#robins are meant to fly how did you lose your wings? ao3 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zombiesbecrazy · 5 years ago

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look after their own

Summary: Five times Robin was pinned down.

AO3

Jason hit the ground hard, feeling the skin of his knees skid in a way that he knew was going to leave a trail of blood behind. Stupid Robin shorts. Who thought those were a good idea? Bruce said that Dick designed his own costume but why the hell would he and Alfred let him go out like this? It was just dumb, increased mobility be damned. He couldn’t wait for winter so he could break out the insulated pants that he knew were in the cave.

The more he thought about it, the more irritated he was. Why on earth was he using a second hand costume? Sure, Dick had given him this one which made it special, but Bruce was a kagillionaire. He could afford a suit with pants if he could afford to make all those batarangs.

He tried to get up, eager to get back into the thick of the fight, only then aware that there is a larger body pinning him down. He twisted around, ready to sock the would be attacker right in the kisser when he recognized the masked face above him and teal markings of another ridiculous costume.

Speak of the devil, the OG booty shorts Robin himself.

“What the heck?” Jason didn’t punch him, but slapped Dick’s arms a few times, not trying to hurt him, just maybe annoy him to the point of letting go.

“Stay down, Little Wing,” said Dick, tone serious. Not like it was when he fought with Bruce screaming at top volume, more like Bruce himself when he was teaching a new skill, when Jason needed to pay attention. Low, patient, but unyielding. “Wait for it.”

“Don’t call me that,” Jason automatically replied. That was the third time Dick had called him that, dangerously close to it becoming a thing and he absolutely didn’t want it to catch on. “Wait for what?”

“Three… two… one…” Nightwing pointed his finger like he was ticking off a checkbox and as if on cue a barrage of bullets shot out over their heads, just where Jason had been standing before Nightwing had swung around, tackling him to the ground. Jason flinched at the sound, both of the gun firing and the bullets hitting the wall behind them.

Jason would have been like Swiss Cheese his Dick hadn't shown up.

“How did you know that was going to happen?”

“It’s Penguin. It’s what he does.” Dick shrugged and rolled off Jason, sitting on the ground beside him instead “Did you see that little twirly thing he did with his umbrella? He always does that before going trigger happy. Always dive when you see him do that because you have about eight seconds. It’s not a lot of time, but it's enough.” Jason nodded. Bruce hadn’t said anything about that when they had been learning about Copplepot in training, but if Dick was telling him about it and based on what had just happened, it would have to be true.

“Now what?”

“He’s gotta reload before he does it again.” Dick peeked over the fence they were behind, taking a look at what they were up against. “So I think that now is the perfect time for Robin and Nightwing to swoop in and save the day before he gets a chance to do that.”

Jason spat on his knee, attempting to wipe up some of the blood and grinned when he saw Dick scrunch up his nose at that. “What about Batman?” he asked. He had been patrolling solo, but had called in the Penguin sighting before shit had hit the fan, so B should be close by now.

Dick shrugged a shoulder, not overly bothered about where Batman was or wasn’t at that particular moment. “Well sure he can help, I guess, if he shows up, but between the two of us we don’t need no stinking Batman.” They could hear Penguin calling out, taunting them, calling them out to face him and it just made Dick smile. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve always wondered what a penguin would look like hanging upside down from a lamp post. What do you say? Waddle try?” he asked before jumping to his feet and running, apparently starting whatever plan he had up his dumb looking sleeves.

Jason groaned and scrambled after Dick to chase him down. That was a terrible joke and he just couldn’t let that fly.

He opened the door and the strange ticking noise that he had been following got a lot louder, which he really knew wasn’t a good thing. His gut had been telling him that he was doing something stupid and he should probably call Batman in, but his curiosity got the better of him and he had kept following the lead on his own.

Big mistake. Big, big, big mistake.

Tim’s eyes grew wide when he saw the glowing red numbers, counting down in what he logically knew was by the second but they seemed to be going impossibly faster than that. Relays, switches, a mess of wires; there just wasn’t enough time to defuse it no matter how good he was. The warehouse was going to blow in eighteen seconds.

Batman wouldn’t be able to handle it if he got himself exploded. He had to run and hope that he got far enough away from the blast so that it didn’t kill him. He couldn’t do that to Bruce. He needed Tim. Especially now.

He was tackled around the waist and pressed hard into the ground just as the building behind him exploded. There was a rush of warmth as the flames engulfed the area, but he was just far enough away that the fire didn’t reach him, if only by a few feet. There was debris landing around him, he was safe and secure, somehow covered by the a larger body who had pushed him just far enough out of the way to not toasted.

The figure above him groaned and pushed himself off, crawling to his knees and Tim could hear him panting loudly through his helmet. His red helmet with the voice modulator.

Red Hood. Robin. Jason Todd.

Jason Todd had recently beaten Tim to a bloody pulp in Titans Tower. Recently enough that Tim still had bruised ribs from the attack.

Jason pulled his helmet off, red domino mask on, gasping in deep breaths, hands shaking and he completely ignored Tim beside him, instead staring off at the burning rubble of the warehouse instead, watching the flames flicker and slowly destroy the remains.

“Hood?” Tim sat up, hand to his head, running his hand through his hair that was quickly filling with ash. “Why…” his voice was choked and his words stumbled over themselves. “Thanks for…” Tim coughed, lungs trying to catch up to what had just happened. He didn’t know what to say to his strange rescuer, the man that had just saved his life, and finally settled on. “Jason, why?”

Jason pulled his knees towards him, trying to curl his large frame up into a very small ball, and stared off into the fire. “No one,” Jason finally said, voice hoarse with smoke and fire and maybe something else. Tim could see the fire flickering in the reflection of Jason’s mask lenses. “No one should go out like that.”

They both stared at the building for a few minutes, side by side, but by themselves. “I thought you wanted me dead,” whispered Tim

“Yeah, well. No one gets to kill you but me.” There had been a moment, a moment there between them where they understood each other. It was fleeting, and now it was gone, but it had been there. Jason had saved him. His Robin had saved him.

“Run along back to your big bad Bat, little Robin,” Jason said, still watching the fire with intensity, showing no sign of leaving any time soon.

And Tim ran, knowing the whole way that he wouldn’t mention a word of it to Bruce.

It was their little secret.

“So I should probably sweep the leg, like in the Karate Kid?” asked Stephanie as she circled him on the mat, trying to figure out what his stance was giving away to her. They had been working by themselves for a while, Steph determined to become stronger in her fighting skills and Tim looking to still somehow help even though he was no longer help. He could say to his dad that he was helping a friend with her homework and not technically be lying.

Except in the way that he totally was. He had only lasted three days before he was back in the Cave after school just like he always had, even just for a little while before he had to leave so his dad didn’t find out. Today though, today Ives was lying for him if his dad asked. Today he could even stay for dinner and the pre-patrol debrief before he had to hurry back home.

He missed being Robin so much and it had only been a week.

“Sure. Just no Crane kicks. Those are illegal.”

Stephanie burst out laughing, losing any sort seriousness that she had barely been clinging to through the session. “We dress up like vigilantes, fight crime in the shadows and have villains who can control plants, but sure, let’s not use illegal martial arts moves, Tim.”

“Look, I know that Johnny was a jerk, but Daniel should have been disqualified.”

“You are very hung up on this.” She stopped in front of him, smiling at his outrage. He knew that he had ranted about this to her before but it was something that bothered him a lot about the movie.

“There are rules and he didn’t follow them. Especially in an organized sporting event like tha...”

Stephanie kissed him, and Tim’s body froze, but his brain started running at top speed, mildly panicking. Did this mean she wanted to get back together? Should he kiss her back? He liked kissing her, and she tasted like strawberry lip balm which was his favourite but he wasn’t sure what this meant. It would be polite to kiss her back but they might be better off friends. He was about to pull away but before he could figure out what he was going to do, he was flat on his back, Steph pinning him down, counting loudly and smacking the mat with each second.

“I win!” She raised her arms up in the air and threw her head back, cackling loudly and then rolled off Tim, and laid down on the mat beside him, breathing hard as she laughed.

He rolled his head to look at her, pretending scowl and look put out for falling for her move. “You fight dirty.” They were sparring, not making out. There were rules . Why was he even a little surprised that she didn’t follow them?

He sort of liked that she didn’t.

“Hey, whatever works.” She chewed on her lip and had the sense to look a little nervous. “I’m sorry. That probably crossed a line.”

“Yeah, but it was nice.” Tim could feel his ears growing pink, embarrassed even though he didn’t really know why. It was far from the first time that they had kissed, even since they had broken up. “Sometimes I miss kissing you.”

“Yeah?” she asked softly, looking at his lips. “Only sometimes?”

“Maybe more than sometimes.” He could feel himself being drawn closer to her, like a magnet or gravitational pull. They probably should stop or walk away or go back to sparring. This was probably a bad idea.

Steph closed her eyes and leaned forward, whispering, “Me too.”

This definitely didn’t fall into helping a friend with her homework in any possible way and Tim was more than okay with that.

Sometimes bad ideas weren’t so bad. As long as they heard Bruce coming down the stairs in time.

“Robin!” Stephanie pinned him down, legs straddled over his waist but he was struggling against him and was just so damn squirmy. “Damn it, listen to me, you little brat.”

Damian’s eyes were panicked and he was doing everything that he could think of to throw her off, and while he was a better fighter than she was, he was down to three good limbs to her four and it was enough for her to have the advantage in this position. It didn’t stop him from arguing with her though. “We have to get to him, we have to help him, we have to get to Batman.”

He had been arguing with her for a while, and she had begun to realise that he was bordering on having a panic attack. He knew that she was there, and who she was, but nothing that she was saying was registering and he wasn’t even realizing how badly that he had been hurt. She had to stop him from moving, from making a severely bad break into something closer to a permanent injury.

This wasn’t him fighting because he needed to; it was fighting because he was scared and not thinking straight.

Stephanie ran out of options and slapped him in the face. Not hard, but enough to get his attention and derail his rambling for a second, hopefully long enough that she could get through to him. Damian eyes were wide but he stopped thrashing and he locked his gaze on Steph. She tried what she had been trying to tell him before again. Maybe the fourth time would be the charm. “Batman is fine. Oracle called in backup for him and Red Robin is there.” Damian was breathing hard through his nose, chest heaving with effort, but he was listening. He nodded at her, which was better than the other times had gone so Steph kept her voice calm and continued. “You on the other hand, are completely not fine, unless you normally have a bone sticking out of your boot?” Damian’s breath hitched at that, but he shook his head. “Didn’t think so. Compound fibula fracture, kiddo. You aren’t running off anywhere.”

“But…” he turned his head in the direction of the battle below, where Batman had redirected the fight after Robin went down, trying to draw the goons away. Stephanie gently pulled his chin back towards her. It wouldn’t help for him to think that he was needed elsewhere when he wouldn’t even be able to stand.

“Nope.” She climbed off of him and helped him sit up, careful with the injured leg, but he still hissed as he moved and saw the bone poking out. Steph took her cape off and covered Damian in it like a blanket so that he wouldn’t be tempted to keep looking at the leg. “Chill out with your favourite Batgirl for a while until the fights over and someone can pick us up.”

“You should leave and go help the others.”

“Nah. They’ve got it.” Steph could hear the fight going on through the comms and it honestly sounded sort of boring. If anything Damian would be mad later that his injury wasn’t caused by something more exciting instead of just a poorly placed kick and tumble. “I’d rather hang out with you. Can I make you a splint? I’ve been practicing.”

“I don’t want your third rate splint.”

“Excuse you, my splints are now second rate, because I’ve been practicing.” Damian glared at her with his stone cold expression. “Fine. No splint. Wait for B and he’ll do it if you want a perfect splint, your highness. Want to watch cat videos instead?”

“You brought your phone on patrol? Why?”

“To watch cat videos, obviously.” Damian said nothing so she pulled up YouTube and shoved the phone into his hands “Here. I found this great compilation of them pushing glasses off tables earlier. You’ll love it.”

Fifteen minutes later, Batman appeared on the roof only to find them sitting side by side, watching a baby elephant playing with a ball in the water, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t comment on her bringing her phone on patrol, instead setting to work on splinting Damian’s leg and with what she thought might possibly be a grunt of approval.

It was hard to breathe and it was the pressure on his chest was the thing that he thought had woken him up but he couldn’t be sure. Dick sluggishly blinked a few times and saw the familiar looking cave ceiling, fluorescent lights strung across. Medbay.

His foggy brain couldn’t remember how he had ended up there. Well, not specifically, anyway. He had been on patrol, he had been called in for back up for… something and that was about it. He must have been dragged back to the cave in the batmobile, but everything else was a blur of blackness and screaming and pain until there was nothing.

He tried to shift to get a little more comfortable but his entire body protested, partly due to bandages, whatever painkillers that Alfred must him pumped him with and the small dark haired body curled up beside him, head resting on Dick’s chest.

At least that explained the weight that had woken him up.

Dick slowly raised his hand and ran his hand through Damian’s hair, feeling his brother relax deeper into the touch, making Dick grin. If anyone outside the family ever knew that the small, angry Robin was such a big cuddler, he’d go on a rampage about it.

“He refused to leave your side,” said Bruce quietly, from his typical spot on the right hand side of the bed. He had his reading glasses on, the ones that he wore when he was exhausted but determined to stay awake, sketchpad in hand. Dick was just able to make out the lines of what looked like it might be him and Damian sleeping on the cot before Bruce flipped the book closed. Bruce always kept his 'doodles' private.

There was a cooled cup of coffee and abandoned tablet on the table next to the bed, as well as an empty plate, more signs of Bruce keeping watch. “Looks like he wasn’t the only one.”

Bruce hummed, and watched Dick adjust again who winced slightly as one of Damian’s elbows jabbed him in the stomach, probably over a bruise by the feel of it. Bruce frowned at the action, eyebrows pulling together. “Do you want me to take him upstairs?” He didn’t move though, probably guessing the answer. It was a fairly common tradition that only got passed over when the injuries were too severe for Damian to sleep with Dick when he was injured. He claimed that he was guarding him, but everyone knew better.

“Nah. We’re good.” Dick dropped his hand lower and rubbed circles on Damian’s back, who snored once and then snuggled in tighter. “Was I ever this small?” Dick asked quietly before he registered the words that came out of his mouth, and then huffed out a laugh, because yes, he knew objectively that he had been that small at some point, he had been a child after all, but he couldn’t quite fathom being this size at the manor.

“Smaller.” Bruce seemed to understand what he meant, taking off his glasses and tucking them into the neck of his shirt and watched his oldest and his youngest in silence as he thought about it more. “You were tiny. You would crawl into my bed after having a nightmare and I was afraid that I’d roll over in my sleep and crush you.”

Dick did remember doing that. Bruce’s size was part of the appeal of doing that; he could protect Dick from any monsters, dreams or memories that haunted him in the night. “Yeah, well, you are a behemoth who sleeps like the dead. It was probably a valid concern.” Bruce chuckled and then got up to check Dick’s vitals, both of them knowing that it was more out of something to do rather than necessity at this point.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“We always want you to stay, B.” smiled Dick, looking down at his brother. "But I don't think you need to. Robin's look after their own."

#whumptober2019 #no.16 #dick grayson #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #Stephanie Brown #damian wayne #bruce wayne #robin pile #minor tim/steph

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therumbellehappyendingaward-blog · 6 years ago

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Chapter 5 writer: @mariequitecontrarie

PROMPT: TRUTH

AO3: HERE

“Mr. and Mrs. Gold. And Gideon.” Surprise wrinkling his forehead, Mr. Dove stepped out of the doorway. He waved a meaty hand, ushering them through the open door, into the sparse, white living room of a modest home.

Gideon shifted and shook his head. It felt like they were in the center of the Doctor Strange movie, when the Sorcerer had used the time stone. They’d stepped in the front door, Mr. Dove had smiled and hugged him, and it had felt like being wrapped in a warm blanket. But now they were walking in the front door again? His head hurt and his throat felt scratchy. This wasn’t right.

“Is anything wrong, sir?” Dove asked Papa in a quiet voice. “Did I forget to water the hydrangea bushes?” Mr. Dove turned to Mum, his gaze lowered to the floor. “Mrs. Gold, I’m sorry, your father isn’t here and I’ve not seen him.”

What the …? Gideon stared at Mr. Dove in open-mouthed shock. Those were the most words he had ever heard him speak at once. Also he was confused. Why was he talking to Papa about watering plants? Didn’t Mr. Dove own a candy shop now? Just the other day, Papa had bought him a bag of his favorite red licorice whips and a half pound of chocolates for Mum. Or had it been caramels for Mum and sour worms for him? Suddenly he couldn’t remember. Thinking was making his head pound.

Mum took a deep breath, her shoulders shaking. She was nervous, Gideon realized, but she was going to be brave anyway, like the hero she’d named him after. His tummy jumped with expectation. He loved the idea of having more grandparents.

“Dove, I need to ask you a question,” Belle said, searching the other man’s eyes. “Are you my father?”

Gideon blinked. Mr. Dove ran a hand over his bald white scalp and for a moment the white continued down the front of his body, replacing Mr. Dove’s somber black suit with a stark white coat. Gideon rubbed his eyes and the white coat went away, the entire room turning reassuringly brighter in return.

Mr. Dove shook his head. “That’s not why you’re here.”

“It is,” Mum insisted, glancing at Papa. Papa took a step closer to her and put a reassuring arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into his embrace. “I need answers. We all do. Blue said…”

“The Blue Fairy? And you believed her? Fairies are liars, Mrs. Gold.” Mr. Dove’s eyes grew huge, black and beady, like the bird he was named after. He laughed shrilly, the high-pitched sound an unnatural contrast to his quiet, rumbling voice. “You of all people should recognize the truth of that. You’re a fairy, too,” he said, his dark, piercing eyes pinning Papa and then Gideon. “You’re all fairies!” he cried.

Mum bit her lip. “Please, Dove... who will teach me to fly?”

Frightened, Gideon backpedaled toward the door and covered his ears to block out the terrible shrieking sounds Mr. Dove was making. He clenched his eyes closed, wishing he was young enough to believe that if he couldn’t see them, he could be somewhere else—anywhere else. An image of a cage flashed into his mind and bile rose in his throat. Mr. Dove’s shrieks sounded like black rage, or gut-wrenching sobs, or maybe it was his mother crying? Gideon forced his eyes open. Papa stood as still as a statue with his head cocked, watching Mr. Dove taunt Mum and laugh in her face. Why wasn’t he throwing a fireball or casting a spell? Anything to stop those horrible noises!

Gideon pressed himself up against the wall and tried to think. If only he could remember one of the spells Papa was teaching him, he could end this. He jammed his forefingers into his temples and tried to concentrate, but nothing came out of his mouth but silent cries.

He was frozen; he couldn’t move, he couldn’t scream. He wanted to call out to his Papa, to beg for help, for Papa to make everything better like he always did but he couldn’t make a sound. The world swirled, the edges of the room turning fuzzy.

“Liars!” Dove screeched again.

Liars, liars, liars, liars....

xoxo

Gideon struggled against the darkness, desperate to open his eyes.

He couldn’t seem to wake up. His eyelids felt like they were glued shut with the thick, sticky lanolin Papa used in the shop for waterproofing. The pungent odor of antiseptic pinched his nostrils. At last he pried his eyes open, blinking up at a cracked white ceiling. “Is the asparagus burned?” he blurted. “Did I ruin dinner?”

Every muscle in his body complained and his breath rushed out in a whoosh. His lungs felt tight, like the day he’d fallen from the top of the bleachers at the park and had the wind knocked out of him.

“Asparagus?” Papa’s face swam into view. Dark circles wreathed his eyes; he looked like he needed a nap. “Son, that was two days ago.”

Black and grey whiskers covered the lower half of his father’s face and Gideon blinked again. “When did you grow a beard?”

An amused glint entered Papa’s eyes, banking the worry lodged there. He scratched at his hairy cheek. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Rip van Winkle. You gave us quite a scare.”

“What?” Gideon struggled onto his elbows, sending pillows careening to the floor as he tried to sit up. “Where’s Mr. Dove? I thought he would hug me and smile at me, but instead he was mean.”

“Lay back, Gideon,” said a familiar, no-nonsense voice. Mum. Her smile was strained but gentle as she leaned over him from the opposite side of the bed. She pressed a cool cloth to his forehead, the soft fabric soothing against his damp, prickly skin. “Don’t try to talk all at once.”

He glanced around the room noting the television mounted on the wall opposite the bed, instead of shelves lined with bookcases. Nope, this was definitely not his bedroom at home.

“Where are we?” he managed to ask.

“Storybrooke General Hospital,” Mum said, and he felt her slight weight dip the edge of the mattress as she sat on the corner and smoothed the blankets. “After we finished making dinner the other night, you ate three bites and went straight to bed. You were burning up during the night and Doctor Whale said we should bring you here. You’ve been asleep for almost two full days.”

“Let’s have Doctor Whale check you out, then how about some ice cream?” Papa asked with a smile.

xoxo

“Now, what’s all this about Mr. Dove?” Mum asked, after a nurse with Dalmatian puppies all over her shirt had checked his temperature, listened to his breathing, and examined his eyes.

While licking a cherry popsicle—his third—Gideon revealed the entire bizarre dream, from Papa and Mama proving they were his parents, to Grandma Colette losing her fairy wings, to confronting Blue, to the three of them showing up on Mr. Dove’s doorstep demanding to know if he was Mum’s father.

At the mention of fairy wings, Mum and Papa shared a glance and Gideon felt color rise in his cheeks. It sounded silly when he said it out loud, especially because he knew Papa and fairies didn’t mix. He hadn’t meant to have such a weird dream! He didn’t know why he had. The cloying sweetness of the popsicle was suddenly too much and his stomach roiled.

“Dove owned a candy store?” Papa mused, pacing up and down the foot of Gideon’s hospital bed. “Strange. I can’t picture him chatting up children and selling Pez dispensers and chocolate bars.”

“So none of it was real?” Crestfallen, Gideon looked between his parents, the unappetizing popsicle dripping down his hand. His heart hurt, a bit like when he was hungry and his tummy was empty. He felt like he’d lost something, like there was a hole inside him. The dream had been so vivid and he’d been convinced that he, Mum, and Papa were working together to solve a great mystery … and find more family. “Grandpa Moe really is your father?”

“Well, the part where Robin Mills was unable to keep her mouth shut and mind her own business happened,” Papa said wryly and crossed his arms. “Like mother like daughter. As for the rest of it? No. I’m sorry, son.”

Memories flooded back to Gideon. Robin calling him a bastard, and the other kids in his class laughing at him, calling him Giddy the Green Giant and saying Mum and Papa were long-lost dwarves. He remembered running home in a blind rage and locking the door against his parents and Papa trying to coax him downstairs with cookies. After that, everything was fuzzy.

Mum’s smile was full of understanding. “Mr. Dove is a kind man,” she said, whisking away the melting popsicle and offering him a sip of water. “When we don’t feel confident in who we are, it can be tempting to look elsewhere for answers. Maybe you imagined Mr. Dove was your grandfather because you know there’ve been difficulties between Grandpa Moe and Papa and me. Dove is someone Papa has worked with for years. He trusts him—we all do—but he’s definitely not my father.”

“Robin Mills.” Papa was still grumbling to himself and pacing the length of the room. “Who does she think she is, anyway? As if the circumstances of her peculiar birth and parentage are anything to take pride in?”

Mama’s brows drew together in a warning glance, and for once it wasn’t directed at him. “Rumple,” she said crisply, “that’s for Robin’s mother to discuss with her. It’s not our place, and two wrongs don’t make a right, do they?”

Even he knew Mum wasn’t looking for an answer to her question.

“Hmmph,” Papa said, leaning on his cane with a smirk.

Their lighthearted bickering comforted him and he giggled.

“There’s a welcome sound,” Papa said. He leaned over to ruffle his hair, and Gideon grinned.

“I do love Grandpa Moe. I don’t even mind when he makes me spread smelly mulch in the garden or make boring rose bouquets in the store,” Gideon said. “But he doesn’t like you, does he, Papa? It’s nothing he says or does,” he rushed to assure his parents. “I can just tell and it makes me sad. How can you care about someone and still not like their choices?”

“You have such a tender, loving heart, Gideon,” Papa said. “Like your mother.”

“Oh, Gideon. There are times I struggle with Grandpa Moe being my father,” Mum confessed. “He’s hurt me and he’s been unfair to your Papa. I’ve forgiven him for his mistakes, but forgetting is another matter. But if he ever does anything to hurt you, I want you to tell us right away, all right?”

Gideon twisted on the damp pillow. His neck felt sweaty. “It’s more than that,” he insisted. He knew his father’s parents, Malcolm and Fiona, were evil and he’d heard the stories of how Papa had done away with them for good. But Grandma Colette had died long before Papa and Mum had even met. He thought of the framed black and white photograph of her that Mama kept on her bedroom dresser. Sometimes he would go in his parents’ room and run his fingers over the silver frame and wonder what it would feel like to have a grandmother. The empty feeling inside came rushing back. Was it possible to miss someone you’d never met? “What about Grandma Colette? We never talk about her. Why?”

Mum ducked her head and bit her lip. “We should talk about this when you’re feeling better, Gideon.”

"Muuuuum," Gideon whined. “I hate when you guys keep secrets.”

Papa nudged her. “He is dreaming about it,” he said, “and dreams are of course manifestations of what is going on in the subconscious.”

“Yeah,” said Gideon, crossing his arms over his chest. “Besides, there’s no such thing as being too sick to hear the truth.”

“I hate when you both are right,” Mum muttered, but she was smiling again as she said the words. Then her smile faded and her eyes brimmed with tears. “I suppose I don’t talk about my mother much because I don’t like to think about my grief or my failings. I’ve always blamed myself for her death in the Ogres War. For a while, I couldn’t even remember how she died. I’ve tried to recover my memories from that day, but sometimes looking for answers costs more than learning the truth is worth.”

“I’m not trying to make you sad,” Gideon pleaded. He hated when Mum cried. “I just want to know what she was like.”

Mum scooted backward on the bed and put her arm around him. He leaned against her, letting her take his weight, and sighed. Papa pulled a chair closer to his bed and sat down.

“Mother was a fine scholar,” Mum said. “Smart, confident, and bookish.” Mum tapped his nose with her index finger. “You remind me of her, you know. She always taught me to be brave, and I always tried to follow her example.”

He lifted his head from her shoulder. “Like Gideon in Her Handsome Hero?”

A tear rolled down Mum’s cheek. “Yes, it was the first book she ever read to me.”

“And you decided to name me Gideon?”

She laughed, a low wet sound, and smiled at Papa. “A few other things happened before that. I had to meet and marry Papa first.”

“It doesn’t matter what the circumstances of a person’s birth is, Gideon,” Papa said. “After my mother cut me off from my destiny, I had to learn this truth myself. And after hundreds of years—and a lot of help from your mother—I finally did. Parenting has little to do with our DNA or a piece of paper declaring our bloodline.”

“Listen to your father.” Mum nodded. “It doesn’t matter if someone grows up in the care of biological parents or adoptive ones. And as for Storybrooke, it doesn’t matter what Robin Mills or anyone else believes about our family. All that matters is the love we share and the family we create. That’s all the proof of parentage you need.”

“Yes, Mum,” he said, resigned. They were right, he knew. Mum and Papa loved him and he didn’t have to prove it to anyone.

“Cheer up, Giddy,” Mum said, “You’re going to be out of the hospital tomorrow morning. Her eyes began to dance with excitement. “We haven’t gone on any adventures in a while, have we Rumple?”

“No, you’re right, sweetheart. We haven’t.”

“Once Gideon is completely well, perhaps we should return to our travels and visit my homeland in the Enchanted Forest? Gideon could continue his studies with me and we could learn more about Grandma Colette and her life.”

Gideon’s heart leapt. He loved visiting new places and getting to see where his Mama grew up was like a dream come true. Papa’s brow furrowed and his Mum shrugged, a light blush dusting her cheeks.

“Belonging,” Mum said, as if that answered everything. His Papa nodded, the lines between his eyebrows smoothing, but now it was his turn to be confused. Mum squeezed his hand. “You’ve grown up in this realm but you’ve always known your Papa and I came from the Enchanted Forest. We’ve told you stories, but it’s not the same as seeing the place for yourself.”

“I think it’s a fine idea, Belle,” Papa said. “Gideon, what do you say to a new adventure?”

“Please!” Gideon blurted, his mind racing. “Will we get to ride horses? Henry says all knights ride horses.”

“So you want to be a knight, do you?” Mum teased.

Papa’s smile was indulgent. “I’m sure we can manage something. After you get some more rest.”

Gideon yawned and pouted in annoyance. He did not want to go to sleep again. His eyes were growing heavy but he’d only woken up a few minutes ago. It wasn’t fair! His tummy twisted. Now that he was wide awake, the dream seemed silly but those helpless feelings were still there. He didn’t want to feel that way ever again. He bit his lip and fixed his eyes on his parents—his heroes.

“Where’s Cal?” he asked, giving into the pull of sleep. Mama had given him Cal, his teddy bear, when he was born. Cal was short for Excalibur because it protected him when Papa wasn’t home. “Will you get him from my room? And stay with me while I sleep?”

“Of course.” Papa snapped his fingers and Cal appeared in a puff of red smoke, then Papa tucked the tattered little brown bear under the covers.

“Can I hear the story again?” Gideon asked, his eyelids drooping. “The one where you met.”

Mum pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Once upon a time, a beast took a girl prisoner…”

THE END

#mariequitecontrarie #rumbelle #group purple #finish this

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jawsandbones · 7 years ago

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Rather Lovely Thing

Robin Hood FenHawke AU written for the @daficswap! I had the pleasure of working with the lovely @aliveria who is an amazing artist and a wonderful person. Please go check out their art!

Rating: T

Pairing: Fenris x FemHawke

AO3 Link: Click Here

Shining brightly, draped in darkness and wrapped in stars, the moon hangs high in the night. The soft call of an owl, the low beat of wings as it follows its prey. A cold wind sweeps into his room and he’s not sure what wakes him. Blankets pulled around his shoulders, made of softest fur, a warm nest. He longs to return to sleep, what with heavy eyelids and slow breathing. Closing his eyes, but there’s that noise again. Moving only enough to see what strange shadows lurk inside his room.

This one moves quietly on her feet, bending down to open a drawer. She dips her hands in, pulls out a silk shirt. Holding it out to look, shaking her head and throwing it to the ground. She finds the gifted necklaces, the golden bracelets. Those she puts into one of the many bags tied to her one of her many belts. Her back is to the bed, her gaze focused on her search. He’s pushing himself up to sit as carefully as he can, but she doesn’t hear him move. Rather she’s chuckling underneath her breath as she holds up a ring, smirking as she tucks it in with the rest.

There’s a hook on the window, a long coil of rope curled on the floor. Her bow is resting beside it, along with a quiver of arrows. He slips from the bed, feet against bare stone, takes the bow in his hands, reaches for an arrow. Taking it up, placing it neatly, and drawing the bow. “How did you get in here?” She turns slowly as his words, raising her hands, dropping the pair of trousers she was holding. She shows him her empty hands, then leans against the dresser, crossing her arms.

“I think you can tell that I came through the window,” she says, pointing at the hook and the rope. There are multiple braids that knot through her hair, many multi-colored scarves around her neck, covering half her face. He can still see some of her cheeks, the freckles that dot there. A threadbare tunic, trousers in much the same condition. Her boots are encrusted with mud, flecks of it on the floor from where she’s been. He does not miss the dagger in her belt.

“You are her,” he says, “the robin,” and he pulls at the bow even harder. She pushes herself away from the dresser, claps her hands together in delight, the sound muffled by the fingerless gloves.

“You know me!” She says as she gives him a small wink. His arm shakes with the effort of the bow, of pulling the string. Her motions are almost lazy as she begins to walk towards him. A slow lean to the left as he lets fly the arrow. It takes a disappointing path, far from where he meant it to land. He steps back as she steps forward, until his back is to the wall and her hand is on her bow. “That’s mine.”

“You’ve taken things of mine,” he says.

“So I have. I’ll be leaving with them too,” she tells him. It takes only a tug to steal her bow back. Pulling it over her shoulder, wrapping the belt of the quiver around her waist. Humming as she reaches for the rope, leaning out the window as she throws it down.

“Please don’t move the hook, or cut the rope, until I’m on the ground,” she says, “I’d prefer not to die today.” A foot is on the windowsill, the rope in her hands.

“Take me with you,” he tells her, closing the distance between them. He watches as her eyebrows rise, eyes widening with surprise. He frowns as she begins to bark out laughter, as she steps out of the window and back onto stone, towards him.

“If you know me, then you know what I steal,” she says, “Gold, jewels, things. Not people.”

“Take me with you or I’ll cut the rope,” he says. She’s far too close, sizing him up, her nose a hairsbreadth away from his. Eyes narrowed, studying him and he’s doing his best to stare back.

“You’ve never killed anyone before,” she says at last, “and you’re not going to start today.” She shakes her head, walks back to the window. He’s on her in an instant, arms around her neck, pulling her back.

“Guards! Guards help me! There’s someone here!” He’s screaming at the top of his lungs as she flails, finally buries an elbow in his belly, wrestles him to the ground with her hand over his mouth.

“That is not how you get someone to help you,” she scolds him, wagging a finger on her free hand at him. She’s dead weight on top of him, her thighs crushing at his hips, and all he can manage is the pathetic stamping of his feet, clawing her arm. “I thought we were friends. Friends don’t let friends be taken by guards. You have to promise me that if I take my hand away, you won’t start screaming again. Understand?” All he can manage is a grunt. “Good.”

Her other hand is at her belt, pulling the dagger, putting it to his neck. Only then does she remove her hand. “Pardon me if I’m feeling a little skittish about the trust between us. Tell me why you want me to take you.” He glares at her, and she allows him to prop himself up with his elbows. She doesn’t press the metal against his flesh, keeping it just enough away from his skin.

“They say you help people. That what you rob goes to help the poor and the needy,” he says.

“’They’ aren’t wrong,” she tells him. “Again, I only steal things.”

“That’s what I am. A thing; something to be bought and sold. They want to marry me to a magister.” His face twists. “They are going to send me to Tevinter and I, I – I can’t.” She cocks her head and there’s a sudden dawning on her face. Tucking the blade back into her belt, one hand on the bed to help push herself up. Scurrying away from him, face in her hands.

“Andraste’s sagging arse. You’re Fenris,” she says when she turns back to him.

“You know me,” he says dryly, parroting her earlier words as he picks himself up and off the ground. She rolls her eyes.

“That marriage is supposed to cement an alliance between Ferelden and Tevinter, so yes, of course I know you. Half the country knows you,” she says.

“You do not know this magister. You do not know what he is like,” Fenris tells her, hands clenched into fists. Her arms crossed, fingers tapping at her chin, studying him once again. Her eyes moving from his head to his feet, back up again. A sigh every half second, before a groan, running a hand down her face. She takes the scarf with it. There’s a scar across her nose, and the hint of freckles gives way to a full face of them. She’s biting her bottom lip, hands at her hips.

“It’s a huge risk taking you. If I take you, you’re going to get me killed. Executed,” she says.

“If we are caught, I will tell them I forced you to take me.”

“As if that’ll matter.” She’s shaking her head, rubbing at the mud on her boot with her other foot. Hesitating. Still weighing the cost, the decision. He steps forward.

“Please,” he says softly. The stiff line of her shoulders slump.

“Bollocks.” She sticks out her hand towards him. “The name’s Hawke.” He takes her hand, gives it a firm shake. “Looks like you’re coming with me,” she says, pulling the scarf back over her face.

He loses track of how long they ride for. Hawke doesn’t take time to stop, only to rest and feed the horse. She gives him the last of her water-skin, and jerky is their every meal. His legs ache from being on a horse for so long, his every muscle tired and sore. Hawke is mostly silent, the reigns in her hand, guiding the horse where they need to go with uncanny awareness. He’s barely set foot outside of the castle. The countryside is foreign to him, every road unknown. His legs tremble when they stop next, and he wobbles to take a seat by a nearby stream.

She chuckles as she watches him, the horse taking a drink from the stream nearby. “Don’t ride very much, do you?” He can only glare, shake his head. Trying to work life back into limbs, standing up and taking unsteady steps.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” she says with a smile. He expects her to take him to some village. Instead, they pass one after the other, after the other. She avoids most people, and he can’t help notice the wanted posters on the sides of some buildings, and along the Imperial Highway. They all call for the arrest of the thief known as the Robin. Most are half-torn, and most are drawn on with crude symbols. None directed at her. The smallfolk have love for the one making their lord’s life miserable.

As they ride, he keeps his arms wrapped around her waist, chest against her back, resting his head on her shoulder. It’s easy to fall under the lull of the heavy beat of hooves against ground, the warm cloak wrapped around him. He dreams of the ocean. He knows it is day, he knows the sun is risen, when next he wakes. It’s hidden by a thick crop of trees, branches stretching overhead, the sky a now leafy green. The horse is walking over thick root and moss, and Hawke seems far too at ease.

“Every lord has been petitioning the king for your capture. You will be hanged with or without me. You know this and yet you still went to the Royal Palace. One of the most heavily guarded castles. Why?” She shrugs.

“They said the Palace couldn’t be stolen from. That I couldn’t steal from them,” she says.

“You risked your life because of a taunt,” he says it flatly. Her shoulders shake with silent laughter. He shakes his head, rolls his eyes. “Unbelievable.”

“You’re part of this now, you know. I won’t just let you sit at our camp doing nothing,” she tells him. “We’ll need to dye your hair first, teach you how to use a bow and a sword. Good chance of getting less dead if you know a bit of everything. Oh and picking locks too.”

“You want me to steal with you?”

“You have a problem with that?”

“It is dishonest.” Hawke snorts.

“The people we take from steal far more than we ever could. We’re just putting the gold back where it belongs.”

“’We’?” Just as he speaks, he feels a hand at his back. Pulling him by his tunic, dragging him off the horse, his feet dangling over the ground. Hawke immediately turns the horse, an amused grin on her face as she watches Fenris struggle. A tall red-headed woman has him in her grasp, a deep frown on her face as she looks between Fenris and Hawke.

“Put the nice man down Aveline,” Hawke says. She’s lounging on the saddle, leaning forward, that grin still persisting.

“We don’t take in strays,” she says, looking up him and down, “especially not royal strays.” Hawke raises her eyebrows, laughs softly under her breath.

“Honestly, who do we know that isn’t a stray? Put him down.” She opens her hand and down he goes. Landing roughly on his feet, stumbling away from her, steadying himself by a tree. A bush rumbles, the crack of a branch. Others are appearing one by one, with sword and bow, all pointed at him. Hawke doesn’t seem concerned in the slightest. Dismounting the horse with ease, moving to stand beside him, taking a leaf from his hair.

The camp is a short distance away, a clearing in the Korcari Wilds. Nestled in the ruins of some long forgotten building, white stone that’s no longer bright but covered in vines. Hammocks are slung between trees, boxes are scattered and stacked haphazardly. A fire burns in the middle, by a rack of weapons and one of food. Tents are pitched in a corner, and Hawke claps Fenris on the back. “It isn’t much, but it’s home,” she says. “You’re one of us now.”

He finds that stealing is easy. Isabela has been his tutor with the locks, hours spent crouching over a safe, the pins in his hand, listening to every careful click. It did not come as easy to him as he was hoping. Hawke brings Isabela a new pick set the next time she returns, to replace all the ones Fenris has broken. The basic locks are soon mastered, and he is slowly working his way up the tier. Isabela gives him a ship in a bottle for each lock he cracks. A corner of his tent is filled with them.

Merrill distressed over his hair, such a unique color, standing out. When you work with the Robin, it’s always best to never stand out. The first attempt at dyeing the white to black was met with spectacular failure. It did, however, stain her palms for a month. The second sees more success, but fades far too quickly. She gets it on the third try, and his hair now matches Hawke’s. Isabela and Merrill often steal together, dressed as Hawke would. Far more difficult to catch the Robin if there is more than one.

Hawke brings him on the odd small job, to places she knows will be empty. It allows them to take their time, for Hawke to provide instruction. Without seeing any people, the guilt of stealing is slowly washed away. He doesn’t think about who they’re stealing from anymore. It’s only gold, only trinkets. He picks the lock, she chooses the valuables that they take. Mostly small things, easily smuggled, easily stored and given to others.

Archery he finds far more difficult. Back at camp, coin counted and put away, a bow in his hands. Hawke stands behind him, putting her hand over his. “Relax.” She taps at his white knuckles, the hand that grips the bow. “Breathe,” she murmurs against his ear. Her other hand follows the line of his shoulders, traces down his arm. “Take your time.” He scowls as he lets the arrow fly, watches as it lands just short of the target.

Hawke steps back, her hands on her hips as she chuckles. “You’ll get the hang of it,” she tells him. She stays in the camp fairly often, but sometimes, during the day, she disappears with Aveline. She leaves him in the others care, and they are kind, but they treat him with a sort of fragility that she doesn’t. Too often has Anders mockingly called him your highness, and Merrill trips over herself in an effort to be overly polite.

“I am more useful with a sword.” She takes up her own bow, plucks the arrow from his hand. She lines up the shot with practiced ease, and the arrow lands in the center of the target. He passes her another arrow, and she splits her previous with it. “Show off,” he says, and passes her another. She gives him a grin as she takes it.

Hawke doesn’t sleep in a tent. Unless it’s raining, she chooses one of the hammocks outside. Swinging back and forth, her hands behind her head, listening to the late sounds of the birds and the bugs, the leaves and the trees that sway in the breeze. “Why sleep outside?” He asks her one night. An eye cracks open, and she shuffles in the hammock.

“Come here,” she says, patting the space beside her. With a doubtful glance, he hefts himself into the hammock with her. There’s no room to move and it forces them to be shoulder to shoulder, side by side, and practically cheek to cheek. She links their arms together, pressing her head against his. With her free hand, she points upwards.

“That’s Judex, meaning justice.” She’s tracing an outline in the stars, from point to shining point, drawing a downturned sword. “Draconis, a high dragon.” He turns his head slightly to look at her, watching her eyes shine just as brightly as the stars. “Peraquialus is over here.” She looks enchanted and enchanting and she shows him every constellation she can find. “I can’t help but wonder what they’re hiding,” she says.

“Hiding?” he asks softly.

“Are they jewels the gods put there? Worlds like ours? What would it be like to be able to fly among them? I’d give anything to be a dragon, just like in the old stories,” she sighs wistfully. He can’t help the laughter that bursts from him, and she soon joins him. In the morning, he has one leg hanging off the hammock, and Hawke is nestled in his arms, her head in the crook of his neck.

“I almost feel bad waking them,” Isabela says, her arms crossed as she examines the situation.

“Maker’s breath,” Aveline rolls her eyes, putting a hand on Fenris’s shoulder and shaking hard. “Wake up.” He makes a small grunt as Hawke propels herself upwards, her hands on his chest.

“Wassit,” she grunts. Another eye roll from Aveline as she puts her hands under Hawke’s arms, hauls her out of the hammock and deposits her onto her feet. Hawke covers a yawn with her hands.

“We need to go,” Aveline tells her, “there are people coming to see the lady of Lothering.”

“Why do we care?” Fenris asks as he moves to stand beside them. “Are we robbing this lady?” Aveline puts her hands on Hawke’s shoulders, swings her so that she is standing in front of him.

“This is the lady of Lothering.”

“Hello,” Hawke says as gives him a sheepish wave and a smile.

A strange thing, to see Hawke in a dress. A plain one, but a dress nonetheless, a small belt around her waist. Her hair brushed to full length, then put into one neat braid. Cheeks no longer smudges with dirt but freshly washed, boots replaced with small shoes. A stranger thing to see her riding side saddle. Fenris has his arms crossed as she brings the horse around. “It started in Lothering. They kept raising the taxes and I… I had to take their money. I didn’t want to and I didn’t have to if someone ‘stole’ it. I always returned what I took,” she tells him.

“You do not have to explain yourself to me,” Fenris says.

“You deserve an explanation,” she says. She rides with Aveline, the captain of her guard, back to the city, leaving him standing by the fire. He runs a hand through his hair, takes a seat on one of the logs nearby. Isabela wears a self-satisfied smile, her legs crossed, elbow on her knee, and chin in the palm of her hand.

“You two are certainly chummy,” she says, her voice practically dripping with the need for gossip. Fenris scoffs, shakes his head.

“You will not hear anything from me,” he says. Isabela fakes a pout.

“You’re no fun. What is fun is that Hawke has so many people coming to see her. Half of Denerim it seems like. All looking for you,” Isabela tells him. Fenris narrows his eyes, rises to his feet. “They’re moving from castle to castle, questioning everyone. Seems they’re mighty keen to find you. They’ve got the constable, bunch of guards and even someone from Tevinter.”

“Who. Exactly,” Fenris asks, an edge to his voice. Isabela shrugs.

“Some magister.” He takes off immediately, grabbing a quiver and a bow, tucking a dagger into his belt. Isabela is calling after him as he unties a horse, digs his heels into its side. He can still hear her voice as he rides off, racing towards Lothering.

Hawke raises the cup to her mouth, tastes sweet wine. Only the finest for the finest guests. Dinner is in full swing, weary travelers taking their rest in her hall. “What lovely countryside,” Danarius leans over to speak to her and she returns his words with a polite smile.

“Thank you magister,” she says.

“Are you not fearful being so close to the Korcori Wilds? I’ve heard the Robin hides there. You must be under frequent attack from that thief,” he says.

“There isn’t much here to steal,” she tells him.

“Except for the taxes which rightfully belong to the crown,” he smiles.

“Of course,” she smiles back, feeling an ache in her cheeks from the sheer fakeness of it. Meredith is watching her through a suspicious gaze, her hands folded on the table, having barely touched her food or taken a sip from her cup.

“Do you know why we’re here, Lady Marian?” Hawke shifts in her seat, the smile faltering at the sound of her name.

“I assume you’re on the Robin’s trail,” she says.

“We are indeed. We’re very close now. We’ll be garrisoning in your village while we amass soldiers to assault the Korcari Wilds and drive out the Robin from hiding. I assume you have no problem with this.” Hawke forces the smile to return.

“Of course not. We’ll be happy to help in any way we’re able.” She shares a look with Aveline across the table. Arrangements will be made to scatter the others, keep them out of harm’s way. Any trace of the camp will have to be taken care of and Fenris wouldn’t be able to stay in Lothering. Not when so many who know his face linger. Isabela would have no trouble smuggling him away. She would have to play her part as well, the kneeling lady to the crown.

“Has the Robin stolen much from you?” Danarius watches her intently, his steely gaze fixed on her.

“Enough,” Hawke says.

“She took something that was meant to be mine. Property which was promised to me.”

“This thing sounds valuable,” Hawke says through gritted teeth.

“He is.” His eyes to not leave hers. “My little Fenris.” She has to work to keep the distaste from showing. “Royalty that the King promised to me in exchange for an alliance with Tevinter. Do you want a war with Tevinter my lady?”

“Of course not.”

“Then give him back to me,” Danarius hisses, slamming his cup down onto the table. Aveline is on her feet at the same time as Meredith, each pointing swords at each other from across the table. Both sides follow their commander’s lead, Hawke’s guards against Denerim’s finest. Hawke is reaching for the blade hidden under her dress but Danarius never needed to hide his. Her movements stop the moment the cold iron touches her neck. “I am tired of playing pretend. We know you are the Robin.”

“You’ll never find him,” she tells him coldly.

“He wasn’t yours to take,” Danarius says.

“And I was never yours to keep.” Hawke looks around wildly until she spots him, on one of the higher windows of the hall. Perched on the sill, a bow in his hands, an arrow nocked and pointed. Danarius’s eyes widen when he sees him, pushes the blade into her neck hard enough to draw blood.

“Come to me, my little wolf, and I’ll let her go,” he says as he drags Hawke up from the chair, holds her like a shield in front of him.

“Your words mean nothing,” Fenris says, pulling at the string. Hawke has her eyes on him, making subtle gestures. Relax. Breathe. Take your time. He lets out the breath he’s holding, feeling the arrow slip through his fingers. Danarius reels backwards with a keening cry, the dagger dropping from his grasp, clapping his hands to his face. The arrow rests neatly in one of his eyes.

It is what cuts the silence, the pause, and Aveline is leaping over the table with her guards. “You did it! I knew you could! I’m so proud of you!” Hawke shouts as she throws her hands up into the air, like a parent cheering on their child. She turns quickly, dress swirling with her, and pushes the arrow even deeper. Danarius drops like a stone. Meredith is cutting through the guards, making a path towards Hawke.

“Run!” Aveline shouts at her.

“To me!” Fenris is calling out to her, throwing the rope through the window, down into the hall. Hawke is picking up her skirts, making a break for it. She sticks out her tongue at Meredith as Fenris hauls her up. He takes her hand in his, and they race across the roof. The rest of Meredith’s forces are outside, watching as they run. Fenris stops at the edge of the roof, but Hawke is pulling him with her, leaping down into the moat.

Sinking into the water, Hawke’s hand still tightly wrapped around his. She pulls him to the surface as his arrows float away from him, escaping the quiver, being taken with the current. “Hawke, I can’t swim,” Fenris is saying, desperately kicking his legs. Hawke instantly pulls herself closer to him, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Stay close to me,” she tells him. They can hear the yelling, shouting behind them, but Hawke is pulling them away. They’re shivering in the cold, clothes soaked through and through, water against skin. The castle fades in the distance and only then does she direct them to the shore, still holding tightly onto him. Climbing over rock, collapsing onto grass, lying side by side.

“He’s dead,” Fenris says through gasping breath, brushing wet locks out of his face. There’s dye on his hands, the white in his hair starting to bleed through. Turning his head to face her, teeth chattering together. Hawke is looking up at him, flecks of water on her face, running down her neck. He brushes a thumb against her cheek, wipes away the wet. “He’s dead.” A confirmation of the statement, a realization that it’s true. Some sort of weird mixture of relief and happiness flooding his chest, bursting into a grin, leaning over Hawke and pressing a kiss against cold lips. Her mouth is warm, her hand at the back of his neck, drops from his hair mixing with the wet of hers. She’s smiling when he pulls away.

“You’re free,” she tells him. “On the other hand, Aveline is going to be furious.” She breaks into hopeless laughter, and he’s helpless in joining her. Laughing together, pressing his forehead against hers, holding her tight in his arms.

#fenris #hawke #hawris #fenhawke #dragon age #fenris x hawke #fenris x f!hawke #f!fenhawke #f!hawris #f!hawke #fenris x femhawke #dragon age 2 #da2 #writing #mine #alternate universe #da fic swap

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crows-sleepy · 4 months ago

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Chapter three of, "Robin's are meant to fly, how did you lose your wings?"

This one will have a content warning for slight depictions of self harm, if you are sensitive to this do not read the last paragraph or the chapter, stay safe!!

•

The sound of cutlery against porcelain screeches in Damian's ears as dinner goes on, and on.

He hates it, hates the sound, hates the room, hates the people in the room, hates that he loves them, hates that he knows normal families wouldn't find family dinners strange.

But he does, he did, for so long, but how long until they are just a distant memory?

How long until he no longer has these?

These beautiful fond memories, these wonderful, lovable family members, how long exactly until he, Damian himself, is a long lost memory?

Long since living? Long since a part of this family?

He wasn't completely sure when his head had tilted to the side slightly, barely noticeable to anyone else.

Anyone except everyone in this house.

He didn't know when he leaned closer to Grayson, he didn't like that at all, didn't know when his fork paused over his meal.

How had he missed all of this?

Missed the way Grayson snuck worried glances to him, missed the way everyone stared down at him, like he was some kind of exhibit, like he was some kind of product.

But then again, that's what he always was wasn't he?

Why had he ever thought he would be anything more...

Even to any of them .

They were wonderful, beautiful human beings...how could he be anything more than a weapon, that was it wasn't it?

They kept him around because of what he could do? Because they hated him.

They thought he would be better left watched , like some kind of ticking time bomb.

That is exactly what they thought he was!

He hated them, hated, hated, hated, hated, hated!!!

Oh, how he loved them...

Grayson's worries gaze wouldn't leave him, it was as if the man didn't care that he was caught staring, how could he be so blatant?

Damian could almost roll his eyes at the observation, how dumb was he? Being so obvious, at least try to hide it.

"Hey, you okay kiddo? You haven't been eating.."

Grayson's sentence softened at the end if that was even possible, everyone was already speaking so softly to him nowadays.

"I'm fine, Grayson."

Damian had been quick to assure the man, he could still do that much at least, but that didn't make Grayson look any less upset, maybe even made him look more so than he did before...maybe Damian couldn't successfully assure anyone.

But that was fine, really, he was an assassin after all, he didn't need to assure anyone, he needed to dispose of them, needed to provide pride to his family.

Needed to stop being a failure.

"Are you su-"

Grayson had been cut off before he could finish his question.

"I am positive."

Damian had spoken firmly.

He didn't want to talk about this, didn't want anyone else to know anything was wrong, why couldn't they just leave him alone?

But still, still, Grayson's unwelcome questions continued.

"Damian, you know you can tell us what's wrong, you are allowed to talk to us."

Dick tried to reassure, but it only made Damian feel worse.

Because why, why, couldn't all of them just stop testing him?

Of course he wished it was real! But he knew it wasn't, it was just getting cruel at this point...

Even if he could never admit it, even if he would never be allowed to say it aloud, he loved all of them dearly, why were they so fixated on testing him like this?

Unless it was real.

Unless they actually cared.

Unless they really loved him.

But that couldn't be it, he knew that could never be true, not for someone like him.

"Grayson, I said I was fine, I do not need help, I do not need to speak to any of you, because you can't fix anything!"

Damian regretted snapping immediately as the loud clatter and screech of his fork scraped against the delicate plate, it didn't break thankfully.

It seemed like it might, it felt like it might.

It felt like it might snap in two, right on the table, in front of everyone, as Grayson ever so slightly flinched back at the outburst.

Damian felt like such a disgrace, he couldn't help but be reminded, just how much he hates himself..

Especially in that moment.

He knows he shouldn't care.

He knows that it shouldn't bother him that no one tells him off for it, that they don't grab him by the collar and throw him to the floor, drawing any and all weapons they have on them.

Telling him how terrible he is.

Telling him how he should never have been born, how he didn't have the right to be called human like the rest of them.

How much he hated that he would agree if they ever told him that...

But they didn't, no one even reprimanded him, and he knew he should be, knew he should be yelled at, even Todd didn't say anything!

He wasn't called a brat, why wasn't he berated? Scolded for the defiance, and why, why did Grayson back off when told to?

Why did they all listen to him without question?

His eyes burn with unshed tears, he can only stare down at his full plate as he feels all of their eyes on him.

He just wants them to stop.

Why wouldn't they stop?

Why the hell did it bother him so much?

He knows , he shouldn't be an heir to mother or father, knows that he shouldn't be human, knows he shouldn't be alive, knows he shouldn't have made it past one year old, let alone ten, why did he have to be reminded every day?

He can feel his heart race under his skin, thumping against his bones, desperately trying to escape.

Feels the way the oxygen begs and pleads to leave his lungs to no avail.

Feels the way his thoughts race and run wild as he finally realizes..

He can't breathe.

Slow deep breaths through his nose seem to at least fix the most noticeable problems, but as he glances up, his eyes meet Cain's, almost immediately.

Hers with concern and understanding coiled deep within them, but how could she ever understand?

★

Cass peered at her youngest brother for longer than she had admittedly meant to.

She watched and waited, and observed as his breathing gradually came to a complete halt.

She couldn't help the anxious feeling that enveloped her as she saw that.

She was sure everyone else did too, it wasn't to hard for them to be able to tell when someone was on the verge of a panic attack right in front of them.

She was sure someone would give some kind of signal to help him if it was needed, they wouldn't just leave that alone.

But still, worry crept up her back, clawing at her shoulders as it latched onto her in a surprise attack.

She needs to know what was happening with Damian.

It feels so important, so much bigger than anything she's ever worried about for him.

She is his older sister, it is her job to help him, to know what's wrong, and she should be able to, but she doesn't know.

Doesn't know what's wrong, but she knows that it had to have started one day after patrol.

No one seemed to have picked up on that yet, they all over looked it, she knew they had to step back though.

They were too close, too involved in the issue to ever hope of solving it.

No one could look at it from an outside perspective, but she knew they had to.

She can't help the overwhelming feeling of guilt when even after she tries to look at the bigger picture she can't solve it.

This is her youngest brother, and yet she can't fix it.

She can't be the strong older sister she wants to be.

Cass's eyes drift away from Damian as his gaze quickly fleets away from hers right after making contact.

Did he dislike their concern so much?

She would have to file that away for later...

She doesn't know what to do as she is reminded for what seems like the hundredth time, that she doesn't know what's wrong with her little brother.

★

As dinner comes to an end Damian feels like an absolute fool.

Pushing himself harshly out of his seat he stands eagerly, silently excusing himself as he turns without a word, walking away from the rest of his family.

He yearns for the only part of the day he gets to be relatively alone.

As he tried descending down the hallway he took note of the fact that Thomas had started quickly making his way after Damian, the younger of the two noticed relatively fast.

Not good enough, know he's about to before even he knows, you'll never survive if you can't outsmart these idiots.

That wasn't right...was it? He doesn't think he even remembers anymore..

"Hey Damian!"

Thomas had called after him, as he waved at the younger boy.

Damian glanced back, his steady footfall coming to a complete stop.

"What is it, Thomas?"

Damian's tone was colder than he would have liked, he knew what everyone thought, but he didn't want to come off hateful to everything..not anymore.

"I was just wondering if I could talk to you? I wanted to make sure you knew that you can talk to any of us if you need to, or even just if you want to, we're all here for you anytime you want us. We care about you, and you've been a little..off? Recently, I guess I just wanted to say that you can come to any of us no matter how little you think the problem is."

Thomas had explained, a kind smile gracing his lips, so kind, so warm, it melted Damian's heart slightly, it made Damian want to spill his guts to his older brother.

To everyone.

But he also heard how soft the tone was, how gentle, and that wasn't right.

Damian didn't need him to be gentle, Damian didn't need anyone to be careful with him, he wasn't made of glass, he was strong, he didn't need protection from anything.

"I am not weak Thomas, I am not a child, I do not need your immature assurances, save those for someone who actually wants them, goodnight."

Damian could feel bile burn, and tear at his raw, blood tasting, throat as he saw Thomas looking like a kicked puppy.

The older boy's shoulders slumping slightly as his line of vision drifted away from Damian.

"Right.. Yeah, night, keep it in mind though? I mean just in case.."

Thomas had all but pleaded, Damian hesitated, but nodded, he needed to fix what he said wrong, he didn't even care if he failed these stupid tests anymore.

Thomas smiled again, so, so brightly, nodding, and walking off to his room, as if he was content with just the fact that Damian said he would consider it.

Even though Damian didn't do what he wanted.

So odd.

Damian doesn't need to talk to anyone, he wasn't like Thomas, he wasn't like anyone here, he didn't have the privilege of being weak.

He didn't have the privilege of being human, as much as he wished he had.

When had he gotten so envious?

Damian shouldn't, he shouldn't even feel bad like he had before, he should make them feel bad, and he shouldn't care when he did, but, oh, how badly he felt for it.

Damian's small feet padded against the wood of the floor as he made his way back to his bedroom, the door clicking open and closed as he slipped in.

Locking it as he went over to his closet, creaking the door ajar as he slid his hand into the darkness, easily grabbing onto his Robin uniform.

Distantly he thinks about other children, the foolish thoughts of monsters dwelling in the darkness of the closet or under the bed.

He finds it odd, and even a little silly, but for a brief moment wonders, if maybe there was some truth to it?

He feels envy pooling in his heart again.

Why did other children get to have such innocent fears?

Why couldn't that be him?

Why was this who he had to be?

His mind raced with all kinds of questions, but he pulled the Robin suit close to his chest, clutching onto it tightly as some of it brushed against his lap when he pulled it.

When had he sat?

His gaze drifted to the mirror across the room, he saw a little boy staring back at him in the mirror.

Jet black hair, bright green eyes met his own, the boys stature so small compared to Damian, but as he looked back at himself, outside of the mirror, he was that small wasn't he?

Was he always that small? He thought he had been bigger...older.

He pulled his mind away from his thoughts, he didn't want to think right now, or ever, ever again.

Tugging his civilian clothes off, his eyes drifted to the scars lacing his body, the small ones, the large ones, the faded ones, the puffy ones.

The ones caused by grandfather, the ones caused by mother, any others felt so unimportant.

He pulled on his Robin suit, a long familiar vigilante staring back at him in the mirror, the only thing that felt familiar anymore.

But even with that comfort, his mind drifted back to his scars, he was right...

They do not love him, how could they?

He had been left, and he will again, by everyone, forever, over, and over, again.

He tries so hard to push those thoughts out of his mind, he knows he should not listen to him, knows it's dumb, that he shouldn't believe a word he says, but he can't help it.

He knew he was right anyway...

Damian's nails dug into his forearm until he was sure he left dents in his skin, he just needed a distraction right now, his hand fell from his arm as he entered the Batcave.

Word count: 2369

#dc #damian wayne #batboys #dick grayson #batfam #batfam angst #batfamily #duke thomas #cassandra cain #Damian angst #Damian wayne angst #hurt/comfort #fanfiction #cross posted on ao3 #robins are meant to fly how did you lose your wings? ao3 #robins are meant to fly how did you lose your wings?

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crows-sleepy · 4 months ago

Text

Summary: A tear rolled down his cheek, falling and landing to the floor under him, he didn't cry loudly like most children his age do, it was silent, better that way.

But it wasn't best that way, he shouldn't be crying at all, he was not a child, he was an heir, he could not, even for a second risk falling that far.

Or, Damian's past ia always there no matter how badly anyone wishes it wasn't

Or or, Damian angst in which league standards make sure no one can ever know he's not alright, but they do

Title: Robin's are meant to fly, how did you lose your wings?

Chapter one, also on ao3 under the same name, will be updated regularly

★

Tap, tap, tap

Click, click, click

Tick, tick, tick

In the living room of the manor, Tim's foot tapped repeatedly against the floor as his leg quickly bounced with anxiety, the only other noises being the ticking of the ever turning clock, and the clicking of Jason unloading and reloading his guns, looking like he was about a second away from punching whatever was closest to him.

So on the couch sat Tim, a long empty cup of coffee in hand, next to him sat Dick, so eerily silent, he had never been this quiet, the oldest's pale blue gaze bore into the smooth wood of the floor, his hands clasped so tightly together his knuckles were white, as he sat deep in thought, and Jason in a plush arm chair across from the two, a couple guns on hand.

'2:00 pm'

The clock had read, two, only an hour and a half until Damian came home from school.

Jason let out an aggressive huff of irritation, slamming his gun down on the table.

"What the hell is up with the demon brat?"

Jason's loud, angry tone rang out to his brother's.

Tim sighed heavily, exhaustion and even concern seeping from his body language, he placed his empty cup down on the coffee table in front of him.

"If we knew that, this wouldn't be happening would it?"

Tim had snipped back.

"Both of you stop it, this isn't getting us anywhere.."

Dick spoke through a sigh, unclasping his hands to run one through his hair.

"Well I don't suppose you have any better ideas, Dickie bird?"

Jason had asked, his tone sarcastic as ever, irritation clear in his voice, something was wrong with Damian, something was really wrong, and they wanted, no needed, to find out what it was.

Dick had paused to think, that seemed to be the only thing he knew to do about this, he needed to think this over, think Dick, think, you want to ask him but he just shuts off, you can't scare the kid...

But then he spoke.

"We can't talk to him about it, we all know he isn't going to say anything if we just come right out and ask, we need to think this through."

Think this through? Is that all you know how to do? What a crappy older brother, can't even figure out what's wrong with Damian.

"Dick's right, plain out asking him isn't working, we need to be more careful about this, or he'll start trying harder to pretend like nothing's wrong."

Tim had agreed, his tone thoughtful.

"Let's go over everything, what have you two noticed about Damian recently?"

Dick offered, they needed to get everything together, if they went without knowing everything Damian would surely tear them down just as fast as they had gotten up.

Jason scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"That he's a damn brat."

"Jason."

Dick gritted the name out scoldingly.

"We have to take this seriously."

Dick spoke with exasperation and worry sinking through his voice, and Jason must have heard it to, given how quickly he caved.

"Kid's been getting hurt more on patrol, it's not like him, letting himself get all scraped up over nothing."

Jason spoke as he gave in, Tim nodded as Jason spoke, before his own voice rang into the air.

"I noticed that too, but that's not where it started, Damian seems distracted, upset even, something's wrong."

Dick didn't necessarily feel any better at his little brother's words, guilt and concern flooded his gut swarming and swallowing him alive. How hadn't he noticed this sooner? Why hadn't he been there to stop it before whatever Damian is upset about happened? Why did he have to be such a bad brother...

But he couldn't focus on those feelings right now, he needed to focus on Damian, he needed to focus on helping him before anything, and compiling this information just might help.

"Has he said anything that could show what he was upset about?"

Dick had wondered worriedly to his younger brothers. Tim shakes his head, looking disappointed, Jason grumbles to himself under his breath.

"As if that stubborn brat would say anything.."

Dick stayed silent after that, no one had any idea what happened? Why was Damian so set to hide it?

Click

The sound of the front door opening was the only thing that pulled them all out of their thoughts, Damian stepping into the hallway of the manor, he wasn't visible yet, but his small footsteps could be heard against the wooden floor of the manor.

"Hey, Dami-"

Dick had called out gently to the boy, who hadn't even seemed to hear him, walking through the hallway past the doorway of the living room, his lips fallen in a small frown as his gaze watched the floor and lower parts of the walls, anywhere but up as he climbed the stairs.

Dick rather quickly fell silent, his words leaving him in that moment, Jason looked even more pissed if that was possible, and Tim looked utterly confused and frustrated, but Dick, just felt something well up in him, concern, worry.

What was happening? It wasn't unusual for Damian to ignore him, or anyone for that matter, but this was weird...

★

Damian walked up the staircase like he had hundreds of times before, but this time felt wrong, so wrong.

Why was it wrong? This is how it was supposed to be, mother wanted you here, Damian, you want you here.

But the thoughts wouldn't leave his mind, of course he wanted to be here, he loved it here-

Loved?

When had that happened? He wasn't supposed to love anything.

He wasn't supposed to be like this, so why was he? Why did he have to be so soft recently? Mother would surely be so disappointed, grandfather would truly kill him...what about father? What would father think?

THUD

Damian's foot slipped from the step as he tumbled down, grabbing onto the railing, pulling his arm painfully as he held himself up with only the railing to help, Damian heard the shuffling in the living room, how could he not?

The way Grayson, or maybe, maybe, even Todd or Drake shot up to come over, but he couldn't face them at the moment, he couldn't let them know how foolish he was being.

Falling down the steps just because he was distracted, he knew better than that, he should know better than that.

He quickly pushed himself to his feet, rushing up to his room, it's not like he was hurt anyway, so it didn't matter.

Why would it matter?

He's fought through worse, he should be able to just walk through this, it was a fall, a stumble, nothing of importance, in the league it wouldn't have mattered, in fact he may have even been punished for it, for being imperfect, why were things so different here?

He didn't know what to do..it was all so different, he had been here long enough to be used to it, and he was, he was used to it but he couldn't be anymore, this was wrong, he was wrong, so, so wrong.

He was a failure, he was weak, he was something he shouldn't be, he was human, and oh, how scary that was...

Sat in front of the door, his bag dropping near him, his knees pulled up to his chest, he buried his face in his knees, his arms wrapped around himself.

Why was he doing this? It was pitiful, disgusting...if mother saw-

Mother wouldn't see, she didn't know, she couldn't know, he couldn't be punished if she never knew he was breaking a rule, it would be like all the other rules he's broken without her supervision.

No one could know about the weakness he was showing right now, it was pathetic, horrid, he was a terrible son, a terrible family member.

He was soiling the name of their family by being so weak, he wasn't supposed to be like this.

This isn't why he was born, he could never be a child, he had to be an heir.

A tear rolled down his cheek, falling and landing to the floor under him, he didn't cry loudly like most children his age do, it was silent, better that way.

But it wasn't best that way, he shouldn't be crying at all, he was not a child, he was an heir, he could not, even for a second risk falling that far.

Word count: 1422

#dc #damian wayne #dick grayson #timothy drake #tim drake #jason todd #batfam #bat family #damian angst #damian wayne angst #hurt/comfort #angst #dc angst #batfam angst #dick grayson is a good big brother #batboys

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