#part 5

[soft-bruno-everyday]

[dcxdpdabbles]

My request for Adoptive son got accidentally posted with a different response and then deleted a while back, so I've come back to see if you're willing to do a little of the Summoned Demon au instead? 🥺 pretty please? I keep hoping it'll come back up and I'm excited haha

Danny flies while blinking through his tears, trying his best to find the giant clown Alex has mentioned. He is unsure what will happen to the police officer's ghost now that he has been captured, and that sends his heart into turmoil.

Every part of his core wanted him to turn around to rescue Alex. It went against his very soul to run, but he could think rationally enough to know that if he did, nothing good would come of it.

At best, he would give Alex enough time to hide inside the building he was anchored to; at worst, both of them would be shipped off to some lab and ripped apart.

No. He couldn't save Alex, and couldn't let his sacerfice to help Danny escape go to waste.

He needed to regroup. Figure out a plan, establish communication, or do something to escape the crazy cultists. It didn't help that they obviously had connections with police who were hunting him down to return him.

Thankfully, Danny has some experience with escaping government bodies. Just as long as he keeps moving and uses his powers wisely, he should be able to find somewhere to catch his breath.

Danny wipes at his eyes, pushing himself to fly faster.

Thanks to his invisibility, no one notices his form fly over their heads. A steady flow of people moves underneath him, going through another mundane day. It's crowded, busy and noisy.

So different from the city of Amity Park. It's a jarring reminder that only this morning, he had been dreading his upcoming math exam, and now he was running for his life.

At least the hook feeling in his navel has lessened. Using Phantom's abilities didn't take as much effort as it did a few hours ago.

Likely, whatever that voice activation cell did was starting to lose effect. Based on how his body responded, it would be two or three hours before he would be back to full strength.

As he finished the thought, Danny felt his body grow heavy, as if a weight was suddenly thrown around his ankles.

With a shout of alarm, Danny plummeted downwards, struggling against the cruel grips of gravity. He felt his invisibility fall away just as he landed face first on the ground between an open of people.

The force of his face has him skitting against the pavement, tumbling over and over as screams from the started civilians echo through the crowd. Danny rolls three times before smacking against a pull, upside down, with his legs folded over near his head.

He groans. "That is going to leave so many bruises."

His healing factor was kicking in already working on easing the aching in his spine and face. Slowly, as to not agitate his wounds, he unfolds, bracing his hands on the ground, and leaps up.

When the world is right, he finds himself standing before a little metal fence separating the street from a restaurant's dining area. The two boys Danny saw at the cult are sitting at the table right in front of him.

They were the ones who were pleading with the other boy who clung to his legs. Danny blinks. "Oh, hello."

The one on the left, a ginger that reminds him surprisingly of Kyle Weston down to his choice of clothes, lets a blood-curdling scream before his eyes roll back into his head in a dead faint. Danny leaps over the fence, catching him before he hits the ground.

The other boy watches like a deer caught in headlights, frozen with absolute terror all over his face. The fork in his white knuckle grip is bending at a strange angle as he makes small whimpers, almost as if he's scared to talk.

Danny carefully sets the one he caught on the ground, ensuring his head is cushioned before tugging at his clothes. He unzips the hoodie the boy was wearing and pulls at his neck collar to ensure it's not bothering his breaking.

Only after ensuring that the boy is breathing correctly does Danny move down to carefully left up his legs, remembering the lessons his father taught him in case he ever witnessed someone faint.

The teenager sitting at the table starts to speak, sounding panicky, but Danny ignores him in favor of placing the Kyle-Wannabe's legs on the chair's cushion. He tugs on the ankles in his hold, making sure it's angled in a way that does not hurt him spin but can allow more blood flow to his head.

"Can someone please call an ambulance?" He demands of the watching crowd only to have the majority of them cower back. He makes a face, causing a waitress to flinch so hard she stumbles over a nearby table.

Right, they can't understand him. He raises his hand above his head, attempting to mimic the ambulance light while speaking slowly. "Am-bu-lance. wee-oww wee-oww?"

A child bursts into tears. Danny drops his hands, letting them hang loosely at his side. The sea of faces surrounding him is all edged with fear, which makes his stomach turn. "None of you understand me. You're scared of me."

"I'm not," A man says, stepping away from the crowd. His transparent body lets him know it's a ghost. That and the dripping cinder block chained to his legs, along with his flouting hair as if though he were underwater, are significant indicators of his death. "You're trying to get him to a hospital?"

"Yes!" Danny points at him, forgetting himself for a moment. The people standing behind the ghost scramble to get out of the path of his pointing.

The man tilts his head slightly. "What language are you speaking?"

"English?"

"Odd. It sounds different. I would know since I speak nine languages." The man grunts, his strange accent sounding like a melody to the ear were it not for the watery effect. It's sad how it affects his handsomeness, with the green and silver trimming of his suit and the snake necklace and rings he is wearing.

The ghost calmly flouts to a poster on the restaurant's wall a few steps away from Danny, knocking his knuckles against some symbols. "Point to this word, then the boy. That'll let the crowd know to get some medical attention."

Danny stares at him for a moment before the murder victim clears his throat impatiently, and it snaps him into action. Rushing over, he points to the words, then the Kyle-wannabee, and back again to the word. When the crowd continues to stare, Danny repeats the motion more urgently until the boy at the table finally catches on.

He pulls out a rectangular device from his pocket- the same one that girl had earlier this morning-tapping it with shaking fingers and speaking in rushed panic words.

The ghost at the poster nods approvingly. "Well done. Now, leave the scene before the authorities arrive."

"What?"

"I was an immigration lawyer in life. One of the only ones in this cursed city that actually gave a shit, and it got me killed. I know how they treat people who aren't from around here and how to help you when a language barrier gets in the way. Trust me, kid, it's better to get gone in this situation." As he speaks, the ghosts float back to Danny, shaking the chains around his feet for emphasis. There is a cold, calculating glint in his eye as he regards the silent crowd . "The panic will settle soon, and these people will form a mob. Get going."

Danny throws one last look at the unconscious boy before he realizes that the fear on people's faces hasn't lessened. It's growing, and he knows a witch hunt will start soon.

He's seen it before on the faces of Amity Park back when he was Inviza-Bill. He twists on his feet, running away with the lawyer flying behind him.

The older man gives out curt directions at every turn, slowly guiding him outside of the part of the city. Danny's legs are starting to burn when the sight of a large, broken-down amusement park comes into view.

The lawyer tells him which part of the fence board is loose enough for him to slide in and then instructs him to go to the fun house shaped like a giant clown head. Danny scrambles through the hole, hissing when a few loose nails catch on his skin, but he finally stumbles through, only to be overwhelmed by a new large and bustling crowd.

A crowd made of thousands of ghosts that walk or fly about without a care in the world. They are wearing various different eras of clothing, blending, and some have ghastly marks on their bodies, indicating their deaths.

The majority, however, are people with large, crazed smiles frozen on their faces. He gawks at all of them, not used to seeing so many of the dead in one place outside of the Ghost Zone.

"Don't just stand there with your mouth open." The lawyer snaps at Danny's back. "Get out of sight now!"

"Tom?" A woman in a gown that looks like she was present for the beheading of Marie Antonette steps in front of the drowned layer, Tom, with a look of confusion. "Who are you talking to?"

"Him." Tom nods his head at Danny, who offers the woman a wave. She reels back, opening her mouth like she's about to scream,m but Tom snaps forward, slapping a hand on her lips before she can. "Do not! What do you think will happen when all these murder victims realize he can communicate with them? He just escaped from being mobbed."

The man glances over his shoulder at Danny. "Go into the fun house. Act like you can't see or hear the rest of the ghosts. Walk through them if you have to."

"I can't," Danny whispers, his heart suddenly beating wildly. None of the ghosts noticed him, but that could change in a second. "Ghosts are solid to me. If I try to walk through them, we'll just end up bumping against each other."

Tom lets out a very put-upon sigh. "Then walk around them. Now go. It's not safe to talk in the open."

Danny knows Tom is helping him but feels vaguely threatened as he walks stiffly to the giant clown's head. He fights to keep his gaze straight, watching ghosts step out of his path while some flout closer, looking curious. He fights to not flinch at the ones with the enormous smile as if someone had cut them into their faces.

This is making his stomach turn.

"Who's this?" An older man asks Tom and the woman that follows him. His lips are pulled into two upturns, showing tight yellow teeth in a similar craze grin.

"Street kid," Tom grunts from somewhere behind him.

"He's likely looking for shelter from the cold." The woman adds, though her voice is slightly strained. "Tom wants to make sure he gets settled."

"Where is he going to?" The old man questions, his voice a little odd because he has to speak behind his teeth, trapped in a smile. "The only warm place here is the Joker's old place, and not even the dead go in there."

Danny ignores the old man's words, speed walking all the way to the entrance of the Fun House. He notices that various ghosts stop to watch him out of the corner of his eye as he finally passes the doorway into the building. Shaking his head, the old man lingers just a little outside of it. "Fool. Even if the Joker is not here, it's not a place to go."

Neither Tom nor the woman responds as they follow Danny inside. Tom is facing the wall when he mutters. "Close the door."

As soon as the wood seals shut, with a few ghosts lingering gaze trapped outside, Danny collapses on the floor, letting out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding. "That was terrifying."

"What in the world is going on, Tom!" The woman hisses, apparently unable to hold back any longer while crossing her arms, "Who is this?"

Tom holds up a hand in her face, which makes her gasp in offense, but his eyes linger on Danny's crumbled form. " There is a dictionary tucked away in the third office. Go get it."

"What? Why?"

"Because we'll use that to help you communicate with the living locals. I can read, and you can point."

Danny's eyes widen. "That's a clever idea!"

"Of course it is. I'm one the cleverest men to walk this stupid city's streets." Tom smirks like the snakes he's wearing. "We don't have much time. Knowing the idiots of Gotham, Batman will be tipped off and on his way here as we speak."

[vickbb]

YAY NARANCIA ART!!!

ENJOY UR MEAAAAL🌿🌿🍊

https://www.instagram.com/shoot.vick?igsh=anBxYXdzbGUwMG41&utm_source=qr

[cursio-neptune]

Crossover 5 Part 2/2 Hooray, we finally reached the finale -w-

<< First < Previous ~*~ Next >

(Click "Previous" for part 1)

Sun admitting his knowledge of the fourth wall happened in this comic.

Sun's mention of attempted violence happened here.

[sunnyblus]

a flower for u🌞🩵

[thevoidstaredback]

Honestly, Danny doesn't know how he gets into these situations. It's probably the fault of a deity or an Ancient or someone. It's most definitely Clockwork's fault.

Going on that mission with Constantine sounded like a good idea at the time, and Raven was going to be there! She's the best impulse control on the team. He realizes he should've clarified why Raven was going with them. Evidently, it was not to help or be impulse control for the Ghost King and the Alcoholic Soul Whore. (Don't tell Constantine that's his nickname) Raven was going along because she had business at Titan Tower. It should've been obvious, but Danny is not the most observant.

Either way, he was wrong. He thought going on this mission with John - there was a demon running around an apartment building and people were, apparently, quite upset about that - would deter the Justice League from hounding him like roaches. He was right about that, but also very wrong because the proteges took the opportunity to sniff him out like the bloodhounds they are. Unsurprisingly, Red Robin was at the head of the charge.

Raven, the traitor, sat back and laughed at him. She wasn't laughing, but it was obvious that she found his misery amusing.

Anyway, this lead to a citywide hunt for Danny. Anytime he spotted even a hint of any of the Titans chasing him, he was gone. He couldn't stray too far from Constantine, though, and Beast Boy had a nose like a damn elephant.

The chase lasted a solid three hours before he had to let them catch him, if only so that he could tell them to leave him alone because he's there on official JLD business. Not like that would actually work, but he had hope. Unfortunately, he forgot that Red Robin is Bat Trained.

Danny took a second for himself before the Titans caught up with him. Was this really better than Deadman harassing him about his first time in Gotham? No, it wasn't. It wasn't any worse, either, and he didn't know how to feel about that.

"Are you finally done running?" Red Robin asked, landing in a crouch in front of him.

Danny folded his legs to sit criss-cross in the air as the rest of the kids that had been chasing him joined RR. "You make it sound like I'm a criminal."

"You ran like one," Beast Boy pointed out. Fair, but rude. "And, dude, I don't know if you know this, but you smell horrible."

Danny placed a hand on his chest with a dramatic gasp. "How dare you! I took a shower just last week!"

Raven was now unamused.

Superboy gagged a bit. "He's right," A small shudder. "I couldn't smell it before, but I can now that you're so close to me."

He sighed with equal dramatics as his gasp. "I guess I can never get rid of the smell, even after all this time."

Wonder Girl tilted her head to the side slightly. "Oh? And what smell would that be?"

"The smell of death," John Constantine, ever a man of impeccable timing, turned onto the side street to join them. He largely ignored the kids in favor of the ghost child who isn't actually a child but no one listens to him when he explains that so he's probably going to stop trying. "It lingers. C'mon, kid, we've got a demon to exorcise."

Danny huffed like a petulant child, "Still not a kid!"

Constantine continued walking away. "Still don't care."

Part 4 Part 6

Tag List:

@zaiothe4th @someonebored0100 @wolfeyedwitch @angelheartgamer @nymanders @princessbelix @luminanightfall @kgne-k @bianca-hooks123 @reigning-catsanddogs @sassywombatranchhorse @dontfightmecauseillcry @soul-lime @anarinette

[jo-gakky]

I love this man more than life itself Is seeing him fully happy too much to ask??

[zepskies]

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 5

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: Ready for an angsty-fun filled finale? 😘💖

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: “The Very Thought of You” by Tony Bennett

Word Count: 6.6K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, tense situations, protective Dean, hurt/comfort, fluff, and spice.~

✨ Series Masterlist

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 5: Dried Ink

Dean slammed the payphone back on the hook in frustration. He’d tried calling twice from the train station and couldn’t get you at home. It was getting late in the evening and he knew you were off work already. Where the hell did you go?

“She could’ve packed up and left him already,” Sam said. “I gave her the number of a decent hotel I know over in the Village.”

Dean reluctantly stepped aside for the next person waiting to use the phone. The sound of his train clicking by fast on the tracks echoed in the station. A gust of wind shoved at the brothers' backs, ruffling their long coats, as well as Sam's hair.

“You think she did it that quick?” Dean asked.

“One way to find out,” Sam said. “Come on. I’ve got my car waiting.”

It was so very strange to watch the bellman bring your suitcases inside your new room. You’d only ever stayed in a hotel once, for your honeymoon in Philadelphia. Michael took you to the Walnut Street Theater there, and among other things, to see the Liberty Bell. It had reminded both of you about the true cost of freedom.

You let that thought slip away from you with a shake of your head as you started unpacking, hesitantly at first. It almost didn’t feel real.

Fortunately, after sampling from a bottle of scotch you’d found under Michael’s side of the bed (and slipped into your suitcase), you began to settle into the idea. You took a break from hanging up your dresses in the closet to peer out the window to the narrow, busy streets below the fifth floor. Everything looked so small down there, so far away. In time, maybe the heaviness in your heart would feel that far away too.

Except the loud, insistent knock on the door broke you out of your thoughts. Straightening up with a frown, you set down your glass and went over to the door. It could be Housekeeping coming up to bring you the fresh towels you asked for. The ones that had been laid out in the bathroom smelled musty.

You opened the door to a tall frame taking up room in the doorway. It was Michael, standing there disheveled and steaming mad. He held your letter crumpled in his left hand. 

“Michael, what—what’re you doing here?” you gasped and stepped back. He followed you inside the room and slammed it shut. He looked around at your open suitcases in disbelief, then finally at you.

“What’s this supposed to mean, huh?” he demanded to know. He shook the flimsy piece of paper at you. “I come home with flowers, two tickets to see a show, ready to take my wife out to dinner, only to find the apartment half empty. Not to mention a letter that…frankly, cut me to down to the core.”

His anger lessened then, turning into dismay; the kind that you never would have expected to see in his eyes. Not after how he’d been acting for the past few months. He came closer and grabbed hold of you by the shoulders. When you tensed and expelled a shaky breath, he blinked in surprise.

“Darling, are you…you scared of me or something?” he asked incredulously. “I know I’ve been working late, not coming home when I say I will sometimes, but have I ever raised a hand to you? Not even once, right?”

You drew enough courage to meet his eyes, so blue, for once so earnest. It made you sick. Because the man he was when he was sober was more like the one you married. Only, you felt the true version of him was more akin to a sleeping dragon, lying in wait to be provoked.

“Neither of us have to lie anymore and pretend this is a marriage. At least, not one worth saving,” you said. “I know, Michael. I know about Dolores…or should I say, Joanna.”

Michael paused. His head cocked as disbelief crossed his features. He stared down at you almost without blinking.

“Did you know her real name was Joanna Johnson?” you asked. “Ring any bells with Brady Johnson, the man you’ve been paying to keep her company?”

Michael frowned. “He’s her brother. He pays her bills—”

“No,” you shook your head. “Look in the folder sitting on the coffee table there.”

You gestured over to it with a nod of your head. Michael was drawn to the path of your gaze. When his morbid curiosity was too much, he finally let go of you to investigate the folder in question. You released a subtle sigh of relief. You began drifting over behind the couch and closer to the landline phone. It rested on a nearby accent table.   

Meanwhile, Michael sorted through the contents of the folder and all the information Sam had gathered for you. He’d made copies of all the evidence for your personal records, including the photos he took of Michael and Dolores.

“Her maiden name is Joanna Beth Harvell,” you revealed. “Brady Johnson isn’t her brother, Michael. You’ve been paying to sleep with another man’s wife.”

No one short of Clark Gable could fake the jolt of shock that crossed Michael’s face. You saw the truth of it in his eyes when he glanced up at you.

“I don’t know why it should bother you, seeing as you don’t seem to care much about wedding vows,” you couldn’t help but snark. You were no longer all that sad though. Somehow, that pitiful look on his face made you feel sorry for him.

Michael seemed to have swallowed his tongue. For a while, he couldn’t dislodge it from the roof of his mouth to speak. But when he did, it wasn’t with anything good to say.

“How did you get all this?” he asked.

Your spine stiffened. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over, Michael. I can’t do this anymore. You should be getting the divorce papers served to you by the morning—”

Your words were cut off when he rounded the corner of the couch, grabbing you by the arms again. This time, his grip was much firmer and made you gasp.

“What the hell is going on? Have you been spying on me?!” he raised his voice to new heights, shaking you once by your shoulders. “How long have you been planning to leave me?”

The words became choked in your throat along with your fear—one that paralyzed you, and made you feel sick with yourself, small and weak.

The door bursting open again startled you both, but it was Michael who grunted when he was heaved off of you by his shirt and waistcoat.

You stumbled and braced yourself against the back of the couch, but your widened eyes fell on the one man you never thought you’d see again.

“Dean,” you breathed.

He spared you a look of concern through his anger, but Michael soon commanded his attention by trying to break his hold. Dean reeled back his arm and delivered a solid punch that knocked the other man into the wall. Michael leaned heavily against it to keep himself upright, and he had to blink a few spots out of his eyes, not only grimacing at the ache in his cheek. That one blow had rattled through his skull, disturbing old injuries. He glared over at Dean.

“Who the hell are you?” Michael shouted. His shock only increased when he noticed Sam Winchester shutting the hotel room door behind him. “What’re you doing here?”

“I’m her lawyer, Mr. Milligan, and you’re hereby served,” Sam said.

He strode forward with a packet of papers. Michael took a purposeful step towards him, but Dean shoved Michael back against the wall. It allowed Sam to place the packet in Michael’s disbelieving hand.

Dean went over to you then, giving you a meaningful once-over as you held yourself. He softened when he saw the tears in your eyes.

“You all right?” he said quietly, laying a hand on the small of your back. You still couldn’t quite speak, but you nodded at him gratefully, tucking a wily strand of hair behind your ear.

Michael took notice of it once he peeled his eyes from the divorce papers, and up at you and Dean. Michael’s lips pursed as his posture became even more tense and irate.

“I’m not signing this,” he said, tossing the folder onto the coffee table beside the evidence of his infidelity. He met your wary gaze. “Look, I’m not saying I’ve been a perfect husband, but you’re my wife. That still means something to me. We can…we can still work this out.”

Against your will, hot tears burned in your eyes, and your mouth trembled. The men watched you closely.

You shook your head.

“No. We can��t,” you said. “You’re not the man I thought I married.”

In those blue eyes, you thought you saw the shine of a breaking heart. But all too quickly, it turned into anger and denial. Michael meant to cross the narrow distance between you with a threat on his mind and tight coiling of his entire frame. Dean’s hand slid from your back as he stepped in between, fisting a hand in the other man’s dress shirt and pressing there hard.

“You take your hands off me before I tear you apart,” Michael hissed.

Dean’s face was full of cold fire, with a threat thinly veiled underneath. “Lay another hand on her, and I’ll break every bone you got left.”

“Dean,” you gasped, reaching out for him. His backward glance at you warned you to stay where you were.

Michael became even more incensed. Again, he was noticing the familiarity between you and this man invading his space, threatening him, and standing between him and his wife. Before he could open his mouth to protest, Sam finally spoke up again.

“If you don’t take that file and leave now, peacefully, then this isn’t the only one of your affairs that’s going to come to light,” Sam said.

Michael hesitated. He glanced over at Sam with an angry raise of his brow.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think you know very well what it means,” Sam replied. He picked up the folder of evidence he gave you and slipped out a few documents that highlighted an audit of Milligan Meats.

“How does a family business stay so incredibly lucrative during one of the worst times for meat production since the Depression?” Sam wondered aloud. “Maybe it has something to do with those connections you made in Philadelphia, greasing hands like Vondich, from Pittsburg. Or accepting kickbacks from the Torelli family to stock their restaurants with higher quality beef. Who knew that your father had deep, shall we say intimate ties, to one of the biggest mafia families in New York City?”

Once Sam showed the numbers and records, written in Michael’s own painstaking hand, your husband’s face went ashen.

“How did you get this?” he said. Then, as it dawned on him, he looked over at you in betrayal. You hadn’t known about the Torellis, but Sam had been able to sort the last five years of audits for himself, thanks to your investigation of Michael’s office.

“I did my own digging, Mr. Milligan,” Sam said, earning back his attention. “Your wife’s only part in this was asking for my help in securing her divorce. As you can see, I’m very thorough. And these aren’t my only copies of this information. I’m fully prepared to take it to the authorities, today.”

His lie was to protect you, just as much as Dean physically putting himself between you and Michael was. You didn’t know if Michael entirely bought the lie, but eventually, his shoulders sagged in defeat.

He grabbed the papers from Sam’s hand, pivoted on his heel, and turned to leave. However, Michael stopped at the doorway to look back at you.

“This is really what you want?” he asked.

You nodded. “You know it is.”

With that confirmation, Michael took his heavy heart with him when he left.

Sam and Dean helped you repack your things. Neither of them trusted Michael to leave you alone now that he knew where you were. You didn’t want to make such a fuss, but they insisted on helping to put you up at a different hotel across town.

Sam took half of your belongings in his car, where he also had Dean’s one and only suitcase. Dean loaded the rest of your luggage in a taxicab and sat beside you, mostly staring out the window while he smoked. During the ride, you couldn’t help but glance at him every so often. You noted his profile, handsome as always, except now you couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking.

“Dean,” you said quietly. It earned you his attention, as his eyes roamed over you from your familiar beige jacket to your favorite burgundy lipstick.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I am,” you nodded, giving him a small smile. “Thank you.”

You tried to convey deeper things with your words, and you thought Dean read your meaning. He hesitated for a moment, but he took up your hand and pressed a kiss to your fingers.

“Sam’s gonna keep watching out for you, okay? You don’t have to worry about anything,” he said.

Your smile fell. “You’re still going back to Kansas?”

Dean held your gaze for a long moment, and let out a breath through his nose.

“Nothing’s changed, sweetheart. I’m still a man with a lot to make of himself, and you’re still a married woman, even without the ring,” he said, gesturing to your left hand held in his. “It’s not the right time for us…and I’m not asking you to wait for me to get my act together. It’s not fair to you.”

You were quiet for a while. The cab’s tires continued rolling over bits of gravel in the street, the honking horns and other pocketed sounds of the city falling into a background symphony. You glanced up at Dean, meeting his eyes once more.

“I don’t regret anything,” you told him, squeezing his hand. “I could never.”

The corner of his lips quirked upwards. “Me either, baby. Not for all the world.” 

He held your hand until the taxi stopped in front of the hotel. Dean leaned over to open the door. He helped you out of the car, but there, he let you go.

You supposed you’d have to be strong enough to walk alone this time.

March 1946

Four months later, it was official. 

Oh, Michael sure made it difficult. Sam did make a point to keep an eye on you though. He even hired a client and friend, Benny Lafitte, to accompany you to and from work every day. The burly man was an intimidating presence, but he was kind and respectful. He made you feel safer, especially in the evenings when he kept watch of your apartment for a while, sat out front in his car.

Michael was tenacious. He likely used his connections through town, however nefarious they might be, to find out where you were staying again. He continued to show up outside your hotel room. 

Nonetheless, when he sat up against your door all night and realized that you wouldn’t budge, the anger finally drained out of Michael. The exhaustion and guilt set in, perhaps not for the first time. 

Then, he drunkenly apologized through the closed door, not knowing you were leaning in on the other side of it. It wasn’t the kind of apology that meant anything, you thought, but the kind that meant to let him save face in your eyes, to persuade you into softening. 

You didn’t soften, even though he tried everything to get you to reconsider. He tried gentle words and grandiose gestures, even so far as getting down on his knees outside the door and begging—something you’d never seen him do, not once. Part of you wanted to open the door just an inch if it allowed you to see that sight.

Your tears came, but not because your heart was easing up to him. Your heart was breaking again, knowing this was the end. 

He tried reminding you of how difficult it would be for you afterwards, how it might affect your family, your job, everyone’s perception of you. More importantly to him, it would affect how people saw him, a man divorced after barely a year. 

Somehow, you found the strength to speak to him slowly from inside the door. 

“It’s already done, Michael. And so am I,” you said. “After I saw you and Dolores together with my own eyes, I…I was intimate with another man. I didn’t do it to hurt you, but I still did it.”

His silence was deafening. Not being able to see him actually made this easier though. You sighed.

“I’m sorry, but I just can’t go back to us,” you said, “because that would be a lie.”

You couldn’t see it, but his face tightened as angry tears filled his eyes. He felt the weight of his decisions like never before, along with a pulsing, phantom pain in his skull that alcohol could no longer dull. Dimly, he remembered the man he used to be, before. He remembered having a shred of honor to his name, even before he married you. And he did that because he’d loved you. He was sure that he had, somehow…

“I am sorry, darling,” he croaked. “You have to know…”

You nodded, taking a breath to try and steady yourself. 

“I know,” you realized. As much as he was able to be, he was sorry.

He picked himself up from outside your door and walked away. He never returned after that.

In those four months, you resolved to move back to Sioux Falls. New York had become your home in the past year and a half you’d lived here, but it wasn’t who you were. You wanted a quieter life. A more peaceful life. 

You initially agreed to move to the city with Michael because you had wanted to please him, and make his transition back to civilian life easier in his familiar surroundings. You thought the two of you were building a life together.

New York City was still a heartbeat of a world, but it was no longer in your heart. 

Now, you were finishing up on packing your things at the hotel. You left for South Dakota tomorrow, and you already sent your last payment to Sam Winchester a few days ago, along with a handwritten letter thanking him for his help. You felt badly for not going to visit his office in person, but it would be too hard. You would be too tempted to ask about his brother. 

Dean.

Just the thought of his name made your heart constrict. You weren’t sure if it was only with pain, though you hoped he was doing well. You tried to remember that you had known him for barely a week. Your mind and your heart shouldn't be so taken up with him.

And yet.

He had seen you at your lowest, belly-to-the-ground low. He had brushed away your tears and hadn’t tried to flatter you with pretty words. He’d made you feel better with simple, raw honesty.

He gave you a window into his past, even though a soldier like him wouldn’t easily pry himself open for anyone, short of his own brother, you suspected. So you’d come to realize, whenever the memory of him greeted you after that day in the park, that he’d given you something special. Perhaps the best night of your life.

Your fingers paused on the brass doorknob to what had been your bedroom for the past few months. It was a modest one, complete with a kitchen and a small two-seater sofa.

Hotels were expensive, but your parents had been kind enough to send you some money to help you. They’d been dismayed to learn of the reasons behind your divorce, of course. They both had been against it at first, but when they heard your voice over the phone, along with the full story, they finally agreed to support you in what way they could, especially by welcoming you back home.

You were looking forward to seeing them. It had only been a couple of months since they’d come to the city for Christmas, but you were ready to go home to some familiarity, and to your family’s support. 

You shook your head to get yourself unstuck from all of that. You straightened the wrinkles out of your long skirt and adjusted the collar of your blouse. You had just come home from your last day of work not too long ago, so you supposed you would take a bath and get changed into something more comfortable before you finished packing. Your train left tomorrow, early in the morning.  

You were about to head into the bathroom when you heard a knock at the door. Frowning, you wondered who it could be. If it was Michael again, you were not opening the door, and you’d call the police for good measure if he stuck around. You were done entertaining him in every sense of the word. 

You went to the door and looked into the peephole. Your brows furrowed. You unlatched all three locks on the door and opened it to the room service maid.

“Hi, Bridget, how are you?” you greeted her.

“Oh, I’m doing well, ma’am. Sorry, I’m a bit behind today, but I’m here to clean the room.”

“Oh, well, now isn’t really a good time,” you said. You had duffel bags and suitcases open, with your clothes, a curling iron, and other things thrown about. Not to mention, you had a leftover sandwich sitting half-eaten on the dining table with a nearly empty bag of chips.

“I’m afraid I can’t come back later,” said Bridget. She tended to talk with her hands, made more interesting by the fact that she held a broom with one hand, and pulled her cleaning cart with the other. “It’ll be too late, and then you’ll be asleep!”

“Look, I’ll just clean tonight, and you can come back tomorrow after I leave. How does that sound?” you suggested.

“All right, if that’s how you want it,” Bridget said with a shrug. She threw her broom on the cart and started pushing it down the hall. She still called back to you over her shoulder, “Goodnight, ma’am! Safe travels for your trip home.”

You shook your head with a weary smile. “Thank you. Goodnight!”

You closed the door behind you and reset all the locks in place. Releasing a heavy sigh, you supposed you should get back to packing. You turned to do just that, when there came another knock on the door. This time it was a heavier sound.

“For God’s sake. What is it now?” you groused.

You went back to look into the peephole. This time, your mouth fell open in a gasp. You undid all the locks again with shaking hands, and you opened the door. There stood Dean Winchester. 

He looked nice. Dapper really, wearing a dark blue suit and tie over a crisp white shirt and blue waistcoat underneath. His hair was combed and gelled and parted to the right, and he smelled faintly of a woodsy cologne.

He also looked just as stricken to see you. His eyes were as green as you remembered, and they took in your form from head to toe. They returned to your face, softening slightly, and he smiled. 

“Hey, sweetheart.”

God, his voice. It threatened to make you weak. 

You shook your head and managed to smile back at him. “What’re you doing here?”

He chuckled. “Well, that’s some welcome.”

“You know what I mean.” You reached out for him, and he took your hand, raising the back of it to his lips in a kiss. All the while, his eyes never left you. Your face flushed hotly, your heartbeat leaping in and out of rhythm. 

“I’m here to see you,” he said, matter of factly. As if it were the simplest thing in the world.

Your mouth ran dry. It was difficult to form words, but somehow you managed it.

“Would…would you like to come in then?” you offered. 

“I’d like nothing more,” he replied. 

The depths in his words made a tingle run down your spine, though you tried to hide your reaction to it. You let him in and shut the door behind you both. 

“So you’re headed home, huh?” he asked. He was sitting next to you on the couch with a soda you procured for him, and a cigarette in hand, yet to be lit. 

“Did Sam tell you?” you asked. 

Dean nodded, smiling ruefully. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

You ducked your head, a bit embarrassed. He tossed his unlit cigarette on the coffee table and tucked a finger under your chin. He raised your head until you met his eyes. 

“There she is,” he said softly. 

You sucked in a breath laden with emotion. Tears welled up in your eyes. 

“Why are you here, Dean?”

“I think you know,” he said, his thumb brushing your cheek. 

“I think you need to say it,” you replied, daring him with the directness of your gaze. His hand fell away from your chin, just to cup your cheek as he moved closer. You grabbed onto his arm in reflex.

“I told you, I had to see you,” he admitted. 

“Why? Why now?” you asked. “After what you said last time… For goodness’ sake, Dean. Why wait until I’m about to leave?”

“Because,” Dean said. He took a subtle breath, making himself relax. “Because I had to sort myself out, and I had to wait until the ink dried on those damn divorce papers. Because if I’d come any sooner, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.”

Hope dared to rise high in your throat. Your eyes flit over his face, and finally met his.

“From what?” you whispered.

Dean tilted his head to consider it. He bit into his lip, and then, he made a choice.

He kissed you with abandon. He kept kissing you, stealing your breath, finding new angles to devour you with. He robbed you of any coherent thought in your head the moment his tongue breached your lips to curl against yours. It was all you could do to keep up with him, but you grabbed onto his jacket and made indents in the fabric with your nails. His hands moved down your body to squeeze your waist, pulling you flush against him. You moaned into his mouth.

“Dean,” you said, half on a gasp, half on a whimper.

He managed to slow down for a moment. His hand came up to pet your hair.

“No matter what the hell I do, I’m selfish. I just…I can’t let you go,” he said, with furrowed brows.

You shook your head in dismay. “You didn’t need to, you know. I wouldn’t have let you take me home that night if I didn’t think you were a good man…and I certainly wouldn’t have invited you in.”

Your lips tugged at a smile, making Dean smirk as well. That memory had stayed with him too, usually on long nights alone in his house. He tried to remember the sweet smell of your perfume, the feeling of your soft skin, the sound of your pretty moans in his ear. Even now, the thought stirred the well of arousal inside him.

But also, there were other things he missed, like the sight of your smile, your sweeter voice, somehow gentle and strong all at once. He shook his head, thumbing at your cheek.

“The truth is, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since the day I met you,” he said. “I’m pretty sure that means I love you.”

Your eyes blinked wide at him in shock. His face was steady and even, but his amusement was starting to peek through the longer he looked at you.   

“Pretty sure?” you asked breathlessly. 

“Well, I’m willing to be more definitive on the subject if you are,” he teased. 

You fought a smile, but you couldn’t quite help it. Still, doubt began to creep in from behind.

“I want to believe you,” you said quietly. “But part of me is afraid that these are all just pretty words. If I let another man—”

“I’m not another man,” Dean said. His tone was firm, but also imploring, willing you to hear him. He gave your waist a gentle squeeze. “I’m me and you’re you. It’s not about Michael, or anyone else right now but us. And you’ve gotta know…sweetheart, you’ve gotta know that I’m not him.”

You tried steadying yourself with a breath. Your watery gaze cut away from Dean, but he wouldn’t let you hide. He gently brought you back, once again guiding your chin. He swept the lone tear from your cheek.

“Please, just tell me the honest truth. Tell me how you feel about us, and I promise, I won’t take it for granted,” he said. He knew he was practically begging, sounding almost needy and weak, but he couldn’t walk away from you again. Not until he knew for sure what you could want from him…what you could want with him.

The seconds of waiting for your answer were more agonizing than the long hours he spent traveling back to New York.

Until finally, you spared him. You shook your head and raised a hand to caress his cheek, your thumb brushing over his plush lower lip.

“After you left, I thought about you every morning when I woke up. And I prayed for you every night before I went to sleep,” you said. “I’m pretty sure that means I love you too.”

Dean smiled. It was a soft, boyish smile that seemed too young for his face. You loved him all the more for it.

He leaned in…but he hesitated, stopping just shy of your lips.

“Look, I still don’t know if I can be the man you need,” he said. He looked into your eyes. “But I can promise to try, every day, and for the rest of our lives.”

Hot tears once again stung in your eyes, threatening to blur your vision.

“That’s all I could ask for, Dean,” you replied. “I’ll try for you too.”

He smiled slightly, holding you a little closer by your waist.

“Good, because my shoulder still hurts sometimes. Gonna need you to work another miracle or two.”

You laughed and nodded, your hand sliding back up his arm to rub the old injury in his shoulder.

“My specialty,” you teased.

His smile dimmed then, becoming a touch serious, and even rueful.

“And, uh…I don’t sleep so well at times, either,” he said.

You sobered as well. “Me too,” you said. Your lips hinted at a smile again. “But we can keep each other company.”

Dean read the thread of suggestion in your eyes, despite the hint of shyness. His smile began to perk up again.

“I can also be kind of stubborn,” he admitted.

Amused, you tilted your head and ran a gentle hand over his chest. Was he giving you every reason you might say no to him?

“Well, I’m sure I can find a way to soften you up,” you said.

Chuckling, Dean took your hand and pressed a kiss into your palm. “Oh, I got no doubts about that, sweetheart.”

He rested your hand back on his chest and thought for a moment more. You just waited for him, patiently stroking his hand with your thumb. You had time to wait.

“You know, I occasionally like to cook too,” he said, with something of an embarrassed chuckle.

Your smile brightened with interest. “Really? Well,” you said, slipping your hand out of his and winding your arms around his neck. “We can take turns feeding each other then.”

Dean really liked the way your mind worked. His hands splayed along your lower back and brought you more flush against his chest. Your face was mere inches from his, tilted up to him in waiting.

Again, he stopped short of kissing you.

“Ah, there’s probably a lot more you should know, but this one’s kind of a big one,” Dean said. That serious tone crept back up in his voice. “I’ve got a plan to make money. It’s not a sure-fire thing, but it’s an honest one. And even if it doesn’t work, I’ll just try something else. I’ll do whatever it takes to take care of you. You don’t gotta worry about anything, okay?”

You smiled at his earnestness. What surprised you most of all was that you believed him. Every word. Because you could see it in the deep green of his eyes. If you trusted him, he wouldn’t let you down. Or at least, he would try his hardest. Try really was all you could ask for.

“Then I’ll take care of you too,” you nodded, stroking his cheek.

Dean’s smile rang true as well.

He finally kissed you again, trapping you thereafter against the sofa.

You sighed and nuzzled your head in a more comfortable position on Dean’s shoulder. The train bound for South Dakota was travelling full speed ahead, four days after your initially booked ticket. The carriage bumped and jostled you both at times, but you felt nothing but peace. 

Dean turned his attention towards you, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. His fingers entwined with yours in his lap. 

“Comfortable?” he asked, both genuine and a little teasing. 

“Mhmm,” you nodded. Your eyes closed as you let out a breath. He smiled into your hair. 

“So what’s it like in Sioux Falls?” he asked quietly, as to not disturb you too much. He just wanted to keep hearing your voice. He’d missed it. He’d missed you. 

“Quieter than the city,” you replied, after a moment to think about it. “Slower, but in some ways nicer. I think you’ll like it more than New York, anyway, and I think my parents will like you too…if they don’t think too much less of me.”

“Why would they think less of you?” Dean asked. 

You picked your head up and looked up at him a bit bashfully. You raised up your joined hands, where his mother’s wedding bands now rested on your ring finger. 

“For marrying another man they’ve never met, scarcely two minutes after the ink dried, so to speak,” you said, using his words. 

Dean chuckled, and he wrapped you up more snugly against him and rubbed your back. If you wanted to get technical, the new marriage license was the most recent “ink” to be penned. Sam had been your witness, of course, and he’d hugged you both afterwards. For Dean, Sam’s hug was tight and bracing. 

“I’m happy for you, Dean. I’m always here for you. Anything you need.”

“That’s my line, little brother.”

Dean hadn’t known that the two of you needed to take a blood test just to get hitched, let alone that the license wouldn’t be valid for 72 hours. Though it did give you and Dean the opportunity to put your hotel room to good use for those three days. Call it a honeymoon before the honeymoon. 

(In fairness, you’d tried to hold out for decency’s sake, but your resolve dissipated even quicker than Dean’s.)

“Don’t worry, I’ll charm ‘em,” he said with a grin. 

You snorted. “Good luck with my father. Be prepared for his grilling. Where do you plan to live? What’re you doing for work?”

“Well, the first one we can talk about. The second one, I’ve already got an idea,” said Dean. “I wanted to wait until I saw you again to decide…but I plan to sell the house in Lawrence.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Really? Why?”

You had already been mentally preparing yourself for a move to Kansas after visiting your parents. You never considered that Dean would want to sell his family home.

“For the money. I’m thinking that after all this, you want to stick closer to home, be near your family,” he said. “I’ve got nothing tying me down over there besides the house, so I figure we can use the money to buy one here. With whatever’s left, I could try to start an auto repair shop. Nothing big to start. Just a space big enough for the work. I’m not picky about it. Your uncle could send me the stragglers from his tows, if he’s agreeable to it.”

“After he gets to know you, I don’t see why not. Dean, that’s a great idea and…thank you,” you replied. Your heart was touched that he would sell his family home, just so you could be near your family. You squeezed his hand and blinked past the tears beginning to burn in your eyes.

“Really, you don’t know what it means to me that you’d consider me like that.”

Dean noticed you getting worked up. He stroked the back of your hand with his thumb, though part of him felt a bit bashful. 

“It’s not all that special,” he said. You didn’t budge, however. 

“Yes, it is,” you said. You leaned up, wordlessly requesting a kiss. Dean obliged you. He kissed you long and slow and tender. 

He broke away after a while, just to look over your shoulder. He smiled. Then he leaned forward, careful to keep you secure in his arms as he locked the door. 

“What’re you up to?” you asked in amusement, despite the fire churning inside you.

“It’s a long way to the Midwest, sweetheart. I’m taking advantage of it,” he said. “What do you say?”

A knowing smile began to tug at your lips. “Hmm, depends on what you want to do.”

Dean shifted you onto his lap. Smirking at your small sound of surprise, he made a show of undoing every button that laced down the front of your dress with slow precision. Your breathing shallowed as you watched his nimble hand go one by one. 

“I plan to take my time,” he said. “I plan to make us both glad this train is loud enough to drown out just about anything.” 

He laid a kiss just above your neckline. The more buttons he loosened, the more bare skin he had to trail his affections, like on the tops of your breasts, and another kiss in between them. Uttering a soft sigh, you held him to you by his hair and threaded your fingers through the brown strands. His other hand squeezed your bottom, earning a stifled giggle from you. 

“I plan to map out every part of you, all over again,” he said, “until I can see it all with my eyes closed. Until we’re both sweaty and satisfied.” 

He raised his head just to mark a biting, claiming kiss on your throat, making your breath hitch. 

“That okay with you, baby?” he asked again. 

You felt his growing smile against your skin. You tightened a hand in his hair in retaliation. It was a scandalous proposal, not to mention risky. You two could be booted off the train, for heaven’s sake…  

Your breaths were shallow as he slipped a hand under the collar of your blouse, even under the bra to palm at your breast.

“You better not stop, Sergeant,” you whispered. 

When he chuckled, you felt it deep in your chest.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, shortly before he claimed your lips again.

The train rode on.

AN: I promised a happy ending, didn't I? 😉✨ What did you think of the "end" of Michael, as well as how she and Dean worked things out? I absolutely loved working on this series and this AU world. Maybe I'll do another '40s AU in the future! 💖

But until then, I have lots of fun things coming up! You'll hear about the next story soon. 😘

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[tmtquickcomics]

"The Photograph"

I was thinking of posting this tomorrow, but I am feeling impatient. So here you go.

Part 5 : Pages 17-20

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 <--

Part 4<-- -–>Part 6

-->Part 7[tba]

Comic List

[jeff670-jjba]

can’t wait any longer anyways it’s obvious the blonde bitch won the voting poll (ভ⤙ ভ ")

[celeste-clearwater-06]

The Kitchen Window (pt. 5)

Bayverse! Raphael x Fem! Reader

desc- (vannie's been missing for weeks. when her savior returns her in a broken state, it's your turn to do the rescuing)

warnings - angst, violence, themes of animal abuse, slight nsfw

word count - 3.9k

READ PREVIOUS PARTS HERE - one - two - three - four

It's hard to come to terms with the way you feel about Raphael. When he's not around you physically, he's taking up your every waking thought. It's just so abnormal, the way your paths had crossed and led you to a point where every little thing you do, is in thought of him. To a point where you lay awake, staring at the ceiling and thinking of him, and the nights you get to see him, you come up with almost every excuse to have him stay at your window just a little longer.

Why was this so, so difficult? It was a complicated thing, the situation at hand. It should feel freeing, and light. But with the circumstances of you being a human and Raph being, well… Raph, it's stressing you out. Not even the fear of rejection, but what might happen if he’s reciprocating the same feelings. Where do you even go from there?

Raph’s hard to read. You can see the emotions always conflicting on his face, but what he’s thinking is a whole other deal. Even though he’s friendly, he’s closed off. Talking about things that are bothering him just isn’t something he does.

On top of this dilemma comes another issue that’s been eating at your insides.

Vannie’s missing.

The first day, you think nothing of it.

It’s been a long day at work, and she doesn’t come to greet you at the sound of an opening door or the shake of her food bowl. Maybe she’s hiding somewhere, under the couch or your dresser. But you’re surprised to see she hasn’t curled up in your bed with you when you wake up the next morning. Vannie always does that. Something could’ve spooked her, but was it so bad that she would hide in fear all night? You can’t find the time to look for her rushing out the door to open up shop.

After another day, is when you really get concerned. You practically flip the apartment inside out searching for your cat, opening cabinets, upturning the little furniture you own. All the while calling her name and shaking one of her favorite toys to coax her out. She doesn’t come. This was really, really bad. Had you left the window open? Did she slip out of the door when you were leaving for work one morning?

After you’ve given up on looking through your home, you turn to the few neighbors you have, knocking on their doors. All of them pitifully shake their heads and tell you they haven’t seen her. Most of them didn’t even know you owned an animal.

It’s an empty, hopeless feeling that’s breaking your heart. She was the only thing you had to come to after a tireless day of work. Every day has dragged on meaninglessly. You’re slow to close the cafe each night, knowing Vannie won’t be perched on her cat tree in the corner of your living room while she waits for you to step inside.

When you go to hang a “missing pet” poster, it looks so insignificant in the sea of all the other pictures of lost dogs and cats that are plastered onto the light post. You spend each day tirelessly waiting at the kitchen window for your baby to come home.

One night, Mikey swings by. His usual friendly and excited smile wipes clean off his face when he sees your tired eyes, puffy and red from crying through the glass. You open it, wiping at the snot dripping from your nose.

“Woah, angel.” He’s leaning down and looking toward you with caution, “What’s wrong?”

“V-Vannie,” you have to swallow the frog in your throat to keep from sobbing all over again, “Vannie’s missing. I can’t find her anywhere.”

Empathy is swimming in his eyes.

“Aw dude,” Mikey grabs your hand from the window and gives it a comforting squeeze, “I’m sorry. Didya’ put up posters and stuff?”

You nod, and squeeze back, with a sniffle.

“Hung them up everywhere. She’s been gone for over a week. I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll tell the bros if you want. We’ll look for her on patrol.”

You sigh, and give him a watery, weak smile.

“Thank you Mike. You’re the best.”

He winks.

“Anytime sweet cheeks,” he looks down at his phone, “I gotta get going, but don’t worry, We’ll find your kitty!”

Mikey blows you a kiss and scales your fire escape.

That night, it’s just a little bit easier trying to find rest. Bless those boys, always looking out for you. The next morning you receive a text from another unsaved number. You know it’s Raph.

[sorry to hear about van]

[i’ll find her for you]

You smile at your phone.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

A few more days slug along, before you see one of the brothers again.

It’s a night you’re supposed to be sleeping, with work the next morning. Instead, you’re laying on the couch, phone being the only light in the dark living room, and scrolling through the hundreds of pictures of your sweet kitty, through tear clouded eyes. A video of her playing with a hair tie in your empty bathtub pulls a sad little whimper from you. You miss Vannie so badly. It’s been almost two weeks since you’ve seen her, and it worries you what she’s been doing, if she’s hurt, or an unthinkable other outcome that you immediately shove out of your head and lock the door on anytime it crossed your mind. Life’s been full of interruptions lately. This next one shouldn’t be a shocker, but it is anyway.

Tick.

You almost miss the noise. A few seconds later, it comes again.

Tick-ting.

You turn to look at the window. Another small rock clicks against the glass and bounces off onto the fire escape, and it calls you to get up and investigate. By the time you get there, another pebble flies at you, and it makes you flinch. It comes down below from the dark alleyway. You open the window.

“Hello?”

Mrowr.

Your heart drops.

“Vannie?”

You see the huge figure of one of the turtles stepping forward, and in their outstretched hand, is your cat. Her grey fur is soaked with the rain that’s starting to trickle outside, one ear laid back in fear and confusion.

“Oh my god. Raph, you found her!” Like a fumbling idiot, you scramble over the sink and push yourself all the way out of the opening, feet landing lightly on the metal platform. The summer rain immediately hits your hair and skin. Raphael doesn’t move. Something feels off.

The way he holds her out into the light, keeping the rest of his body in the shadows. His labored breaths can barely be heard over water tinking off every surface it can reach.

“Raph? Are you okay?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Raph, come here.”

You watch him. He doesn’t want to, you can tell. The way he pauses and then staggers forward on a limp foot makes your eyes widen with concern. He grunts. Then you see the deep red stains that covers his outstretched arm.

“Holy shit.”

It’s hard to make out his face. Raph’s trying his best to hide it, leveraging the darkness, down where he’s swaying unsteadily.

“Raphael, what happened?”

He just gruff’s out in response, animalistic, and pained.

“Come up here. Please.”

He sighs. The lowering of his arm, with Vannie still clutched safely, indicated his surrender. He slinks forward under the fire escape, and you feel it wobble as he ascends it. It’s slow, interrupted with strained, deep breathing and huffs of discomfort. Your face contorts from that of uncertainty into dread. Suddenly, you’re not so worried about your lost cat anymore. Raphael steps onto the scaffolding with you. He loses his footing against the slick metal, and his bad leg gives out underneath him, falling to one of his knees. He yelps with a snarled lip, all the while, Vannie held safely against his chest.

“What the fuck.”

His arm isn’t the only thing nearly coated with blood. You can see it glinting in the faint light of your kitchen and moon peeking through thin clouds, spattered across the rest of his upper half, running from his nose, and down under his mask, being washed away by the rain. He’s got new, fresh cuts, almost white from how deep they go into his skin, and dark patches of skin that seem to be bruises.

“You-“ His voice is guttural and hoarse. He swallows thickly, “You ain’t gotta look at me like that.” Raphael spits a little blood from his mouth.

“What happened?”

He turns away, instead of answering your question. Vannie claws her way out of his hold and clambers into the window with record speed, desperate to get out of the rain.

“Cat did it.”

Even in this horrendous, battered up state, he has room for jokes. Idiot.

“I’m not kidding, Raph.” You take a step forward to better look at his injuries, gently grabbing his jaw and turning his head to look at you. You can’t tell if it’s the rain or tears collecting in his eyes.

“Come inside.”

Next thing you know, you’re guiding Raphel gently up the staircase to your floor, straining under his body weight while he leans against you for support. He stumbles through the door, tracking rain and dark red into the carpet. It’s the least of your worries right now. Raph trudges to the tile floor of your kitchenette, and slumps down to sit on his butt. It’s still dark in the space, but you can’t bring yourself to flick on the light, worried it’ll hurt his eyes, and even more focused on his countless injuries. You don’t even know where to start.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He continues his streak of silence, just looking down at the floor with an empty, tired glare, while you stand to go get a towel and clean wash-rags. The rain drones outside, getting heavier. You don’t speak to each other while you dry the rain from his skin, and then gently scrub away the blood with warm water. He allows you to clean him up without quarrel, if it means not having to tell you how he sustained such horrific injuries. You’re seated on your knees, between his legs on the floor, close enough to feel Raphael’s breath leaving his nose and cool your warm face, and catch the scent of warm summer rain and iron on his skin. He flinches when the rag dabs over one of the deep scratches above his collarbone.

“Sorry,” you look up to see his eyelids heavy, and brow scrunched in a painful expression, “It’s not gonna feel great.”

He knows, of course, and lets you continue tending to the wound with a hand that’s as gentle as it can be. It’s quiet, once again. The downpour is happy to fill its space.

Your hands softly graze over each bruise and welt that he’s gained. Each rag is soaked with lukewarm water and the rusted tint of blood, then tossed to the side to be replaced with a new one, until all of Raph’s verdian scales are clear and dry. You don’t have a fancy first-aid kit like Donnie’s. It’s a Tupperware container filled with different sized bandaids and a nearly expired tube of neosporin. It would have to do until his brother could get his nifty, medically inclined hands on him.

This is so intimate. Centimeters away from each other’s warm bodies, in the dark, while you reach to stick a bandage over a little slice on the side of his cheek. So close it feels like a dam is about to crumble into pieces. You have to speak to keep yourself from doing something stupid.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” you say, so quiet, it’s almost a whisper, “But-“

“They had her.”

You pull away to look into his eyes. They’re swimming with some intense emotion between anger and shame, a deep green glinting in the soft light.

“Who did?”

“I don’t know. Some douchebags,” he’s recounting the confrontation in his head, and looks down at his scratched knuckles, “They were tormentin the poor thing.”

Raph remembers ducking between a few alleys on his patrol that night. He’s climbing the side of an old warehouse where he usually sticks out, high above most of the city. The fifth floor is occupied with loud laughter and rap music that blares through the broken window. A bunch of men and women drinking and smoking, resting on old furniture and crates that had been left a long time ago. He thinks nothing of it, already trying to continue up the building, until he hears a yowl.

He doesn’t want to believe it’s Vannie, that they’re gathering around and dunking in a bucket of old mop water, but her missing ear and red collar around her neck confirm his worst fears. She’s trying to claw her water from their grip, but their numbers and strong tattooed arms overpower her, and they shove her under the surface again.

Raphael is filled with a blind rage that calls him to jump down through the window and threaten them with a loud voice. He recalls the overwhelming sinking feeling in his gut when their numbers grow even larger, jumping down from crates and out of dark corners of the huge room.

“They had a bunch a’ crowbars. Pocket knives. Shit like that.” He doesn’t want to look up at your face. He can already feel the despair setting in your features.

He was overpowered so quickly. Metal bats and steel toed shoes hitting his thick skin, blades cutting, while some of them held him down by his arms and sitting on the back of his shell, plastron pressed helplessly to the concrete floor. He cries out for his brothers, while the group of ruthless attackers steal his weapons and use them to barrade down on him. It was the thought of you crying for your cat that finally pulled him from the floor in a white-hot anger, throwing them off and falling backwards.

It was all a blur from there. Ruthless punches thrown and cracking against their faces. Just his bare, bandaged hands landing blows onto anyone and everyone that crossed his path. Raphael had practically blacked out. Nobody was getting away with it. Even the ones that tried to scramble away became a lost cause if he caught them in the corner of his eyes, dragging them by their legs and hauling them into piles of rotting wood and brick walls.

You watch as he shivers through the memory.

By the time Raphael is through with the assemblage of delinquents, he’s still pumping full of adrenaline and unfathomable rage, heaving out deep breaths with a bloody spittle collecting at the edges of his lips. All were lying unconscious or crying out in pain for their absent mothers, and any who got away were lucky enough to slink into the protective shade of the corners. The edges of his vision are still fuzzy. He can feel his racing heart in his head, and the trickle of blood down the sides of his face and arms. He’s not sure if most of it is, or theirs.

“I dunno if I killed any of em’. But I was so fuckin angry.”

Raph scoops up a cowering vannie from the bucket, then turns to her main assailant, trembling on the cold floor and cradling a (surely broken) wrist.

“You think you’re tough, huh?” He sneers down at the man, who has a blackened eye, “Hurtin’ a poor animal who did nothin to ya?”

Raph dumps the dirty contents of the bucket onto him, then kicks his side.

“You’re a worthless piece of shit, is what you are.”

Afterwards, he opts to take the stairs all the way down, limping on his bad leg, and make the trek to your apartment.

He’s pulled from his hateful trance, to look at where you’re staring up at him with watery eyes.

“You saved her.”

Raph seems surprised it’s all you have to say. Nothing about beating her captors to a pulp and leaving them for dead. A tear rolls down the side of your nose. His eyes widen with worry.

“You saved my baby, Raph.”

“I-I just,” he swallows thickly, “I know how important she is to ya,”

It’s amazing. The way the room is so dark and yet all of your senses are in tune with how every muscle moves under his thick skin. How he’s expected you to be overwhelmed with fear and push him away from you, with the worry that he’s this angry monster that he’s been hiding. Instead you’re thanking him. That means more to him than he could express. He hates the silence now, hates the way he’s so awkward and how he doesn’t know the right way to respond to your gratitude. He’s adjusting to lift himself off the ground.

“I gotta get back to-“ Raphael forgets about going back to the lair. He forgets his lame leg. All the cuts and bruises, and saving Vannie. You forget about the fear of rejection and what comes next. The sleepless nights that have been holding you awake at their mercy. Instead you’re both tuned into the way you lift yourself up on your knees and grab his face and pull him down.

It’s a short, unexpected kiss that doesn’t break past your lips, faces smushed together, like puzzle pieces that don’t fit quite right. And then you pull away, both so surprised at it, that at first it doesn’t register. On the outside, your hands are frozen, hovering just above his jawline, in pure idiocy at the idea that you just did that. And in your brain, you’re beating yourself senseless, because what the fuck were you thinking??

How fucking ridiculous.

Raph’s eyes are the widest you’ve ever seen them, flicking between your own. He’s breathing heavy, mouth slack, and the wordless reaction is freaking you out. You swear you can hear his heart thundering under his plastron. Or was that you?

It’s then that he grabs you right back and pulls you in for a much more calculated, breathless kiss. You lean into it, desperate and nervous, and grabbing the tails of his bandanna to bring him as close as possible.

This was happening. It was a thing.

You and Raphael sitting on the kitchen floor, with his shell pressed into one of the lower cabinets, and borderline making out. What would your mother think?

You’ve always been used to Raph’s soft touch, anytime he’d fist bump you through the kitchen window or brush past your arm. That was not him now.

His huge hands are tangled in your hair and at the nape of your neck, and he’s drinking you in like water. You’re pressing him further into the cabinet door intoxicated over the way your teeth and noses slightly graze past each other. His tongue slipping into your mouth makes you shudder and you huff. Raph’s easily pulling you up into his crossed legs.

This gentle giant was no more, firm and intentional with every move he makes. He doesn’t shy away from moving further into your touch and kissing you deeper. You can feel his mouth curl into a smile when you gasp. Your hands are everywhere. traveling up the tough texture of his plastron, to his beyond muscular shoulder, where one roughly grazes over a bigger cut. Raph pulls away with a hiss.

“Sorry!” You squeak out. It’s the first you’ve spoken since kissing him senseless. He winces but the recovery is swift, and he looks up at you with pupils blown wide, black eating away at their beautiful color, fluster evident at the warm tint to his face.

“Nothin’ I can’t handle, sunshine.”

The nickname makes your stomach do a summersault. You smile, out of breath.

“You’re hot.”

Stupid! What the hell is wrong with you?!

“You kiddin’ me?” He laughs, “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous.”

His voice is a low growl, and he pulls you in once again by the back of your head. Back to it, I guess.

If the window hadn’t been open, it would surely be fogged up by now, with your heated breaths floating up from the cool floor. This was great.

Unanticipated, and weird, but just so great. You have to push off of each other to stop from going any further than you already have, both sweaty, breathing heavily and grinning like you just won a Grammy. It takes a while before one of you can catch your breath. Raph nudges your shoulder.

“You’re my first kiss.”

He flashes you a five star grin with flared nostrils. You match it. It shouldn’t surprise you that much, but it does anyway.

“Yeah?” He nods, “Well, you’re my first good kiss.”

You see the pride roll over Raph in a wave.

“That good, huh?”

You shove his face away playfully when he gets close.

“Now that I think about it, it was mediocre.”

The turtle ruffles your already disheveled hair.

“Whateva. You loved that shit.”

Oh you did. The evidence of him enjoying just as much is the prominent arousal just under his naval, and you’re trying to avert your view. He catches it and his eyes blow wide, trying to quickly readjust the way he’s sitting.

“Ah! Heh-uhhh-“ Raph coughs into his fist, and then drags an open palm down his face in immense embarrassment, “Sorry! Sorry. I should probably, uh, get goin’”

It makes you giggle like a teenager. Raph’s bad leg hasn’t crossed either of your minds until he tries to lift himself from the floor and it gives out under his weight again and he shouts.

“There’s no way you’re getting back to the lair on that. Something’s probably broken.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he snorts. You jump to his aid, slipping your arm under his for support and help raise him off the ground.

“You’ll probably need to stay here for the night, until Donnie can check you out.“

The thought of having a sleepover with the guy you just sucked face with for 20 minutes is so exciting.

“Are ya sure?” Raph sounds unsure while you guide him down onto the couch.

“You can sleep here. I’ll text Don to come over in the morning.”

He lays back onto the cushions and lets you grab him a blanket and pillow from your room, tucking him in and placing a light kiss on his red-banded forehead. You slide down onto the carpet to be eye level where Raphael’s head is snuggled into the pillow.

Vannie meows, the first you’ve heard from her since she came in through the window. Her tiny head peeks over the back of the couch. You both watch with soft smiles as she curls up, purring, on Raph’s chest.

He flinches a little when your hand slips into his larger one and gives it a squeeze.

“Thank you for bringing her back to me.”

“Anytime sunshine.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

The next morning, Donnie has successfully picked the lock to your front door, heeding to your late night text. He does a double take, and then snorts with an incredulous smile, seeing you passed out on the floor, his older brother on the couch and Vannie still sleeping soundly on top of him while he snores.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

BAM, YOU GET A BIG OL' KISS

HERE'S PART 5 EVERYONE!!! I SINCERELY APPRECIATE ALL OF YOUR SUPPORT AND PATIENCE ON THIS PART, I REALLY STRUGGLED WRITING IT LMAO 🩷💓💕

Also, I came back to this page with 260 followers and I opened it this morning to 410??

I really do not deserve such incredible support from all of you wonderful folks 😭🙏🩷💓

I'm not sure if I'll add another part, which will most likely be a little epilogue, but PLEASE LET ME KNOWWW !!!!

Don't forget to REBLOG and let me know if you want to be a part of my taglist so you don't miss out on any of my TMNT works!!!

LOVE YA BABES 🩷💓💕🫧🧼🌸

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[sleepless-sleep]

Abbacchio moment

[dcxdpdabbles]

Hi, sorry to bother you, I was just wondering if your planning on updating Congratulations! It's Triplets anytime soon? Because I kinda wanna see what happens once they actually sit down and talk through their misunderstandings because honestly although jazz is probably too busy to go through with it now she was training herself to be one of 2 courses in college which was either neurology or phycology so I figured she'd be the first to recognize that they need to have a sit down and talk with everything laid out or at least partially laid out, it being a really long really difficult conversion with tears trauma flashbacks and probably cake (because let's be honest this convo needs comfort food) and by the end of it they might not even fixed all the misunderstandings they had but it's a start in the right direction :)

"I'm sorry the kids threaten you. They can be a handful," is the first thing out of Jasmine's mouth. She is holding a glass tray with delicious-smelling lasagna, wearing a teal dress that hugs all her curves and seems dolled up for a night out.

She marches right by him, her long red hair falling into wavy curls down her back like waterfalls. They sway with her movement as she leads the way to the dining room.

On the table is a dinner set for two, red candles lit, and the lights dim. It makes him think of all those silly scenes in romance novels he consumed growing up. Jasmine places the tray in the center of the table alongside a salad. She carefully pours some bubbling water into two champagne glasses, humming.

Once done, she turns towards him, taking off the apron wrapped around her front. It reveals a nice but modest view of a split on her dress ending on the edge of her midleg.

"I told them to get you so we can have a dinner date. Bruce offered to babysit for the night." She proclaims, crossing her arms. "I want to see if there is a future for us or if the god of time is just an idiot."

Jason is so stunned by her beauty that he can't find any words to respond. He feels like she just pulled out a live fish and threw it at his face. While he's busy gawking like a fool, the three children squirm in his arms before he feels little hands fumbling around the edge of his helmet.

He jerks his neck away, a warning of bombs on his lips, only to bite his tongue when Dan bypasses his security to pull off the helmet with a laugh. At the same time, Dani reaches up to rip the mask off his face, fast and stiff enough that he swears she was a professional waxer in a past life.

He lets out a yowl, barely able to shift his words from a swear into a substitute. Danny pats his cheek, apologizing for his sibling's lack of manners. Dan doesn't seem to care because he scrambles off Jason's shoulders, head inside of the helmet that was too large for him, and races down the hallway.

"I'm unstoppable!" He screams in glee. Two seconds later, he rams into a wall, hitting it at full force due to the helmet blocking his view. He bounces off the drywall with enough force. He lands on his rear and a soft grunt.

Dani takes that chance to hop out of Jason's arms. She runs at a speed he's sure kids shouldn't be able to reach without having the Allen family gene, tackling Dan before his son can get up. In a tussle that looks too violent for five-year-olds, Dani rips the helmet out of Dan's hands and books it down the hallway, cackling like a loon.

"No! Dani! Give that back!" Dan demands, leaping to his feet and running after his sister. The voice modifiers of their outfits make them sound darker than usual, but it does not make them sound threatening.

Danny sighs heavily. "I better go stop them before that thing blows up. Treat my mom well, or I'll be forced to hurt you."

He patted Jason's cheek again, carefully climbing down to the ground. Despite his words, he calmly walks out of the room, hands tucked into his Prince of Gotham suit pants as if he were going on a casual stroll. The second he reaches the door, he grabs the handle and tugs to close.

Just as it's about to seal, he points two fingers toward his green glowing mask eyes and then points them aggressively at Jason. Once his warning is received, he finishes closing the door.

Jason is left standing in the room, confused out of his mind. It all happened so fast that he was unsure if the kids planned that exit or if they were honestly just like that. It burns to not be sure.

He should.

He is their father.

"Well, sit down. We have a date to get through." Jasmine commands, pushing some of her red hair out of her face. She levels an even calculating stare on him, making him feel she is more prepared for a business meeting than anything romantic. "Let's see what the god of time has in store for us."

[flamingpudding]

All right you got my creative juices running with part five of Klarion is Dan yes the first series I ever came to you with

To find him Klarion isn't the only one living in the DC dimension in like the word of protective mother Danny is he sent one of clarion's older siblings to go with him Larsal/Lassie

She was one of the clone children that was created long before Danny knew that was trying to clone him she was one of the first failures

She doesn't really have a physical form as much she is more of like a big pit of water that has like a spiritual like form like Dr Fate

She hates Vlad so much that the entire League of assassins who's also hit him even though they don't know who he is but know that Danny got from Clockwork was about her and visiting

Klarion knows about the quote as the same thing last knows about him being a villain they keep each other secrets cuz they know they make Mom disappointed

When they do have somewhat of a physical form it's a cowgirl with a horse made entirely of Lazarus Pits

Along with that Vlad making surprise visit after feeling someone's littering his name more than usual it's like a call about anytime he knows his children or Daniel is talking about him

Also Batman's freaking out after I think that one of Danny's kids is such a little hater that they made a cult just despite their father which makes the Justice League think Vlad really that bad

This is just the funny idea and I know it's not a good prompt I'm still trying to think of more sorry

Oh I love this! Thanks you!

This is going to be fun in a way I hope! Enjoy~

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

Danny barely avoided getting questioned further about his relation to Vlad when he noticed the green post-it note and made a grab for it. "Oh would you look at that! Pop is sending us a message!"

Okay maybe he said that louder than necessary but he needed to change the topic. He didn't need more people on to torment the fruitloop. His own kids were already giving the man enough grief as it was. He didn't need distant cousins or an entire hero society of another dimension coming after the fruitloop too. Not that he would mind that much but some mercy towards the redeemed man would probably be appropriated.

Either way Danny focused his attention on the note only half heartedly listening as Klarion continued his family tree explanation to his little hero friends. He blinked at the note several times before laughing happily. "Would you look at that! Lassie is going to come by! Your Granpa Clock is giving us a heads up, so I can prepare a fresh batch of ectoplasm for her to stay healthy!"

Whatever Klarion was explaining right now was abandoned as he sat up straight. "Lassie is coming too?"

"Well of course she is." Danny hummed happily, thankful for the chance of seeing both his kids that liked to life in the same dimension.

"Lassie?" Red Robin piped up questioning. Oh looks like this is one of Klarions siblings they hadn't gotten to yet regarding explanations.

"Yes my fourth oldest but unofficial second oldest." Danny nodded with a proud mother smile on his face. "She lives in this dimension too to keep an eye on Klarion so he would stay safe and dosen't over do it."

Klarion on the other hand groaned. "I don't need Lassie to baby sit me!"

"Klarion, sweety you were new to the whole living alone in another dimension thing. You spent the longest in FarFrozen and the Ghost Zone with me because of your destabilisation." Danny reprimanded him softly and the teen heroes snickered behind Klarions back to which the witch boy turned to glare at them with a greenish blush across his cheeks.

"So what does that sister of yours look like?" Impulse asked to change the topic and because he took a bit of pity on Klarion for the way his Mom was apparently embarrassing the witch boy. His question resulted in Klarion flipping though the photo album before stopping at an image of Klarion next to a pit of green something. Impulse arched an eyebrow and was about to comment when he got pushed roughly to the side by Red Robin.

"THAT'S A LAZARUS PIT!"

The way Batman's chair clattered to the ground as the man stood up looked every bit like he was going to rush over to the teens spoke for the shock that Red Robin shout had caused. The Ghost King and Klarion on the other hand looked rather calm as they barely reacted to the shout and Danny even motioned to Batman to sit back down again, as the chair that fell rightened itself again.

"Calm down. Lassie is a good child. She wouldn't hurt a fly." Danny told them smiling, not realising that both Batman and Red Robin were giving him increadulous looks behind their mask.

"A.... good child?" Batman repeated his slowly his voice even more tinged with his usual gruff gravel in a way that both Superman and Wonder Woman side eyed him worried while Flash snacked on a pack of melon flavoured ships he snacked from a table.

"She doesn't have a physical body, that is why she is relying on the pits of natural ectoplasm your dimension has. There was a little problem with her physical form and we just couldn't restore it and she refuses to get a unoccupied clone body like Klarion has." Danny explained further not minding the stares he or Klarion were getting.

"Pits of natural ectoplasm?" Batman reiterated, his tone clearly questioning, to which Danny only blinked a couple of times surprised. "I thought your dimension knew what they were? Sure the way you guys use them is strange and Lassie did sound a bit concerned when she told me about it but I didn't think you guys weren't aware what they were."

"No that is not...." Red Robin started but then but himself of as he turned around hurriedly in a defensive position as he noticed someone coming in through the window. He wasn't the only one. All the heroes reacted as one at the new presence, however what they didn't expect was a member of the League of Assassins blinking up at them stunned after climbing in through the window lifting their hands palm up in a gesture of peace.

"Woah hey there calm down! Klarion what the fuck? Why are there so many heroes in your Apartment?" The LoA member spoke up and all eyes turned to Klarion who instead only deadpanned. "I told you Mom was visiting to meet my 'friends'"

"Lassie, what did I tell you about possessing bodies?" The Ghost King piped up in a disapproving tone and they heard the distinctive tone of someone knocking their head against the table, probably Constantine.

"Sorry Mom but there are not Pits of ectoplasm near baby brother I could use to form a body." The LoA member, apparently possessed by Klarion's elder sister replied sheepishly. To say Red Robin was weirded out was an understatement. Usually if he encountered LoA members they were aggressive and most likely there to take him or one of his siblings out.

"That's an League of Assasin member...." He muttered under his breath to which said member laughed. "This guy was the closest to me to use for the moment. Don't worry I will release him later and he won't even remember a thing. I got my little sheep's well trained."

"Little sheep's?" Wonder Girl repeated a hand on her hip as she stared sceptically, to which Klarion face palmed and muttered a low "Sis shut up...."

"No Lassie, don't shut up." Danny intone from the kitchen table he was still sitting at with the other adults, his head was now resting on his hand as he stared at his two kids who visibly flinched.

The LoA member, possessed by Klarions sister, scratched the back of is head nervously as they faced the Ghost King. "Ah Mom, uhm hehe you know funny story..."

The heroes were pretty sure that the room had gotten several degrees colder and they weren't sure if that was because of the mood of a parent about to interrogate their child or because of the Ghost Kings power. (At a later time Constantine swore it were the Ghost Kings powers.) There was a awkward moment of silence the heroes weren't sure if they should be present for that or not especially when Danny stood up and walked over to the teens.

On reflex Wonder Girl, Superboy, Impulse and Red Robin made room for Danny to walk past them as they watched on torn between curiosity and pity, because clearly Klarion and his sister Lassie must have done something they weren't supposed to do. And honestly they were more curious what they did, after all the Ghost King hadn't been that faced when it got revealed that Klarion was more of a Villain than a Hero to them.

"Lassie, what did you do?" The teen heroes couldn't see Danny's face but from the tone they had a feeling that Danny was arching an eyebrow at his children.

Lassie laughed awkwardly once more. "So... you know how grandma Pandora kind of thought us about how our own emotion can influence those around us exposed to our ectoplasm over a long period of time?"

"Lassie..."

"I might have raised something akin to a cult on accident and passed on my personal grudge and hate towards the fruitloop along to them and they might now have the subconscious drill of attack on sight if Vlad ever makes an appearance in this dimension...." The LoA member slowly spoke up which had several of the adult heroes blinking in disbelief.

Batman especially was in shock of hearing about this since had the most interaction with this 'cult' as apparently one of the Ghost Kings children liked to call the League of Assassins. The bat suit wearing hero was about to interject and ask more but stopped when the Ghost King let out a suffering sigh like the most tired parent in existence. "And you didn't think about telling me this sooner because?"

"We don't like to disappoint you Mom." The two children of the Ghost King replied simultaneously like one united front. Danny in response gave his kids a light chuckle. But before Danny could go on any further Red Robin decided it was probably a good time to interject and remind the Ghost King of their presence.

"I got a question if you don't mind..." He lifted his hand like he was in school as he pulled the attention towards him. His curiosity won over his caution of the situation. "Klarion if the Lazarus Pits are actually 'ectoplasm' as you mentioned before, and are largely influenced by your sisters emotion. What happens to guy that bath regularly in them or someone that got thrown in there and game back out rage filled?"

"Red Robin!" Batman call out reprimanding instantly knowing where Red Robins line of question was going.

The possessed LoA member on the other hand blinked at them before scratching their head sheepishly. "I think I know who your talking about. I am still sorry about that second guy. When he got dunked into my ectoplasm, I kinda just came back from a visit home and had a bad fight with Vlad and was especially rage filled towards him."

"So does that mean...?" Red Robin inquired further ignoring Batman's silent glare towards him for even bringing these questions up and just as Lassie was about to answer Danny interjected.

"Lassie, go fix your cult." Another green note at materialised out of nowhere and had fluttered in the air before him and caused the Ghost King to face palm the moment he read it's context.

"Mom?" Both Klarion and Lassie asked with a shared worried glance.

"Vlad has come into the dimension for some reasons and is currently getting chased down by your cult."

There was a stunned silence after which Klarion and Lassie, in the body of the LoA member, broke out laughing hysterically which only caused Danny to lightly glare at his children. Meanwhile the teen heroes weren't sure if they should feel sorry for the old man called Vlad but considering all the red flags they had picked up from what Klarion told them, they felt a little like the man deserved that.

The adults on the other hand felt slightly torn, well mostly Batman. It was clear that this Vlad was a bigger threat than both Klarion and the Ghost King were making him out to be, considering the entire existence of the Lazarus Pits hated that man. But on the other hand as heroes they probably should feel obligated to help the man especially if, according to the Ghost Kings words, he was currently gotten chased in their dimension by the League of Assassins.

Danny on the other hand never felt more like a tired mother than he did right now. Sure he knew about his unofficial second oldest hatred towards Vlad but this certainly was a new level of hate. Especially since she apparently 'accidentally' (he doesn't by that at all) raised an entire cult that subconsciously hated him too.

[bayfuzzball7050]

Not sure I’ve posted this, posting it anyway

Giorno without his braid

Bonus under the cut:

I was playing with the filters and this goes unironically hard

[vickbb]

ass sketches :D