#is jason dead? was it a non lethal shot? we don’t know?

[superbat-lmao]

Several items were spread across the tray. It glared in the harsh lighting.

Knife, gun, shears, barbed wire, power drill. More out of sight.

Fingers dug the gag out of his mouth and held his face towards their captor.

The man picked up the knife.

“Choose.”

“What?”

Nightwing coughed harshly after the question. He couldn’t see his brothers in his periphery anymore from the grip the man had on his face.

“Which one gets the knife. Choose.”

“Me.”

“No. Choose.”

He fought against the restraints to no avail.

The man grinned.

“Red Hood.”

Red Hood grunted from behind the gag.

Fingers were on Nightwing’s face again and he clenched his teeth around the fabric. Then the hand was gone.

Next to him, the man grabbed at the gag in Hood’s mouth.

Jason spat at him and was backhanded.

The man picked up the barbed wire.

“Choose.”

“Me.”

The man tsk’d and struck him again.

“Choose.”

“Nightwing.”

Nightwing flinched and clenched his teeth.

Hood’s gag was replaced.

He couldn’t see Red Robin from his position in the line-up but he saw Hood stiffen.

The man held the drill.

“Choose.”

“Me.”

Red Robin was backhanded.

“Choose.”

Red Robin stayed silent. All Nightwing could hear was labored breathing.

“All then. I will start with the smallest.”

“No! I will choose!”

“Choose.”

Nightwing braced himself for pain.

“Red Hood.”

Nightwing could not describe the noise his brother made.

The man replaced the gag.

Nightwing couldn’t see Robin, but he heard his sharp inhale.

He was holding the gun.

“Choose.”

Nightwing was thrashing. Robin had to choose him. He was the oldest. Red Robin should have chosen him. He couldn’t stop fighting.

“I will start with the first.”

“No.”

“Choose.”

“Red Hood.”

There was blood everywhere that Nightwing was wrapped in the wire. He thrashed harder.

The gun went off.

Fingers were in his mouth again.

The man held shears.

“Choose.”

[ragingbookdragon]

I’m Only A Crack In This Castle Of Glass (Hardly Anything Else I Need To Be) PT. 7

Batfamily x Batsis Story

Word Count: 2.1K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst

Author’s Note: Anyone order a part seven? Cause I got a part seven for y'all. Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Ever since the meeting that night, she’d gotten more letters from her family than she’d ever received in twenty-one years. Not that she decided to read them. The first line from Dick’s letter was, ”I never wanted you to leave because of me. If only I’d known…”. She couldn’t keep reading, and she wasn’t sure if it were from guilt, sadness, or anger, but there was something there that she didn’t want to face.

It didn’t stop there though. They kept coming even if she tacked a return to sender on it and sent it back. She’d even labeled one and written, ”Stop writing me.” but that didn’t stop them. Wally texted her every other night on top of the letters and she wanted to strangle him through the phone.

She knew though, that if she could keep holding out for three more months, she’d be home free. Wherever home was at this point. Every city she kept thinking about had some type of vigilante and there was nothing that didn’t; eventually she decided on Coast City. Somewhere warm and sunny, and as far from Gotham and Central as possible.

Of course that little voice in the back of her head just kept telling her to talk to them, but she was going to be as stubborn against it as possible—but time was dwindling, and so was her resolve.

***

“Ophelia, have you seen the extra bag of espresso beans? I can’t remember where you put them the other week.” She waited for a response. “Ophelia?” she turned and frowned. “Why did I accept the manager’s position when I can’t even round up my workers?”

She walked out of the storage and wiped her hands on the rag at her waist. “Ophelia?” A giggle sounded at the counter and when she walked out, her eyes went wide at the sight.

Jason was leaning against the counter with that smile he used to use on the models at the galas. He smiled at Ophelia. “Tell me, what do you make better, the cappuccinos or lattes?”

“Well, I make a —”

“She makes a mean ‘get in the back and find my espresso beans’,” she grunted and both of them jumped.

“Melisandre!” Ophelia stuttered, pale cheeks flushing pink. “I thought you were in the back.”

“I was. Think you can go find the coffee beans you put away?” She shot Ophelia a stare that screamed ‘scram’ and the girl nodded, hurrying to the storage room.

“Aww, why’d you run the cutie off, Melisandre?” Jason queried. “I was going to ask her out on—”

“Can I talk to you?” she interrupted, voice barely containing her seething rage. “Outside.”

Jason shrugged and shoved his hands in his jean pockets. “Sure, but be careful, people might get suspicious.”

She grunted and walked outside, listening to him follow and when the door shut, she turned around and hissed, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just getting coffee.”

“Oh, don’t play dumb with me, Jason. We both know that’s a load of bullshit.”

His eyes narrowed and he noted, “You’ve really gotten comfortable using foul language. You know that, (Y/N)?”

She glared at him. “What. Do. You. Want.”

“You won’t answer our letters,” he shrugged. “Didn’t have a lot of options to talk.”

“And showing up at my job is the better option?” she griped.

“It was that or your house, (Y/N). Take your pick but you can’t have both.”

“Well, maybe my silence is supposed to be the answer to those letters. Did you think about that?”

“I did,” he nodded. “But after the third letter being rejected, I decided to go big or go home.”

(Y/N) growled. “Go home.”

Jason smirked. “No.”

“I’m not fucking joking here, Jason. I don’t want you coming here. Ever.”

“Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn,” he retorted then stepped forward and grabbed her wrist. “You don’t wanna talk willingly, fine. I’ll make you talk to me. And if I have to show up here every day, I will.”

“No, you won’t.”

Jason cocked a brow and tightened his grip. “You wanna bet? Because I’m not Dick and I’m sure as hell not Bruce. I don’t have a day job to get to.” He smirked. “I can do this all day.”

(Y/N) bit the inside of her cheek and thought for a moment then sighed and yanked her arm away. “Fine. Come to my apartment after five. We’ll talk there.”

“Thank—”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she interrupted coldly. “I’m agreeing for one meeting and then you fuck off back to Gotham City and leave me the hell alone for good.” She spun on her heel and started back for the door when his voice reached her, tired and pained.

“Do you really hate all of us? Do you really hate us like you make yourself think you do?”

(Y/N)’s feet felt like lead and she stopped, gazing at the glass door. “I don’t know, Jason.”

“Then let me help.”

“You can find the apartment on your own. I know you’re good at looking for homes.” She slipped in the café door, leaving him standing there shocked and hurt.

***

Sure enough, a minute after five o’clock, her doorbell rang and she called, “It’s open.” The door opened and shut, and she looked up from the little kitchenette, watching the way Jason walked into her apartment, gazing around the empty living room.

“Shit, do you live in a home or a prison cell?”

(Y/N) grunted. “Nice quip. Come up with that by yourself?”

He wandered into the kitchen, leaning back against the counter as she prepared dinner. “What’re you making?”

“Chicken marsala,” she replied. “You’re here to talk. Start talking.”

“Are you going to be a bitch like you were the other night or can I ask about life in Central the last three years?” she shot him a glare, warning him, but he paid it no mind. “You going to school?”

(Y/N) nodded. “I go to Central City Community College. Take classes all week at different times.”

“What are you studying?” he asked.

“For now, general studies, but I’m minoring in political science.”

“Planning on a four year after you graduate?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.” Her hands stalled for a moment. “I don’t have the money for a big school to get a bachelors.” Shaking her head, she chopped up the vegetables. “Figure if I can get a job in the area, I can scrounge up enough to start the process though.”

“Might take years,” Jason noted, and she nodded.

“Yeah, hard work usually does.” (Y/N) glanced at him. “What’s Cassandra like?”

He blinked, evidently not expecting that, though he recovered and smiled. “She’s great honestly. Kicks ass better than anyone I know.”

“Even Batman?”

Jason huffed a laugh. “I’m sure she could wipe the floor with each of us if she decided to not hold back. Her mom’s Lady Shiva and her dad’s David Cain.”

“I don’t know who they are but I’m assuming from the tone that they’re not exactly the best parents in the world.”

“No…they’re not.” He agreed. “David didn’t teach Cass how to speak so she’s been mute all her life.”

“I’ve heard the few interviews she’s given,” (Y/N) replied. “She’s very eloquent when she does.”

“Shakespeare’s influence. And probably Emily Dickinson.” He smiled. “I leave her a lot of books to read so I can be her favorite.”

She snorted. “Yeah, that sounds like you.” Sliding the cast iron skillet into the oven, she sat at the crappy metal dining table, Jason taking the seat on the other side. (Y/N) scratched at the table. “Does Bruce like her?” she questioned lowly, and he nodded.

“Loves her like she’s his own.” He her with cautious eyes. “Just like he loves you.” Jason watched the emotion flash across her face, quick as lighting, a deep sorrow, then she was humming.

“Well, that’s good then.” She cleared her throat and looked at the clock. “How’ve you been? I hear a lot about Outlaws.”

Jason chuckled. “Yeah, that’s my band of renegades. Me, Roy Harper, and Koriand’r.”

“Remind me, those were Speedy and Starfire, right?”

He snorted. “Arsenal and Starfire. But yeah, close enough.”

(Y/N) got up and pulled two glasses from the cabinet before going to the refrigerator and getting the lemonade. She poured them both glasses and sat back down. “How’d you manage to wrangle two of the Titans into your posse?”

“Kori willingly tagged along, and Roy won’t leave me alone,” he griped, sipping his lemonade.

“Mmm…and how does Dick feel about you stealing two of his exes?”

Jason choked on his drink, spilling it on the table and down his chin. “That’s not—” he coughed. “That’s not what that is.”

“Uh huh, sure it’s not.”

“It isn’t,” he glowered.

“Riiiiiiight,” she drawled out with a grin, then took a sip and set her glass back down. “Figured you’d get Cass along with you. she seems like she’d be fit for Outlaws.”

He shook his head. “Nah, she’d be better off with Tim and his Young Justice weirdos.”

“She non-lethal?”

“Mhm.”

They dwindled into silence until the timer went off on the oven and she pulled the skillet out and set two plates on the table. “You’re gonna feed me?” he asked as she handed him a fork.

(Y/N) scoffed. “Duh. I’m a bitch, but I’m a bitch with manners.” She smiled sweetly. “But you have to leave afterwards.”

“Mmm…can I crash on your couch?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

He shrugged. “Figured I’d try anyways.”

They ate in silence, occasionally speaking about their lives the last three years, and when the food was all gone and the lemonade drunk, he sighed and reclined in the chair.

“What?” (Y/N) questioned and he shrugged.

“Dunno…I’d like to do this again soon.” His teal eyes found hers. “It’s been too long since we were together.”

“Tread carefully,” she murmured, looking at the wall and he sighed.

“Sis, talk to me,” he begged. “Even if it’s just to tell me how much you hate me, just talk to me.” She didn’t respond and he sighed again, standing from the table. “Thanks for dinner.”

“…I hate that you all put Gotham and every civilian before our family.” Jason stopped dead in his tracks and turned, gazing at her, though she didn’t tear her eyes from the wall. “I hate that the only time I felt like anyone paid any attention to me was when we were at galas and even then, the attention was just for show. It didn’t matter because all anyone wanted to do was get the hell out of the manor and go on patrol. It didn’t matter because I wasn’t like any of you. I wasn’t a part of the real family.”

Tears gathered in her eyes. “I hate that I spent more nights sitting in a dark and silent manor than spending them with my family. I hate that I never had a normal family growing up where we’d go for ice-cream after school and attend school performances. I hate that I got stuck with a bunch of siblings hellbent on giving every piece of themselves to the world and they couldn’t take one night off to have a family night to save their lives. To at least pretend to be normal.”

(Y/N) finally took her eyes from the wall and he felt his heart tighten as the tears slipped down her cheeks and she breathed, “I hate that I was born Bruce Wayne’s biological daughter and I’d give anything and everything I have to be someone else’s daughter and sister.”

Jason’s mouth felt dry, and he didn’t have single thing to say to her and she whispered, “Is that what you wanted to hear, Jason?” she blinked. “Because that’s what I feel every morning I wake up.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, and she cleared her throat, wiping her cheeks.

“Yeah well, I’m three years passed sorry.” (Y/N) nodded to the front door. “You should leave now.”

Jason nodded but his feet didn’t move. For a moment, he couldn’t move them, then he sucked in a breath and started edging back to the door. When he neared the door, he pulled it open and paused, looking back at her. “(Y/N)?” she didn’t answer but he said it anyway. “I love you. More than you’ve ever known.” He sighed and stepped out, closing it behind him.

(Y/N) buried her face in her hands and sobbed alone at the dinner table.

********************************************************************************

Tags!: @itsnottilly @cloudyskylines @starflyer-104 @iwillstaywiththemforever @justine-en @weirdgirlfromtx @notsostraightweeb @candlestudy @willowoo @peterxwade24 @the-atlantic-french-fry @bad-bouquet-of-emotions @vvipgot7be @pure-princess-97 @atomicsoulhumanspy @foreverthefloor @natatawa-ako @impactshawol @bethabear12 @adazzlingsakura @kimhanbiin @thatanonymouschocolate @mischief-writter-24-7 @lostinwonderland314 @elz-zalarrr @lady-of-the-abyss @peqchynero @d3m0n8ch1ld @goldenguki @fallen-wolf22 @battlenix

[kindaangelic]

Flying The Nest - A Batfamily Story

Tim leapt across the rooftops of Gotham, a quiet flash of colour, so different from his time as Drake. Really, what has he been thinking, that uniform was awful, hopefully now that he was back in his Robin uniform, Tim could re-seduce Kon-

No, bad Timmy, focus.

Landing on the rooftop of Wayne Enterprises, Tim padded silently over to the tiny figure sitting cross-legged on the floor. He purposely scuffed his boots, alerting the figure to his presence. Hearing a grunt of acknowledgement, Tim plopped down beside the figure of his evil baby brother.

“Heyo,” Tim said, poking Damian in the ribs and eliciting an affronted squeak. Damian glared at him and they quickly fell into a non-lethal slap fight for a few minutes, which Tim won because he was not shy about clambering on top of Damian to sit on him and squish him into a pancake.

“What do you want, Drake,” Damian grumbled, his nose lodged somewhere near Tim's pancreas.

Tim beamed victoriously and scuttled off, allowing Damian to sit back up. “Came looking for you. Bruce is going mad at the thought of his prepubescent baby boy running off on his own.”

“Father knows that I quit being Robin,” Damian grumbled.

“Yeah, but you ran away from home,” Tim repeated, with emphasis. “Your living with us has absolutely zero connection with being Robin. Did you think of your pets?”

Damian looked guilty. “I was going to find a place to live and then collect them.”

“Because people will totally rent a place to a ten year old.”

“Thirteen!”

Another slap fight ensued, this time ending in Damian's victory. Despite this, the boy sighed heavily. “I... I couldn't do it, Drake. Not after Pennyworth. After Grayson. How could I justify letting the criminals walk free after what they did to him? To our family? He was the grandfather I never had.”

“What about R'as?”

Damian snorted. “You mean the man who wants to possess me and take you for a wife? I think not. You would be my wife and grandmother.”

They paused to cringe at the idea and shake off the heebie jeebies. Tim cleared his head and said, “Still. You don't need to run away from everyone. Dick had been losing his tiny mind at the thought of you being here alone.”

Damian frowned. “Grayson? But he is in Bludhaven, his memories of me are gone.”

Tim smiled. “He got his memory back. Jason yelled at him so loud that it unstuck something in his brain. He's been crying and crying about not finding you. They're out right now, looking for your stupid butt.”

In the distance, they heard a shriek. They looked around to see the unmistakable figures of Nightwing and the Red Hood, running across the rooftops towards them.

“Dami!” Dick was running towards them, his bosoms heaving, his cheeks clapping. Jason was running behind him, determinedly not looking at his dummy thicc brother clapping his way forward.

Damian shot to his feet as Dick landed on the rooftop. “Grayson!”

“Dami!”

“Fuck's sake,” Jason grumbled, landing beside Dick, as he and Damian embraced, falling to their knees together.

“Dami, I'm so sorry,” Dick wept.

“Don't cry, Grayson, please,” Damian mumbled into his shoulder, blinking tears back. “This isn't your fault.”

“It's not yours either,” Dick replied, pressing a flurry of kisses to Damian's hair. He pulled back and looked tearfully at his brother-son. “Please don't leave, Dami. We love you.”

Damian sniffed, looking over at Tim, who nodded. “E- even Todd?”

Dick looked over at Jason, who growled at him. “Your cow eyes have no power over me, Dickhead.”

The cow eyes intensified.

“Argh, yes fine,” Jason grumbled. “I love you,” he muttered quickly.

Dick smiled wetly and looked back at Damian, while Jason wiggled a finger in his ear. “The supersonic sound of Dick's ass clapping hurt my ear,” he bemoaned to Tim.

“What, you want me to kiss it better or something?” Tim snorted. “Keep dreaming, these lips will only touch those of my Kon.”

“Ew,” Jason whinged. “I'll tell Bruce that you were lusting again, and he'll ground you.”

“Can't snitch if you dead,” Tim snarled, and leapt onto Jason's back to subdue him, only to hang from his highly buff shoulders limply. “Moop.”

“Can we please go home,” Jason asked, “I skipped dinner for this.”

“But-” Damian stuttered. His eyes were wide, and he looked every bit the child that he was. “But father-”

“Bruce will understand,” Dick said. “He loves you, and he wants his family back together, more than anything.”

When Damian didn't speak, Tim said, “Worst comes to worst, you'll just have to live with Jason.”

“Dami will live with me, we have done before,” Dick said. He looked sweetly at his little mushroom nosed sibling. “Home now?”

Surrounded by his family, Damian dared to hope. “Home,” he agreed. “Let's go home.”

[listentothelittlebird]

This was a first draft to Protect Our Own, from my Code Bat series on Ao3! It’s a reimagining of Jason Todd breaking into Titans tower, in a world where Robin is a myth and Tim Drake goes by Alvin, unnamed vigilante, with the Titans. Enjoy!

Shit. Jason was screwed.

Even as he held the tablet in his hands, watching the very concerning stalker-level footage that the League had gathered, he knew. He knew without a doubt that he was watching the new Robin. The target chosen for him was, of all the options the world could give him, Robin.

“This boy is a member of a group of young superheroes known as Young Justice. They recently went under the mentorship of older superheroes, to become the newest team of Teen Titans,” Talia Al Ghul explained passively, and Jason did not like the gleam in her eyes as she watched the young boy fight, “Lady Shiva met the boy, once, and agreed to train him. Even she is unaware of who his previous mentors were.”

Thank goodness for small mercies.

Then Talia turned to Jason. “You have done an admirable job of controlling your Pit Madness,” she smiled sharply, and Jason was reminded of all the deaths he had caused, all the people who had taught him and were murdered by him, using their own tactics, “And you have learnt fast. As promised, you will complete one contracted kill, and you will be released to exact your own revenge.”

Jason gave himself a mental pat on the shoulder, because even in the early days of crazed anger, not once had he given proper clues towards the fact that his killer - the one he wanted to exact his revenge upon - was the Joker himself. “White-faced asshole” could just be a white man, and “fucking green-haired piece of shit” could still just apply to anyone with green hair.

The Robin secret was still safe, surprisingly. Code Bat was still safe.

The assassin base was in the middle of nowhere, but there was still a little town nearby, with enough reception to surf the internet on a phone he had nicked from a particularly rich-looking traveller. 

Talia did not control what he knew, the League did not control what he knew, so even while he learnt of the Joker still being alive, he also learnt about the helicopter crash, how Batman had purposefully fled empty-handed. Truthfully, he still wanted the Joker dead - but he recognised that there was a chance that no matter how many times they tried, the bastard would come back. He would rather not try than to get stuck in a never-ending loop, something that B- that Bruce must have realised.

There were other stories he found. Jason could not deny destroying several rooms in the base when he read the kid’s story. All the money in the world, and his very-much-alive parents could care less than Jason’s own barely-there mother had. 

He had not known if the boy had taken up the mantle after him, but he was unsurprised at the confirmation in front of him. Robin was as much a part of the Wayne family as champagne, fancy suits and camera smiles.

“The boy is young, and already he is excelling in combat, research, and investigation. In a few years, he will be a real threat to the League. This is your final assignment. Kill the boy, and we will let you go.”

Well, fuck. 

Jason carefully controlled his reaction, turning to meet Talia’s eye with his blue-green eyes. “You want me to kill a minor,” Jason spoke slowly, allowing his incredulity and a tinge of anger to slip into his voice.

“Either you take the job, or you will continue training, until another opportunity arises,” Talia replied evenly. Which meant anything from a week later to never. 

Jason gritted his teeth, sucked in a deep breath, and pushed it all out at once. “When are we leaving?” he questioned. Talia’s grin was sharp, like a predator before their strike.

-

Double shit. This just got way more complicated.

Jason had bargained with Talia for a week of preparation work - a week to scout out the Titans tower, as if he had not memorised the layout of the old one. As if they had not built the new tower in the exact way as the old one had been.

“We will have League members surrounding the building,” Talia announced, a day after they had landed in the city. Jason raised an eyebrow at her. 

“We are curious as to who has trained this boy,” Talia explained, “Subdue the boy’s teammates, and make him vulnerable. Don’t block radio transmissions. If the boy has maintained contact with his mentor, they would come running at their call.”

Jason cursed inwardly, keeping his face carefully blank as he nodded his assent.

He had to play this right. 

-

“I don’t trust this,” Bruce rumbled for the fourth time, in full Batman mode despite being in a casual sweater and sweatpants.

Dick hummed along, casting a concerned glance Tim’s way.

On the table was a note, delivered through an unassuming envelope. 

It stated a date and specific hour, and, Don’t call the Code. 

“The code,” Tim mumbled, “Like, Code Bat? There’s no way they’d know that, though, right?”

The note was written on red paper, flecked with green and yellow. Tim’s tone was wavering, lacking its usual confidence. He was always so sure when it came to cases, but this? 

“What’s happening at this time?” Dick wondered. Bruce pulled up his own schedule for the following week, and Tim mentally went through his own plans. Nothing of note, but-

“I’ll be in Titans tower,” Tim stated aloud, and there were gears turning in his brain. Wild gears that were nearly off their hinges, but they were the same gears that had made the Batman-is-Bruce-Wayne connection, and he had learnt to trust them.

“Is someone trying to warn us?” Tim voiced, “I get a lot of speculation from the public, about what my official superhero name is, but also where I came from, who I trained with. What if it’s not just the internet wondering?”

Bruce pursed his lips in thought. He turned to Tim, his eyes hard and determined in that certain manner that meant he was being overprotective.

“No,” Tim blurted, “I’m not staying at the Manor during that specific timeframe.” Bruce shut his mouth and blinked down at his adopted son.

“Whoever this is, they risk being found out if I don’t show up,” Tim gestured to the note, “It might just escalate from there, anyway, if we prolong whatever is supposed to happen.”

“It could be a trap,” Dick pointed out, and now he too had taken up the overprotective undertones of discomfort. Tim squared his shoulders and smiled reassuringly. “I’ll be fine,” he promised, “I’ll stay in the tower. Besides, all my teammates will be there. If anything happens, they’re right there.”

Bruce and Dick exchanged worried glances, but eventually Bruce sighed and clasped a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Code Bat has always been for your safety,” Bruce stated firmly, “I don’t care if our enemies find out about us - if it gets out of hand, if it looks like a trap, call us.”

-

The morning of the date stated on the note, Tim found another one in his Teen Titans bedroom.

They want you dead. Play along.

What jolted Tim was the symbol at the bottom right corner of the note - it was one of the made-up symbols that Dick had taught him. The symbol on the note meant “burn after reading”.

The handwriting was not Dick’s, nor was it Bruce’s. It was cursive, almost like Alfred’s, but it was also much more scrawled and uneven, like someone still unpractised in writing. 

The gears in Tim’s brain must have really come unhinged this time, because the only name it could conjure was Jason. Jason was dead.

Tim was quietly uptight right until the hour came. He almost did not realise his teammates were being picked off, meticulously, skillfully, one by one. Almost.

Tim still had yet to press his emergency beacon. He had not activated Code Bat. He wanted to see where this went, before anything else.

Then the mysterious attacker descended on him, a blur of black and the smallest glimpse of white, and Tim was fighting for his life.

The man moved like an assassin - Tim had met some League of Assassins members, back when he had trained with Lady Shiva. He moved like them, but there was also something else to his movements.

Tim dodged a hit, and that was too short to be aiming for his throat, that would have been a non-lethal hit-

The man was not aiming to kill. He fought like Batman. He fought like one of them.

Tim opened his mouth, made to say something, although he was unsure what. He was swept off his feet before he got the chance.

“Who trained you, kid?” the voice growled, and it was a deep voice that should have unnerved him, but something struck him as familiar. The drawl, the barely-there accent.

Jason, his brain screamed.

Real answers, please, Tim pleaded.

The man pulled him by his tunic collar, and he shifted to pull him towards his face. There was a glint of metal on the man’s uniform - a recording device. 

“Who are you?” he growled again, with Tim pulled close. 

Tim got a good look at the man’s face, and while he instinctively bantered back, he was internally reeling. Looks like his gears were working, after all.

“Just a kid with a dream,” Tim smirked, a crooked smile already leaking some blood. 

Jason - because this man was Jason, somehow, how was Jason alive - interrogated Tim while punching him out. His blows hurt for sure, but Tim swore that he was aiming for the areas that would cause the least injuries. He swore that when he grunted as a rib was broken, Jason had paused minutely, cringing slightly, before he barreled on.

Something was placed on his chest. 

“Say goodnight, kid,” Jason sing-songed, and there was the sound of a gun cocking. Tim barely registered that when the gun shot, it had shot at him. There was the hard thump of something near his chest, just above his chest, but it had barely touched his tunic.

Jason tapped a finger-signal, a “stay low and don’t move”, and Tim remained where he was. He waited as footsteps receded, waited for several minutes, with a bag of fake blood leaking from his chest, bruises and other injuries blooming in pain underneath his uniform.

He felt rather than heard the presence appear beside him. The looming figure crouched down and gingerly maneuvered Tim into a firm grasp. 

His “assassin” stared down at him. He had switched out his black assassin get-up for casual clothing. He was… tall. Built like Bruce. His eyes were different, too, and he had a white lock of hair curling just above his eyebrows. Yet…

“Jason?” Tim croaked out, and Jason Todd smirked. Tim knew that smirk - Robin wore it a lot, when he watched him. “You better be damn glad no one can hear you, anymore,” Jason gruffed, and started moving with Tim in his grasp, “Let’s go somewhere else, though, for good measure.”

They ended up in Tim’s room - sound-proofed, and therefore the safest location in the tower for this conversation.

“You’re alive,” Tim blurted out, as Jason dressed his wounds. His hands stuttered before resuming their work. “I died,” Jason stated flatly, “And I dug myself out of my own grave. Talia found me, and threw me into a Lazarus Pit.”

Jason raised his eyes to meet Tim’s, and Tim could see the eerie green glow in his eyes. 

“Don’t tell Bruce about me,” Jason rushed out, and Tim immediately jumped to object, but Jason was faster, “Don’t. Listen, I-” Jason breathed deeply, “I’ve killed, alright? I’ve broken his big rule and all that jazz. I might still find myself going back to the streets of Gotham, but to the Manor? I’m not ready to face that shit.”

Jason paused for real this time, having finished taking care of Tim’s more visible injuries. He cringed. 

“You should get Alfie to check you out, just in case you have internal bleeding or whatever the fuck I gave you,” Jason waved his hand around uselessly, “Lie low for a few days, alright? I need to make myself scarce. They’ll find out I didn’t follow through with the deal, and I’ll need to have disappeared, by then.”

Tim was silent for a few long moments. “Will I see you again?” Tim finally asked, his eyes wide and hopeful, “They miss you, you know? We miss you. We all do.”

Jason swallowed, and blinked back the water gathering in his eyes. “How can you miss me?” he chose to ask, “S’not like you knew me very well, before… well, before.”

Tim grinned, bright and eager. 

“You once snuck out for patrol on your own,” Tim informed him, “And got stuck on a rooftop that you flipped onto with your grappling hook, because the other buildings around you were all too far away to grapple towards. You had to slide down the water pipes and run across an empty street to make your way back home.”

Jason sputtered, because that had happened, he did remember that, but when the heck did he hear about it?

“How the hell do you know that?” Jason asked, unable to keep his dismay from leaking into his voice. 

“I’ll tell you when I next see you,” Tim smiled cheekily. Smartass.

Jason checked the time. “Your Superboy buddy will be waking up soon,” Jason reported, “Don’t come looking for me, alright? I’ll… I’ll return to Gotham soon. I just have to make sure the League’s off my back.”

Jason got up and hesitated. “When I return to Gotham,” he warned, “I’ll come in guns blazing. There’ll be deaths. It won’t be pretty. Just- just stay out of my way.”

It would have been more convincing, if Jason had not spent the last thirty minutes treating Tim’s wounds.

“Who are you?” Tim called abruptly, Jason hovering at the door, “You come in and take us all out, one by one. They’d want a name. Who are you?”

Jason smirked sharply. 

“Red Hood,” he droned, “Call me Red Hood.”

He slinked away, and like a true Bat, was out of the tower in seconds.

[fancyfade]

[image: comic panels from detective comics annual 1988 #1 featuring Bruce Wayne (Batman) and Talia Al Ghul in a room with purple/grey walls and a table with a radio on it and a door in teh background. Talia is across the room from batman, holding a handgun.

TALIA: batman!

Talia fires her gun and we can see she shot someone in the doorframe in their shoulder, causing them to drop their gun that they were about to use to shoot Bruce. Bruce hops over to the guy and Talia.

BRUCE: You didn’t have to do that. I knew he was there and I had five ways to take him.

TALIA: Forgive me. I forget the extent of your prowess. end image]

end image/begin commentary

so i know i’m reading through these comics for jason’s appearances in order but no reason not to take notes on pre-morrison talia as well

important that even though she does use guns/lethal weaponry she uses it non-lethally and just injures the guy. since she’s not really shown as eager to kill people at this time I assume that’s her default (when she wants to kill someone most from what I remember is when she thought her dad was dead, she wanted to get revenge, and then in her first appearance she kills someone in self defense and in son of the demon she kills people in the battlefield when they are trying to kill her).

also I like to imagine she’s being incredibly sarcastic on that last line

Bruce: Don’t save me! >:O I don’t need it!

Talia: I’m so sorry I had forgotten the extent of your combat prowess  9_9

[oceanera12]

Knight Fall

So... this AU popped into my head because of a Descendants 3 Song. No, I am not joking and no, I will not apologize because I cannot make animatics.

We need to establish a few things: 

First: the world this happens in is going to be very similar to Young Justice with a few changes. Ras and his loyal followers have been kicked out of the League and are keeping a low profile. Just kind of ignore most of the main plot of Season 3 minus Nightwing finding out about their apparent loss of control/banishment.

Second: Jason has been “dead” for about three years. Two and a half of those years have been spent with the League (Resurrection stuff and such has happened and he does suffer from a bit of memory loss).

Third: Damian is seven years old. He’s a brat, he is trained, and he and Hood have the “best” relationship out of the Al Gaul bunch because Hood doesn’t force him to train 24/7 or punish him for failing. So Talia is not a good Mom in this story.

The characters of this story are either on Team Bats or Team Al Ghul (at least at the beginning).

Team Bats consists of Batman/Bruce Wayne, Nightwing/Dick Grayson, Robin/Tim Drake, Agent A/Alfred Pennyworth, Spoiler/Stephanie Brown, and Oracle/Barbara Gordon.

Team Al Gaul consists of Ras Al Ghul, Talia Al Gaul, Ubu, Senseii, Red Hood/Jason Todd, and Damian Wayne-Al Ghul.

With all of that out of the way, let’s begin:

Starts in Gotham with the emergence of the Court of Owls. The Court wants Dick Grayson as their Talon and they are not happy that he’s slipped a bit out of their reach.

They get rumors about the Al Ghul’s falling out of favor/losing control of the League and are interested in recruiting the displaced group.

Yeah, the Al Ghul’s don’t appreciate that very much and send back the head of their messenger as a warning. Of course, the Court isn’t happy about that and find out about Damian.

Their thought process consists of basically “Well, we lost our previous Talon. This one is younger and easier to change. Let’s take him.”

Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem for the Al Ghul’s. But it is only the small group of Assassins vs Undead Army of Talons that get killed, get their bodies picked up, revived, then turned back on the Al Ghul’s.

So very long story short, they flea very reluctantly to the only person who will be able to help: Aka CALLING ON THE BAT.

Red Hood has to wear his mask at all times and is not allowed to speak. Similar situation for Damian, but he’s just in a cute little ninja costume with only his eyes showing. Neither Ras or Talia mentions that Damian is related to Bruce and make an excuse of adopting him as a servant/assassin (which Damian is a bit confused and annoyed about but he is not going to question his Mother or Grandfather). 

Bruce is not happy about the situation but the Court has become frustrated because they are trying to kidnap Dick now so he reluctantly agrees to a team-up with the insane assassins.

Since I do not want to plan out every little plot detail, I’m just gonna hit the highlights

Bruce and Ras argue constantly on how to deal with the Court. Bruce wants to take out the Talons (they are already dead so he’s fine with chopping them to pieces) and arrest the leaders, but Ras want to find the actually living members and kill every last one of them. At the same time, the two of them work together on planning the attack on the Court’s headquarters.

Talia just kind of chills in the background. Sometimes she trains Damian, sometimes she helps her father and Bruce with planning the attack, and sometimes she just sits and watches.

Ubu and Sensi train Damian. They are also sent out every once in a while to spy on the Court. None of the Bats interact with either of them for longer then necessary and vice versa.

Hood does not have all of his memories at this point but he really does not like looking at the “memorial case” for what appears to have been the previous Robin. Most of his days consist of people watching because these people are really familiar and why the heck did he know “Agent A” was someone named Alfie? He also does not like the current Robin for no particular reason. ... The Robin grows on him. Very slowly.

Alfred has also decided he likes the Red Hood for no particular reason. He does not understand why the man does not take off his mask, but Hood is more polite to the butler then the rest of the Assassin’s combined. And he doesn’t even speak! He has also decided the smallest assassin with the Al Ghul’s is trouble, but not evil. He insists on treating the boy’s wounds after his “training” (which all of the Bats have spoken about the cruelty of it but there is not much they can do at the moment). Hood helps him most days patch up the young master.

Damian wants to hate the Bats (Grandfather and Mother both warned him not to grow attached to them as they are their enemies-- respected enemies, but enemies. This situation is an exception). He really does. But there is something about them that he is just drawn to. Grayson is a respectable fighter who had decided to teach him the basics of gymnastics. Drake had excellent skills in deducing and technology, offering to upgrade Damian’s arsenal with a few... non-lethal options (the batarangs were too good to say no to, but Damian made sure to hide them from his Mother and Grandfather). Brown was a bit weak, but what she lacked in skill she made up for in determination. Miss Gordon was one of the best Intelligence officers Damian had seen. Pennyworth is an excellent servant that the others treated with the same respect as everyone else. That was a new concept. And then there was Batman. Something about Batman made Damian feel... safe, was the best word for it.

Tim decides he is going to befriend the tiny assassin. Don’t ask him why, he couldn’t tell you. (It might have had something to do with the well hidden looks the tiny assassin shot at Thalia and Ras. It was a look of wanting praise and wanting to please. The Al Ghul’s either hadn’t noticed or ignored it. Either way, Tim understood that situation more than he would care to admit). So Tim and the tiny assassin are on “friendly terms” is the best way to describe it. He also talks a lot to the Red Hood guy. Hood never responds but he also hasn’t pulled a gun on him so he takes that as a good sign.

Stephanie and Barbra hang together and keep an eye on all the assassin’s to make sure no one dies. They also spy on the Court whenever Ubu and Senseii are not. That’s really about it.

Very, very long story short, everyone goes and attacks the Court. They manage to take down most of the Talon’s and Ras goes to kill the leaders and Bruce tries to stop him.

Fragile alliance falls apart and it’s now a free-for-all with the Bats vs. the Al Ghuls vs. The Court. Cheers.

At some point Jason loses his mask which cause a completely different kind of “falling apart” and Hood is really confused because “Who’s Jason?”

The Court escapes, Al Ghul’s leave (with Jason), and the Bats are ticked/sad/confused/angry. Lots of emotions.

Jason had been getting more of his memories back while with the Bats. He gets more of them back over the course of the next few months and while he is angry that Bruce replaced him, he also knows that Damian was MUCH happier with them.

So when the Court comes for Damian again, Jason snatches the kid up in the confusion and takes him back to Gotham because I NEED PROTECTIVE BIG BROTHER JASON. Damian hesitantly goes with Hood but is not as resistant to the idea as he might have been a few weeks back (his mother is NOT a good mother, kay?)

Ras get’s ticked at the world, kills most of the Court members because he thinks Damian got snatched by them (and maybe Hood?). Later finds out Jason was the one to take Damian and tries to kill him, but Damian won’t have that, no siree.

Damian and Jason end up gaining their freedom through combat and head off to Gotham. They get there just before Batman and Co. launch a full blown rescue mission to get Jason back so there’s some saved resources, I suppose.

Also: “Bruce, meet Damian. He’s Talia and your demon spawn.” “... what?” “My father is Batman???”

[tragiceyes]

Recovery

I came across this song by AJR, and it made me think of Jason, so I wrote this lil’ fic. Give it a listen! 

Lyrics are interspersed to break up the scenes - sorry this is unedited and sloppy, I’ll clean it up before posting to AO3.

This is a little different from my usual take on Jason. Hope you enjoy it anyway!

I've been so good, I've been helpful and friendly

I've been so good, why am I feeling empty?

I've been so good, I've been so good this year

100mg of Seroquel a day. Because what was the point of cashing in on his little portion of Gotham’s lucrative drug trade if Jason couldn’t buy brand-name?

It made Jason’s stomach hurt, if he didn’t take it with food. So he took it with food. 

I've been so good, but it's still getting harder

I've been so good, where the hell is the karma?

I've been so good, I've been so good this year

A hefty dose of Lithium. 1200mg had made Jason feel like the walking dead, so he’d gotten it reduced to 900mg. He took it first thing in the morning, with a glass of orange juice. 

And he was on the level all day long.

Why, are you asking me why?

My days and nights are filled with disappointment

Fine, oh no, everything's fine

I'm not sure why I booked today's appointment

Jason never heard him coming, but still somehow knew he was there.

Batman.

“I couldn’t help but notice you’ve gone non-lethal.”

He nodded.

“Any particular reason for this change?”

Jason sighed, too tired to tell him anything but the truth, “I’m trying to be better.”

What, am I normal or not?

Am I crazier than other patients?

Right, I've done everything right

So where's the karma doc, I've lost my patience

“So, this person you’ve been talking about…what did you say his name was?” Dr. Connor reviewed her notes.

“Rick.” Jason mumbled.

“Rick. Were you planning on asking him out?”

Jason stared at the ceiling. The first day he’d come into this office, he’d sat stiffly on the sofa and glared at Dr. Connor the entire time, as if he hadn’t made the choice to be there. To her credit, she hadn’t been put off by his rudeness. She’d let him sit, talk only to the degree to which he was comfortable.

And now here he was, lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, glowing in the ambient, calming soft lighting.

“Why would I do that, Doc?” Jason replied listlessly. 

Dr. Connor crossed her legs, “Well, you certainly talk about him a lot. And I think he’d be charmed by the way you wax poetic about him.”

Jason snorted in amusement. He marveled at how far he’d come. All the furniture was still in one piece, and he hadn’t stormed out, red-faced and enraged. 

“Actually, knowing him, he’s probably heard it all before. He’s always had a long line of suitors willing to wax poetic, paint portraits, slay dragons…”

She chuckled good-naturedly, “Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Jason. For all you know, he waxes poetic about you.”

Jason highly doubted that. “I already asked him out, Doc…and he shot me down cold.” He blushed a little in shame. It didn’t matter how many sessions he had with Dr. Connors, rejection was never fun to relive. “He doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“When did this happen?”

“A while ago, way back before…all of this,” Jason waved casually around the therapist’s office, the photographs of beaches, the soft-colored painted walls, the stress toys he’d broken all too many times. “Not that I blame him for telling me where to shove it. I kind of, well…I didn’t handle it well when he said ‘no.’”

He looked up at her. Her pen was poised on her notepad. She gave him an encouraging smile.

He let out a sigh.

Red Hood and Nightwing had teamed up for at least six missions at the point that Jason had decided it was time to shoot his shot. The Lazarus Pit had taken pretty much everything from him, everything except the long-buried crush he’d harbored for his predecessor since the ill-fated Robin years. 

But Jason wasn’t Robin anymore, and he could tell there was something between the two of them. Something in the way Dick smiled at him made Jason want to devour him, and see what that smile tasted like. Something in the way Dick swung through the night made Jason want to tackle him onto a rooftop, pin him down, and not let him get away. Being around Dick made Jason felt like a dog chasing cars. Only he was pretty sure he’d know what to do once he caught this one. 

And he was planning on catching him. Jason showed up to Dick’s apartment unannounced, and swaggered his way inside when Dick opened the door to him, a confused look on his handsome face. 

“Jason…what are you- I mean, what brings you here?”

“Came looking for you, Dickie-bird.” Jason replied with a smirk, not looking at him.

Dick looked like he didn’t really know what to say to that. He moved to walk past Jason, but Jason’s arm shot out to block his way.

“Stop playing hard-to-get, Dickie. It doesn’t suit you.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Dick replied easily, but Jason caught the way he bit his lip nervously.

“I mean you…and me.”

“Jason-“

“Don’t try and deny it.” He was fully boxing in Dick now, his arms on both sides.

Dick squirmed uncomfortably, “Jay…”

“Come get dinner with me,” Jason continued recklessly, “or, if you want, we can skip straight to dessert…”

Jason didn’t really remember what happened next, but he knew it was some embarrassing combination of himself leaning in to kiss Dick, Dick rebuffing him, and then Dick gently explaining his reasoning.

But Jason hadn’t heard anything past the rejection, and the rejection was blistering and hurtful and humiliating. 

And so, as Jason was known to do, he flew off the handle.

“So you were just flirting with me for shits and giggles, I guess?! I should have know you were like that with everyone. Fucking slut!”

Dick looked at him in shock, “Okay, you need to leave now.”

“Fuck you!”

Jason swung a fist at him, but Dick ducked beneath his arm and used his momentum to grab Jason and pin him against the wall, arm behind his back. Jason let out a curse in anger, and swung violently enough to knock a glass jar off a nearby table. Dick’s other hand quickly gripped the back of his shirt and kept his face pushed against the wall.

“JASON. You need to listen to me right now.” Dick’s voice was angry and commanding and Jason hated him.

Under normal circumstances, Jason would have forced his way out of the grip, even if it meant breaking his own arm in the process, just to get back on the offensive and attack Dick with everything he had. But this time, something gave him pause.

“You don’t get to barge into my apartment and get aggressive with me. You don’t get to throw a fist a me when I reject you. You need to learn how to listen before reacting. Did you even hear what I fucking said, Jason? You stubborn asshole!”

Jason didn’t respond, but Dick wasn’t waiting for him.

“Your anger is out of control. You know what you need to do to get right. You’re going to leave my apartment now, and you are not coming back here until you do what you need to do.”

How someone could manage to be both cryptic and totally condescending was beyond Jason. Not that he could say as much in his current position.

Dick tightened his grip slightly before loosening it, “Don’t try and hit me again, Jason. I’ve been doing this longer than you have.”

But Jason wasn’t planning on it - he knew when he’d been bested. And he obediently walked out the door, red-faced and shamed.

“You know, it’s not so easy, Dick!” Jason cried hoarsely, “It’s really...it’s really fucking hard!”

Dick looked back at him coolly, “I know.”

And he closed the door.

Even as he recounted the story to the one person he knew wouldn’t judge him, Jason couldn’t help but feel a bit of a lump in his throat. He’d really screwed up that one. 

“Tell me what you’re feeling right now.” Dr. Connors encouraged him.

“I can’t believe I did that.” Jason said, and to his horror, he felt his eyes get damp, “I can’t believe I threw shit and tried to hurt him for not wanting to date me. It’s fucking embarrassing to be such a shitty person all the time.”

“You’re not a shitty person, Jason,” She cut in, “Yes, you lost control in the moment. But you’ve been trying to battle these moods and symptoms on your own your entire life. Do you have any idea how hard that is? It’s not something everyone can do, and it certainly isn’t something most people can understand. 

You have an illness, Jason, and you’re working hard to get better. If you were in this same situation again today, I have no doubt you’d be able to recognize the signs of an episode, and prepare accordingly. Either by tempering your anger, or removing yourself from the situation. Give yourself some credit.”

“But it doesn’t matter,” Jason said listlessly, “yes, I’m a lot better now. The meds and the therapy have been helping. I’m more level-headed and stable than I’ve every been before in my life. But it doesn’t matter, because I can’t take back what I did, and I blew my shot with him. He doesn’t want me around, and I don’t blame him.”

“Maybe he’ll forgive you. Have you tried to apologize?”

Jason shook his head. He couldn’t face Dick.

She didn’t let him off, “You should go to him and apologize. With sincerity. Mental illness can be an explanation for poor behavior, but it’s never an excuse. And since it sounds like he’s the one who convinced you to seek treatment in the first place…”

Dick’s words in his mind like a plea or a prayer.

You know what you need to do to get right.

He’d been right.

I've been so good, I've been working my ass off

I've been so good, still, I'm lonely and stressed out

I've been so good, I've been so good this year

What kind of idiot was Jason anyway? He’d been rejected once, twice, it might as well have been a thousand times. 

Yet here he stood once again, right outside Dick’s door. This time he knocked.

Dick answered. Jason was staring at the floor.

“Jason.”

You say that I'm better, why don't I feel better?

The universe works in mysterious ways

But I'm starting to think it ain't working for me

He forced himself to meet Dick’s gaze.

“I’m sorry, Dick. I’m really sorry for the way I treated you. You didn’t deserve it, and I want you to know that I appreciate you trying to help me and I am trying to get better. I’m trying to be better.”

He swallowed, unsure of how to continue, “I-“

“It’s okay, Jason.” Dick replied simply, “I forgive you.”

Jason paused, feeling slightly wrong-footed.

“You seem calmer on patrol, and off it too. You’re no longer shooting to kill, rarely shooting to maim. I know you’re putting in a lot of effort, and I’m proud of you, Jason.”

“Oh. Um, well…good.” He said awkwardly, “Thanks.” 

He’d done what he came to do. He turned to walk away.

“You came all this way,” Dick called breezily, “wasn’t there something you wanted to ask?”

Jason stared back at him, dumbfounded. A little part of his brain lit up with a memory of the night Dick had rejected him. 

Dick had rejected him. But he’d said, “I can’t be with you, Jason. I want to, but I won’t, not before you see someone. You’ve been through a lot of shit, and you’re dealing with a lot of anger. I think you need to work on that before you enter a relationship with anyone.”

But Jason hadn’t heard any of it, not at the time. Rather, he hadn’t been listening.

“Well, now that you mention it…” Jason was blushing again. But this time he was smiling, too.

He could do this.

“…you free tonight?”

Doctor, should I be good?

Should I be good this year?

Dick smiled back.

[our-happygirl500-fan]

Look I know I talk about how Jason affected Bruce and Steph’s relationship a lot but he really does shape it, like Jason is even the reason for Bruce’s new  behaviour towards Steph after the reboot.

In the New 52 and Rebirth Bruce was always very gentle with Steph and he tries to encourage her, he sends people to help her, he puts her on a team, he worries about her safety and cares about her feelings and in a way it makes sense because Jason is alive when Steph is reintroduced, he's alive and he's making his way back into the family, obeying the rules and using non lethal shots or rubber bullets. 

 There's no ghost for Steph to live under and be compared to.

 In contrast this time it's Steph who rejects Bruce, she does not trust him, doesn't want to work with him, does not want to obey him.

 And in a way it's karma for how he treated her for years in preboot but it is also obvious why Steph doesn't trust Bruce, because her family killed all her friends and tried to kill her and left her homeless and hunted by assassins. 

 Why would Steph possibly want to trust another parental figure when her own parents tried to kill her? When her mother and father tried to kill her and when that didn't work they tried to emotionally manipulate her and when that didn't work Arthur ended up dead and Crystal abandoned her?

Like I know we all like to laugh and joke that it's funny how this time it's Steph rejecting Bruce but it actually makes sense she would trust most adults considering what her own parents did to her. 

 And then Steph trusted Selina and Eiko and Eiko became a crime boss and murdered over 15 mob families and Selina basically abandoned Steph since she thought Steph was better without them and both Eiko and Selina unknowingly left Steph to be hunted down by assassins for weeks because of their actions.

 And then Steph trusted Kate and then Kate's dad 'killed’ Tim and Kate 'killed' Clayface. Yeah literally every adult in Steph's life has let her down and traumatised her she's not trusting any parental figures at all!

Though to be fair every adult let Steph down in preboot as well only difference is preboot Steph keeps on forgiving them and giving them constant second chances while reboot Steph is like 'nope been hurt to much don't fudging touch me!'

[gillywulf]

you’re a problem but you’re mine (you’re a winner even though you think you’re not)

The pet Hotel AU.

AO3

Summary: Jason needs a job and PetStay needed him.

Pt. 2                  (warning: this does include a dog bite)

~

It turned out that prepping for mealtimes wasn’t as hard as Jason initially thought. Like Billy, he’d needed to develop a system before it made sense, but eventually, once he’d started separating the labels stating the dog’s name and food into dry and wet, the process went far quicker. He was midway through preparing dinners when the door to the kitchen slammed open and a middle aged man with neat, short hair. He stopped short at the sight of Jason.

“Who are you?” Blunt. Jason held out his hand.

“Hi, I’m Jason. I’m new. Ish” The man takes his hand and it’s surprisingly gentle.

“Tommy Oliver. I’m the trainer here and my kid works the night shift” Jason remembered the walkie chart with Tommy Junior written next to green and nodded.

“Oh yeah, I haven’t met him yet” An odd look crossed Tommy’s face.

“Uh, Tommy Junior is-”

“Tommy! What up, dude?” Zack’s boisterous voice filled the small kitchen, shoving whatever the trainer was going to say out of their minds. “I haven’t seen you in like, two weeks” He set down the stack of used dog bowls and spread his arms, offering a warm hug. Tommy was clearly uncomfortable.

“Good to see you, Zack. Oh, whoops, I have class in two minutes. Nice to meet you, Jason” He slipped from the room with a quick wave.

“I can not figure out why he doesn’t like me” Zack mumbled, perching his hands on his hips. The whole image - the confused face, the posture, the situation he’d just witnessed - as truly a masterpiece. Jason laughed.

“Never change, man”

~

“Have a nice day” Kim beamed at the pet parent until they rounded the corner out of eye sight. She dropped her falsely peppy face instantly and rolled her eyes to Jason. “‘I ordered a nail trim and a suite!’ They did neither so he got neither. I literally hate people. They over feed and under care and get upset at me when they’re the one who messed up” she huffed, turning back to the computer and tapping in last minute pay information. He laughed.

“I mean you’re not wrong, but that’s like all retail”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t still hate them”

“That’s fair,” he shrugged, “you get off in five minutes too, right? Do you want to go to Krispy Kreme with me and my little sister? My mom’s dropping her off in a bit” Kim twisted the watch on her wrist and shrugged.

“Sure. I bet she’s funnier than you”

“Says the girl who literally can’t make a joke that gets anyone laughing” She scowled and crossed her arms.

“I will have you know, I am very funny”

“No, I think Pearl will definitely be funnier than both of us”

~

The dog squirmed and wriggled with all its might, crying all the while. The high pitched squeals were definitely starting to hurt Jason’s ears. None of it was helping the nail grind get done any faster. He stepped back with a resigned sigh and punched the talk button on his walkie.

“Red could use some help with a nail grind” The dog leveled him with her best pleading stare. Maybe if she looked sad enough, he would stop.

“Blue to the rescue!” Billy’s voice announced over the radio. Less than a minute later, the boy strolled in and took a firm hold of the dog’s body. Thankfully, it was enough for Jason to finally get a full paw done with the promise of stillness for the rest. He quickly moved on to the next paw. If she wasn’t going to stay this calm long, he needed to be fast.

“Billy, you are an absolute lifesaver” Why did dogs need to much hair over their feet? It just made everything harder and slightly more dangerous. He could get it stuck in the grinder and pull out a chunk if he wasn’t careful.

“My pleasure, Jason. Hey, do you think I’m weird?” Jason stilled, stopped the grinder, and straightened to look Billy dead in the eye.

“I’ve seen Zack eat a burger off the ground even though the bun fell off”

“No, I know- I mean, yeah, that’s kinda weird, but I mean like, you know-”

“Did something happen?” he asked. Concern clawed its way up his throat and the dog sat happily on the table between them, clearly believing she was out of the woods. Billy looked hesitant for a moment.

“I brought Summer up to her mom and I was really excited because we don’t really get all that many Corgis, so I was telling her neat history about their breed, like ‘corgi’ means ‘dwarf-dog’ in Welsh where they originated from and because they are herders, they are the same type of dog that huskies are, which no one really expects because they are so different. And she looked at me like a lot of people do when I start to talk a lot, like there must be something definitely wrong with me” His hold on the dog slackened, his hands instead stroking along her side.

“Billy,” Jason wanted so badly to lay his hand on Billy’s shoulder, to really draw his attention, but he knew his friend didn’t like to be touched, so he reigned himself in, “you are the kindest, smartest, most caring person I know. Hands down. Having a diagnosis doesn’t make you weird, it’s another part of who you are, just like your love of country music” Billy smiled at that and Jason accepted the small victory. “One rude lady isn’t going to change any of the awesome things about you. Don’t ever forget that” Billy’s eyes shone and it looked like he might even cry. Jason wouldn’t be able to stop himself from following if that was going to happen.

“Thank you, Jason”

“Honestly any time. Thank you for coming to me. Now let’s get her finished up, okay?”

~

It was almost funny watching Trini try and hold back such a fat chocolate lab. Tucker was definitely not built to easy walking.

“Fuck you, dick! Stop pulling!” She grit her teeth and dug in her heels, but it was no use. Tucker was headed to camp at his own pace. “You wanna help at all?” she shot back to Jason behind her.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I have to keep holding Gus to make sure he doesn’t kill anyone. You know, because he’s so lethal” Gus was in fact a toy fox terrier, shaking constantly and peeing himself in fear as Jason spoke.

“Dick, Tucker, stop!” Kim chose that moment to step into the hallway from the relief room. She calmly took in the scene; Trini being pulled by an overexcited fat dog and Jason, with his tiny shaking mess. With a roll over her eyes, she reached out and jerked Tucker’s lead in a direction he wasn’t expecting, surprising him enough to get him to stop.

“Tuck, walk nice” she demanded. “If he keeps doing it, just stop and wait for him to settle. He needs to learn not to pull” Her eyes bore into Trini’s and even from his not great angle, Jason could see how struck Trini was. The girl’s eyes didn’t move away once Kim headed to the grooming room.

“You good?” he asked, almost concerned.

“Fuck, she’s so hot”

~

When things were busy, things were busy. Jason barely had a moment to breathe between shuffling dogs into their rooms, cleaning, juggling dogs in camp, and a whole host of other duties.

“Red, I need Maximus when you have a moment; he’s going home” Kim’s steady voice broke through his dinner prep concentration. He sighed. He was never going to get anything done.

“Sure, pink” He left the kitchen and speed walked to where he knew Maximus the giant yellow lab would be waiting by the kennel door, his tongue lolling out and his tail wagging non-stop. Sure enough, that was the sight that greeted him. The dog was clearly excited to go home, if the way he pulled at his leash was any indicator. His owners beamed and hugged him while obliviously clogging up the reception area. But of course, there was no time to stand there and wonder whether or not it was just a little too much, another family stood waiting to say goodbye to their German Shepard.

“Jason, could you please take Grant to 211? Thank you” Kim was already staring back to paperwork, highlighting on a chart the days certain services were being received.

“Sure,” he smiled politely to the family and slipped a lead over Grant’s head, his other hand extended for the leash, “I can take him, have a great day” Grant followed him easily to the door and through it, all the way to the door of kennel 211 where he promptly planted his feet and refused to move. “Bud, c’mon, I need to finish the lunches”

The pleading must have worked, because the dog gave in just enough to allow himself to be guided inside the kennel. Jason knelt to pull his lead and unclip the collar. Grant seized the moment. He shot out from under Jason’s knee in a desperate bid to escape. Jason did nothing but act on instinct. His hand shot out just as fast and just managed to grab a hold of Grant’s paper ID band.

The ID band around his neck.

While all Jason could think was to beg higher powers to keep the ID band in tact long enough for his to slip the lead back over his head, Grant wanted nothing more than to be away from him. So he rolled onto his back and turned his head to take Jason’s hand into his mouth and bit. Hard.

For a long second Jason didn’t even register what had happened. He was so focused on holding on that his brain excused the bite like that from a puppy, painful, but only for a second and completely harmless. That is, until his brain caught up with the sheer pain and the sight of blood. Needless to say, he let go.

Grant took off out of Jason’s view. His hand was mangled, that was the only word he could associate with the way it looked. He must not have registered Grant’s frenzied shaking like a chew toy he was on the other end of. He tried to make a fist and failed.

“Hey Jason, what’s taking- holy shit” Trini wasted no time. She marched over to him and took the hand in hers. She whipped the grey beanie from her head and wrapped it as tightly around it as possible. “Keep this tight, you need pressure,” she tugged on her walkie, “birdhouse” she said simply before pushing him off towards the kitchen. “Go wait there. I’ll get him in the kennel and we’ll take you to the hospital”

Jason blinked in awe at her take-charge attitude, but managed a weak nod. She was gone in the blink of an eye, her tiny voice gruff and furious as she called out Grant’s name. He definitely heard an aggressive ‘ass-fucker’ as he headed towards the kitchen.

Billy was already there, gauze and light antiseptics at the ready. He was so careful and gentle and Jason was eternally grateful, he just wished his head was clearer to express that appreciation. He’d do that later when he wasn’t bleeding profusely. Kim burst into the room just as the cleaning stage finished. She did a quick examination before motioning to Billy to continue.

“We’ve already called Grant’s parents. They were only in the parking lot and he’ll be refused for the rest of the month. Okay, wow that’s a lot of blood. Trini’s going to drive you to the hospital because Billy can’t drive, Zack’s stuck in camp, and I have to man the front desk. She’s usually a good driver, I promise” Before Jason had long enough to process the statement and ask what exactly she meant by that, Trini swept into the room and grabbed his bicep.

“C’mon, homeboy,  let’s get you to the hospital before you bleed out” The next few minutes are a whirlwind of racing out the store in an attempt not to alarm customers and to reach the hospital as quickly as possible. Kim’s ‘usually’ begins to make sense on the highway. Trini darts her car into small spaces and slams on the brakes and accelerator so often that Jason began to worry a heart attack might kill him before his hand.

There was something incredibly calming about her hard demeanor cracking only enough for her worry to trickle out in barely-there ways, like the way her eyes constantly darted over to him, or the way her hands tightened over and over on the steering wheel. Maybe she did like him. He’d like to be friends.

~

Jason wordlessly held out the tray of steaming coffee cups while trying very hard not to chug from his own. With a small sigh of relief, Kim took the tray and then the cup marked with her name.

“Zack’s running late” she mumbled after a long sip. Jason laughed.

“Some day, someone who’s not us will realize and he’ll get fired”

“Let’s hope not. We’re still super understaffed”

“Good thing I’m here, right?” The two whirled around to find a girl with closely cropped hair and a grin too bright for the early hour standing on the other side of the front desk, already in the customary PetStay navy polo. Jason and Kim shot one another confused glances.

“Uh, I’m sorry to ask, but who are you? I only have one person for training on my list today” Kim thumbed through her schedule post-it notes, looking for any name she didn’t recognize.

“That’s probably me. I’m Tj” she beamed. Jason couldn’t help but notice the startlingly bright green eyes she had. Kim didn’t stop frowning.

“I’m sorry, I don’t see a ‘Tj’ anywhere” Tj seemed to sag at that.

“Is there a ‘Tommy Jr’?”  Her entire body deflated with the question with a resignation so bone deep that Jason thought she might just collapse under the weight of it. Kim blinked dumbly.

“Yes”

“That’s me”

“No it isn’t” Tj rolled her eyes and dug around in her back pocket for a moment until she produced a drivers’ license, complete with her picture and ‘Tommy Oliver Jr.’ printed beside it.

“My dad’s the trainer here. I’m the overnighter. I’m transferring to day shift. I’m Green” Even though the evidence was nothing short of indisputable, Kim’s face couldn’t free itself of the bafflement she felt. Thankfully, Zack chose that moment to sprint up to the counter and diffuse the tension.

“Guys, I’m sorry I’m late-”

“Zack, this is Tj, bring her into Bigs with you” He swiveled on his heel and froze. Jason watched as his face got progressively redder with each passing second.

“Hi- er, hello. Welcome to PetStay. I will be your trainer, or uh, senior, today,” he stopped his rambling, “let’s load up” He shuffled awkwardly to the back with Tj on his heels. Jason took a slow sip from his coffee and leaned against the counter.

“He likes her”

“Two damn seconds in”

“He also forgot his coffee”

~

On days where there were only enough dogs for one camp, everyone seemed to mill around aimlessly, trying to find something, anything to do. Jason knew that Zack was having plenty of fun in camp, but Trini, Kim, and Billy would all be restless, not to mention himself.

Jason decided to do a little tidying in the grooming room, picking up and throwing out old ID bands, sweeping up shed fur, and bringing dirty, wet towels to the laundry room. Maybe he’d even throw a load or two in. Between beds, blankets, and towels, there was almost definitely enough.

He hefted the pile of wet towels into his arms (while attempting to keep them from soiling his shirt) and march near-blind to the laundry room. Of course, it could never be that simple. He couldn’t just walk in an do his job.

Instead, he was greeted by Kim pressing the full length of her body into Trini, hands wandering and lips moving as one, together.

Of course he had to walk in on them making out. He was happy for them, naturally, but he didn’t need to keep seeing the PDA. Especially when Trini’s hand was definitely undoing the unbutton on the front of Kim’s pants.

Jason turned on his heel and dumped the towels into a nearby cart. He had to stop himself from sprinting to the kitchen. When he walked in, Billy looked up from the dishes and smiled, perpetually happy to see him. The long purple rubber gloves were pulled up to his elbows to keep his hands from feeling all of the left-over food residue.

“So,” Jason began, leaning against the sink, “don’t go into the laundry room, okay?” Billy’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“Why?”

“Kim and Trini are...you know” He gestured vaguely in the hopes that he wouldn’t have to say it.

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking” Jason sighed and scrubbed his face, maybe it would dislodge the discomfort.

“Just trust me, you don’t want to go in there for a while. Maybe an hour, just to be safe” Billy’s confusion and suspicion didn’t disappear.

“I trust you”

“Thank you, Billy” The two of them spent the next fifty minutes filling the time, talking about the dogs, the cats, the store, and their co-workers. It was pleasant when Jason’s mind didn’t wander to why they were doing that and not something else.

Kim and Trini stumbled into the room, looking far too disheveled and satisfied. Their grins were too wide and their limbs too loose. Jason crossed the room and laid a hand on each of their shoulders.

“Well,” he really meant the excited smile he gave them, “congratulations guys, but not here, please. I beg you”

~

District management almost never made in store appearances. Those were reserved for big changes, good news, or bad news. As the entire store was crowded together after hours, Jason couldn’t help but fear the latter. Alvie clapped his hands together for the crowd’s attention.

“Excuse me, thank you everyone for showing up tonight” Zack nudged Jason in the ribs.

“Wasn’t this mandatory?” They sniggered together as Alvie plowed on.

“I want to take the time to thank each and every one of you for your time and dedication into this store” He took a long pause to try and make eye contact with as many people as possible. “However, I regret to tell you all that our store will be closing at the end of the month”

A chorus of gasps, sighs, and groans filled the air and Jason, between fish tanks and dog harnesses, felt his heart break. Alvie continued to talk about what the chain will do for them as if it could measure up to what it would provide if it stayed open. The rest of the meeting went by in a daze. He barely took in more than three consecutive words.

The hotel staff lingered in the parking lot, no one quite sure what do do or say. And Jason had come to a conclusion that these people were his friends, no matter what happened next. He loved the big way Zack felt everything. He loved Billy’s never ending affection. He loved the quiet way Trini expressed her protectiveness. He loved the simplicity of Kim’s humor.

He loved them. Even when he was scooping poop.

“So this sucks” Trini mumbled once they were alone on the pavement. Kim, her arm around the smaller girl’s shoulders, hummed in agreement.

“What the hell are we going to do? I want to keep hanging out with you guys. Forget trying to get someone else to hire me” Zack ruffled his hair and Billy laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“What if we all applied at the same place? There’s another PetStay a few miles away. If we don’t all get it, we apply somewhere else. I know it feels like it right now, but it isn’t the end, not by a lot, okay? We’re blue,” he gestured to Billy, “black,” then to Zack, “pink, yellow,” Kim and Trini stood a little straighter, “and red. Take us or leave us” His breathing was labored by the end, but his heart felt big and hopeful. Kim snorted and ducked her head.

“You’re such a nerd. Come on Mr. Leader. Let’s go to Krispy Kreme you guys. I could use some sugar” She threw her other arm over his shoulders, even though it was a bit of a stretch with his height. He shook his head but extended his own arm to Billy, who after a quick deliberation nodded and pulled Zack close.

“I’m the nerd. You play Pokemon Go every day”

“Holy fuck, really? What team are you?”

“Zack, you know it literally does not matter, right?”

“Actually, there have been studies about what the choice says about people, Trini”

“I didn’t know that, B. Tell us about it”

[republicofharper]

Private Ikari chapter 6 final battle of the pacific. (Finale)

Ikari was in the hospital for 4 months. And usagi was 8 months pregnant. Ikari’s gunshot wound on his leg will give him a limp for most of his life. But he went back to his sqaud Jason,kumma,cooper,violet,etc. while Nezumi and her lightning strike team of jets.

In shuri castle...

Ryuu: we have men guarding all gates. Armed with ariska mk2’s.

General Levi: but my emporer the allies have superior weapons and training. Our army is but a milita that are being wiped in the floor.

Ryuu: well then. I have an idea. We recently acquired some tanks from russia. We about 100 both gates we have 20 guarding. And 60 within the castle.

*WHISLTE* *BOOM*

A imperial guard hyperventilating and covered him blood and mud ran in. Sir! My majesty! The Americans are striking the gates. WITH ARTILLERY!

General: guide the tanks to the American position.

*gunfire* *BOOM*

On the allied point of view...

Ikari: MY BROTHERS! MONTHS OF BLOODSHED AND PAIN. MARINE BLOOD SPILT. FOR OUR NATION AND FELLOW BROTHERS WHO REMAIN AND FIGHT! NO SACRIFICE TO GREAT!!!!!!!

Marines: HOOAH!

IKARI: CHARGE!

The young and hardened marines led by Ikari and Jason charged and let out battle cry that will give a grown man nighthmares for the rest of there lives more than the war itself. The anger and hatred,and determination. To defend there homeland and fellow brothers and sisters.

(Machine gunfire)

Men fell down ripped limb from limb. But that didn’t stop the marines. They charged. The japense soldiers charged back! The soldiers on both sides fought with bayonets ⚔️ and exchanged gunfire. A japense soldier grabbed Ikari by his shirt. Both dropping there weapons. they screamed in each other’s faces with ugly and hateful expressions.

Japense soldier: RAGGGGHHHHH!!!!!

Ikari: RRRRAAAGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

💥

The 2 soldiers when flying back.. a non lethal grande went of.

The japense soldier grabbed his katana and ran at Ikari as he tried to grab his gun.

*slash*

Ikari: AGH!!!!

*BANG*

J.s: 😵

Ikari’s face had a slash across it from the enemy’s kantana.

Ikari: dirty Tojo. fuck. WE GOTTA KEEP MOVING MEN!

Kumma: is your face ok man?

Jason: do you need a medic soldier!?

Ikari: I’m ok man! And no sir!

Nezumi on radio: JAPENSE AA *static* GUNS *static* ARE TAKING OUT MY PILOTS! SHIT IM GOING DOWN!

Kumma: SHIT! LOOK!

They saw Nezumi and a few other jets crash and some others crash into one of shuri castle’s towers.

Ikari: NNEEZZUMMII!!!!!!!

All Ikari saw was red. He heard japense soldiers screaming. Cracking of his gun and enemies necks. And his primal war cry. When he could see he was in the tower. Dead body’s everywhere. Ripped open and full of holes and cracked necks. He saw combat medics coming and helping Nezumi and her fellow pilots.

Combat medic: Soldier are you ok?

Ikari: yes sir. 🤕

Ikari ,Jason and kumma rushed to there friend while fending off the enemy.

Nezumis eyes started to close and she began to go pale.

Jason: Goddamn it soldier! Stay with me.

Nezumi eyes opened. And she got up and grabbed a m2 Garand off a dead marine.

Nezumi: I..it wa..was a..an h..honor. Lea..lead m..my a..and y..your m..men t..to v..v..victory. Now go. GO!

Ikari: NO!

Jason and kumma has restrain Ikari from running into the machine gunfire.

Jason: godamn it! That’s and order!

Ikari: NO! NO!

The 3 watched in horror and awe as there friend shot a bunch of japense soldiers down! And took out all the machine guns that were killing marines and airmen! But one bullet hit her in the head. She fell to the ground.

Ikari fell on his knees. Kumma passed out from. shock and Jason tried to get Ikari to snap out of it.

Ikari began to laugh. But it wasn’t happy laughing. It was the laugh of a mad man.

Ikari: AHHH HAHAHAHA GOD DAMN IT YOU JUST HAD TO. YOU JUST HAD TO.

Ikari Began to scream and sob. One of his friends. She was like a sister to him.

Ikari: FFFFUUUUUUCCKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!

Ikari’s true true inner rage began to show he got up and grabbed a machine gun from a dead soldier. He rained led upon the soldiers at the last gate. He then grabbed a flame thrower and used that and his gun. He killed 50 men in 10 minutes. True rage he burned through guns and flame throwers. He then saw tanks coming. But the marines had rows of men with rpg’s in lines like there ancestors who fought in lines with muskets.

Ikari: FIRE!!!!!!

*BOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMM*

All tanks were wiped out by marines and more jets.

When all enemy soldiers where dead. Ikari ran into the main castle towards the small bunker that ryuu and the general hid. He had a magnum revolver. Ready to blow there heads off. He didn’t care. Even if ryuu was related to him.

Ikari easily picked of the guards.

Ikari busted down the door.

Ikari: FREEZE!

Ikari shot the general in the head in blind rage.

And gave ryuu the darkest and most hateful look.

Ryuu gave a sadistic smile.

Ryuu: oh. Ikari how you’ve grown. How is your mother doing. With that American idiot of a father of yours.

Ikari: I swear to god. IM GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU!

Ryuu: go ahead. My empire is still powerful. I have men In the cia! In the army! In our family. Everything you know is a lie. Your just a little kid. You don’t understand the true nature of chaos.

Ikari: you! with your one dimensional bullshit! I’m done with it! You hurt my family. My friends. My brothers and sisters. You caused the rape and cannibleism upon men women and children. You may be my flesh and blood. But money and evil blood different than my blood. Or anyone’s.

Ryuu: really? Is there any good or evil in war? One side may have good intentions. But. They will still commit the same atrocities and murder as the other side. Think. The atomic bomb in heroshima.etc. It shows that war isn’t hell. Hell spares the innocent.

Ikari was in shock. All those brothers he lost.

Ikari: well. I know one thing. Your going to hell BAKA!

*bang*

Ikari walked out of the castle covered in blood. He grabbed the American flag and the marines placed the flag in the center of the destroyed battlefield. The marines stuck the fallen soldiers rifles into the ground by the barrel. And then. Placed the marines helmets and dog tags on top of it. All surrounding the flag in honor. Then they looked up. And saw u.n choppers and convoys coming. The new republic of Japan took control of the castle and built a memorial.

The plane that was taking them home came. When They were landing at fort Irwin airfield. They then boarded the bus and drove to San deigo. Back home. Ikari looked out the windows of the bus. He saw civilians cheering. People in peace. He shed a tear of happiness. He looked up. And smiled.

Ikari: have fun up there Nezumi.

Kumma smiled st his buddy.

Kumma: Yo man. We’re home man. We made it.

When the got to the station they saw people cheering flying the u.n and u.s flag! People saluting them and singing the national anthem. Cooper was fighting in the eastern front against the Germans and other cdp factions.

At usagi’s house...

Usagi sat outside on the porch waiting for her husband.

She saw army transport truck and saw Ikari come out. Wearing the blue marine uniform with the White Hat. With medals on his chest. Usagi rushed to her love. They embraced each other and kissed.

Ikari: I missed you my love.

Usagi: me too Dear! Let’s surprise your parents!

Ikari was still scared for life from the battle. But he was so happy to be home.

And the Haida and restuko Hudson residence...

Retsuko was in the living room. Sad. She wanted her baby to come home. She saw the framed picture of Ikari wearing his infantry uniform. No scar or anything. A smiling hyena.

She picked up the portrait and hugged it.

She felt Haida’s hand in her shoulder.

Haida: looks like a movie star. Our boy. I heard america won the battle. Hopefully he’s ok. They saw usagi’s car drive up. Usagi came up to the door. And knocked.

Haida opened it

Retsuko: oh hey usagi!

Haida: what’s up?

Usagi: well. I have a surprise!

Ikari came out of the car.

Retsuko began to cry. She and Haida rushed to him. Hugging him and crying.

Retsuko: OH MY GOD MY BABY!

haida: My boy is home!

Usagi smiled at the reunion.

Haida saw the medals. The Purple Heart. And Medal of Honor. And the scar across ikari’s face. So did retsuko.

Haida: son. I’m so proud of you. Those medals are ones of warriors. A symbol of all your brothers in arms. And that scar. I can tell you and your brothers cheated death there.

Ikari: thank you dad.

Usagi: Ikari! I have great news! Our son is due in 1 more month!

Ikari: began to shed a few tears and hugged his wife.

Retsuko: I’m so exited!!

Haida: me to!!

The end

I will do more a story about cooper and kumma on the eastern front!

Credit to

@kingdomofkitten

@firecraker-art-lounge

And many other great creators! Thank you for reading!

[parentingguide8-blog]

How Panicked Parents Skipping Shots Endanger Us All

New Post has been published on https://parentinguideto.com/must-see/how-panicked-parents-skipping-shots-endanger-us-all/

How Panicked Parents Skipping Shots Endanger Us All

The debate over childhood vaccination has been in the news on and off for nearly a decade. In 2009 WIRED published a comprehensive cover story on the subject—An Epidemic of Fear—laying out the debate and analyzing how unjustified and unscientific thinking was fueling a growing anti-vaccine moment. As another wave of stories about vaccination dominate the media, we thought it was time to revisit our earlier coverage.

To hear his enemies talk, you might think Paul Offit is the most hated man in America. A pediatrician in Philadelphia, he is the coinventor of a rotavirus vaccine that could save tens of thousands of lives every year. Yet environmental activist Robert F. Kennedy Jr. slams Offit as a “biostitute” who whores for the pharmaceutical industry. Actor Jim Carrey calls him a profiteer and distills the doctor’s attitude toward childhood vaccination down to this chilling mantra: “Grab ’em and stab ’em.” Recently, Carrey and his girlfriend, Jenny McCarthy, went on CNN’s Larry King Live and singled out Offit’s vaccine, RotaTeq, as one of many unnecessary vaccines, all administered, they said, for just one reason: “Greed.”

Thousands of people revile Offit publicly at rallies, on Web sites, and in books. Type pauloffit.com into your browser and you’ll find not Offit’s official site but an anti-Offit screed “dedicated to exposing the truth about the vaccine industry’s most well-paid spokesperson.” Go to Wikipedia to read his bio and, as often as not, someone will have tampered with the page. The section on Offit’s education was once altered to say that he’d studied on a pig farm in Toad Suck, Arkansas. (He’s a graduate of Tufts University and the University of Maryland School of Medicine).

Then there are the threats. Offit once got an email from a Seattle man that read, “I will hang you by your neck until you are dead!” Other bracing messages include “You have blood on your hands” and “Your day of reckoning will come.” A few years ago, a man on the phone ominously told Offit he knew where the doctor’s two children went to school. At a meeting of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, an anti-vaccine protester emerged from a crowd of people holding signs that featured Offit’s face emblazoned with the word terrorist and grabbed the unsuspecting, 6-foot-tall physician by the jacket.

“I don’t think he wanted to hurt me,” Offit recalls. “He was just excited to be close to the personification of such evil.” Still, whenever Offit gets a letter with an unfamiliar return address, he holds the envelope at arm’s length before gingerly tearing it open. “I think about it,” he admits. “Anthrax.”

This isnt a religious dispute, like the debate over creationism and intelligent design. Its a challenge to traditional science that crosses party, class, and religious lines.

So what has this award-winning 58-year-old scientist done to elicit such venom? He boldly states — in speeches, in journal articles, and in his 2008 book Autism’s False Prophets — that vaccines do not cause autism or autoimmune disease or any of the other chronic conditions that have been blamed on them. He supports this assertion with meticulous evidence. And he calls to account those who promote bogus treatments for autism — treatments that he says not only don’t work but often cause harm.

As a result, Offit has become the main target of a grassroots movement that opposes the systematic vaccination of children and the laws that require it. McCarthy, an actress and a former Playboy centerfold whose son has been diagnosed with autism, is the best-known leader of the movement, but she is joined by legions of well-organized supporters and sympathizers.

This isn’t a religious dispute, like the debate over creationism and intelligent design. It’s a challenge to traditional science that crosses party, class, and religious lines. It is partly a reaction to Big Pharma’s blunders and PR missteps, from Vioxx to illegal marketing ploys, which have encouraged a distrust of experts. It is also, ironically, a product of the era of instant communication and easy access to information. The doubters and deniers are empowered by the Internet (online, nobody knows you’re not a doctor) and helped by the mainstream media, which has an interest in pumping up bad science to create a “debate” where there should be none.

In the center of the fray is Paul Offit. “People describe me as a vaccine advocate,” he says. “I see myself as a science advocate.” But in this battle — and make no mistake, he says, it’s a pitched and heated battle — “science alone isn’t enough … People are getting hurt. The parent who reads what Jenny McCarthy says and thinks, ‘Well, maybe I shouldn’t get this vaccine,’ and their child dies of Hib meningitis,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s such a fundamental failure on our part that we haven’t convinced that parent.”

Consider: In certain parts of the US, vaccination rates have dropped so low that occurrences of some children’s diseases are approaching pre-vaccine levels for the first time ever. And the number of people who choose not to vaccinate their children (so-called philosophical exemptions are available in about 20 states, including Pennsylvania, Texas, and much of the West) continues to rise. In states where such opting out is allowed, 2.6 percent of parents did so last year, up from 1 percent in 1991, according to the CDC. In some communities, like California’s affluent Marin County, just north of San Francisco, non-vaccination rates are approaching 6 percent (counterintuitively, higher rates of non-vaccination often correspond with higher levels of education and wealth).

Science loses ground to pseudo-science because the latter seems to offer more comfort.

That may not sound like much, but a recent study by the Los Angeles Times indicates that the impact can be devastating. The Times found that even though only about 2 percent of California’s kindergartners are unvaccinated (10,000 kids, or about twice the number as in 1997), they tend to be clustered, disproportionately increasing the risk of an outbreak of such largely eradicated diseases as measles, mumps, and pertussis (whooping cough). The clustering means almost 10 percent of elementary schools statewide may already be at risk.

In May, The New England Journal of Medicine laid the blame for clusters of disease outbreaks throughout the US squarely at the feet of declining vaccination rates, while nonprofit health care provider Kaiser Permanente reported that unvaccinated children were 23 times more likely to get pertussis, a highly contagious bacterial disease that causes violent coughing and is potentially lethal to infants. In the June issue of the journal Pediatrics, Jason Glanz, an epidemiologist at Kaiser’s Institute for Health Research, revealed that the number of reported pertussis cases jumped from 1,000 in 1976 to 26,000 in 2004. A disease that vaccines made rare, in other words, is making a comeback. “This study helps dispel one of the commonly held beliefs among vaccine-refusing parents: that their children are not at risk for vaccine-preventable diseases,” Glanz says.

“I used to say that the tide would turn when children started to die. Well, children have started to die,” Offit says, frowning as he ticks off recent fatal cases of meningitis in unvaccinated children in Pennsylvania and Minnesota. “So now I’ve changed it to ‘when enough children start to die.’ Because obviously, we’re not there yet.”

The rejection of hard-won knowledge is by no means a new phenomenon. In 1905, French mathematician and scientist Henri Poincaré said that the willingness to embrace pseudo-science flourished because people “know how cruel the truth often is, and we wonder whether illusion is not more consoling.” Decades later, the astronomer Carl Sagan reached a similar conclusion: Science loses ground to pseudo-science because the latter seems to offer more comfort. “A great many of these belief systems address real human needs that are not being met by our society,” Sagan wrote of certain Americans’ embrace of reincarnation, channeling, and extraterrestrials. “There are unsatisfied medical needs, spiritual needs, and needs for communion with the rest of the human community.”

Looking back over human history, rationality has been the anomaly. Being rational takes work, education, and a sober determination to avoid making hasty inferences, even when they appear to make perfect sense. Much like infectious diseases themselves — beaten back by decades of effort to vaccinate the populace — the irrational lingers just below the surface, waiting for us to let down our guard.

Before smallpox was eradicated with a vaccine, it killed an estimated 500 million people. And just 60 years ago, polio paralyzed 16,000 Americans every year, while rubella caused birth defects and mental retardation in as many as 20,000 newborns. Measles infected 4 million children, killing 3,000 annually, and a bacterium called Haemophilus influenzae type b caused Hib meningitis in more than 15,000 children, leaving many with permanent brain damage. Infant mortality and abbreviated life spans — now regarded as a third world problem — were a first world reality.

Peter Yang

Today, because the looming risk of childhood death is out of sight, it is also largely out of mind, leading a growing number of Americans to worry about what is in fact a much lesser risk: the ill effects of vaccines. If your newborn gets pertussis, for example, there is a 1 percent chance that the baby will die of pulmonary hypertension or other complications. The risk of dying from the pertussis vaccine, by contrast, is practically nonexistent — in fact, no study has linked DTaP (the three-in-one immunization that protects against diphtheria, tetanus, and pertussis) to death in children. Nobody in the pro-vaccine camp asserts that vaccines are risk-free, but the risks are minute in comparison to the alternative.

Still, despite peer-reviewed evidence, many parents ignore the math and agonize about whether to vaccinate. Why? For starters, the human brain has a natural tendency to pattern-match — to ignore the old dictum “correlation does not imply causation” and stubbornly persist in associating proximate phenomena. If two things coexist, the brain often tells us, they must be related. Some parents of autistic children noticed that their child’s condition began to appear shortly after a vaccination. The conclusion: “The vaccine must have caused the autism.” Sounds reasonable, even though, as many scientists have noted, it has long been known that autism and other neurological impairments often become evident at or around the age of 18 to 24 months, which just happens to be the same time children receive multiple vaccinations. Correlation, perhaps. But not causation, as studies have shown.

And if you need a new factoid to support your belief system, it has never been easier to find one. The Internet offers a treasure trove of undifferentiated information, data, research, speculation, half-truths, anecdotes, and conjecture about health and medicine. It is also a democratizing force that tends to undermine authority, cut out the middleman, and empower individuals. In a world where anyone can attend what McCarthy calls the “University of Google,” boning up on immunology before getting your child vaccinated seems like good, responsible parenting. Thanks to the Internet, everyone can be their own medical investigator.

There are anti-vaccine Web sites, Facebook groups, email alerts, and lobbying organizations. Politicians ignore the movement at their peril, and, unlike in the debates over creationism and global warming, Democrats have proved just as likely as Republicans to share misinformation and fuel anxiety.

US senators John Kerry of Massachusetts and Chris Dodd of Connecticut have both curried favor with constituents by trumpeting the notion that vaccines cause autism. And Robert F. Kennedy Jr., a scion of the most famous Democratic family of all, authored a deeply flawed 2005 Rolling Stone piece called “Deadly Immunity.” In it, he accused the government of protecting drug companies from litigation by concealing evidence that mercury in vaccines may have caused autism in thousands of kids. The article was roundly discredited for, among other things, overestimating the amount of mercury in childhood vaccines by more than 100-fold, causing Rolling Stone to issue not one but a prolonged series of corrections and clarifications. But that did little to unring the bell.

The bottom line: Pseudo-science preys on well-intentioned people who, motivated by love for their kids, become vulnerable to one of the world’s oldest professions. Enter the snake-oil salesman.

When a child is ill, parents will do anything to make it right. If you doubt that, just spend a day or two at the annual conference of the nonprofit organization Autism One, a group built around the conviction that autism is caused by vaccines. It shares its agenda with other advocacy groups like the National Autism Association, the Coalition for SafeMinds, and McCarthy’s Generation Rescue. All these organizations cite similar anecdotes — children who appear to shut down and exhibit signs of autistic behavior immediately after being vaccinated — as proof. Autism One, like others, also points to rising rates of autism — what many parents call an epidemic — as evidence that vaccines are to blame. Finally, Autism One asserts that the condition is preventable and treatable, and that it is the toxins in vaccines and the sheer number of childhood vaccines (the CDC recommends 10 vaccines, in 26 doses, by the age of 2 — up from four vaccines in 1983) that combine to cause disease in certain sensitive children.

Their rhetoric often undergoes subtle shifts, especially when the scientific evidence becomes too overwhelming on one front or another. After all, saying you’re against all vaccines does start to sound crazy, even to a parent in distress over a child’s autism. Until recently, Autism One’s Web site flatly blamed “too many vaccines given too soon.” Lately, the language has gotten more vague, citing “environmental triggers.”

But the underlying argument has not changed: Vaccines harm America’s children, and doctors like Paul Offit are paid shills of the drug industry.

To be clear, there is no credible evidence to indicate that any of this is true. None. Twelve epidemiological studies have found no data that links the MMR (measles/mumps/rubella) vaccine to autism; six studies have found no trace of an association between thimerosal (a preservative containing ethylmercury that has largely been removed from vaccines since 20011) and autism, and three other studies have found no indication that thimerosal causes even subtle neurological problems. The so-called epidemic, researchers assert, is the result of improved diagnosis, which has identified as autistic many kids who once might have been labeled mentally retarded or just plain slow. In fact, the growing body of science indicates that the autistic spectrum — which may well turn out to encompass several discrete conditions — may largely be genetic in origin. In April, the journal Nature published two studies that analyzed the genes of almost 10,000 people and identified a common genetic variant present in approximately 65 percent of autistic children.

But that hasn’t stopped as many as one in four Americans from believing vaccines can poison kids, according to a 2008 survey. And outreach by grassroots organizations like Autism One is a big reason why.

Researchers, alas, cant respond with the same forceful certainty that the doubters are able to deploy not if theyre going to follow the rules of science.

At this year’s Autism One conference in Chicago, I flashed more than once on Carl Sagan’s idea of the power of an “unsatisfied medical need.” Because a massive research effort has yet to reveal the precise causes of autism, pseudo-science has stepped aggressively into the void. In the hallways of the Westin O’Hare hotel, helpful salespeople strove to catch my eye as I walked past a long line of booths pitching everything from vitamins and supplements to gluten-free cookies (some believe a gluten-free diet alleviates the symptoms of autism), hyperbaric chambers, and neuro-feedback machines.

To a one, the speakers told parents not to despair. Vitamin D would help, said one doctor and supplement salesman who projected the equation “No vaccines + more vitamin d = no autism” onto a huge screen during his presentation. (If only it were that simple.) Others talked of the powers of enzymes, enemas, infrared saunas, glutathione drips, chelation therapy (the controversial — and risky — administration of certain chemicals that leech metals from the body), and Lupron (a medicine that shuts down testosterone synthesis).

Offit calls this stuff, much of which is unproven, ineffectual, or downright dangerous, “a cottage industry of false hope.” He didn’t attend the Autism One conference, though his name was frequently invoked. A California woman with an 11-year-old autistic son told me, aghast, that she’d personally heard Offit say you could safely give a child 10,000 vaccines (in fact, the number he came up with was 100,000 — more on that later). A mom from Arizona, who introduced me to her 10-year-old “recovered” autistic son — a bright, blue-eyed, towheaded boy who hit his head on walls, she said, before he started getting B-12 injections — told me that she’d read Offit had made $50 million from the RotaTeq vaccine. In her view, he was in the pocket of Big Pharma.

The central message at these conferences boils down to this: “The medical establishment doesn’t care, but we do.” Every vendor I talked to echoed this theme. And every parent expressed a frustrated, even desperate belief that no one in traditional science gives a hoot about easing their pain or addressing their theories — based on day-to-day parental experience — about autism’s causes.

Actually, scientists have chased down some of these theories. In August, for example, Pediatrics published an investigation of a popular hypothesis that children with autism have a higher incidence of gastrointestinal problems, which some allege are caused by injected viruses traveling to the intestines. Jenny McCarthy’s foundation posits that autism stems from these bacteria, as well as heavy metals and live viruses present in some vaccines. Healing your child, therefore, is a matter of clearing out the “environmental toxins” with, among other things, special diets. The Pediatrics paper found that while autistic kids suffered more from constipation, the cause was likely behavioral, not organic; there was no significant association between autism and GI symptoms. Moreover, gluten- and dairy-free diets did not appear to improve autism and sometimes caused nutritional deficiencies.

But researchers, alas, can’t respond with the same forceful certainty that the doubters are able to deploy — not if they’re going to follow the rules of science. Those tenets allow them to claim only that there is no evidence of a link between autism and vaccines. But that phrasing — what sounds like equivocation — is just enough to allow doubts to not only remain but to fester. Meanwhile, in the eight years since thimerosal was removed from vaccines (a public relations mistake, in Offit’s view, because it seemed to indicate to the public that thimerosal was toxic), the incidences of autism continue to rise.

The battle we are waging will determine what both health and freedom will look like in America. — Barbara Loe Fisher

In the wake of the latest thimerosal studies, most of the anti-vaccination crowd — even Autism One, despite the ever-changing rhetoric on its Web site — has shifted their aim away from any particular vaccine to a broader, fuzzier target: the sheer number of vaccines that are recommended. It sounds, after all, like common sense. There must be something risky about giving too many vaccines to very young children in too short a time. Opponents argue that for some children the current vaccine schedule creates a “toxic overload.”

“I’m not anti-vaccine,” McCarthy says. “I’m anti-toxin.” She stops just short of calling for an outright ban. McCarthy delivered the keynote address at the Autism One conference this year, just as she had in 2008. She drew a standing-room-only crowd, many of whom know her not from her acting but from her frequent appearances on TV talk shows, Oprah Winfrey’s Web site, and Twitter (@JennyfromMTV). McCarthy has authored two best-selling books on “healing” autism and is on the board of the advocacy group Generation Rescue (motto: “Autism is reversible”). With her stream-of-consciousness rants (“Too many toxins in the body cause neurological problems — look at Ozzy Osbourne, for Christ’s sake!”) and celebrity allure, she is the anti-vaccine movement’s most popular pitchman and prettiest face.

Barbara Loe Fisher, by contrast, is indisputably the movement’s brain. Fisher is the cofounder and president of the National Vaccine Information Center in Vienna, Virginia, the largest, oldest, and most influential of the watchdog groups that oppose universal vaccination. At the Autism One conference, Fisher took the podium with characteristic flair. As she often does, Fisher began with the story of her son Chris, who she believes was damaged by vaccines at the age of two and a half. A short film featuring devastating images of sick kids — some of them seemingly palsied, others with tremors, others catatonic — drove the point home. The film, accompanied by Bryan Adams’ plaintive song “(Everything I Do) I Do It For You,” ended with this message emblazoned on the screen: “All the children in this video were injured or killed by mandatory vaccinations.”

Against this backdrop, Fisher, a skilled debater who often faces down articulate, well-informed scientists on live TV, mentioned Offit frequently. She called him the leading “pro-forced-vaccination proponent” and cast him as a man who walks in lockstep with the pharmaceutical companies and demonizes caring parents. With the likely introduction of a swine flu vaccine later this year, Fisher added, Americans needed to wake up to the “draconian laws” that could force every citizen to either be vaccinated or quarantined. That isn’t true — the swine flu vaccine, like other flu vaccines, will be administered on a voluntary basis. But no matter: Fisher’s argument turns vaccines from a public health issue into one of personal choice, an unwritten bit of the Bill of Rights.

In her speech, Fisher borrowed from the Bible, George Orwell, and the civil rights movement. “The battle we are waging,” she said, “will determine what both health and freedom will look like in America.” She closed by quoting the inscription above the door of the Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, DC: “The first to perish were the children.” And then she brought it home: “If we believe in compassion, if we believe in the future, we will do whatever it takes to give our children back the future that is their birthright.” The audience cheered as the words sank in: Whatever it takes. “No forced vaccination,” Fisher concluded. “Not in America.”

Paul Offit has a slightly nasal voice and a forceful delivery that conspire to make him sound remarkably like Hawkeye Pierce, the cantankerous doctor played by Alan Alda on the TV series M*A*S*H. As a young man, Offit was a big fan of the show (though he felt then, and does now, that Hawkeye was “much cooler than me”). Offit is quick-witted, funny, and — despite a generally mild-mannered mien — sometimes so assertive as to seem brash. “Scientists, bound only by reason, are society’s true anarchists,” he has written — and he clearly sees himself as one. “Kaflooey theories” make him crazy, especially if they catch on. Fisher, who has long been the media’s go-to interview for what some in the autism arena call “parents rights,” makes him particularly nuts, as in “You just want to scream.” The reason? “She lies,” he says flatly.

“Barbara Loe Fisher inflames people against me. And wrongly. I’m in this for the same reason she is. I care about kids. Does she think Merck is paying me to speak about vaccines? Is that the logic?” he asks, exasperated. (Merck is doing no such thing). But when it comes to mandating vaccinations, Offit says, Fisher is right about him: He is an adamant supporter.

“We have seat belt rules,” he says. “Seat belts save lives. There was never a question about that. The data was absolutely clear. But people didn’t use them until they were required to use them.” Furthermore, the decision not to buckle up endangers only you. “Unless you fly through the window and hit somebody else,” he adds. “I believe in mandates. I do.”

We are driving north (seat belts on) across Philadelphia in Offit’s gray 2009 Toyota Camry, having just completed a full day of rounds at Children’s Hospital. Over the past eight hours, Offit has directed a team of six residents and med students as they evaluated more than a dozen children with persistent infections. He pulls into the driveway of the comfy four-bedroom Tudor in the suburbs where his family has lived for the past 13 years. It’s a nice enough house, with a leafy green yard and a two-car garage where a second Toyota Camry (this one red, a year older, and belonging to his wife, Bonnie) is already parked. Let’s just say that if Offit has indeed made $50 million from RotaTeq, as his critics love to say, he is hiding it well.

Offit acknowledges that he received a payout — “several million dollars, a lot of money” — when his hospital sold its stake in RotaTeq last year for $182 million. He continues to collect a royalty each year. It’s a fluke, he says — an unexpected outcome. “I’m not embarrassed about it,” he says. “It was the product of a lot of work, although it wasn’t why I did the work, nor was it, frankly, the reward for the work.”

Similarly, the suggestion that pharmaceutical companies make vaccines hoping to pocket huge profits is ludicrous to Offit. Vaccines, after all, are given once or twice or three times in a lifetime. Diabetes drugs, neurological drugs, Lipitor, Viagra, even Rogaine — stuff that a large number of people use every day — that’s where the money is.

That’s not to say vaccines aren’t profitable: RotaTeq costs a little under $4 a dose to make, according to Offit. Merck has sold a total of more than 24 million doses in the US, most for $69.59 a pop — a 17-fold markup. Not bad, but pharmaceutical companies do sell a lot of vaccines at cost to the developing world and in some cases give them away. Merck committed $75 million in 2006 to vaccinate all children born in Nicaragua for three years. In 2008, Merck’s revenue from RotaTeq was $665 million. Meanwhile, a blockbuster drug like Pfizer’s Lipitor is a $12 billion-a-year business.

To understand exactly why Offit became a scientist, you must go back more than half a century, to 1956. That was when doctors in Offit’s hometown of Baltimore operated on one of his legs to correct a club foot, requiring him to spend three weeks recovering in a chronic care facility with 20 other children, all of whom had polio. Parents were allowed to visit just one hour a week, on Sundays. His father, a shirt salesman, came when he could. His mother, who was pregnant with his brother and hospitalized with appendicitis, was unable to visit at all. He was 5 years old. “It was a pretty lonely, isolating experience,” Offit says. “But what was even worse was looking at these other children who were just horribly crippled and disfigured by polio.” That memory, he says, was the first thing that drove him toward a career in pediatric infectious diseases.

There was something else, too. From an early age, Offit embraced the logic and elegance of the scientific method. Science imbued a chaotic world with an order that he found reassuring.

“What I loved about science was its reason. You have data. You stand back and you discuss the strengths and weaknesses of that data. There’s just something very calming about that,” he says. “You formulate a hypothesis, you establish burdens of proof, you subject your hypothesis to rigorous testing. You’ve got 20 pieces of a 1,000-piece puzzle … It’s beautiful, really.”

There were no doctors in the Offit family; he decided to become the first. In 1977, when he was an intern at the Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh, he witnessed the second event that would determine his career path: the death of a little girl from a rotavirus infection (there was, as yet, no vaccine). The child’s mother had been diligent, calling her pediatrician just a few hours after the girl’s fever, vomiting, and diarrhea had begun. Still, by the time the girl was admitted, she was too dehydrated to have an intravenous line inserted. Doctors tried everything to rehydrate her, including sticking a bone marrow needle into her tibia to inject fluids. She died on the table. “I didn’t realize it killed children in the United States,” Offit says, remembering how the girl’s mother, after hearing the terrible news, came into the room and held her daughter’s hand. “That girl’s image was always in my head.”

The choice not to get a vaccine is not a choice to take no risk. Its just a choice to take a different risk, and we need to be better about saying, Heres what that different risk looks like.” — Paul Offit

The third formative moment for Offit came in the late 1980s, when he met Maurice Hilleman, the most brilliant vaccine maker of the 20th century. Hilleman — a notoriously foulmouthed genius who toiled for years in the Philadelphia labs of Merck — invented vaccines to prevent measles, mumps, and rubella (and later came up with the combination of the three, the MMR). He created vaccines for hepatitis A and B, Hib, chicken pox, pneumococcus, and meningococcus. He became Offit’s mentor; Offit later became Hilleman’s biographer.

Offit believes in the power of good storytelling, which is why he writes books, five so far. He dearly wants to pull people into the exciting mysteries that scientists wrestle with every day. He wants us all to understand that vaccines work by introducing a weakened strain of a particular virus into the body — a strain so weak that it cannot make us sick. He wants us to revel in this miracle of inoculation, which causes our immune systems to produce antibodies and develop “memory cells” that mount a defense if we later encounter a live version of that virus.

It’s easy to see why Offit felt a special pride when, after 25 years of research and testing, he and two colleagues, Fred Clark and Stanley Plotkin, joined the ranks of the vaccine inventors. In February 2006, RotaTeq was approved for inclusion in the US vaccination schedule. The vaccine for rotavirus, which each year kills about 600,000 children in poor countries and about 40 children in the US, probably saves hundreds of lives a day.

But in certain circles, RotaTeq is no grand accomplishment. Instead, it is offered as Exhibit A in the case against Offit, proving his irredeemable bias and his corrupted point of view. Using this reasoning, of course, Watson and Crick would be unreliable on genetics because the Nobel Prize winners had a vested interest in genetic research. But despite the illogic, the argument has had some success. Consider the CDC’s Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices, which reviews new vaccines and administration schedules: Back in the late ’90s and early ’00s, Offit was a member of the panel, along with experts in infectious diseases, virology, microbiology, and immunology. Now the 15-person panel is made up mostly of state epidemiologists and public-health officials.

That’s not by accident. According to science journalist Michael Specter, author of the new book Denialism: How Irrational Thinking Hinders Scientific Progress, Harms the Planet and Threatens Our Lives, the controversy surrounding vaccine safety has made lack of expertise a requirement when choosing members of prominent advisory panels on the issue. “It’s shocking,” Specter says. “We live in a country where it’s actually a detriment to be an expert about something.” When expertise is diminished to such an extent, irrationality and fear can run amok.

Hence the death threats against Paul Offit. Curt Linderman Sr., the host of “Linderman Live!” on AutismOne Radio and the editor of a blog called the Autism File, recently wrote online that it would “be nice” if Offit “was dead.”

I’d met Linderman at Autism One. He’d given his card to me as we stood outside the Westin O’Hare talking about his autistic son. “We live in a very toxic world,” he’d told me, puffing on a cigarette.

It was hard to argue with that.

Despite his reputation, Offit has occasionally met a vaccine he doesn’t like. In 2002, when he was still a member of the CDC’s advisory committee, the Bush administration was lobbying for a program to give the smallpox vaccine to tens of thousands of Americans. Fear of bioterrorism was rampant, and everyone voted in favor — everyone except Offit. The reason: He feared people would die. And he didn’t keep quiet about his reservations, making appearances on 60 Minutes II and The NewsHour with Jim Lehrer.

The problem with the vaccine, he said, is that “one in every million people who gets it dies.” Moreover, he said, because smallpox is visible when its victims are contagious (it is marked by open sores), outbreaks — if there ever were any — could be quickly contained, and there would be plenty of time to begin vaccinations then. A preventive vaccine, he said, “was a greater risk than the risk of smallpox.”

Ah, risk. It is the idea that fuels the anti-vaccine movement — that parents should be allowed to opt out, because it is their right to evaluate risk for their own children. It is also the idea that underlies the CDC’s vaccination schedule — that the risk to public health is too great to allow individuals, one by one, to make decisions that will impact their communities. (The concept of herd immunity is key here: It holds that, in diseases passed from person to person, it is more difficult to maintain a chain of infection when large numbers of a population are immune.)

Risk is also the motivating idea in Offit’s life. This is a man, after all, who opted to give his own two children — now teenagers — the flu vaccine before it was recommended for their age group. Why? Because the risk of harm if his children got sick was too great. Offit, like everyone else, will do anything to protect his children. And he wants Americans to be fully educated about risk and not hoodwinked into thinking that dropping vaccines keeps their children safe. “The choice not to get a vaccine is not a choice to take no risk,” he says. “It’s just a choice to take a different risk, and we need to be better about saying, ‘Here’s what that different risk looks like.’ Dying of Hib meningitis is a horrible, ugly way to die.”

Getting the measles is no walk in the park, either — not for you or those who come near you. In 2005, a 17-year-old Indiana girl got infected on a trip to Bucharest, Romania. On the return flight home, she was congested, coughing, and feverish but had no rash. The next day, without realizing she was contagious, she went to a church gathering of 500 people. She was there just a few hours. Of the 500 people present, about 450 had either been vaccinated or had developed a natural immunity. Two people in that group had vaccination failure and got measles. Thirty-two people who had not been vaccinated and therefore had no resistance to measles also got sick. Did the girl encounter each of these people face-to-face in her brief visit to the picnic? No. All you have to do to get the measles is to inhabit the airspace of a contagious person within two hours of them being there.

The frightening implications of this kind of anecdote were illustrated by a 2002 study published in The Journal of Infectious Diseases. Looking at 3,292 cases of measles in the Netherlands, the study found that the risk of contracting the disease was lower if you were completely unvaccinated and living in a highly vaccinated community than if you were completely vaccinated and living in a relatively unvaccinated community. Why? Because vaccines don’t always take. What does that mean? You can’t minimize your individual risk unless your herd, your friends and neighbors, also buy in.

Science must somehow prove a negative that vaccines dont cause autism which is not how science typically works. Until the cause of autism is discovered, scientists can establish only that vaccines are safe and that threshold has already been met.

Perceived risk — our changing relationship to it and our increasing intolerance of it — is at the crux of vaccine safety concerns, not to mention related fears of pesticides, genetically modified food, and cloning. Sharon Kaufman, a medical anthropologist at UC San Francisco, observes that our concept of risk has evolved from an external threat that’s out of our control (think: statistical probability of a plane crash) to something that can be managed and controlled if we just make the right decisions (eat less fat and you’ll live longer). Improved diagnostic tests, a change in consumer awareness, an aging society determined to stay youthful — all have contributed to the growing perception that risk (of death, illness, accident) is our responsibility to reduce or eliminate. In the old order, risk management was in the hands of your doctor — or God. Under the new dispensation, it’s all up to you. What are the odds that your child will be autistic? It’s your job to manage them, so get thee to the Internet, and fast.

The thimerosal debacle exacerbated this tendency, particularly when the American Academy of Pediatrics and the Public Health Service issued a poorly worded statement in 1999 that said “current levels of thimerosal will not hurt children, but reducing those levels will make safe vaccines even safer.” In other words, there’s no scientific evidence whatsoever, but you never know.

“When science came out and said, ‘Uh-oh, there may be a risk,’ the stage was already set,” Kaufman says, noting that many parents felt it was irresponsible not to have doubts. “It was Pandora’s box.”

The result is that science must somehow prove a negative — that vaccines don’t cause autism — which is not how science typically works. Edward Jenner invented vaccination in 1796 with his smallpox inoculation; it would be 100 years before science, such as it was, understood why the vaccine worked, and it would be even longer before the specific cause of smallpox could be singled out. Until the cause of autism is discovered, scientists can establish only that vaccines are safe — and that threshold has already been met.

The government is still considering funding more research trials to look for a connection between vaccines and autism. To Kaufman, there’s some justification for this, given that it may be the only way to address everyone’s doubts. But the thimerosal panic suggests that, if bungled, such trials could make a bad situation worse. To scientists like Offit, further studies are also a waste of precious scientific resources, not to mention taxpayers’ money. They take funding away from more pressing matters, including the search for autism’s real cause.

A while back, Offit was asked to help put together a reference text on vaccines. Specifically, his colleagues wanted him to write a chapter that assessed the capacity of the human immune system. It was a hypothetical exercise: What was the maximum number of vaccines that a person could handle? The point was to arm doctors with information that could reassure parents. Offit set out to determine two factors: how many B cells, which make antibodies, a person has in a milliliter of blood and how many different epitopes, the part of a bacterium or virus that is recognized by the immune system, there are in a vaccine. Then, he came up with a rough estimate: a person could handle 100,000 vaccines — or up to 10,000 vaccines at once. Currently the most vaccines children receive at any one time is five.

He also published his findings in Pediatrics. Soon, the number was attached to Offit like a scarlet letter. “The 100,000 number makes me sound like a madman. Because that’s the image: 100,000 shots sticking out of you. It’s an awful image,” Offit says. “Many people — including people who are on my side — have criticized me for that. But I was naive. In that article, I was being asked the question and that is the answer to the question.”

Still, he hasn’t backed off. He feels that scientists have to work harder at winning over the public. “It’s our responsibility to stand up for good science. Though it’s not what we’re trained to do,” he says, admitting that his one regret about Autism’s False Prophets is that it didn’t hold scientists accountable for letting fear of criticism render them mute. “Get out there. There’s no venue too small. As someone once said, it would be a very quiet forest indeed if the only birds that sang were those that sang best.”

So Offit keeps singing. Isn’t he afraid of those who wish him harm? “I’m not that brave,” he says. “If I really thought my life was at risk or my children’s lives were at risk, I wouldn’t do it. Not for a second.” Maybe, he acknowledges, he’s in denial.

Later, I ask his wife the same question. When it comes to her husband’s welfare, Bonnie Offit is fiercely protective. A pediatrician with a thriving group practice, she still makes time to monitor the blogosphere. (Her husband refuses to read the attacks.) She wants to believe that if you “keep your finger on the pulse,” as she puts it, you can keep your loved ones safe.

Still, she worries. On the day I find myself sitting at her dining room table, every front page in the nation features an article about George Tiller, the abortion doctor gunned down at his church in Wichita, Kansas. When her husband leaves the room, Bonnie brings up the killing. “It upsets me,” she says, looking away. “I didn’t even tell him that. But it absolutely upsets me.”

Her husband, meanwhile, still rises every morning at 4 am and heads to his small, tidy study in a spare bedroom. Every morning, he spends a couple of hours working on what will be his sixth book, a history of the anti-vaccine movement. Offit gets excited when he talks about it.

In 19th-century England, he explains, Jenner’s smallpox vaccine was known to be effective. But despite the Compulsory Vaccination Act of 1853, many people still refused to take it, and thousands died unnecessarily. “That was the birth of the anti-vaccine movement,” he says, adding that then — as now — those at the forefront “were great at mass marketing. It was a print-oriented society. They were great pamphleteers. And by the 1890s, they had driven immunization rates down to the 20 percent range.”

Immediately, smallpox took off again in England and Wales, killing 1,455 in 1893. Ireland and Scotland, by contrast, “didn’t have any anti-vaccine movement and had very high immunization rates and very little incidence of smallpox disease and death,” he says, taking a breath. “You’d like to think we would learn.”

Offit wants the book to be cinematic, visually riveting. He believes, fervently, that if he can hook people with a good, truthful story, maybe they will absorb his hopeful message: The human race has faced down this kind of doubt before.

His battle is, in at least one respect, probably a losing one. There will always be more illogic and confusion than science can fend off. Offit’s idea is to inoculate people one by one, until the virus of fear, if not fully erased, at least recedes.

Amy Wallace (ecallawyma@gmail.com) has written for GQ, Esquire, and The New Yorker. This is her first article for Wired.

1. An earlier version of this story suggested that no childhood vaccines contain thimerosal; in fact some versions of the influenza vaccine, which is not typically mandated for children’s admission to school, does contain the preservative. Go here for a further explanation.

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