit? Why? They’re probably just pissed. Petty revenge from some arseholes who think a parlor trick makes them bloody Merlin. Fact we haven’t seen anyone says this was more to inconvenience us than anything, I’d say. The how…” John trailed off and flicked the butt of his second cigarette onto the ground. He mumbled what Mia could only categorize as hocus pocus as he did so, the smoke from the butt swirling up and taking shape between his hands. John grew silent as he studied the shapes. Mia waited for him to shed some more light on the situation, or maybe conjure her up some shoes and a sweatshirt.

Mia shivered as a breeze tickled over her arms and lifted the loose hairs framing her face. It dissipated the smoke John was looking at too. “So?” she prompted.

John blinked, like he was surprised to see her still standing there. He shrugged off the trench coat and passed it to her with a half-smile. Mia ignored the stale scent and slipped it on gratefully.

“Well, it’s a pretty rudimentary teleportation spell. Sympathetic magic, you take something of the person and say a few words then put it where you want them to end up. Say a few words again and do a ritual and there you have it. Those blokes get some of your hair when you fought them? Maybe even blood?”

Mia shook her head, making the messy bun on top wobble. “One of the first rules of archery, you don’t want anything getting caught on the string so I keep it tied back. And I’m a ranged fighter, I didn’t get close enough for them to land a hit.”

John hummed. “Me it’s easy, leave a bit of a trail,” he nodded to the cigarette butts on the ground, “bit of salvia’s all it takes.”

Thinking back to the other night, Mia tried to remember the exact details of the fight but she took them out from perched on a fire escape. They were trying to harass a group of kids coming out of one of the city’s gay bars and with a few shots her arrows had them pinned to the wall of the building. She’d left a note for the cops to find.

“Crap.” Mia pressed her palms into her eyes. “Bubblegum.”

“What’s that, love?”

“I might have a bubblegum habit, but at least I’ll only be getting a cavity and not cancer,” she added when John’s eyes lit up, “I may have used some to stick a note saying ‘Punch me! I’m a nazi!’ to the one guy’s forehead.”

That had John laughing again. “Well, points for style, love.”

“So what now?” Mia sighed.

John rolled his sleeves down, even laughing magicians weren’t immune to the cold it would seem. “Well, I happen to know where the Gotham door for the Oblivion Bar is located, that should get me back to London. You, on the other hand.”

“I can get to a couple different safe houses, but I need shoes.”

“Ah,” John’s smile stretched wide. “That I can help with. Can’t make something out of nothing, magic doesn’t actually work like that, but if you give me my coat, I should have the supplies to do a little teleportation spell of me own.”

Mia slipped it off again and handed the worn trench coat back to him, wrapping her arms around herself immediately missing the warmth. “You’re not going to just drop me in a safe house?”

“No,” John chuckled. “I can bring your costume to you though.”

She raised a skeptical brow as John pulled out some chalk and began drawing markings on the parking lot between them. Well, if it didn’t work than she’d just demand John give her a lift, she’d already stolen his wallet from the trench coat’s inside pocket.

“Alright then, love. Just picture your costume in its display case or wherever you keep it,” he instructed as he held his palms up over the markings.

“Try closet,” Mia muttered but closed her eyes and imagined her Speedy gear. The sturdy red pants and Under Armor like top. The red breastplate/vest with its yellow arrow and her yellow gloves and arm guard. The yellow shin guards and knee and elbow pads, utility belt and hood. Red mask and bow and fletchings on the arrows. Yellow quiver and sturdy yellow boots. Most importantly those sturdy yellow boots.

As Mia saw her uniform in her mind’s eye John began chanting. There was a sudden flare of heat and then an even colder wind whipping it away. She peeked an eye open. Sure enough, her costume sat neatly folded on the chalk markings. Bow and fully stocked quiver next to it. Most importantly, her boots on top.

She snatched for them and John shrugged his coat off again. “Here, love, should be able to use this to change.”

“Thanks,” Mia said, draping it over her shoulders. She shoved her feet in the boots without tying them, taking everything over to change against the warehouse wall. “Do you mind holding it up? No peeking.”

“No peeking,” John promised, lifting his coat from her shoulders and stretching it out before him. He even closed his eyes and turned his head away. Mia was impressed.

In no time she’d slipped out of her pajamas and into her Speedy costume. Most importantly she had her boots on and tied tight. “Ok,” Mia said to John as she shoved her pjs into her quiver. “Guess this is where we part. I can walk to a safehouse from here and call Black Canary, she’s got friends in Gotham who can help me out from there.”

John nodded, fixing the collar of his coat before slipping his hands in his pockets. “Well Speedy, I’d say it’s a pleasure but…”

Mia laughed. “Agreed. Let’s never meet like this again, though I appreciate all your help.”

“Anytime, love. Anytime.” He pulled his hand out of his pocket, holding out a slightly bent and discolored business card.

Mia accepted it and raised her eyebrow. “‘John Constantine: Exorcist, Demonologist, and Master of the Dark Arts.’ Really?”

He pulled a face and half snapped his fingers, “Been meaning to get those reprinted. Point is, you seem to piss off the right kind of people so if you run into something a little above your paygrade in the future feel free to give me a ring.”

She slipped it into a pocket on her belt. “You have a phone?”

“It’s a recent acquisition.”

“Right. Oh,” Mia remembered suddenly, digging in her quiver for his wallet and tossing it to him. “You might want that back. Uh, it was insurance in case you wanted to disappear on me. Your reputation proceeds you.”

John caught it and laughed, shaking the wallet at her with a smile before he slid it back into his coat. “You. I like you.”

Mia flashed him one last smirk as she headed towards the city, “Told you Constantine, sidekicks are where the fun’s at!”

Laughing, John lit yet another cigarette and raised it to her in salute. “Cheers, love. I’ll have to remember that.”

A sudden thought had Mia spinning around. “John,” she called but he was still walking the other direction. “Constantine!” she yelled again.

He turned and squinted towards her, “Yeah, love?”

“You wouldn’t happen to be interested in catching the guys who did this?”

John smiled, slow and wide. “Actually, I really would.”

Mia grinned back. “C’mon then, let's play karma. I'm feeling bitchy.”

#dc comics #mia dearden #speedy #john constantine #hellblazer #fanfiction #fanfic #my fic #writing #own writing #green arrow #the blonde brigade #i love john constantine the little shit

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oneunicornaway · 7 years ago

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Hey! I was supposed to do a thing but my class got cancelled and I still have to do the thing but my sense of responsibility is tied to facing people so instead I wrote another thing, as in... a Penumbra fanfic thing. It’s like, entirely self-indulgent so it’s not really well written but I decided to get over my hang-ups about posting things so here it is anyway.

(clem if you wanna read it its spoiler free, except for the presence of one character you havent been introduced to yet <3)

Please enjoy my Ben is alive AU born from procrastination:

Ben opens the door slowly, looking blearily at him.

“Juno? Are you okay?”

Warmth and guilt surge inside of Juno, battling for dominance. He feels bad for contributing to the dark circles developing under his brother’s eyes, but he can’t help but feel incredibly grateful for the way Ben steps aside, silently inviting him.

“What time is it?” Mumbles Ben, as he puts water to boil.

“’Round two I think.” Seeing Ben so tired reminds him of the hell of a day he just had, and suddenly, he feels like he might use some sleep; or a blackout, Juno Steel isn’t choosy.

“I didn’t know you were coming by.”

It’s not sarcastic or even accusatory, because Ben is too good at not pushing on his buttons, but Juno feels guilty anyway.

“You left me a message and then didn’t respond when I called you back… I was worried.” It’s a weak-ass excuse, especially for disturbing Ben’s well-deserved sleep, and Juno knows it.

His brother doesn’t comment on it though. Just places a mug full of fuming tea of front of Juno and sits across from him.

“Sorry about that. I probably didn’t hear the com’ ringing.”

It probably makes sense that Juno would be a fuck up, considering Benzaiten got all of the qualities to be a perfect human being. That’s why Juno doesn’t complain about the beverage not being coffee and sips at his scalding hot tea.

“Juno.” Says Ben suddenly “What are those?”

“What?” Juno follows his brother’s look and notices the blood smeared on his hand. “Oh that? It’s nothing.” He’s mumbling guiltily and that, Ben doesn’t let pass.

“Like hell it’s nothing.” Ben groans and gets up. “Come on. We’re bandaging it.”

“What? No it’s okay, really.”

“My house, my rules.”

Ben’s tone is unflinching, and Juno knows he won’t win this argument, so he follows him in the bathroom. The overhead light is violent for his dark-adjusted eyes.

“Did you get into a fight? Take your shirt off too.”

“Come on, Ben, I’m fine…”

“Take. That Damn. Shirt. Off.”

Juno sighs, but doesn’t protest further and unbutton his shirt while his brother roots around his expansive first aid kit.

“Who was this time, the Kanagawas?” Ben asks as he wipes Juno’s hand with sanitizer. It stings but Juno deserves it and besides, he’s used to it.

Juno makes a non-committal sound as he watches Ben work. When he’s finishes with cleaning the cut on his hand, he examines Juno’s torso and tuts disapprovingly when he sees the collection of bruises his brother is sporting. But there’s no cuts to clean so he comes back to Juno’s hand, beginning to bandage his knuckles.

Ben is pointedly looking at his work when he asks, in a small voice.

“It wasn’t anyone from the HCPD, was it?”

Juno grimaces and looks away, even though Ben isn’t currently looking at him.

“No, it wasn’t.”

“I’m serious Juno! If it was Diamond or some of their goons…”

“It was just some dudes, okay? They wanted to mug me or something I guess.”

Ben deflates at that but tightens the bandage around Juno’s hand more strongly than is strictly necessary.

Juno sighs.

“Don’t worry about me, okay?”

Ben looks back defiantly.

“Of course I worry! You…”

He’s interrupted by the bathroom door opening.

“Hey babe, everything okay?”

Mick looks even more sleepy than Ben does. His voice is quiet and rough with sleep, and looking at him makes Juno wants to find his own bed and never leave.

“Hey Jay.” Mick mumbles, while passing a tender hand through Ben’s hair. “Got into a fight again? You okay?”

“I’m fine.” He responds, looking pointedly at Ben, who makes a face at him but doesn’t protest.

“Cool. I’m gonna set up the couch.” He plants a kiss on top of Ben’s curls and disappear.

Ben’s gaze lingers fondly after him for an instant, and it takes a bit of effort for Juno not to feel left out.

It’s not that he’s jealous of Ben, exactly. Mick is a great friend, but he’s also kind of a dumbass, and to be completely honest, much too sweet for Juno’s taste. As experience has proven many times, he prefers people that are violent and bad for him. Besides, even if he was interested in Mick, the poor bastard doesn’t deserve to be saddled with Juno’s disastrous parody of a functional human being. So Juno isn’t jealous, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t sometimes envy the relation Mick and Ben had together. And sometimes, it feels as though the trust and love they manage to share is just another proof that Juno well never manage to be as good as his brother.

Ben hands him a tube of gel.

“And this time, use it.” He’s saying. “That way, when you get into another fight, those first bruises will have healed, got it?”

What Juno mumbles could probably be interpreted as an agreement, so Ben doesn’t push. When they come back to the living room, Mick has deployed the couch so it now looks like a queen sized bed. Juno knows from experience than protesting against his brother’s hospitality won’t get him anywhere so he doesn’t comment, and picks up his cup of tea. It’s still pleasantly hot, and Juno wouldn’t know how to tell those two how much he’s grateful to have them both in his life right now.

“I should get back to sleep.” Says Ben. “I’ve got miss Swampson’s case to work over tomorrow.”

The icy grip of guilt takes hold of Juno’s belly. He knows he shouldn’t have come. He always messes…

“Juno, don’t.” Ben interrupts his train of thought with a cutting tone and a glare. “By the way, tomorrow, if you’ve got the time, I’ll need your help to track down someone in old town. Would that be okay?”

“Oh. Uh. Sure.”

“Great.” He plants a quick kiss to Mick’s cheek. “You can beat him unconscious if he refuses to go to sleep.”

“Hey!” Juno protests but it’s half-hearted at best, and Mick chuckles as Ben disappears into their bedroom.

“So…How are things?” It’s nice, imprecise, perfect for Juno to shrug off or ignore. Sometimes he forgets just how nice Mick is.

“Not worse than usual.” He responds. It’s not even a lie, it’s just that Juno’s usual sucks. Mick seems to pick up on it, too, if the grimace he makes is anything to go by.

“Any reason you were out at two in the morning? That you want to talk about?”

Juno doesn’t. It’s mostly easier to talk to Mick about those things, because, contrary to Ben, they’re both fucks up who can’t hold onto a job, but easier never means easy.

Mick sighs, but doesn’t push, and takes a sip of his drink.

“I got hired to coach a hockey little league.”

Juno squints at him.

“How?”

Mick chuckles instead of taking offense.

“One of Ben’s client: he didn’t have anyone so when he heard I needed a job he couldn’t find anything too bad with me.”

Juno snorts at that.

“They win any game yet?”

“No. But we’re having a lot of fun! I think this one’s a winner!”

Juno smiles but doesn’t say anything. If it was anyone else, he would happily believe that his friend had secured a job for a while, but with Mick there’s no telling what might happen. Sometimes Juno can’t help but wonder how his best friend is still alive.

“That’s a good thing too, cause Ben’s job is kind of crazy these days.” Mick sighs.

Juno squints.

“Please don’t tell me he hasn’t taken any free case again.”

“He didn’t!” Mick protests. “Well, just the one, and okay it took him a while, but mostly I think he feels… I don’t know.”

Mick is a terrible liar, but Juno isn’t about to call him out on it. They both know Ben loved being a cop. Loved the idea of helping people and standing up for the poor and the helpless. But Juno had had to go and ruin it. Of course, he knows it’s not entirely his fault and that the HCPD isn’t blameless and well, helps the mafia as much as it does the needy, he’s had this conversation with Ben enough time to recognize it. But it doesn’t change the fact that Ben loved the job, and that because of Juno he is now stuck doing a job he feels wholly inadequate for.

“Juno… I think he wants to ask you to help him.”

Juno snorts.

“Of course he doesn’t, I’ll just manage to fuck it up for him.”

“That’s not true!” Mick protests, even though they both know it is. “I’m sure you can help him help other people: you’re good at investigating! And… and… you’re better at him in fight and stuff!”

“I’m also better at making enemies and fucking up things he loves by bringing him all of my troubles. How do you know that won’t happen again?”

Mick deflates a bit at that.

“Juno… you know it’s not your fault…”

“Let’s not talk about that.”

Juno’s tone is dry as the Martian desert, and Mick stops arguing. He just pouts and bring his cup of tea to his face.

They let a few minutes go by, sipping tea and listening to the distant noise of the city. Mick is the one to interrupt it.

“It’s just… I’m worried about him, ya know?”

He knows. He’s worried too. Always. And the fact that Ben seems to constantly manage better than him has never changed that. But it’s just that Juno has never known how to make thing better. Somehow, everything he touches seems to turn to vinegar, so he won’t blow another thing up for his brother.

“You should go to sleep, Mick.”

Mick looks at him and sighs.

“Right.” He gets up and collects both their empty mugs, putting them in the sink. As he passes Juno, he pats his hair gently. “You should too, or you know Ben will knock you out for real.”

Juno hums, and Mick doesn’t insist. In seconds, he’s out of the room.

If you want to comment stuff or point out mistakes or ask questions (maybe?), pls feel free to send me a message or stuff.

Also for some reason I know have a lot of ideas about this AU so uh... this might become a thing

#tpp #the penumbra podcast #my writing #benzaiten steel #juno steel #mick mercury #junoverse fanfic #i feel like there should be more tag but idk what #:x #ben is alive au

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quickeningheart · 5 years ago

Text

Fifteen

When Alley woke up, it felt like someone had run over her head. She lay there, eyes squinched tight, and waited until the ringing in her ears cleared enough to try and recall why she appeared to be suffering from a hangover. Her mouth felt and tasted like an old sock. And her face felt uncomfortably tight and sticky. She shifted, turned onto her side and …. oooohhh there was the nausea she'd been waiting for! She let her head dangle over the side of the bed, clenching her teeth against the urge to vomit, grimly determined not to up-heave all over her nice shag rug.

Which, for some reason, had moved itself to another part of the room, draped messily over her beanbag chair in the corner. She frowned, trying to remember how the hell it had gotten all the way over there.

The wave of nausea slowly faded and she cautiously sat up by degrees, desperate not to upset her stomach any more than it already was. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, sat a moment until the fresh bout of head-pounding dizziness passed. Even with the bedroom lights off, the sunlight streaming through her opened window was enough to send lances of pain through her overly-sensitive eyes. She slowly stood and made her way unsteadily to her dresser, searching for the sunglasses she'd tossed there.

There was a tumbler of something thick and brown sitting there, instead. She squinted at it, considering. She was pretty sure she hadn't left it there herself, which meant someone had left it for her. She just couldn't figure out why. Its contents looked … well, she didn't want to think about what it looked like. But it sure didn't resemble anything edible. She leaned over for a cautious sniff, finding there wasn't much of an odor, which was also odd. That's when she noticed the slip of paper tucked under the glass, pulled it free to read the short note scrawled messily on its surface.

Drink this. It'll cure what ails ya.

"Oh," she said softly, finally recalling the many events of the previous day, ending with her impromptu drinking binge on the roof, and Throttle's soothing company. She glanced at herself in the mirror, grimacing. Ugh. She looked like a raccoon. A raccoon that had gotten into a fistfight, and lost. And he had seen her looking like this? She chose not to ponder why the idea embarrassed her so much, instead picking up the tumbler and taking a careful gulp. She immediately choked; whatever it was, it had the consistency of watered-down applesauce and the bitterness of strong, black coffee. The taste she could handle, but the texture made her gag; she'd never been a big fan of applesauce.

Still, if Throttle had left it for her, there was a good reason. Some kind of medicine, if the note was to be believed. So she plugged her nose and drank the rest of the contents in three large swallows, gasping for air as soon as the last rank dollop slid down her throat. "This crap had better work some magic," she choked out, slamming the glass back onto the dresser and digging through her drawers for a change of clothes. She needed a shower, stat.

She had just left her room when the nausea abruptly returned full-force. And she knew there would be no holding it back this time. Eyes widening in panic, she slapped a hand to her mouth and made a mad scramble for the bathroom, slamming the door and diving for the toilet in the nick of time as she proceeded to empty her stomach into the porcelain bowl, heaving until there was nothing left, and even after that.

When she finally finished retching, she sat on the floor with her face pressed against her forearm for another five minutes, waiting for her head to stop spinning. Eventually, she forced herself to her feet and shakily peeled off her soiled clothes, kicking them into a corner. She rinsed her mouth in the sink, turned on the bathtub faucet and let the tub fill.

And just as she about to step into the steaming water, sudden, horrible cramps seized her stomach, making her bend nearly double and almost fall into the tub.

Her skin flushed hot as her entire body broke out into a cold sweat; she cursed fluently as she staggered back to the toilet, wondering if she should start calling for help. She'd been poisoned. She was sure of it! And if she lived through this, she was going to murder Throttle the next time she saw him!

And if she didn't live through it, she vowed, her vengeful spirit would haunt the golden mouse for the rest of his natural life. There would be no place in this universe or any other where he could escape her wrath!

She'd let the water run too long; when she finally managed to crawl into the old-fashioned, claw-foot tub, it sloshed over the sides and onto the floor. Charley was gonna kill her, but she felt too sick to care at the moment as she stretched out, keeping one arm draped over the side so she wouldn't accidentally drown herself if she blacked out. The water was no longer steaming by that point; it couldn't even be considered lukewarm anymore, but she was too exhausted to reach past her feet and turn on the tap again. So she just floated with her eyes closed, afraid to move, or breathe, or do anything that might cause the sickness and cramping to start all over again. Her tense muscles soon began to relax, and the pounding in her head eased as she rested, the dizzying pain fading by slow degrees.

After a while, when she was sure the sickness wasn't going to come back, she held her breath and slid further down into the tub, fully submerging. She stayed under as long as she could, scrubbing her face and running fingers through her hair to work out the tangles. The cooled water felt good against her tight, aching skin and helped clear the last of the fog from her mind.

When she finally surfaced, blinking and wiping water from her eyes, Stoker stood inside the bathroom with an armload of towels and a bemused expression.

She blinked at him in confusion for a few moments, trying to process what she was seeing. Were hallucinations the next step? Was this the part where the poison reached her brain? She was about to die now, wasn't she? She started to hyperventilate.

"Easy there, honey," Stoker said softly, frowning as he stepped closer to her. "Take deep breaths. That's it."

And that's when it hit her that, yes, there really was a Martian mouse standing in the bathroom and yes, she happened to be very naked at the moment. She allowed herself one, brief moment of relief that she wasn't dying (yet), before choking out a startled squawk; even more water sloshed onto the floor in her mad scramble to press her body against the side of the tub, trying uselessly to hide from his sight. "What're you doing? Get out of here!" she barked, voice hoarse.

"Relax, princess. I just came in to make sure you were okay." Stoker kept his voice low and soothing as he approached her. "Good thing you came up for air. I called and knocked. When you didn't answer I thought you'd passed out in the water. I was about to jump in there after you." He offered a quick smile, dropping half the towels onto the floor to sop up the mess. She dared to reach out and snatch another from his arms, pulling it into the tub with her.

He chuckled. "There's no need for that, is there? You don't have anything I haven't already seen a dozen times over." She glared and he relented, grinning as he sat back on his haunches. "So, is all this just from the hangover, or did you drink my medicine?"

She started. "You left that vile crap on my dresser? What the hell did I ever do to you to deserve being poisoned?"

"I didn't poison you, honey. You'll be just fine," he soothed. "It's an old Martian remedy. Throttle radioed me last night, asked if I happened to have any on hand. Seemed to think you'd be needing a dose."

"I'm gonna kill you both," she groaned, resting her forehead on her arm. "Remedy, my ass! You damn near turned me inside out!"

"Hmm. Then it did its job, at least." She jumped when his hand came to rest on her head, running gently over her wet hair. "I'm sorry, honey. It's a pretty strong concoction. I halved the usual dosage, but I guess it was still a bit too much for your little body. Think maybe I should've quartered it, instead. But I wanted to make sure it was effective. Never tried giving it to a human before."

She peeked at him over her arm. His expression was sincere, just a bit regretful. "What was it?" she asked grudgingly.

"In simplest terms, a detoxification drug," he explained. "There are a lot of natural gas pools on Mars, since the Plutarkians invaded and wiped the planet, disrupted the ecosystem. They form deep underground, building up until the pressure finally causes the ground to rupture, like a … a gas geyser. If still underground, that escaping gas gets trapped in caves and forms deadly pockets. Or, even worse, it can escape into channels and natural vents and leak into other passages, some of them in habitated areas well-used by the cave mice."

Alley nodded at him to continue.

"The gas is highly poisonous, full of fast-acting toxins that will spread through the entire body, shutting it down. A few breaths can kill a mouse in minutes. The detox drug is meant to do exactly what it did to you. Basically, eject and purge the toxins from a body by any means necessary. Vomiting, bowel expulsion, sweating … well, you know what it does." He grinned at her dark look. "It doesn't completely cure the damage, but it keeps you alive long enough to get rescue and proper medical attention." He flashed another grin and a saucy wink. "Turns out, it's also pretty good for curing hangovers in a jiff."

She glowered at him. "That's a little extreme, don't you think? Aspirin, a dark room, and lots of sleep would've done the same thing. Hell, I felt better before I stuffed that crap down my throat."

"I guess this is a case of the cure being worse than the disease," he teased. "But sleeping doesn't detoxify your blood stream. Trust me, your liver will thank me."

"My liver might, but I can't say the same for my stomach. Which I'm pretty sure is still in the toilet. Along with most of my intestines. Possibly a lung," she grumbled. "You couldn't have warned me about the affects or something?"

He laughed. "Would you have drank it if I did?"

"Hell no!"

"Well, then."

"You're the devil," she groused, dropping her head on her forearm again. "I'm being punished, aren't I?"

He ruffled her hair. "At the very least, you won't be tempted to finish off an entire jar of moonshine by yourself again, will you?"

"I didn't finish the entire jar. Hell, I think Throttle drank more of it than I did! Please tell me he got a dose of your crap remedy, too."

"Sorry, honey." He flashed a sheepish grin. "Don't think he'll be needing it. Mice have a much stronger constitution than humans. Our bodies can handle a lot more alcohol, filter out the bloodstream more easily. A little moonshine ain't gonna affect him overmuch. Now, Martian ale, on the other hand … a bottle o' that'll knock a mouse clean off his feet."

"Damn it. That's just not fair," she complained.

He laughed again, reached out to pull the drain, then turned the tap on to let fresh hot water pour into the tub. "When you're cleaned up, come out to the kitchen for some food."

"Never. Eating. Again. Stomach … toilet … remember?"

"You need to replenish all those nutrients you just lost. I'll whip up somethin' light and healthy for you."

"You can cook?" She regarded him doubtfully

"Course. I don't keep a maid, ya know. It's cook, or starve to death," he replied.

"Where's Charley?"

"Working. She got called out to fix a flat tire or something, and the boys are out patrolling. It's just you and me for now."

"Then who's running the garage?"

"I imagine it's shut at the moment."

Alley thumped her head against her arm in frustration. "How does she not tank her business?" she muttered to herself. But, whatever. Charley'd made it perfectly clear she wasn't interested in any help. Or in sound, logical advice, for that matter. "Not my concern … not my concern…"

Stoker chuckled. "It's sweet how you worry for your cousin. Useless, but sweet."

She pouted at him. "Feel free to leave the room any time now."

He winked. "Sure you don't want me to stay? I can help scrub those hard-to-reach places."

"Out!"

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