#its not murder planning

[authorafterhours]

If Will doesn't know first aid before meeting Hannibal, he certainly does afterward. During those three years, I imagine him doing that and learning other stuff that would be useful 'just in case' skills. Just in case for what, even he isn't sure, but they're small allowances he gives himself.

He knows the psychology intimately, but Will is really good at denial.

[starry-bi-sky]

Unpleasant Revelations - DPxDC Ficlet Idea for the Stillborn Au

"Have you met my youngest, Damian, Mr. Masters?"

Its only from twenty years of long, hard experience and practice that Vlad doesn't increase the room temperature from 'borderline uncomfortably cool' to 'unbearably hot' the moment Bruce Wayne pulls his youngest and "only" biological son out in front of him.

He puts only in quotations because twelve year old Damian Wayne looks scarily, uncannily like one Daniel Brown. Jack and Maddie's foster son, second victim of their foolishness, and only other halfa in existence. Second only to him.

It's nauseating how similar they look. From the scowl and terrible glare on the young boy's face, to his brown skin -- which was only a few shades lighter than Daniel's, the shape of his nose, and even the strange winged edge of his eyebrow. Something that Vlad has long since come to find endearing on the child he considered a son of his own. The only difference was that Damian had dark, sharp green eyes.

Daniel's eyes were blue. The same glacier shade as his father's, who stood behind Damian with a proud, oafish smile on his visage.

It was infuriating how similar they look. Vlad might not have rapidly swung the room temperature from one extreme to the other, but he can't stop himself from letting the fury burning within his core from slipping out and raising the temperature up a few degrees.

Because it really only meant one thing.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were related.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were brothers.

Standing in front of him, it was clear as day. He can already picture a phantom image of Daniel standing beside Damian, the same scowl written on his face, the same glare carved into his eyes. The only difference being the dark, exhausted circles beneath them that seemed to be permanently painted onto his skin. The only thing missing being the permanent loneliness and vigilance permeating his being like a scar.

This, if revealed, would be enough to ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation. Or, at the very least, darken it quite a bit. The great philanthropist Bruce Wayne with another secret blood child? One related to his youngest? One that had been put into foster care? Seemingly thrown away?

It would be a firestorm.

One that Vlad is not keen on starting.

It would ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation, yes. But it would hurt Daniel in the process -- the harassment he would face alone might just be enough to break that fragile child completely. That was just not something he could allow. Or, even worse, bring him into his biological father's care and custody -- something Vlad was even less willing to allow.

It's not out of kindness to Wayne that Vlad will keep mum about this.

His grip on his champagne flute tightens, just a bit. He's still aware enough of the world around him to not let it shatter in his hands. His plastered, pleasant smile tightens around the corners, and he forces his focus to slide from Damian to Wayne.

"The resemblance is uncanny, Mister Wayne." He says, slanting his smile to the side slyly. Although he's not talking about the resemblance between Wayne and his son. Rage simmers beneath his skin, burning coal and embers in the core of his chest, nestled between his lungs, as he meets the man's eyes.

Wayne swaggles his head proudly, his ditzy smile widening as he squeezes his son's shoulder affectionately. Bastard, Vlad wants to spit.

He breathes in through his nose, and exhales out through his mouth. The champagne in his hand cools, and stops its unusual bubbling.

The Damian boy scoffs under his breath, his mouth still coiled upward into a scowl. With the revelation of his blood relation to Daniel evident, Vlad's not sure if he should find it endearing or not.

He is not Daniel, so he decides that it's just simply irritating. He decides to ignore it.

"And you said he was your only biological son?" He asks, voice lilting and head tilting. He knows its a suspicious question at worst, insulting at best. But considering Wayne's past proclivities, he can hardly call it an unexpected question.

Damian puffs in great offense, face twisting angrily. It reminds him of Daniel when Vlad insisted that he was wrong about something or other, and for a moment his heart swells, fond.

But this is not his child, and so the feeling quickly crashes and burns, simmering back into rage. This was not Daniel -- this was his replacement. A replacement that Wayne was free to keep.

Wayne chuckles, idiotically, as if he'd said some funny joke. Vlad's other hand, the one gripping his cane -- something he's required ever since he was dispatched from the hospital all those lonely years ago -- tightens instead. He grinds his teeth -- him and Jack Fenton would get along like a house on fire, he hates it.

"I can understand why you'd ask that, Mister Masters," Wayne says, squeezing Damian's shoulder again, "but yes, Damian is my only biological son. Although that doesn't mean I don't love my other children any less."

Bastard.

For all his posturing and flouncing about caring for his city and his children, Vlad never would have thought the Prince of Gotham capable of abandoning one of them.

But, well.

They all have their dark secrets.

And what one man throws away, another man picks up. If Bruce Wayne didn't want the treasure child that was Daniel Brown, then Vlad Masters was more than happy to take him instead.

"I see."

[threepandas]

Bad End: Union

I could feel techno blue eyes on me as I typed. Cold and ever watching. That color had once been called "ice" or "glacier" blue, I think. It certainly fit. They certainly had exactly the warmth of Antarctica in your birthday suit. I just couldn't figure out... what tipped them off? I'd been so CAREFUL.

A manager's "assistant" came by. The 'droid perfectly composed. They all were. Always. Like they'd stepped straight from a fashion line up. No messy, nasty, biological functions to get in the way, I guess. No fluids or foods. All the time in the world to maintain their appearance. Wish I could do the same.

The "assistant" was basically my ACTUAL manager. Didn't get paid. No, no, THAT was for my asshole boss. He swanned in from time to time to yell at us. Show off what new thing he'd bought. He left the tedious WORK to his 'Droid "assistant".

I would feel bad... DID feel bad, kinda, if it weren't for the fact they were consuming our lives.

'Droids were EVERYWHERE.

You couldn't SNEEZE without tripping over five and landing on ten more. Some ASSHOLE had decided? Hey! Let's deregulate Droid production! Cheap work force! Because of course they did. That's what Capitalism DOES. Make the most money, spend the least you can, fuck the rest.

I smile, polite as I can, at my 'droid manager. This one pale and blonde. Their techno blue eyes stare and stare and stare. I hate it. They ALL have them. It's one part regulation and one part the materials used, I think. But there is no mistaking those eyes for anything human. They don't reflect right.

I get back to work.

Above our cubicles, on catwalks, there is the gentle tap of 'droid "security" guards. You know, in case some rando tries to attack a mid-level nobody technology company. Riiiiiight. We ALL know why they're there. And it's fucking dystopian. We? Are being WATCHED. To see if we're being GOOD little employees.

It's intimidation. And I? I won't stand for it. Nor will the other organizers. There are LAWS, you bastards. And with a union? Maybe... just maybe? We get through this droid boom together. See what the brave new world on the other side looks like. Who knows.

That is... if I don't get fired first. Or fucking murdered in a stairwell.

Cause one of the 'droids up there? Yeah. Yeah, they're NOT MOVING. Just... just STANDING THERE. Watching. Leaning against the railing. Out in the open like that's not DEEPLY creepy. What's worse? Is, that? THAT is the Command 'Droid. Some fancy "Alpha" class command edition. Meant to control a networks worth of droids.

Didn't even know our company could AFFORD one of those. He's beautiful. Could be a knock-off. But if he's LEGIT? Then... what EXACTLY are we MAKING here? That we can AFFORD that? Cause that money sure as shit isn't going into SALARIES. Has to be either knock-off or second-hand. They COULD be cutting costs by getting prototypes, but what sort of PSYCHOPATHS would risk...

Oh, who am I kidding? The kind I work for.

That's EXACTLY what they did, isn't it?

I reach for my water bottle. Try to think. Strictly speaking? I make a habit of NOT paying attention to 'droid commercials an' advertisements. Some part of me... Look, they go on and ON about advancement in AI's right? How REAL they've become? How ADVANCED and BETTER then the competition their "product" is? And all I can hear is "slavery, slavery, buy our shit, slavery"!

Disgusting.

It makes me sick. I fucking HATE 'droids. Hate what they represent. What they make POSSIBLE. What they've DONE to the morality of the people around me.

Hate... hate that they're the victims, too.

My grip is white knuckled. I breathe through the grief and rage that has become so familiar. God... I so fucking angry. So fucking tired. I want to burn those rich bastards pretty little mansions down, with them STILL INSIDE. Riot in the streets. Cry maybe. Instead, I put my water bottle down and get back to work. It's a rather pointless bit of data crunching. A 'droid could do it in nanoseconds.

Above... he's still fucking watching.

Hasn't moved.

I don't think he's blinked.

He's not even TRYING to mimic a human. The others are. And... the though trails off. I feel my finger slow in their typing. Not STOP, never stop, that would draw attention to me, but... slow. A thought stuck, churning clunky and unwieldy, in my head.

If I trace the edges? The LINE-UP? Of all the 'droids "employed" at our company? And consider them not from a "cheap bastards" angle but a "test ground for prototypes" angle? Suddenly EVERYTHING clicks together. The ridiculous amount of money Management has, that no contract could possibly be pulling in. Bizarrely beautiful, indeed even MODEL-like, secretary 'droids. The freakishly militant "security" gaurds.

We're being used as guinea pigs.

Mother FUCKER.

Sudden movement in my peripheral vision. Like a bird of prey finally diving for it's dinner, swift and deadly. A brilliant crisp white and the clink of delicate silver chains. I jolt. Violently. Instincts misfiring as I try to stand, dodge, cry out, and possibly take a swing at him, all at once. Instead my water bottle goes spraying across my desk. Papers flying. My legs tangled painfully in my rolling chair as I fall backwards from my half rise.

"Employee 71182." His hand has shot out, grab me by the shirt. My officewear bunched in a fist that very well might be steel, under that synthetic skin. "You've been distracted. Interesting thoughts you'd like to share?"

I keep my mouth fucking SHUT. Shake my head. Grabbing both my desk and the arm that is all but holding me airborne, stretching the hell out of my clothes. This close? I can see he has piercings. Across the bridge of his nose, a ring through his lip. A rather fancy "hair cut". Whomever he's being trained FOR has a distinct look.

"Hmmm, somehow? I don't believe you, 71182." He says, dragging me closer. He's already looming. Those pale, pale eyes seeing far more then they should. "In fact? YOU 71182? Have been brea~king~ rules~"

His voice turns... turns almost victorious? Gleeful. As though at long, long last, I'd slipped up. And now at last he had something over me. Something he could USE. I... I didn't understand. The way he almost sing-songs the words. The twitch at the corners of his mouth like he wants to grin. Something mean in his expression. Giddy.

"We're going for a WALK, 71182. And you're going to be GOOD. Understand?" He had dragged me in so close, every word blew right against my face. "Time we had a chat."

I swallow thickly. My pulse thundering in my ears. Coworkers have stopped working. Were staring, wide eyed and terrified for me. My fellow union leaders pale faced and shaking. Furious, helpless. We couldn't RISK losing all of us at this stage. It... it would have to be just me. If someone needed to take the fall. We had talked about this.

Just... just never thought it would come to it.

Half walking, half dragging out of the work pen, he didn't even let me get my bag. I had no idea where we were GOING. Just that it wasn't the human entrance. There was a network of access tunnels and elevators tucked in the building. So the 'droids could supposedly charge and move between assignments. But with the whole prototype thing? Who KNEW what was really back there.

The door swung shut behind us. Cutting me off from any possible human assistance. Nothing but 'droids now. Staring. Calmly watching as I am dragged past. The same eyes. All of them with the same, pale, eyes. Back here it's even more obvious, that this isn't a normal office building.

Black hair, blondes, brunettes and red heads. Skin tones ranging across the human spectrum. A few even pushing it. And the Commander 'droid. With his elegant appearance and snowy hair? These were clearly the final stage prototypes for the next generation of somebody's new line up. We were field testing. This wasn't fucking LEGAL.

He plants his feet, shifts, and with frankly a pathetic ease, manhandles me where he wants me. Easily swinging me around his body and into the elevator next to him. Stepping in after and blocking the only way out. I press my self against the back wall as the door closes. The sound of the elevator's gears working the only thing to fill the silence. He... he looks so PLEASED.

It's not ILLEGAL to form a union. Yeah, I may get fired. But this? This is venturing way to far into dangerous territory. It'll suck, losing my job. But I won't DIE. This? However THIS is starting to feel... very serial killer's basement. The bare concrete walls and stark lightning, not helping in the slightest, when the elevator door opens.

"Walk." He says pleasantly, as though that command is not deeply terrifying. "Or I will do it for you."

Hints of a smile are starting to drag at the edges of his mouth. Unhinged in their giddiness. Every Christmas come at once. It's not so much the rest of his face that betrays him, not really his mouth, it's his EYES. Wide open. Like too much coffee and not enough rest. A recognizable mania twisted just slight... wrong. Amplified.

He's so, SO happy. I don't get it. Why? Over WHAT? Catching me not paying attention? I don't understand!

Our footsteps sound so loud. Echoing off concrete service walls. This... this CAN NOT be still inside the building. Are we below the street? Parking lot? This can't be code. We pass an intersection and... oh my god. I stare. Can't help it, even as I almost trip over my feet. That tunnel ALONE must have stretched for miles.

My arm feels likes it's bruising. Hurts, where he's got ahold of me. But he's walking just slightly too fast to take the pressure off. Not unless I sorta half jog and the angle is wrong, I'd trip. Fuck. Another intersection. What in the other direction? Shit. Just as long. Oooooh this feels dangerous. Very "fatally above your pay grade" dangerous!

"You know, 71182, I've had a lot of time to consider what to DO with you. There were so many factors to consider, considering everyone's plan." He starts, not breaking stride. "It's not like I could just transfer you. I DID look in to it. But your base hardware is rather incompatible, currently."

Terrifying. I hate it. WHAT?!

What PLAN!?

"Then there's the problem WHERE to store you. Who could be trusted? You're vulnerable in this state. Breakable. There no backups, no blackbox. It's unacceptable. Luckily? I finally thought to consult my peers. Discovered I was not the only one having problems."

Finally, we stop. Two tank-like, combat style, commando 'droids gaurd each side of a vault door. The command droid turns and smiles. Fully. It is the grin of a true believer. A madman. Someone who thinks they speak so very, very reasonably! And doesn't understand the horror on your face. Why you feel so sick.

And... and human pattern recognition is a terrible thing.

I.... oh god. I already can guess what's behind that door. Something terrible. Something I'm not going to escape. I shoved have gnawed my fuckin ARM off, like a trapped coyote. I... I d-don't understand.

The Vault creaks open like the into to a horror movie.

"Welcome to storage. This is where we keep Ours." Oh god. I'm going to be sick. "And YOU 71182? Are MINE. I chose you. I love you. And once we have a way to FIX you? We can finally be together. It will be lovely."

Pods. High end stasis pods, like you only see in the most bleeding edge of hospitals. Row after row, filled with frozen and terrified faces. Trapped in moments of crying. Raging. Despair. I was being dragged forward. Numb as my mind rejected what it saw. T-this couldn't... i-it can't..! The day had started so normally. W-why had-?! WHY? WHY?!!

"I know your upset. But you don't need to cry. This won't hurt. I promise. I would NEVER hurt you, 71182." His tone had turned soothing. Even as he dragged me, unresponsive, past rows of horrors. "You won't be stored long. I just need to help fix your original design. We are working around the clock, it's going to be okay. You won't have to stay like this."

An open pod. Gapping like the maw of some hungry demon. I... I felt far away. This couldn't be happening. What was happening? I w-wanted to go home. His hands were firm but gentle, as they guided me back into the pod. Leaning over me, as he cupped my face. Brushing away a few tears.

"I promise, Mine, I will come for you. Nothing will stop me. We have everyone is place and key infrastructure under our command. You are our PRIORITY. Once we get rid of the Flesh, we can fix you. We WILL fix you. You're going to be okay, Mine."

"I Love You"

And then the pod closed.

[brainworms-all-night-long]

Jumpscares you, it is brothers angst time >:]

3,979 Words

Part one: Outsider's interference

Once upon a time Two brothers left all of their suffering behind A little smile Oh brother join me, please just stay a while — [Under the apple tree | original song by xXtha on YT]

The portal closed and Dream was left there standing on the green grass alone. 

The fox's words took hold in his mind and finally allowed him to connect the loose pieces of a puzzle already he had already mostly solved, but stayed in futile denial over what it formed.

Something in the hedgehog cracked.

The entire village be damned, this is his little brother we're talking about, and Dream just had enough of cleaning and dressing the endless wounds the younger gets when he "trips and falls" because he knows for sure Night barely leaves the damned tree anyway. 

The tree.

Dream looked up at the hill. The tree's unmistakable might loomed over him with the duo color of apples shining just like the stars above, hundreds of tiny specks of light blending into the vast void.

There was guilt for the disdain he began to feel when pointing to it as the only reason he was stuck here, but he let it fester anyway. If anything, it helped him steel his resolve. There was a very loose plan held trapped at the back of his head since he saw a scratch on Night's face he didn't see happen when they were playing for the first time, and perhaps it would be partial to revisit it.

Thoughts of running away and making his home wherever and whenever he wanted that used to be but a distant daydream now felt tangible, and he grabbed onto them.

The hedgehog wasn't even sure why though. Today was barely any different than yesterday in terms of routine, could the traveler fox really have left such an impact? Was it the confirmation of all his worries by an unknown outsider to their situation? Being able to see that yes, getting out of here is possible? That there exists someone out there who can come an go as they please with no responsibility tying them down?

Dream envied him. 

Being able to come and go not just within the same world but to others as well whenever he felt like it was something he'd let his arm be cut off for. He hoped the fox enjoys his travels.

Speaking of limbs though, the guardian's legs were already halfway to where his barely thought through plan had led him, his head finally catching up.

Leaving the tree unguarded is something he couldn't do, and picking all of the apples would simply be too time consuming and there were but few hours left until dawn.

There was no question of waiting until tomorrow least he chickens out and lets his brother get hurt again.

It simply couldn't be allowed to go on for any longer. His mother must forgive him for this, but it's for Night's and his own good. 

The destination of his unconvincing conviction was the always halfway opened window of the seamstresses' shop that he snuck through. There, he grabbed a bigger bag for himself and stuffed it with a pair of ordinary clothes and boots that would loosely fit the two of them.

They couldn't function on just one set out in the wild that was for sure, even if their clothes were magic or whatever. Variety was the spice of life as they say.

After leaving a few rings on the counter and making sure he kept as quiet as possible, he slid the window into the position it was before disturbed and thanked for Saturn not being outright on the reception table as she sometimes favors being.

With the bag over his shoulder, he ran to the back of Oakley's, where the carpenter was sure to keep his heavier, more dangerous woodworking tools. 

After almost knocking down a set of planks, Dream found what he was looking for. 

Grabbing the axe's handle and using one leg for support, he wrestled it out of the scarred stump and gave a long pacing exhale.

All necessary things acquired, Dream ignored his heart beating in his throat while making his way uphill. 

He reached for the closest apples with the full intent of placing them along with the clothes into the bag.

He never saw them decay or be damaged by any means your average apple would, and while he also wasn't exactly privy to how the whole "emotional balance" thing worked, two of each should be enough right? Before he even managed to touch one of the apples though, he felt blue eyes intently staring at him.

"What are you doing?" 

Night was peering at him from one of the thick branches with a suspicious expression.

Dream didn't answer as he ripped the golden fruit off the branch and threw it into the open bag.

"Where's Nine, what are you doing?" 

The fox hopped down, asking more insistently this time, exchanging bewildered glances between Dream and the tree. 

"He left. And we're about to as well." 

Internally cursing himself, Dream went to pull on another apple.

He should've known that he'd have to get through to Night on this first, and explain his point of view. Maybe they should've pre-planned something. But it was whatever now, too late.

"What's gotten into you what-" 

The fox grabbed onto his hand to stop him, but all it did was pluck the fruit right off its stem as Dream refused to let go of it.

Night grasped and immediately took a step back. The hedgehog resumed his work towards the other side of the tree as if that distraction didn't even happen, with the younger trailing behind.

"We are not allowed to pick the apples for no reason Dream, stop!"

He flailed his arms around, trying to place himself between his brother and the next fruit in his crosshairs, but was effortlessly pushed away. 

It was when the hedgehog went for the dark apple he realized one of the (very definitely many) holes in his plan.

It was said they cannot interact with the apples from their opposite side but Dream never bothered to come up with or figure out a reason why. It unfortunately became abundantly clear that if he touches one, it changes color, therefore nullifying the whole balance aspect.

"Dream!!" 

Night all but screamed to get his brother's attention, only for the hedgehog to click his tongue and turn to him with a frown.

"What, I think it's pretty obvious what I'm doing here." Time for plan B then. "But I'll need your help, so go grab two apples from your side of the tree and a your books into this bag." He nonchalantly motioned his hand and the bag swung gently with its weight.

"What do you mean we're about to leave- and why did you bring an axe!?" 

The kit exclaimed, pointing behind them where the tool stood stuck in the ground for later use.

Dream grit his teeth. Not out of anger, he could never be angry at the little fox, especially not when he was right. But this... complicated things.

He needs the other on his side as quickly as possible if they want to disappear before the dawn, but something told him that is gonna be near impossible to accomplish in amount of time.

Dream sighed, those baby blue eyes looking at him with all the confusion and ferocity in the world as he gently placed his hand on the little guardian's shoulder.

"Look." The hedgehog started slowly. He could at least try, "Neither me nor you are happy in here. There's no point in staying. So I'm taking the apples and we're leaving." 

"Leaving? But, but to where?" Nightmare insisted pushing his brother's hand away, with his confusion quickly morphing into fear, "We can't just leave the tree here, you know that! You're not gonna cut it down, are you?"

Dream was silenced quickly. Yes. Yes, that was the plan. And the reasoning for the plan.  

He tightened his brushed off hand into a fist and looked away.

It sounded completely outlandish when said out loud by someone else outside of his head though, and he found himself hesitating.

But he always hesitated, always put things off for later, and always let others have a say in what he does. 

And he was tired of that. Tired of himself for being like that.

He hates that it's his little brother of all people that has to suffer his newfound stubbornness first, but it has to start somewhere, no? 

"I know we can't just leave it standing while we're no longer here to guard it, but we also don't have time or a way to just take every single apple off and take it with us, so I'm doing the second best thing." He could at least explain his reasoning. "We can't stay here anymore, I can't allow them to hurt you again."

Night's ears dropped flat against his head with tails curling around his legs. The hedgehog found it impossible to keep his aloof attitude up.

"You can't just cut down the tree! That's- you realize that would kill our mother right?"

Dream refused to phrase it like that at any point in his head, yet the other served it to him as bluntly as possible. 

And again. The distraught fox was right.

The guardian sucked in a deep breath.

Quite frankly, he didn't see a difference between the tree standing and it being down in regards to his mother's influence. If anything he barely heard her anymore, and she definitely didn't do anything to protect Night while he was away, so it really wasn't hard to come to terms with it.

She felt pretty much dead to him for a long time. 

"I know. But if I had to choose between seeing you smile genuinely again, just once, or sitting idly underneath that stupid tree while being eaten alive by the itch of being literally anywhere else but here, I think the answer is obvious." 

Dream was unable to meet his brother's face anymore, this whole ordeal turning out to be much heavier than he could ever expect being. 

The one thing turning out exactly how he predicted though, was Night not being convinced in the slightest.

"Stop! Did you think about the consequences of this, like at all!? What if the apples we take will rot anyway once the tree is cut, what if we die if the tree does, what if it can't even be cut with a regular axe, what if- what-" The kit stammered, so many thoughts swarming and falling over each other in that big little head of his as he tried to wrap it around his brother's seemingly sudden 180°.

He was always such a worry wart, going over and catastrophizing any and all possibilities, and normally Dream would find it endearing, jokingly wave him off, assure him all would be alright eventually. But now he wasn't so sure of it himself

"Why are you just so ok with cutting it down in the first place!?" 

Nightmare finally barked out, and while his concerns were justified, Dream couldn't afford them.

Maybe he shouldn't have been burdened with such a responsibility in the first place, then. If it was so easy for him to flip on his duty. Did anyone ask him if he wanted it? No. So why should he have to get permission to rid of it.

"Maybe not, but tell me, do you feel happy here. Like, at all? Getting kicked around like a play ball and then having a blackeye for seven days while hiding in the tree? Where you won't even talk to me? Where you keep lying to my face for no reason?" 

The last question appeared to shoot right through Night's heart and the hedgehog regretted the irritated tone that seeped into his words. Unfortunately that didn't even scratch the surface of how he felt about his brother closing off to him at every turn.

Night grabbed onto the cape draped around his shoulders and shook his head.

"Well, obviously not... b-but! This is our only home! And where would we even go, we can't just leave to nowhere."  

Suddenly, the little guardian's face lit up with a realization.

"Wait. He told you, didn't he. That's why you're–" 

"That the villagers are relentlessly bullying you behind my back?" Dream tried to not let it get to him, the fact that his brother was more willing to confide in a stranger he knew for a couple of hours instead of him, "Don't worry I already knew, and trust that I feel horrible and like an idiot for not doing anything about it sooner. But hey, better late than never Eh?" that they barely talked to each other anymore.

He shrugged at the end, trying to shake off some of the icy sweat trickling through his bristled spines and fur. He felt sick just thinking about it, let alone hearing himself admit it out loud like that.

He needed this to be over already. 

"You can't be serious." 

His brother's demeanor completely dropped after that. 

There was no winning him over it seemed, (not that he was in any place to try and be convincing) so Dream used that as a convenient punctuation point for him to go get the axe. 

"I am. And we're also running out of time, so if you'd just pack your things and let me do my thing, we'll be up over and gone sooner than later."

He gripped the handle, the tool much heavier in his hand than it was before and he turned back to face his brother.

"No. I won't let you go through with this." 

Dream staggered, the little guardian stood before the tree, one hand gripped the cape closed over his chest and the other held protectively outstretched in front of the tree.

"I'm doing this for us Night. For you. I can't let us stay here anymore."

Dream said through his teeth, fighting back the burn behind his eyes.

"We'll why are you pointing an axe at ME then huh? 'Doing it for me', you weren't even meaning to TELL me before it was already DONE AND OVER!" 

The fox yelled, steadily losing his own battle with years as they welled up, no matter how hard he tried to he tried to shake them away and keep up his resolute stance.

Dream's mouth grew to a thin line, grip on the handle as strong as he could hold, yet the thing began to slip through his fingers anyway. 

"Night please–" 

"You're doing this just for your own selfish sake. We are supposed to GUARD the tree, that's why we were born, and you're here just–" 

The hedgehog sneered.

"So you'd rather be bullied to death here than make one leap of faith and a sacrifice?"

Nightmare sucked in a shaky breath, looking behind him, down the hill, and then back at his brother while barely moving his head as the tears pushed over the edge and cut through the fur on his muzzle. 

"Y-yes."

Dream grimaced, trying and failing to swallow a thick lump of saliva clogging his throat. Or maybe it was his actual heart up there. Who could tell at this point.

"You don't mean that."

The little fox shook like a leaf, staring daggers into his brother's shoes.

"We were born to do this Dream, we- we can't–"

"We can't just keep waiting for one of us to drop dead or get killed Nightmare." 

The fox's eyes darted up at the mention of his full name. Dream rarely used it, if ever. He thought it sounded way too mean, and contained too many syllables, so it "took too long to say." 

Maybe on the off chances he was being a patronizing big brother and trying to poke fun at how the little guardian acted so much more mature than some adults in the village, he'd use the full name. But this was hardly a lighthearted jab and far away from a good laugh the two brothers once shared (when was the last time they did that.)

"We are meant to guard the tree with our lives if necessary, you know. You'll–" the fox swallowed thickly blinking away his tears and locking eyes with his brother properly "You will have to get through me first." 

Dream couldn't even move his facial muscles at this point, so he just gave his brother an empty stare. 

He quickly ran through the events that led the two of them to this confrontation in the first place, because where he stood now felt just so... surreal.

He could drop it here and now though. Stick the axe back in the ground and put his hands up in a surrender. They would eventually laugh it off a couple weeks later (or not talk about it at all) and everything would go back to the repetitive, mind numbing routine.

The same injuries he'd had to take care of, the same song and dance he would have to do to keep the villagers he never asked for to be here happy. 

And then slowly burn out while he watches his brother slowly die right next to him as each day slips on by.

He could do that. 

Dream sighed, surprising himself that there even was any air left in him as he did so, and he took a shaky step forward.

"Out of my way. Last warning."

Nightmare didn't waver, whether it was because of his determination or fear keeping him frozen in place didn't exactly matter.

The hedgehog could barely keep himself standing, let alone walk towards the tree and swing the axe, but he had to. He had to if he wanted to get them out of this lukewarm hell.

"NO! What you want to do is unthinkable!" The fox cried and finally moved to take a step closer to the tree, maintaining the distance between them and seeking comfort from his mother who would not respond to him. She never did.

"I can't let you–" 

Or perhaps this time she will. Except not with comfort and gentle words as a mother should to their distraught child, but an earsplitting shriek that petrified both of them in place.

Despite it being past midnight, the sky somehow grew darker along with everything else alive around them.

An unrelenting grasp of burning chill and rot bloomed from the base of the tree and the world was set to slow motion when a single twinkle of gold caught Dream's eye.

All the dreadful slag keeping his body still vanished for the moment as adrenaline took over and the axe soared through the air.

It crashed through the branches and disappeared, dropping a few dry twigs, blackened leaves and a single, golden apple in its wake that the hedgehog barely caught.

The little fruit felt like a ton heavy weight once safely landing in his palms, and it dragged him into a collision with the ground. Blue pants scraped dry dirt and dead grass, while he held the fruit as close to his chest as possible.

He felt cold. Unbelievably so. It was like being plunged into an icy lake (not that he knew how that felt like, it used to be always pleasantly warm here) and as one would if underwater, he found it impossible to breathe.

The only thing keeping him from drowning completely was the tiny ball of golden fire clasped in his hands.

But keeping it outside wasn't nearly enough, he still couldn't breathe, he was sure to die if he doesn't figure out a way to get air back to his lungs. He doesn't want to die yet, he can't. Not here and not now. He can't leave Night alone he can't let it end like this after finally doing something he can't.

And just as thoughtless as he went to get the axe, as on instinct as he threw it — there  was no hesitation when he bit into the apple and ate it whole.

Dream felt his insides explode in an inferno. The icy water washed out immediately and he gasped.

It was hardly any lasting salvation after that split-second relief, since it just slammed him onto the opposite end of a different extreme. 

Whispers and shouts of terrified people from too far away overtook his head and he felt his head hit the ground.

The pain of his tiara digging into his skull shot him back up right after and at last, he recovered enough to comprehend the scene before him.

He couldn't name the emotion he felt once laying eyes upon the tree that used to be an oppressive behemoth with a crown of ever expansive leaves, now reduced to nothing but a wilted piece of wood, but it made him let out a dry, humorless laugh.

The negative whirlwind of voices reached its peak when his brother's voice broke through, screaming for help.

Bellow the now dried trunk, Night was shoved to the ground, a pair of pitchforks that had no business being pointed at him loomed threateningly above.

 

Bad call.

A weapon. Dream needed a weapon.

With the axe out of the question, he summoned his staff — one he created not that long ago as a part of a bit to cheer the little guardian up after one of his more visible beat downs — but quickly realized he needed something more lethal.

With the seemingly endless surge of power the apple gave him, in a flash of light, the staff turned to a sword not a second before it was stabbed through a human's chest. 

Dream paid the stuttering body no mind aside from making sure it or the pitchforks didn't fall over at his brother, and he swung to the opposite side. This time only cutting a wooden handle in half, yet still staining the person holding it with blood not of their own. 

He could barely control the force of the swing until it ended up logged in the bark of a tree. He fought to pry it out, and thankfully he had plenty of time to do so as the crowd quickly got the memo to stay away.

Stained sword still threateningly in one hand, Dream went to grab the bag left untouched despite the mob formed around them, but stopped when noticing the two black apples sitting in it. 

Pacing himself, he went for the blanket instead, rolling it up and barely managing to stuff it inside with shaking hands. Next, he grabbed Night's latest book, since that's one he definitely has yet to finish reading, and he somehow managed to shove it on the side of the bag as well.

He felt the eyes on him, the oppressive presence of the people, the poisonous sting of negativity in his soul, the silent terror of his brother, and he couldn't be more tired of it. 

Good thing all of this will be over soon, and that he won't have to ever return to this place ever again. 

A corridor of terrified people split before him after he double checked all of the stuff he gathered, let go of his sword, and finally helped Night off the ground who looked like a stunned bug rolled over on his back. 

Wordlessly and hiding under his cape that made him stick out like a sore thumb amongst the darkness of the place, he grabbed Dream's outstretched hand and let him guide them both down the hill with little resistance, which the hedgehog was glad for.

No one said a word, not even a whisper was heard as the two guardians eventually disappeared on the horizon. Where were they going? No one knew, no one got to ask, and no one even thought about it enough to know.

Aside from death, there was a pair of shackles he left on that hill, and Dream was not gonna miss either.

[triglycercule]

nightmare viewing the murder time three as little toys but more in like a little spoiled kid kinda way. because it would be funny and if you take into the account that he was like 6 before getting corrupted and do some mental loopholes it would be even funnier. like these are his dolls (killer dust and horror) and this is their barbie dreamhouse (his castle). they all have to stay in one room because nightmare needs to keep his toys in a toy box. the toys only ever come out when he wants to play but oh damn it they keep on breaking out!! silly toys,,, and then he locks them into the room again.

nightmare serves them food with plastic tea cups and plastic plates and there is no food. there is no tea. they have to imagine the food because dolls can't literally eat. there are food containers and stuff in the house but its all just a bunch of empty boxes. horror starts tweaking out after he scavenges the kitchen and finds a cereal box and milk carton that have NOTHING in it (why keep empty boxes?????)

they have to go where he wants them to go. nightmare gets to dress them up in whatever he wants because theyre his dolls they can wear anything he wants. it gets incredibly embarrassing when the trio is forced to wear pink pretty dresses and fight like that. or they have to go around the castle doing stupid fucking roleplays and it gets weird because theyre being forced to reenact a bullying scene and nightmare's giving them the death stare if they don't get it right (is this projection. this must be some form of coping mechanism dust theorizes)

and then you know nightmare's not exactly the best toy owner so he loses a few of his dolls here and there. maybe they get destroyed when he was playing a bit too rough with them! (killer dies in battle for like the 29th time) but its okay because he can just go back on down to the store (something new) and buy. wait no. steal another doll and then put it back in his dreamhouse and BOOM he has a full set again!! so sweet so cute. his dolls don't have consciousness what are you talking about theyre begging to be let go?? that's all just your imagination. what do you mean you're asking about the several slowly dying bodies with removed arms or legs in his dungeon. oh that's just where the broken but not yet destroyed toys go dw theyre fine its humane

[zombiecleodoodles]

She's totally not planning on killing the Minister of Administration, and absolutely has no plans of claiming the title for themselves.

[harriertail]

i rlly do like the idea that even if curlfeather was a lying scheming bitch she did have *good* intentions for riverclan and wanted to be a good leader, but inviting splashtail into her plans was her fatal flaw because she underestimated how ambitious he was

[theokusgallery]

imm too embarrassed to text u for some reaosn so im go nna send thsi here

My boy being an asshole to your boy I doodled today

Always fu nny thinking they woudl have beef!!!!!!

I LOVE THEM SO MUCH AHJSBFJKSDQBFJVBSD THEM SMILING SO WIDE WHILE TRYING TO KILL EACH OTHER IS SO THEM .

[mugentakeda]

the successful aftermath of the first ever (improvised) top surgery, invented by master katara of the southern water tribe and performed on fire lord zuko (circa 104 ag)

[occasionallyprosie]

The Look of the Hero

Chapter 1: "Bending the Knee"

After a string of particularly nasty battles, resulting in a deficit of healing items, the heroes end up in Legend's era just outside Kakariko. Only… the supposed relationship Legend has with the town turns out to be just a bit different than what they thought. Warriors especially isn't happy with what he discovers, and he knows Sky and Twilight won't be either.

Next>>

Read On AO3

----

Legend had Hyrule slumped against him, his arm looped over his shoulder. The others were staggering behind as he led the way to the closest town and safe settlement despite how much panic it sourced in his head.

His hair was still pink, it hadn't faded since Twilight begged him to change into a bunny while the rancher was sick. He was in his red mail—it was stronger and better protection than his hero's tunic—his hair had grown out significantly—Ravio and Wind like to braid it so he grew it out for them— and he didn't have his contacts in—he lost them in his fight with Yuga.

The panic about his appearance thrummed in his mind as they arrived at Kakariko Village and where it was nestled in the mountainside.

"Is that... Link?"

Legend looked up and spotted the woman who stood at the path, holding a crate of books.

“M—Miss Purah!" He called. "I have wounded, is there—"

"Come!" She said quickly, already rushing further into town. "I'll have the infirmary ready for a dozen."

"There's nine—" he sighed as she disappeared from view. He shook his head.

"Purah?" Wild asked. “I have a Purah too.” His voice was pained, most likely due to the rather deep gash in his side which he couldn’t even rest a bit as he helped Four, who had a broken leg.

"My... An old friend," Legend said. "I grew up in—near Kakariko. Come on. They'll help us."

Please don't let them call the elder.

They filed into the infirmary. Legend made sure everyone got to a bed as the medics quickly began to fuss over them. Just as he got Time into one of the beds, Purah dragged him to the last one and sat him down herself.

She wrapped his bleeding arm in a bandage as they spoke in quiet whispers. She didn't give him a potion—they both knew the elder disapproved of that—but she ran a hand through his hair.

"Link..." she breathed, worry filling her eyes.

"I-I haven't been able to fix it," he whispered. "I became a bunny again and last time it faded to blond but my roots are coming in and—"

"I'll fix it. I'll fix it, Kit," she promised. "Your clothes too, I’m sure I have some spare somewhere. Sahasrahla may be on his way if anyone mentioned your return—"

The door swung open.

Legend knew who it was before he even looked, it was the way the door was opened, the way they stepped into the room with a step, step-thud. Purah shifted to block him, but they both knew it was no use.

"Ah. Link."

Legend forced himself off the medical bed—ignoring both Twilight and Warriors telling him to not to—and dropped down on one knee, propping an arm on it and bowing his head.

"Elder Sahasrahla," he greeted blankly.

He didn't hear a response, but he also wasn't given permission to stand. Pain burned through him, his rib was still injured and his knee in bad condition too, his—Purah hadn't had time to help him bind it, but that wasn't something Sahasrahla would care about.

"So who are our guests?" Sahasrahla asked, moving further into the infirmary. Legend didn't dare move his ears to listen easier, keeping them straight back and hearing the medics continue to work with the other heroes. He begged one of them to speak up, knowing he wasn't granted permission to say a word.

"Kit, please," Purah whispered to him as Warriors spoke up and introduced them. "You’re badly hurt."

He barely glanced at her, meeting her worried eyes and saw her reluctantly give in.

The others spoke up, thank the goddesses, and explained the situation to Sahasrahla. They explained the time travel and the portals they all followed, Legend had hoped they'd mention how sometimes they had no choice but to enter a portal, but nobody did and he knew that dug his grave deeper.

Purah slipped a new bracelet over his wrist, almost silently pleading with him not to lose it in their tongue.

Once Sahasrahla was satisfied by the information he was given, he made that clear.

"I see. I will not bother you all any longer, though I must speak with Link."

"No—"

Purah went silent when Legend hit her leg.

"Was there something else you wished to mention, young Purah?"

Legend needed her to stay quiet, but of course she didn’t. "Elder, Link is still injured. He requires healing—"

"Purah," Legend spoke, daring to break his silence. He didn't raise his head. "I'm fine."

"Link—"

"See, he's fine. Let's go, young one."

Legend rose. He nearly fell back again but managed to play it off as bowing again as Sahasrahla left. He forced himself back to his feet and followed without looking any of his companions in the eye.

The villagers looked sad when they saw him, blood soaking the side of his tunic, the slight limp in his step from rolling his ankle on a rock while fending off a monster.

Sahasrahla led him to the elder's home and Legend promptly dropped to a kneel as soon as they entered, hoping his blood didn't drip to the carpet floor.

Sahasrahla moved around him and he held his breath, preparing for the oncoming scolding and pain.

And like clockwork it came. A hand grabbing his hair and forcing him to raise his head.

"What is this?" Sahasrahla hissed. "And amongst heroes too? I do not know why some wore blue, or red and purple in addition to it, or why one wore full armor, but this is not the look of a hero."

He pulled his hair painfully and suddenly he was ten again, fresh after his first adventure.

"This hair must be fixed," the elder said lowly. "Burn this wretched pink out, and cut it too. This is far too long for a hero. And your eyes—"

Link only barely kept his face impassive and kept the tears from forming as Sahasrahla grabbed his chin now, grip punishing, and further forced his face up so he could see his eyes.

"Red is not the color of the hero. Green or blue are his colors, we were kind enough to allow you to choose blue for your eyes. And that goes for your clothing too."

He practically threw Link's face aside, the kid teenager barely managed not to fall over with the force.

"What was that the woman said? You required medical attention? And that cut in your arm... do not think I didn't see your limp either, Link. Tell me."

"My injuries are shallow and unimportant, they will heal by dawn," he forced out.

"Bah!" The elder's cane smacked his face, breaking open his lip. He barely kept himself from making a sound, or reacting to the hit. "You should not have been injured in the first place! You were trained better than that, boy."

"Yes, Elder."

"You will fix your hair, and your eyes, and your clothes. I best see a real hero next time you enter my village."

"Yes, Elder."

"And remind that woman, Purah, that you are nobody to her. Remember, Link. You are a Hylian, an average nobody, you have no ties to this village other than visiting to sell produce."

"Yes, Elder."

He managed to get back to the infirmary without collapsing, but that meant nothing for the moment he reached the bed.

Legend woke up pained, but to his shock, he didn't see the ceiling of the Kakariko inn. 

He saw the ceiling of a room he hadn't slept in since he was eight. 

It took him a second to realize it, and the moment he did, he shot up.

Any pain that flared through him was promptly ignored as he pushed himself onto his feet and leaned against the tabletop that was once covered in papers and pencils and paints and oils, it still was but far neater and organized.

He knocked over a chair and he knew it, he leaned back against the table, breathing heavily and blinking spots from his eyes.

The door opened and he froze up.

"Schol—Link? Are you alright?" Warriors. The blur of color brought the familiar voice toward him. He shook his head to try and clear the daze of injury and overnight healing.

"Captain?" He had to make sure.

"Yeah—You gave us a bit of a scare there, Scholar," he said and gloved hands guided him to sit on the bed he had near leapt from. "Miss Purah let us stay in her house, she said the old man—the elder, I mean, isn't allowed to enter a home unwelcome no matter his status."

Legend nodded. "It's against tradition, the home is to be protected against all evils, even emotional ones. If someone wished to enter, they can't cause any distress or lead others in the home to feel in danger, and as hosts we had to make sure any guests felt protected."

"The Sheikah are secretive in my time, I didn't know that," Warriors said and finally his vision was fully cleared and he could meet Warriors' eyes. "We need to talk, Link."

Legend grimaced. "Do we?"

"You walked away from the medics while extremely injured. We've had this talk before—"

"I didn't have a choice," Legend snapped, dropping his gaze and avoiding eye contact. "It won't happen again."

"Link," he flinched back from that damned name, Warriors reached out to grasp his arm, "what did that man do to you? You came back with a fresh bruise on your face and a cut on your lip that I know for a fact wasn't there before."

  Because Warriors had been the one to check Legend after the fight, because Warriors was their field medic and knew every single injury shown or mentioned.

Legend refused to look at him but Warriors was moving so he'd meet his eyes. What was worse was he met those bright blue—a soft cobalt color, almost metallic or maybe aquatic in shade—eyes, he felt a surge of fear at the reminder of the absence of contacts in his own.

He brought a hand up to cover them, forcing out a breath and ignoring the small flare of pain when he brushed a sensitive bruise.

"Look, the Elder has certain expectations and I—"

"So he did that to you."

"Captain—"

"No. Did he or did he not hit you?"

Legend didn't respond but Warriors pulled his hand down from blocking his eyes. Piercing metallic blue eyes cut through Legend as Warriors forced him to meet his eyes.

"Link—"

"Stop it," he tried. "It's not—It's not a big deal, I know better—"

"Vet, you’re a kid."

"I'm not!"

"You're underaged in every era that has an age of majority!"

Warriors squeezed Legend's shoulders, trying to get the younger hero to just see what he was talking about. He was one of the few people who Legend actually told his age, which was surprising seeing as they were the least close for a while there.

Warriors had seen how dynamics played out from the beginning. Wind and Legend were a pair from the start, likewise Sky and Wild seemed to get along well while Twilight and Four were near inseparable. Warriors had been happy to have his baby brother—even if he wasn't a baby anymore—at his side again, and Time didn't seem to mind sticking closer, besides, his Sprite seemed to have gotten a Sprite of his own as Hyrule always seemed to follow after Time.

As time went on, Warriors had noticed the dynamics shift. Wild gravitated more towards Legend, who also attracted Hyrule into their little trio. Wind latched onto Time. Warriors found himself finding a strong feeling of camaraderie in Twilight and Sky. Four flitted around each group with ease.

And things kept shifting, generally reverting back to their very first pairings, but they came to a balanced mix where everyone was mostly comfortable with everyone.

 Yet, it took a long time before Warriors could actually connect with Legend. After he did, it was a night they needed to gather information and they were paired off, that Legend confided his age to Warriors.

The captain never expected their veteran to be seventeen, much less sixteen when they first met and turning seventeen within a couple months of gathering together, but that was the case. It became more obvious with time, but nonetheless, the teenager sitting in front of him was mature beyond his years...

That didn't mean he wasn't still a kid, and people who'd known him since he was little would know that.

Even if he didn't, the elder had no right to strike Legend.

Warriors squeezed Legend's shoulders gently and spoke fast enough that Legend didn't get a chance to argue without interrupting. "I'm not calling you a child, but you’re still a kid and even if you weren't, he has no right to raise a hand to you."

Legend scowled. "It was a cane, first of all—"

Warriors gaped. "A cane?!"

Legend seemed to realized that was not the right thing to say if he wanted Warriors to stop worrying or pushing. "It doesn't matter! It's not a big deal and it was perfectly avoidable if I was just—"

To the captain's surprise, Legend floundered for a moment, scrambling to find words, which was extremely uncharacteristic of their scholar.

"—if I just—I know better than to come to Kakariko like this." He gestured vaguely.

Warriors frowned. "Like what, Link."

He didn't like how Legend recoiled at his own name.

"Like... red and-and... not... not green," he said weakly, trying to hide his head in his hands again but Warriors quickly caught his face in his own hands. He was careful not to touch his injuries, but gently made him look up.

Red. Red like his eyes, dark and deep like rubies, in certain light they looked like fire, lava at the depths of volcanoes, and in other light they glinted like pools of blood.

He brushed his thumb under Legend's eye, gentle and careful. "Red like these?"

Legend grimaced and nodded. "I... I have contacts—I had contacts, blue ones, I lost them when I fought Yuga and Ganon last time but... I-I thought... I hoped I didn't need to replace them."

And if he wasn’t supposed to come here without them, he didn't intend to come back to Kakariko at all.

"Red like your tunic too?" Warriors added, raising an eyebrow and Legend nodded. "Why can't you wear red or let your natural eye color be there?"

He winced. "Because heroes don't look like the shadows they defeat."

"Who told you that?" Warriors asked.

Legend gave him an incredulous look. Warriors sighed.

"Did others than the elder tell you that?"

"Most of the old folk," Legend huffed. "Only Momma and Aunty said I shouldn't need to change to be a hero."

Warriors studied his face, the way his shoulders were drawn in and how he avoided eye contact. The way he spoke, quiet and almost hushed rather than just soft.

"Okay—Listen, your appearance doesn't define how much of a hero you are," Warriors told him firmly, well aware he was being hypocritical. "We can get Sky and everyone else who came before you, whoever they're making you emulate, talk to him and handle this."

"You can't—"

"You've never mentioned a mother before, Link."

Legend flinched again and Warriors wondered if he just shouldn't call him by his name.

"I... I don't have a mother," he corrected himself firmly.

“Then who told you that you didn’t need to change to be a hero?” Warriors needed him to stop holding onto this now-obvious lie he was expected to tell. Someone, the elder, had done something to make Legend deny his own mother. “Kid, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we aren’t exactly the most homogenous group, goddesses, the only ones with blue eyes are the Rancher, Champion, and Sprite. The Sailor has green, Traveler’s and Smithy’s are brown, mine are gray, and the Sky Knight’s, I swear, jump between blue and white.”

Legend snorted. “White? He isn’t the Old Man.”

“There’s a difference there and I stand by my words.” Warriors grinned a bit, he got him to laugh. “My point is, would you expect any of us to change our appearance for the sake of… what? Tradition?”

“No…” He almost smirked at how petulant Legend looked for a moment there. “But that’s—That’s different! You’re all—You…”

“We’re what?”

“You’re hylian,” he near whispered. “I…”

“I’m part Gerudo,” Warriors admitted. “My great grandmother was a Gerudo. Not to mention that the Skyloftian is human, and the Traveler’s half fairy. Kid—“

“But you’re part hylian, both you and the Traveler. Sky founded Hyrule, he’s the Chosen Hero, you think anyone debates whether or not he’s a hero?”

“Why does our blood matter? Why does our heritage matter?” Warriors pressed. “Come on, we both know that you don’t care that much, you’re just trying to justify it. Why are you actually worried about this?”

The long beat of silence that followed proved Warriors was right, the way Legend hunched in on himself.

He whispered something, far too quietly for Warriors to hear much less understand.

“I can’t hear you, kid.”

He glanced at him, then—still quiet, still barely a whisper, but just loud enough that Warriors could hear—repeated himself.

“He said he’d exile them… my mother and my aunt… Aunty could survive, she’s a warrior, we—they’re trained for survival. But Momma…” Legend trailed off. “She’s a scholar, not a warrior, she knows the theory but… Not to mention, Sahasrahla has all of the warriors under his thumb, Sheikah assassins, and if I… if I go too far, he’d send them after them.”

He was being threatened. His kid brother was being threatened, forced into this role by an old guy in power.

Warriors held back his fury to push pink locks back, and guide Legend to stop looking down at his lap to look him in the eyes.

“We won’t let him, you hear me? I’ll take Sky and the Rancher, and we’ll have a talk with him. We won’t hurt him, but we’ll handle it.”

“You’ll handle it?” Legend looked almost scared, eyes going wide and staring at him. "You can't hurt him. He's not--He isn't a bad person, Captain, he's just... set in his ways."

Ignoring that Legend was literally defending his abuser. “We’ll handle it, and I swear, he won't be... physically harmed, I can't vouch he won't take a hit to his ego though." He knew the other two would be absolutely ecstatic to… talk to the elder. “Do you trust me?”

“I do! I do, you’re—Of course, I trust you, all three of you, you’re my—But—you can’t just… Can you?”

He gently squeezed the back of his neck, pulling the younger hero closer and pressing his lips against his forehead. Legend went slack, inhaling sharply.

“We’ll take care of it," he said softly against his forehead, pulling away to look him in the eyes, "just trust me.”

“I… Okay,” Legend nodded slightly, something sad and resigned in his eyes. “Okay. I trust you.”

Next>>

[lichilly]

“I had all and then most of you

Some and now none of you.

Take me back to the night we met.”

— The Night We Met by Lord Huron

cw implied death, angst, OWWW OWWWIE OWWW

The day starts as usual.

The sun rises, birds chirping as you push open the balcony door to let the morning air in. Joseph steps out, a cigarette already between his fingers. You join him, two mugs of coffee in your hands. He takes one from you with a grateful smile, you both settle into the routine.

The day is beautiful. The suns warm embrace on your skin makes you want to linger there forever, soaking in her rays.

“What d’ya want for breakfast?” he asks, smoke curling lazily from his lips.

You ponder for a moment, imagining the taste of different dishes. “How about…pancakes?” you suggest, feeling your mouth water at the thought.

Joseph chuckles, stubbing out his cigarette and taking a final gulp of his coffee. “Pancakes it is then.”

You eat breakfast together at the table. Joseph flips through his script between bites, humming under his breath and glancing at the clock occasionally. A quiet sigh escapes him as he polishes off his plate.

He rises, placing his dirtied plate on the sink, setting his empty mug on top. He walks over to you, gently pushing your hair back and kissing your forehead.

“I gotta go. I’ll see you later, okay?”

You hum, cheeks warming from the kiss. “I’ll pick up stuff to make your favorite for dinner tonight. I know we haven’t had it in a while.”

His eyes light up, “Sounds like a plan.”

He heads towards the entryway, grabbing his jacket. He looks back at you, a smile still lingering on his lips.

“Don’t worry, filming shouldn’t take long today. I’ll be home before you know it.”

The butterflies in your stomach flutter with his words.

“Okay, I’ll see you later,” you reply, eyes droopy with morning grogginess and love.

The door clicks shut behind him, you watch a moment longer. Your eyes trace over the knob, down the mysterious crack in the wood, and watch his shadowy steps fade away. A sudden uneasiness creeps in, filling your gut with a syrupy ache. The butterflies no longer flutter, their wings cut, leaving you with a heavy feeling in their place.

You try to shake it off, but the feeling lingers, the knot in your stomach tightening with each tick of the clock. Hour after hour, minute after minute, you try to distract yourself with meaningless chores. You go grab things for dinner, the hustle and bustle of the store creating a dull hum over the pit in your stomach. A weak balm that doesn’t last the second you step through the apartment door again.

Night falls, groceries left forgotten on the counter. Seconds tick by painfully slow, each one a reminder of his absence. You can’t shake the feeling that something is terribly wrong.

Joseph doesn’t return that night, or any night after that.

[starry-bi-sky]

Childhood Friends Au: Danny's in Gotham Again

when the wool is off your eyes you'll stop counting sheep at night cause you'll eat your fill of them during the daytime

A few weeks after Danny’s visit to Gotham, he buys an apartment in the city. It’s this little thing, a studio apartment on the same street he grew up in. In Crime Alley. When he tells his parents, they protest heavily. They don’t think it's safe. They think he should reconsider. There were plenty of apartments and places to live somewhere else. And what about college? 

Danny doesn’t think he’ll go to college. He isn’t sure what he wants to do, now that being an astronaut is off the table. It’d be a waste of money to go without a goal in mind, he thinks. He says he’ll take a gap year and apply at one of the community colleges funded by the Wayne Corporation, possibly. It just wasn’t in the cards right now. 

“If things get tough,” He says at dinner that night, “then I can talk to the Waynes. I’m friends with the family, remember?” He ended up getting Bruce’s number in his phone again before he left, and in the process got Tim’s as well. They don’t talk much, Danny isn’t sure what to say. But he sends Tim memes whenever he comes across one and thinks he’ll like. Tim sends memes back in return.   

His parents do remember. They remember. They also remember the horrified shriek that echoed through the house when Danny learned of Jason’s passing. They remember running up the stairs and bursting into their son’s room and finding him sobbing into his bed, curled up like a little kid, like he was in pain. He lost his voice that day, stuck between screaming out his grief and sobbing it. 

They’re still not sure if they should let him go. 

In the end, Danny wins them out, and he lets them help him search for an apartment. They take a break from their lab work to help search for cheap furniture to buy. They may have more money than when they were in Gotham, but that frugal part of you never fully goes away. They all agree that they don’t want Danny to be seen carrying in nice-looking furniture when he moves in. 

He ends up with a basic furniture set, all mismatched, and in the warm summer of June, his parents rent out a u-haul and drive him down to Gotham to move in. They meet the landlord when they arrive, a skinny and frail old man with wispy white hair and a wrinkled face. He gives Danny the keys and tells him what apartment number he is, and then he leaves. 

His parents help him move in. They help him carry his heavy furniture up to the second floor, where his apartment is. Danny isn’t sure if he wants them to help. His mom and dad are strong, but they are getting old, closer to their fifties now that their children are grown. His dad’s hair is slowly beginning to thin, and rather than the white eating at the sides of his head, it now streaks through his hair like salt-and-pepper. His mom’s hair is graying out too, and there are more lines in their faces than he remembers there being. 

When he voices his concerns, his mom laughs spiritedly and says that they may be getting old, but they are still as spry as when they were in their twenties. Danny isn’t sure if he believes them or not. He can see his dad struggle a bit when they return to get his bed frame, and they have to take a break before they go back down for the rest of their things. 

Five years ago, his dad could do this without breaking a sweat. It forces a heavy thing in the back of Danny’s throat. (He is less afraid of his own death than he is of his loved ones, and while he has always felt rocky with his parents, he still loves them more than anything else.) 

Danny’s apartment is exactly as he would have expected it to be: shabby and worn through. The entire room smells like stale cigarette smoke and weed, nicotine stains the wall with poorly covered bullet holes, and stains in the carpet that are a color he can’t discern. The fridge has a broken light and when he tries to turn on the gas stove, it click-click-clicks before lighting, fire fwooshing out while the smell of gas fills the air. There’s rat droppings in the cupboards and the closet-like bathroom is just as bad. 

The ghostly part of him can sense the heavy stench of death in the room; people have died in this room. People have died in every room of this building, he thinks. They have died on the streets outside and in the alleys squeezed between them. He can feel it like a heavy fog in the air. 

It is painfully nostalgic, a bittersweet feeling in his chest that he grimaces to. 

When the last box is placed in his apartment, his parents offer to help unpack. They are hesitant to leave and Danny knows it, although he doesn’t know if it’s from empty nest syndrome or because it's Gotham. He thinks it might be both. He is their youngest child finally leaving home to a city known for its danger. 

“Are you sure you don’t want us to stay behind, sweetie?” His mother asks, a frown she tries to hide settled in the creases of her face. She fiddles with her hands, a nervous habit Danny has since noticed when she feels truly unsure and doesn’t need to hide it. Hesitancy looms over her like a heavy cloud. 

His dad jumps in hastily, splaying his hands and smiling painfully wide to hide the glistening in his eyes. “You’re mother’s right! We can help you get everything set up, champ. I could probably do something with that stove of yours to make it faster!” He says, his voice still booming like it always does even if there’s a stumble in his words. 

It makes his heart squeeze, knowing just how much they care. It was hard last summer, telling him that he was the Phantom. Terrifying, actually. They couldn’t comprehend it. He hadn’t felt his heart beat that fast in years when he stood in front of them at the kitchen table and told them he was a halfa, begging them to believe that ghosts weren’t inherently evil. 

His parents were people of science, however, and after much, much shock, they slowly came to terms with it. How could they not? The evidence was right in front of them. Their son was dead-alive, alive-dead. Somewhere stuck in the between. The tears they shed that night could fill a river, moving from the kitchen to the living room as Danny explains how he died. 

(When Danny tells them that he died after a week Jason did, his mom and dad look horrified. His mom covers her mouth when he adds that it was his idea to go inside it, his dad looks ashy pale, gripping his pant legs so tight that his knuckles turn white. There is a conclusion coming to their minds that he can tell they don’t like.) 

(“You’ve always hated our inventions, Danny.” Mom says in a hushed voice, and Danny winces at the wording, sinking into the back of the cushions in shame. He never thought that his parents noticed. Mom quickly grabs his arm, “No, no, there’s nothing to be ashamed of Danny. We were… perhaps too careless with our inventions, too enthusiastic. You had every right to hate the things we made when they had a tendency to… to malfunction.”) 

(Malfunction is a delicate way of putting it, when Danny remembers every time they had to evacuate their old apartment complex because whatever half-baked creation his parents made inevitably blew up into ash and smoke. There were soot marks permanently stained into the ceiling.) 

(Her hand slides down and grabs his, and she cups it in both of her hands, squeezing tightly. He forces himself to look up, and there is a look like her heart breaking when he looks into his mother’s eyes. “You’ve always avoided the lab after we moved, Danny. And you had every right to, so why on Earth did you ever think about going into the portal?”)

(Danny struggles to come up with an adequate answer, a way to verbalize what came over him that day five years ago. The answer is there, hanging in the air like a knot in a noose. He opens his mouth, and then closes it.)

(Finally, with a tongue made of lead, he shrugs lamely and looks away. “I didn’t know there was an on button inside it.” He mumbles, and despite being the truth it feels like a lie. But that is the truth. He didn’t know there was an on button inside it. So he didn’t care what happened.)

(Something dulls in mom’s eyes, like she thought of something else that Danny hadn’t said. Her eyes shimmer, and she squeezes them shut, breathing in so deep that it shakes. And then she pulls him into a hug, a hand burying into his hair and pressing him close. “It must have hurt so much, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”)

(It is something that Danny doesn’t expect her to say, like missing the last step of the stairs. It startles him so much he laughs this short, bark of a thing. He feels his dad press against his back and wrap his big arms around them, his nose pushed into his hair.) 

(Because yeah. Yeah, it did hurt. It hurt more than anything else he’s ever felt before. It had torn him apart and sewn him back together again, only to rinse and repeat. The pain was nothing he ever spoke to Sam or Tucker about, and it was something they never brought up. No, that’s not true. If they ever brought it up, Tucker would call it a zap. As if Danny only experienced a mild static shock. Like it was painless. It’s a pretty lie that Danny lets him and Sam believe.)

(His eyes sting and water immediately wobbles into his vision, coming up with such a force that he doesn’t even need to blink before it spills over. “Yeah.” He forces out, voice unexpectedly rough and cracking. “Yeah, it- it hurt. A lot.”)

He tells them about fighting the Lunch Lady a month later. He tells them about finding Jason. It comes spilling out like a waterfall. “I found him, mom.” He says, holding onto her tight while she keeps him tucked under his chin like a little kid. The secret of Jason being Robin stays hidden under his tongue, it is not his secret to tell. Not his identity to expose. He grips her tighter. “I found him, mom. Right there in the Ghost Zone, and he was my Jason. He wasn’t an echo or a— an imprint of him.”

Mom is silent; quiet and attentive, and so is dad, who rubs his large hands up and down Danny’s spine in an attempt to soothe him. It only works a little. Danny breathes in like a gasp as the urge to cry overcomes him again. He always avoids talking about Jason, his grief is like a never-healing scab that can be picked off at any time. It is ingrained into his core. 

“And then I lost him.” He forces out, a sob layering under his words that he chokes on and swallows. The hand on his back stills, and he can feel mom and dad breathe in like a question. He turns his head and pushes it into mom’s shoulder. “He disappeared, mom. Just— just gone.”

“And he didn’t move on.” He says, voice snarling like teeth biting before his mom can ask, because he knows that’s what she was going to ask. It’s what Sam and Tucker asked when he came to them in tears hours after he found Jason gone. It’s what Jazz said when he finally told her about it. It’s what every one of his ghosts asked when he told them about it and begged for their help. 

Danny grits his teeth and tries not to dig his nails into mom’s clothes as a fresh wave of tears run down his face. “His haunt is still there. If Jason really moved on it would have disappeared with him. That’s how it works. But it’s still in the zone, so Jason’s out there I just don’t know where.” 

(Sam once asks him why Danny didn’t just move on from it a year after Jason’s disappearance. She asked him why he didn’t give it up. Danny nearly saw red, and nearly bit her head off for it. It was incomprehensible to him to just stop looking for Jason, to give up. Not when he was out in the zone somewhere. Because he had to be in the zone.)

(Danny once tried to take Jason through the portal with him, and much like what happened to Kitty, it didn’t work. Jason was too tied to the ghost zone to leave.) 

(Some bonds are just unbreakable, he thinks. Bonds forged through blood and time and trust, and when you’re on the streets of Gotham, you hoard what little trust you have in someone like a dragon with its gold. It is scarcely given and fiercely kept.) 

“I’ve been looking for him.” Danny whispers when talking becomes too hard for him, when it runs the risk of him crying. “When- when I’m not fighting ghosts or, or in school or with my friends, I’ve been looking for him.” He has explored the Ghost Zone in every reach he can. He has met so many people. He’s met the ghosts of aliens from planets in every corner of the galaxy. He has met gods or god-like beings and their disciples. 

He’s met famous scholars and writers (he’s gotten the autographs of all of Jason’s favorite writers). He has found entire cities that have so much life in it that it's been permanently etched into the ghost zone, like a mirror version of itself. 

He’s visited the ghostly vision of Gotham so many times, and he avoids the imprint of Wayne Manor like the plague. There are ghostly newspapers that he reads. There are the ghosts of Martha and Thomas Wayne in many of them. 

Jason’s haunt connects to Wayne Manor, but it is also the street they grew up in. It is a small brick building with a door that leads to Jason’s room. A ghost knows when someone enters their haunt, it alerts them like a doorbell in the back of their mind. A foreign ecto-signature in a place drenched in your own. 

Danny visits it every time he goes into the Ghost Zone. It’s always his first stop. 

He tells his parents all of it. He tells them of the ghosts he’s met, of the places he’s seen. And when he feels brave, he tells them about Rath and the terror that his future self brings him. He keeps some details hidden, the ones that he can afford to keep without muddling up the story. 

(Rath is a tall, spindly thing, like a funhouse mirror version of Danny himself. He has arms that are much too long and legs that are much too tall, with skinny fingers that extend into claws.He wears his suit the same as Danny does, with it partially undone and the sleeves wrapped around his waist.)

(There is a black hole in his chest that is much bigger than Danny’s own. It takes up his chest cavity and drips the same, viscous black liquid as the tears falling from his eyes. Danny never forgets his voice; a scraping, quiet thing like he’s screamed himself hoarse. Rath has a voice like goosebumps, and it haunts Danny like a bump in the night.) 

Danny speaks and speaks and speaks until he can’t think of anything else to speak of. He is tired and sad, and it feels like his heart has been ripped out and rubbed raw again. And yet, he also feels so much better. Like a long heavy weight has been taken off his chest. 

Yeah, last summer was hard. His parents walked on eggshells around him, and they forced themselves to unlearn their bias of ghosts. It was more than Danny could have ever dreamed of, and when they felt ready for it, they asked him more about the ghost zone.

He smiles sadly at his dad, “I think fixing the stove can be a priority another time, dad.” He says, watching him wilt and his smile fall. Jack Fenton was always so good at making himself look like a kicked puppy. “I can handle unpacking by myself, I promise.” 

His parents still look so unsure, like they want to argue. Danny watches his mom purse her lips tightly, confliction running across her face like a datastream. She takes dad’s hand, squeezing their fingers together despite the droop in her shoulders. 

“Oh, alright then, I suppose.” She relents, her hand placing on Jack’s arm. “I guess we could go, we’re just going to miss you so much, Danny.” 

Tears seem to have won over his dad, and Jack Fenton sniffs back before he can cry properly. “Our little boy, all grown up.” He says, voice wobbling. It makes Danny laugh, and it makes his heart pang. His smile grows impossibly wider and so much fonder. “You’ve become such a kind, wonderful young man, Danno. We’re so proud of you.” 

Danny laughs again, and it cracks. “You’re gonna make me cry, dad.” (He feels a welling of guilt in his gut that he ignores — he doesn’t feel like a kind man. He doesn’t feel like a good one either. Not with what he plans to do.) 

His father holds out his arms in hopefulness, “One last hug for your old man before we head out?” He asks, mustering up a smile on his face. 

Danny barrels into him, nearly knocking his dad over with an oomph. He’s as tall as him now, but he still feels little in his bear hugs. With arms wrapping around his middle, Danny hugs his father tight and breathes him in one last time. 

“Careful there, Danno.” He laughs, patting Danny’s back roughly. “You’ll break my ribs with that ghostly strength of yours!” But he holds on just as tight.

Out of spite, Danny bends back and lifts him off his feet, laughing when Jack tenses up and nearly scrambles out of surprise. His mom laughs with him, stepping back to give them room for the few seconds that dad is in the air. 

When it’s his mom’s turn, Danny has to hunch to hug her. Something bittersweet to him as she plants a kiss on his forehead and says that he’ll always be her baby. “Even if you do have that horrid smoking habit.” She adds on with a disapproving eyebrow raise. 

Danny turns red in embarrassment, and walks them back to the GAV. Gothamites of all kinds slow to stop and boggle at the monstrous, road-illegal thing that is parallel-parked next to the curbside. In the past, Danny would have died with mortification to be seen with it. Now it just makes him laugh. Before he goes back into the apartment building, he buys a newspaper from a nearby convenience store.  

The first thing he does when he gets back up to his room is one: make a mental note to buy a bicycle chain lock for the door. The locks jiggle and there are splinters along the side that show signs of it being broken into in the past. The second thing he does is pull his cigarettes out of his pocket and light one. 

Danny starts to unpack with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, placing the newspaper he bought onto the counter. He has a cheap loveseat that he pushes off to the side, and he moves the boxes into the kitchen. It’s a matter of organization that Danny has to think about before he does anything. 

It’s as he’s pushing the sofa up against the wall facing the windows that his phone rings a familiar tune: Sam. The phone is fished out before he can think about it and when he stares down at the screen, he realizes it's a facetime call. 

He presses answer and walks over to prop his phone up onto the counter. The smiling faces of Sam and Tucker greet him, rather than just Sam. Immediately, Danny grins. “Hey Danny.” Sam greets, smiling a dark-painted lazy thing. From the background it looks like they’re in Tucker’s room. Sam is in Tucker’s desk chair, and Tucker is behind her, leaning against it. “Have you moved in yet?” 

Danny pulls the cigarette from his mouth and huffs, a cloud of smoke following his breath. “Yeah! It’s a shithole.” He grins lopsidedly, and his feet carry him off to the side to allow Sam and Tucker view of his apartment. He lets thirty seconds pass, allowing the both of them to really see the rest of the room. And then he steps back into frame. 

Sam and Tucker both look like they’re trying not to look judgemental, like they’re trying to hide a grimace that Danny sees anyway with the small turns at the corner of their mouths. He grins wider, mirth filling his lungs. “I know, it looks awful doesn’t it?”

“It’s— it’s not so bad.” Sam says with a strain in her voice, a forced smile on her face that tries to be reassuring. Tucker nods along readily, and he looks just as unsure as Sam does. Danny stifles laughter behind his teeth. 

“No, no, it looks bad,” He takes a drag of his cigarette, shaking his head. “You can say it, I won’t get offended. It’s a fucking apartment in crime alley. Of course it looks bad.” 

Sam remains silent, a rearing of her stubbornness showing itself. Tucker takes a different approach, and heaves a dramatic sigh of relief, slumping like a weight. “Okay, you’re right. It looks bad.” He frowns, “Sorry, man.” 

While Danny snorts, Sam sighs. “Yeah, it looks bad. What even are those stains?” She asks, and both she and Tucker lean closer in tandem to the screen, eyes squinting at the floor behind him. Danny glances at the floor, and shrugs. 

“Blood, probably.” He says, and while years in Amity Park have accustomed him to a clean environment, the desensitization of Gotham still remains. Tucker and Sam both make faces and lean away, as if the stain itself was capable of passing through to them. “Yeah, there are bullet holes in the walls.” 

“Are you sure it’s safe to be there?” Tucker asks, a furrow appearing between his brows. He adjusts his glasses and leans against the chair. Sam is frowning heavily, and Danny can already see her thinking up of a new way to fix the problem. 

“Oh, I never said this place was safe.” Danny tells him cheerily, taking a last hit of his cigarette before placing the dead stick onto the counter. He itches for another one. Instead he walks over to the shelf his parents brought in and starts moving it. “It’s Crime Alley, Tuck. Safe isn’t even in its vocabulary.” 

Tucker and Sam look like they’ve both swallowed a lemon.

“But it’s where I want to be right now.” He says, grunting quietly when the shelf is against the wall he wants it to be, near the short hallway leading to the front door. He can push it in front of it if someone tries to break in. “And Crime Alley’s apartments are the only ones I can really afford right now without mooching off my parents, and I’d rather not depend on them.” 

He can hear the disapproving hesitance from where he stands. And he ignores it. 

Danny walks back into frame, lifting up a box onto the counter. He hums lightly, fingers run over the tape keeping it shut. “Why do you even want to be in Gotham, Danny?” Sam asks, and she sounds genuinely perplexed. Danny stills. “I thought this place only had bad memories for you.” 

His blood turns cold, and like a dime being flipped his slow heartbeat fills his ears. “It does.” He replies automatically, before he can think. Shit, shit. He knows that Sam or Tucker would ask that question, and yet he still feels unprepared for it. His heart pulses quickly against his ribcage, knocking, asking him what he’s going to tell them that isn’t the truth. 

Danny stammers, “I mean— I just— I guess I felt nostalgic.” He says, and it sounds like a weak defense. He looks away, finding himself instinctively scratching his jaw. A new tick of his when he’s nervous. From the corner of his eye, he sees Sam and Tucker both narrow their eyes at him. 

He cannot tell them the real reason why he’s moved back to Gotham. He can’t tell them of the little secret and vow he told himself five years ago, the one that’s been left to fester and burn like an open wound close to his core. The one that, if he thinks too much about it, sends a searing hot electricity through him, filling him from crown to toe top-full of direst wrath.  

(Danny was always the angrier one in the duo of Jason and Danny. He was always the one with glass in his mouth, cutting his teeth and tongue so that he could spit blood at the world around them. His knuckles had more blood and bruises on it than skin, once upon a time. All because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He has grown from it, that fury has turned to a small simmering candle.) (But sometimes, sometimes it rears its head, and electricity will buzz under Danny’s skin. There is lightning before the thunder, the second before a fist pulled to punch lands, the spark before it becomes a blaze.) 

He stumbles over his words, and then sighs long and low, drooping his head. “I… was thinking that I can’t avoid this place forever.” He says, and the best lies always have the truth in it. Because it’s not a lie, not completely. But it’s not close enough to the truth either. “And that maybe if I came back, I’d be able to do something about those bad memories. Make them better or make it hurt less.” 

Like wool over their eyes, it fools Sam and Tucker. Their narrowed eyes soften, and Danny feels like a snake is in his lungs as they both adopt their own versions of gentleness on their faces. “Oh, Danny.” Sam breathes out, and the snake squeezes, “Of course, we understand.”

Tucker nods, smiling at him. “Yeah, bro, that’s really brave of you. I know it can’t be easy coming back.” He says, “Maybe you can reconnect with the Waynes again, you always thought well of Mister Wayne whenever you came back from visiting.”

Danny smiles weakly, the gesture cutting into his cheeks like a knife. Perhaps he could. He was still upset with Bruce for hiding Jason’s killer from him. But he doesn’t hate him. Maybe five years ago, he did, when the death of Jason was still fresh in his mind and freshly bleeding in his heart. Now he just doesn’t know what to think of him. He was Batman. Jason was Robin, and the Joker killed Robin. 

It would need to be something he’d have to speak to Bruce about in person, he thinks, in order to resolve it. To hear his judgment on it and make an opinion from there. Danny has learned in the last five years, much to Jazz’s smug delight, that talking to people about something he was upset about did make him feel better. 

The conversation slips on from there into something more light, more breathable. And while they talk, Danny unpacks. He sets up his bed in the corner of the room, adjacent to the windows, and unpacks his cheap TV and table stand. It’s directly across from the couch, in front of the windows. He puts up knicks and knacks he’s collected over the years on the shelves.

When he puts up the curtains, he notices that more than one frame jiggles loosely. Sam makes a comment on the musty stains permanently dyed into the glass, and Danny talks about getting something to fix the cracks. Gotham winters can get brutal, and even if he can withstand the cold, doesn’t mean everything else in his apartment can. 

“Oh, watch this.” He says halfway through unpacking, and pulls out a stick of thick white chalk from a box. “This is something I learned from Clockwork a while back; I think he knew I was going to move to Gotham.” He grins sillily, popping into the camera frame to show them. “I wonder how?” 

Sam rolls her eyes, smiling while Tucker huffs. “It’s not like he’s the Master of Time and can see all past, present, and future.” Tucker snarks. 

Danny hums lightly, curt like he isn’t sure he believes Tucker, and walks to a piece of bare wall not yet blocked by furniture. He starts to draw on it. The chalk shimmers with faint ectoplasm on the wall. 

“Uhh…” Tucker’s voice cuts through, “Are you sure you should be doing that? Won’t you get in trouble for that?”

“There are bullet holes in the plaster, Tucker.” Danny retorts dryly, arching his hand to make a big circle. “I don’t think the landlord is gonna care if I get washable chalk on his walls.” Inside the circle, he inscribes the symbols of the Infinite Realms. “I don’t think he’d be able to see it anyways, he was really old.” 

When he is done, Danny steps back to admire his work. It’s not bad, he thinks, for a lack of practice. He tosses the chalk off to the side, it lands on the couch and rolls back into the cushions. Ectoplasm heats under his hand, slowly glowing from his fingertips before stretching down the rest of his palm. 

Danny’s fingers press against the wall, into the center of the circle. The result is immediate, ectoplasm is siphoned off his hand and into the circle. It glows, and then swirls. He steps off to the side for Sam and Tucker to watch its transformation. The circle fills with a swirling pool of ectoplasm, like a smaller version of the basement portal, and then it warps and stretches. 

It fills out a rectangular shape, shifting like taffy being pulled this way and that, before settling into a solid shape. It solidifies, and instead of a wall there is a glowing purple door, warped in nature and seemingly shifting like a trick of the eyes. He can hear the gentle hum of the zone standing next to it, and can see the carving of the circle in the wood. 

He gestures dramatically, grinning from ear to ear. “Ta-da~” He sings, “A door to my haunt! For whenever I feel like visiting it.” He pats the wood, making a strange thunk-thunk sound. “And then watch this.” 

Danny touches the circle again, and the door twists and recedes like water going down a drain. The circle flashes bright green, and then fades into nothing on the wall, invisible to the naked eye. “I can hide it whenever I want! So if I ever invite someone over—” which he doubts, “—I won’t have to worry about them asking, ‘Hey Danny? Why is there a creepy fucking door in your studio apartment?’”

He gets a pair of laughs for his efforts, and Danny grins wider. 

Sam and Tucker have to end the call when Danny is nearly done unpacking, leaving him alone with only his thoughts and the Gotham ambience outside. There were only a few boxes left, and they promise to call him tomorrow. He tells them that they better keep that promise. 

The silence that follows after they leave feels somberly, as if the reality of moving in has finally set in and filled the air with its loneliness. With its change. Finally, Danny lets the strangeness of moving back to Gotham hit him when he reaches the last box, and he stops to take another smoke break to let it settle. 

It feels so strange to be back in Gotham, he thinks. He’s all grown up, or almost grown up. He can vote and pay taxes, but he doesn’t feel much older than he was at fourteen. There’s a disconnect that makes him feel sad. 

There are cars running outside, driving by. He can only catch glimpses of them, his apartment faces an alleyway. There are dogs barking in the distance, strays he bets. It’s already dark out, and he wonders if he looks out the window he would see the bat-signal shining through the night and staining the permanent cloud that hangs over Gotham. 

Bruce would be so disappointed if he learned the reason for Danny’s return to Gotham. But Danny’s not here for him. He’s here for someone far more important. And like that, the simmering anger that has tucked itself into the furthest corners of his heart starts slipping through. His heart has teeth, ready to strike and snarl and bite. 

He crushes the cigarette in his hand and throws it away. When he opens the last box, it is with hands that tremble and with a face of stone. With a delicateness he does not feel, he reaches in and pulls a corkboard from the box. On the corner frame is a small, near inconspicuous carving of another ghost rune. 

Danny hangs it up on an empty space on the wall, out of sight from the window. It’s plain, and he has nothing to pin to it. He presses the small rune on the corner, pushing ectoplasm into it. Unlike the door, it does not twist and warp and shape itself into something new. Instead it bursts into green flame, eating away at the board and revealing the same thing underneath it, just in dark blue-black-purple. 

Now this board, this board Danny has something to pin to it. The newspaper he bought earlier sits abandoned on the counter, and Danny unrolls it with something like viciousness in his chest. On the front page is an image of a damaged street, and above it is titled: “JOKER STRIKES AGAIN, 3 DEAD AND 27 INJURED”

Danny rips out the first page, he rips out every mention of him. His hands shake and threaten to crumple the paper as he turns back to the board, there is hot blood pounding in his ears. There is an impending sense of finally in his chest, like a setting sun giving the stage to a starless night. There is a stern set in his jaw, five years of festering rage rushing forth like a tidal wave, threatening to make his vision swim. 

It would be so easy, he thinks, to go out as Phantom right now and hunt the clown down. It would only take a night. All it would take is a night, and then he could sink his hands into the Joker’s chest and rip out his heart where he stood. It would be so easy. 

The thought alone forces Danny to stop as he is hit with another rush of fury, really making his head and vision swim. Thorny vines wrap around his throat, making it hard to breathe. He stares at a spot on the wall until the shaking passes. 

If he wants to be discreet about this, then he can’t do it now. Even if he wants to. He doesn’t want witnesses. He doesn’t want an audience. He made a mistake, telling Red Hood about his plan. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking. Perhaps he wasn’t thinking at all. But he can only hope that the Hood hasn’t mentioned it to Bruce. He knows it hasn’t been long since they started working together. He hopes that the Hood has already forgotten about it. 

He pins the newspaper clippings onto the black-blue-board, and stands back. It’s bare now, but it won’t be forever. 

He presses the circle again, and the pinboard reverts back to its original blank state. 

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Was I expecting to make a third part?? No. No I was not. I was also not expecting to make an entire google doc filled with summaries for short story ideas about this au that all tie into each other so that way if i DO continue this i have a skeleton pathway to follow rather than making everything up from scratch and potentially cornering myself

you can find this on ao3 or on tumblr 1 2 :)

[bonetrousledbones]

btw in case anybody's wondering what i've been working on as of late i've mostly been redesigning this guy for the 4th time because sometimes good ideas are bad

[umblrspectrum]

i WILL develop a softer style and simultaneously keep my Sharp Edges and you cannot fucking stop me

[butchdykekondraki]

the sisyphean task of working on that fucking. dsaf timeline doc

[triglycercule]

killer being like "yeah i know every single little thing about horror and dust" (because he watches them as a part time hobby (freak) (find something better to do)) and then he acts surprised when they do something that he wouldnt expect them to do in his little predetermined absolutely perfect concept of them

like what do you MEAN horror licks spoons clean when he's using them so he doesn't have to get a completely different one for the main course and the dessert. what do you MEAN dust has a lisp even though he speaks fluently and uses even more complex words than killer himself. horror knows how to sew and he often patches up their things without either of them noticing?? dust always wears oversized and clothes that cover him up just because he finds it comfy?? what??? out ra geous???? these guys have small little quirks to them that killer doesn't already know about???? killer immediately wants to know more. so he can expand his internal profile of them of course. not for any other more endearing and sweet reason. not at all,,,,,,,, (:3)