#seeing his arm under running water from the shower nearly gave me hives

[cheswirls]

i don't keep up w spy x family regularly so i end up reading ~10 chapters all at once which i think is a good thing bc if i had to wait week to week during some of these intense arcs i would go insane

[mymoonagedaydream]

Only the Good Die Young (Part 4)

Summary: You tried hard to believe that Bucky was a changed man, but he made it difficult

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Language, anti-religious sentiment throughout, harmful relationship with parents

Author's Note: Alright, I’ve flaked. My different-song-per-part ambitions were too high, I flew too close to the sun. I’m so sorry Billy.

---

You buried your face in his neck.

Everything he’d said was spiralling through your mind. You knew your parents well enough to know that staying with Bucky for much longer meant losing them forever. You didn’t want to go back but, if you stayed away and things didn’t work out, there was a chance you’d end up completely alone.

Bucky was a risk, a huge one. You wanted to trust him. You wanted so badly to believe that he was everything he appeared to be.

So you did.

A leap of faith. You were good at faith.

You pulled your head up, coming face to face with him. ‘I would like to get very, very drunk.’

‘Me too.’ He went to get up, but stopped suddenly and looked back at you. ‘You ever been hammered before?’

You shrugged with one shoulder, reluctant to admit further inexperience. ‘Communion wine is pretty strong stuff.’

‘Jesus. I almost feel bad, enabling sin like this.’ He sauntered to the kitchen and rifled through the cupboards, grinning in your direction when he found a half-empty bottle of tequila. ‘Almost.’

The golden liquid burned your throat as you took shot after shot, the warm glow in your chest getting stronger with every sip. This was fucking brilliant, why had you never tried it before?

‘So, here’s the plan.’ You could see that Bucky was at least a little tipsy, he’d been matching every one of your shots with three of his own. ‘I make enough money fixing bikes to keep the flat and feed us, so you can quit that fucking college course and find something you actually want to do.’

You paused for a second, processing his words. ‘Are you asking me to move in with you?’

‘Are you turning me down?’

You grinned and shook your head, making a mental note to reconfirm that in the morning when he was sober. You had hoped that he’d at least let you stay with him for the summer, but knowing that he was willing to put up with you more long-term quelled some deep anxiety you’d been harbouring for days.

You shifted your tone, trying your best to look as sober and sincere as possible. ‘Buck. You said you just want someone to talk to, right?’ He nodded, half-smirking and pushing some hair behind your ear. ‘So talk. You know so much about me, I want to know about you.’

‘What you wanna know?’

‘Tell me about your parents.’

His eyes wandered away from yours and he dropped his hand to your shoulder, wincing a little while he strung his words together. ‘Well you’ve met my dad, he’s no different now than he always was. The only time I ever hear from my ma is when she needs money. God knows what for, I don’t ask.’

‘I’m really sorry, I can’t imagine what they put you through.’

You’d never seen him so subdued. You almost felt bad for putting a damper on the evening, but you got the impression that Bucky had never spoken to anyone about this stuff before, drunk or sober.

‘Fucked me up for a long time, I did a lot of bad stuff.’ You reached out and squeezed his free hand as he was speaking, prompting his gaze to fix back on you. ‘But I don’t want to be that person anymore.’

‘You’re a good guy Buck.’ You gave him a wide smile. ‘Plus, after all those Sundays at church, the big guy owes me a couple favours. I can get that slate of yours wiped clean, no problem.’

He narrowed his eyes at you, the warm glow returning to your chest as you watched his mouth curl back into that familiar smirk. ‘You’re buzzed, ain’t ya?’

‘Should I slow down?’

‘Nope.’ He poured you both another drink. ‘Speed up.’

You didn’t ask about the things he’d done, you didn’t need to know. It was in the past, and he regretted it. That’s all that mattered to you.

The tequila was gone far too quickly. Both of you raided the cupboards again, finding a nearly empty bottle of triple sec, three cans of cider and a bottle with Russian writing that contained something resembling paint stripper.

A few hours and all that booze later, you and Bucky found yourselves tangled around each other on the bed, nursing your slowly developing headaches.

‘You’re a terrible influence, Barnes.’ You croaked into his chest.

‘I’m barely even getting started darlin.’

---

The first thing you felt in the morning was dizziness. Even before you’d opened your eyes, you knew the room was spinning around you. You adjusted yourself a little, relieved when you felt Bucky’s arms still wrapped around you and his chest against your cheek. Scooching upwards, eyes still screwed shut, you brought your face level with his.

He stirred, croaking faintly. ‘Still here. Haven’t run away yet.'

‘I feel like there’s a bee hive inside my head.’

‘Your first hangover.’ He chuckled. ‘We should celebrate. Breakfast?’

‘I’m never eating again. Or drinking. Or… moving.’

He started wriggling. ‘Well, either you move or I piss the bed.’

You flopped onto your back, the movement making your brain rattle inside your head, as Bucky scuttled to the bathroom. You started drifting back to sleep, only to be unceremoniously woken when you were hoisted off the bed and carried you through to the front room. He made breakfast while you lay on the couch, feeling sorry for yourself. You managed a few reluctant mouthfuls and a pint of water.

‘I’ve been thinking.’ Bucky piped up whilst washing the dishes. ‘When you feel a bit better we should go back to the flat. I know it’s close to your parents, but at least my dad doesn’t have keys to it.’

You considered for a second, weighing up whether you were more intimidated by your parents or his. ‘That’s fine with me. Whatever you think is best, Buck.’

---

The two of you left the trailer the next morning. You were still feeling pretty ropey, but you were at least able to walk six feet without getting dizzy. In truth, you were pretty happy to be getting away from the trailer. Aside from the stained walls and crappy shower, you hadn’t felt safe there since Bucky’s dad had burst in the other night. Christ knows what else that man was capable of.

Somehow, at some point during your first day back at the flat, Bucky had convinced you it’d be a good idea for the two of you to go out that night. He suggested his usual haunt, a bar you’d never heard of despite living in that town all your life.

It was a dive bar. You’d never been to a dive bar before, you weren’t even really sure what it meant, but as soon as you saw the outside of this place you knew. There was a flickering neon sign advertising Miller High Life above the door and bikes as far as the eye could see.

Some extremely intimidating clientele eyed the two of you as you approached, giving a gruff chuckle when you brushed past them to get to the entrance. Bucky enthusiastically greeted a few guys who were already inside. One of them you vaguely recognised from school, but the others looked quite a bit older.

You were so far out of your comfort zone in this place, every muscle in your body felt tense and you were convinced that dozens of dirty looks were being thrown your way.

‘What’ll it be then sweetheart?’ Your eyes followed the voice to a tall, brawny blonde with freakishly wide shoulders and a crooked smile.

Your mouth opened slightly as you scurried around trying to figure out what kind of alcohol was sold in a place like this, before Bucky piped up. ‘She’ll have my usual.’

You just nodded, keeping quiet for fear of coming across as the naïve religious freak in front of his friends. A few seconds later you found yourself with a pint of beer in one hand and a shot of whiskey in the other.

‘Boilermaker.’ Bucky whispered, close to your ear. ‘Proper booze, gotta make up for all that shit the other night.’

One of the friends led you towards a cramped booth with a sticky table. You found yourself tucked in between Bucky and the blonde, the former’s arm circled tight around your waist, hand resting possessively on your thigh. You didn’t speak much, only when spoken to- that was until the blonde started cross-examining you.

‘No offence, but you weren’t exactly what I was expecting.’

Great. This shit again.

‘Leave it, yeah?’ Bucky’s tone was friendly, but you could sense a hint of warning.

‘Like I said, no offence.’ He smirked. ‘She just looks a little suburban, y’know.’

Bucky got more agitated. ‘What the hell’s that s’posed to mean?’

‘Jesus, chill out Barnes. She’s not bothered, are ya?’ He nudged you hard, pushing you into Bucky’s side. You just smiled politely, a pathetic attempt to diffuse.

Progressively more irate words were thrown back and forth between them, but everyone else around the table was seemingly unfazed by the argument. It escalated quickly, resulting in blonde reaching over to yank Bucky up by the lapels, spilling a pint of beer all over you in the process. Buck shoved him off and helped you out of the booth, apologising as he ushered you towards the door.

Blonde was shouting after you, following you to the door. Just as you thought the two of you might make it out of there intact, Bucky wheeled round and punched him square in the mouth. He got a swift jab to the stomach in return and the two of them crashed into the bar, arms and legs flying in every direction.

Finally, after intervention by a couple huge biker guys, you managed to pull Bucky away. As you pushed open the front door, flashing blue lights flooded the bar. You squinted, waiting for your eyes to adjust. Cops. One of them approached you and Bucky, the same one who came to the flat after your parents reported you kidnapped.

‘Told you your time would come, boy.’ He smirked. ‘James Barnes, you’re under arrest on suspicion of assault.’

Everything said after that was drowned out by a high pitched whining that started in your ears. Buck was dragged away and shoved into the back of a car, he shouted something in your direction before the door closed but you didn’t catch it. You were reeling with shock. They pulled away, lights fading as they disappeared down the street.

There you were, completely alone. Standing in the gutter outside a dive bar, trembling and covered in beer, playing perfectly into your parents’ predictions.

What the fuck were you supposed do? Go sleep on Bucky’s doorstep, hoping he’d get released before morning? How many more times were you going to have to do that?

You couldn’t help but feel so, so stupid. You’d leapt, fallen and landed flat on your face. Maybe your mother wasn’t exaggerating, maybe she was right all along. Christ, maybe you were just some naïve, sheltered Christian kid in way over your head.

You had no choice. You went home.

---

Waking up back in your bed sent a wave of depression crashing over you. You could still smell stale beer and cigarettes, making you feel even worse.

Only your father had been awake when you timidly knocked on the door the night before. He’d stepped aside and let you in without much more than a stern look, but you were dreading having to face your mother this morning.

You sat up, the motion kick-starting yet another hangover, and walked to the bathroom. Switching on the light, you stared into the mirror and were greeted with someone you barely recognised. Your eyes were dark, bloodshot and puffy, your hair was wild from days of washing it with shower gel in the trailer’s crappy shower, your clothes from the night before were still hanging off you, stained and reeking- but you looked alive. And you felt it.

The doorbell rang.

You ran to the top of the stairs, only to see your mother standing in the doorway, face to face with Bucky. He looked awful, cuts and bruises littering his face. You stepped back slightly to hide yourself from his view.

‘Get off my property or I’m calling the police.’ Well she hadn’t changed while you’d been gone.

‘Is she here?’

Silence. You peeked round the corner to see your mother whip her phone from her pocket. Bucky shouted your name. Fuck, so much of you wanted to just run down the stairs and throw your arms round him, but you knew there was a good chance you’d just end up here again a week or so down the line.

‘Fine.’ He backed away, holding his arms out. ‘Y’know, sooner or later, it comes down to faith. Someone’s gonna help her see through all your bullshit, I might as well be the one.’

He limped down the steps and was gone from your view. Dragging yourself back into your room, you looked at your phone for the first time that morning. Twenty-five texts and eight missed calls from Bucky. Taking a deep breath, you typed a message to him.

Meet me on the bench at noon tomorrow.

---

As you turned into the park, you saw him sitting there. He looked tense, elbows resting on his thighs while he ran his fingers through his hair. As soon as he spotted you approaching he stood up, but you couldn’t bring yourself to hug him, so you just perched on the other end of the bench silently. He obviously didn’t take the hint, moving closer and sitting right next to you.

You heard him chuckle. ‘Blink twice if we’re being bugged.’

You lifted your eyes, scanning them over his wounds. His knuckles weren’t even fully healed from the fight with his father. He was just cuts upon bruises upon scars and you weren’t sure if he’d ever stop adding to them.

His face dropped when he saw your obvious distress. ‘I’m really sorry y/n. I fucked up, bad.’

You just nodded, taking deep breaths in an attempt to keep your thoughts straight.

‘I know I struggle to control my anger sometimes, but you gotta believe I’m getting better. I’m not the person I used to be.’

‘You keep saying that.’ You couldn’t meet his eyes, too scared to see the hurt your words would cause him. ‘Then you do shit like this? I’m really struggling here, I-’

‘I know I’m not perfect, but I’m trying, now more than ever. Because of you.’

‘What happened the other night... I was so scared, Buck. I barely even made it out of the house to get here today.’ Tears were clouding your vision as you felt his hands grasp your firmly. ‘I can’t do that again.’

---

Part Five

---

@shawnie--jo @brilliantbellesoares @noiralei @bebeyeni @kingkassam @newyorkgoddess  @livingoffsavvyillusions 

I’ve bolded the names that wouldn’t let me tag, sorry guys

---

[chief-of-restless-hearts]

Chapter 3: Oaths

.  .  .

Only in the sensible blackness did he remember that he couldn’t have run. It would have killed them. Slade might not even have chased him if he escaped the base. He might have let him run, and then let him return to the Tower to find four dead friends.

Dick drifted in and out of consciousness, losing count of the slow, bleary hours.

Time crawled without any way of measuring it, but the next time he stirred awake his stomach was pinched and complaining. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, his mouth was sandpaper dry, and his head felt stuffed full of throbbing wads of cotton.

He needed to get into the bathroom, for the water, to smear the cold wetness over his face until the crusting blood washed away, to gulp it down until it cleared his throat and his head.

But he felt so heavy, and he didn’t need to do that just yet.

He could wait...

and let his eyelids fall closed...just one more time...

 . . .

 The next time his dry eyes drifted open, he forced himself to move. It wasn’t quite as painful as the night before, but as he pushed up onto all fours he had to stop and wait for a cold shadow of dizziness to pass before rising the rest of the way and making his way haltingly over to the door that he knew would be locked. He checked it anyway.

He pressed his forehead against what was definitely a locked door and waited for the room to stop turning before making his way to the little bathroom.

Everything seemed gray through the mask lenses’ artificial light, and the mirror seemed almost black--save for the glowing white eyes that stared back at him. That at least was a relief. He pulled his gloves off with clumsy fingers, twisted the faucet, and plunged his face under the icy stream, gulping it down until his stomach threatened to send it all up again. Only then did he scrub away the flakes of blood caked along his left jaw and cheek, and pry his mask away from his face just far enough to splash water against his still hot, dry eyes. Knowing Deathstroke, he could be watching even now, even in the dark.

He braced his forearms against the porcelain sink, the water only just beginning to cut the weight of exhaustion away.

It was sinking in that for the first time since this ‘apprenticeship’ began, he didn’t have his hours dictated to him. With that door locked, he didn’t have to go out, listen to Slade, obey Slade, and pretend to not care. In theory, he could now do whatever he wanted.

In theory.

His room was bare, without even an assignment to distract from the dim silence. But at least it was better than having to look Slade in the eye after...that.

He took another chest-stabbing breath, willing himself to relax, and it was in that silence that his memory conjured up Slade’s voice as clearly as if it had been spoken into his ear.

“It’s as rigged over as you are.”

With ragged, painful motions he stripped off the top of his uniform and flung it onto the floor before starting on the pants. When he wore only his undershirt and shorts he sank down against the edge of the shower base. The underground labyrinth was as chilly as ever, and he rubbed his fingers briskly over his bare arms. He could tolerate the cold if it meant Slade didn’t get to read his system like a book.

But there was a blanket on the cot. He made his way across the room and settled under the blanket in the position that hurt his ribs the least.

It really was quiet, wasn’t it? He could hear his own breathing and the low steady thud in his chest, but beyond that the room was as soundless as a sealed tomb. Though he knew better than to think that Slade would keep him in there long enough for it to become a literal one, Dick began psychologically steeling himself for what could be a hungry few days. If necessary he could slow his breathing and heartbeat to essentially hibernate through the empty hours, but until then, all he really wanted to do was sleep.

  . . .

  He managed to ruffle Jason’s mop of coarse black curls before the kid ducked away with a growl of protest. Laughing, Dick dropped down beside Jason on the edge of the tower roof. The kid scooted away to put a full three feet between them.

Despite the mere two years between them in age, Jason stood a full head below Dick in stature. The teasing over that had stopped after Bruce explained that it was due to childhood malnutrition.

Jay scowled down at the trees surrounding Titans’ tower, but his lips were twitching treacherously.

With a renewed grin, Dick leaned forward just enough to catch his eye. “You know, we could do this more often if you’d just come over to the Tower. It was fun today, wasn’t it? Being part of the team?”

Jason’s masked gaze shifted away from him. “He doesn’t let me go out alone.”

Dick’s grin slipped. “Oh.”

He watched Jason fiddle idly with the corner of his cape; it was the same butter yellow that his had been before his work with the Titans had driven him to make a few alterations to his Robin costume. It still felt strange seeing his colors on someone else, even if he had grown past the discomfort.

Jason was a good kid. It had hardly been his fault when Bruce suddenly decided that his first Robin wasn’t doing the job well enough anymore.

“...But he might if you were in Gotham,” Jason continued suddenly. “If you came I could show you some cool tunnels I found by the docks. He never lets me explore with him, but together we could...” his gaze slanted toward Dick again, and he shrugged, “y’know, have fun.”

Dick could hear the barely reined eagerness in his voice.

He should have agreed. He should have gone home. But just the thought of facing Bruce again was enough to shut that option away altogether.

He kicked back against the Tower wall. “I dunno. It’s just that the HIVE called a hit on the team recently, so we’ve got this mercenary to deal with. I’m still working on a plan to draw him out, and...I think I must have mentioned some of that earlier.”

“No. You didn’t.”

“Well, I promise to stop by as soon as I can, li’l wing.”

He reached to ruffle Jay’s hair again, but the boy slapped his hand away and pushed to his feet.

“You know, Bruce said that we’d be brothers,” Jason bit out. “That’s a real joke. It’s been two years and I barely even know you.”

Something gripped Dick’s throat. “Jay--”

"I should get going,” Jason interrupted, not even looking at him. “Bruce and I are planning on going to a Knights’ game tonight. Unless he’s busy too.”

Jason leapt off the roof, arms spread like a bird as he fell. Dick jolted to his feet, to call after him, to catch him--but below the tower was nothing but a black void, he couldn't see Jason anymore, and all of a sudden, he knew that he wasn’t on the tower.

He never had been.

Dick’s phone was ringing. But he didn’t have his phone, not anymore. Still, he took it out of his pocket.

The caller ID said Jason Todd.

He tried to answer. He couldn’t.

The ringing finished, transitioning to the answering message.

“So...hey. It’s been a while, so this is me, calling that number you gave me. You must be busy or something, but I wanted to ask if maybe, when you have time later, we could hang out...or something. So, uh...see ya, I guess.”

*Beep*

The phone was ringing again. Agitatedly, he tried again to answer, futilely jamming his finger into the button repeatedly until the next answering message began.

“Hey. Last time didn’t work out, I get it, but Bruce and I are going to go up to the cabin in Vermont next week, and he said that I should ask if you’re interested in coming with. If you’re still busy with the Titans...that’s cool. No biggie. Bye.”

*Beep*

Dick’s throat tightened with guilt and foreboding. He nearly screamed in frustration as the ringing resumed, until the message brought Jason’s voice again, this time quieter, more tense. Dick stopped breathing.

“Dick. I...need to ask you something. Do this for me and I swear I’ll never ask for anything again, but there’s something that I need to do. I can do it alone, but I was wondering if...maybe --Oh hell, nevermind.”

*Beep*

Dick’s heart was hammering in his ears.

Oh God. Not this. Not again. No.

The ringing came and passed again, uninterrupted.

“I called, Dick. Before Joker, before I even left the manor. And I’ll bet that Bruce still doesn’t know.”

This time, the voice came from a shadow he could just make out through the inky black, caped in butter yellow with gleaming white accusing eyes.

The ringing began again and this time--finally--when Dick’s desperate finger slammed on the button, it stopped. He pulled the phone to his ear.

“Jason?” he asked, breathlessly.

Shrill, manic laughter screamed into his ear, almost but not quite drowning out the gut-lurching crunch of metal slamming into flesh and bone.

He yanked the phone away from his ear, hand slapped over his mouth and fighting back the bile that was pushing up his throat.

Jason’s voice from the shadows, again.

“‘Brothers’. What a joke.”

  . . .

  He jolted awake with Jason’s name in his raw throat. He was on his side facing the wall, a blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders, and gradually his true location sank in. He pressed his hands over his eyes and waited for the lingering sensations of the dream to pass. The adrenaline. The tremors.

His sandpaper tongue and twinging abdomen were the only indicators for how long he had slept. It had been too long. He made himself return to the sink for water. Once satisfied, he turned on the shower.

He jumped back at the sharp hiss of the water, only to flush with embarrassment. He sincerely hoped that Slade hadn’t seen that.

The water, though tepid as always, still helped soothe the bruising patched across his torso, back, and jaw. The water cut off abruptly after five minutes, and sullenly Dick stepped out and scrubbed the damp out of his hair with the towel on the rack.

Unable and unwilling to sleep any longer, he dressed and put himself through a series of bends and stretches to gauge how far he could push through the pain.

Far enough, he decided once sweat was pouring from his temples after what should have been a basic warm-up. He would be easy pickings next time Slade decided to teach him a lesson, and that thought brought a prickling of the old anger back. He was sick of being treated like a student, a toy, and a prisoner in turns. It was like the man couldn’t make up his mind.

He sat stiffly against the cot with the silence still ringing in his ears, and waited. Perhaps he should have been using the time to ruminate over a new plan, but for now his mind was a blank.

He waited, and dozed, and tried not to dream.

 . . .

 A clack jolted him back to consciousness and the door swung open to pour blinding white light into his eyes.

He flung his arm across his eyes, hastily deactivating the night-vision lenses, and peered through the fading pain to see a familiar silhouette standing out stark against the doorway. He stood stiffly before Slade had a chance to tell him to and forced himself to glare into the cutting brightness.

“Get dressed,” said Slade. “I’ll be waiting in the training room.”

“I’m not fighting you like this!” Dick shouted before Slade could leave, hating how his voice cracked at the end. “You’ve already made your point.”

Slade paused, half-turned in the doorway. Dick glimpsed the man’s profile; he was unmasked.

“Who said anything about fighting?” Slade asked dryly. “I’m not going to repeat myself, Renegade. Do as you’re told.”

Slade left the door ajar, and Dick stared after him for a few seething moments before snatching his (still torn) uniform off the bathroom floor. When he stepped into the hallway, the floor seemed to sway under him. He braced against the wall just in time. He hadn’t felt this weak for a long, long time.

He made his way down the seemingly endless hall and entered the gym, half expecting to see Slade waiting on the mat, no matter what he had said. But he wasn’t. He was standing on the right side of the room beside one of the work tables, with something in his hands.

Deathstroke’s sword. Dick recognized it by the elaborate brass hilt as the one Slade always wore strapped across his back. Fending off a twinge of foreboding, Dick approached.

Slade lifted the naked sword so that it rested across his open palms and then extended it toward Dick, who glanced uncertainly between Slade and the weapon.

“Place your right hand over the blade,” Slade instructed, and waited for Dick to comply. “Now,” he continued smoothly, “I’m going to straighten a few things out for you: You are my apprentice now, not Batman’s. You take orders from me alone. You are no longer a Titan, neither are you a sidekick dressed like a parrot, and you will only continue to make life more difficult for the both of us until you learn to accept that and afford me a little trust.”

Dick’s glare hardened. “You don’t honestly expect me to--”

“Trust will come in its own time, but until then, I want you to learn the weight of your word, once given.”

Suddenly knowing exactly what Slade wanted him to do, Dick tried to pull his hand away from the sword. Slade’s hand clamped over his, pinning it in place. Dick pinched his lips together and tried to think.

“What ‘word’?” he snapped.

“You know exactly what I mean.”

 . . .

  “This is the oath you took?”

Bruce paused, froze, for just an instant. “We’ll share this vow,” he said at last, and if that wasn’t exactly an answer Dick was far beyond caring. “If there is anything about it you would like to change--”

“No.” His fingers trembled over the paper with reverence and anticipation. “It’s perfect,” he whispered.

 . . .

 With frustration Dick waited for yet another wave of dizziness to pass.

“So,” Slade prompted. “Do I have your word?”

Dick met his gaze with as much defiance as he could muster. “Those words won’t mean anything. Only one thing is keeping me here, and it isn’t words.”

 . . .

  Batman stood over his bed, holding a single candle.

Dick’s clock read three minutes to midnight. He didn’t even think to change out of his pajamas before bounding after Bruce through the hall, down the stone stairwell, and into the cave that was dimmer than he’d ever seen it. All the way down, the oath worked silently over his lips and then, over a fraying Bible and the light of that single, gleaming candle, he raised his right hand and looked into Batman’s piercing white eyes.

“I’m ready.”

 . . .

 “Maybe you don’t understand the importance of a vow yet, but one day you will,” Slade said. “Now, say it. What is your name?” When Dick stiffened, Slade wryly clarified, “Your title.”

A moment passed, and Dick knew by the shift in Slade’s expression that something in his eyes must have betrayed his answer.

“Robin,” he answered, and the conviction in his voice was the first solid thing he’d felt in days.

Slade’s hand whipped across his face.

“I’d rethink that answer if I were you,” Slade hissed. The clamping grip over Dick’s hand returned, this time squeezing until the bones of his hand ground together, dangerously close to snapping. Dick held his cry behind his clenched teeth, refusing to break eye contact. “...Or do you need some more time alone to think it over?”

“My name,” Dick repeated, voice level but dangerously tight, “is Robin.”

Without another word the sword ripped out from under his hand, slicing across his palm.

This time Dick didn’t resist as Slade grabbed his upper arm, hauled him down the hall, and flung him like a ragdoll onto the floor of his room. His conviction barely wavered, even as the door slammed shut and locked behind him with a finality that stirred up dread in his gut.

He took one deep breath, let it out, and took another. He activated his night vision and set about cleaning and wrapping his hand with the med kit under his cot. He could handle this, and it was worth it. While in this room, he couldn’t be Slade’s tool. He couldn’t hurt his friends. He couldn’t steal, or kill, or break any of the vows he had made to Bruce and to himself.

In here, he was buying precious time, time that the Titans or the League or Bruce could use to sort out this mess before it got any worse.

He could handle this.

 . . .

 He couldn’t sleep.

He waited, even used the slowed breathing techniques he’d been taught to use in extreme emergency to bring him close to a coma, but the closest he came to sleep was dreams that he flickered in and out of so quickly and so frequently that it was difficult to discern between them.

“Enough, Jason,” he whispered under his breath. The physical sound touched his ears, pulling him just an inch closer to reality. “I know that I messed up. I should have been your brother, and I should have protected you. I KNOW.”

He flinched as his own shout rang shrilly through his skull--and through his ribs, and then he was coughing, uncontrollably even though the pain spiked through him like claws through his chest, the suffocating fluid wasn’t in his throat it was deep inside his chest and no matter how hard he coughed he couldn’t get it out, he couldn’t breathe...

He didn’t know how much time passed before he was laying limp on his side, sucking in shuddering, painful, but hungry breaths. Slowly, his heartbeat stopped thundering against his ribs.

He should never have left either of them, not the way he had, and the guilt of it clung to the inside of his chest, just as suffocating. But...Bruce had been...different, after Jason came. Suddenly nothing his first Robin did had been good enough for him, Bruce had changed and he still didn’t know why, whether it was Gotham or...or him...

Moving into Titans Tower had been his choice, his hot blooded retaliation against Bruce’s passive-aggressive maneuvering, but he had wanted Bruce to make him come back home. Or ask. Anything but the disconnect that happened instead. In the end it had been Alfred who came to see him, bringing only a question of why.

Slade wasn’t as wrong as Dick wanted him to be, but Dick hadn’t been the only one abandoned. Because where had Dick been when Bruce needed him, when Jason needed him. And now Jason was six feet under and somehow Dick was buried even deeper, leaving Bruce alone, more alone than he’d been since Dick first met him.

When it ultimately came down to the question of blame, each time he torturously cycled through it the answer was always, always, anyone but Jason.

 . . .

 How many hours had it been, now? Twenty-four hours? Fifty?

Had Halloween passed yet?

Gar had been looking forward to trick-or-treating, wasting hours trying to convince Vic and Raven to come with him. Gar had never had the opportunity to go before, and his enthusiasm had blinded him to the realization that Vic would never agree to treat his cybernetic parts like a costume and that Raven would rather drop dead than put on the Batgirl costume he had bought her in a futile attempt at bribery. It probably hadn’t helped that Gar had been planning to go as himself.

Gar had even bought a Batman costume for Dick...who had been too busy to even consider wearing it.

At the time, he had been utterly preoccupied with his work--that had largely circulated around Red X. His futile plan to draw Slade’s attention by assuming the identity of a skilled thief. Stupidly, Dick had been following the logic that Deathstroke might seek out a replacement for his former partner, Ravager, the boy Deathstroke had cried over as he died at their feet.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Not only had Deathstroke been humoring him the entire time, when the Titans ultimately learned the truth they hadn’t understood at all.

He had made a mistake, he knew that now. But back then, all that wasted time had seemed the most important thing in the world.

Dick remembered Gar’s crestfallen reaction to his apologetic rejection, and winced.

Kory had of course embraced Gar’s plans with her usual wholehearted zeal. When Gar had given her the Wonder Woman costume he had picked out for her she had embraced the much shorter boy in a bone-crushing hug and proceeded to join him in pestering their teammates.

Dick had found it much harder to say no to her cajoling, faced with wide, hopeful green eyes that glimmered with unspoken concern...but he had done it anyway. It was already difficult enough to focus on the mission without her smiles turning him into a distracted, blushing mess.

Though a selfish part of him wanted his team’s first priority to be getting to the bottom of this charade...he did hope that Gar and Kory had still gone trick-or-treating.

Right now he wanted nothing more than to get back home to the Tower and apologize to all of them for being such an ass for at least the past month...but first he would need to get out.

He would get out. Of course he would get out.

Any time now would be good, he thought earnestly, with just a hint of panic as once again the walls pressed down on him from all sides, as though by sheer force of will he might get Raven to hear him.

A voice whispered back, but it wasn’t Raven’s.

“No one ever comes, Dick. No one.”

Dick pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and pressed his forearms against his ears. “Please, shut up,” he whispered. “Please.”

 . . .

 The crack of an opening door and the immediate onslaught of piercing brightness flooded his senses again before Slade’s hulking silhouette cut between him and the light.

Slade grabbed and hauled him upright and then out the door without speaking a word. Dick tripped over his own feet more than once, a blinding bout of dizziness nearly dropping him, but Slade’s iron hold on his arm kept pulling him along. His feet were a little more steady under him by the time they finally reached the gym.

He smelled the food on the worktable before he saw it, and the aroma curdled a confused mixture of nausea and desperation in his smarting stomach. He glimpsed sweet potatoes and stewed oats before forcing himself to look away.

Slade, masked this time, halted exactly where they had stood before. He reached over his shoulder, drew his sword from its sheath, and then slapped Dick’s bandaged hand down on the blade. Slade stared down at him until Dick forced his dry eyes upward.

He was so tired. He saw a chair behind Slade at the table, and wanted nothing more than to slump down into it, already drained by the brief walk from his room.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” Slade said coldly. “What is your name?”

Dick said nothing, his teeth clamped tightly shut. He wanted this over with. He wanted Slade to send him back into the dark. He also wanted to eat, and he wanted to spit into Slade’s one good eye. But mostly he was tired. He knew what his answer was, but this time he was too weary to say it.

“Do not make me wonder if I’m wasting my time on you,” Slade said in a frigid near-whisper. “Or did I not make it clear that your friends will only live as long as I have a use for you?”

Dick’s heart stuttered in his chest. For the first time he looked into Slade’s face, saw the man’s brow furrowed under the cloth mask, and fresh, almost-forgotten fear curled around his gut.

“I’ll do it,” he mumbled, gaze drifting down to his hand on the sword.

They were just words. It didn’t matter. Not really.

“Look me in the eye when you’re speaking to me.” Slowly, wearily, Dick obeyed the order. “Your name?” Slade prompted him.

He forced the name out. It felt like ripping something out of his chest, something he could never put back. I’m sorry, Jay. I’m sorry the title had to die with me.

“Renegade.”

“And what do you swear to do,” Slade asked, “on the lives of your friends?”

He could have sworn he could still smell the burning wick, feel the leather binding fraying under his fingers, still hear Bruce’s baritone voice overlaying his own as they spoke the oath together, ‘I swear to fight against crime and corruption, and never to swerve from the path of righteousness--’

“I swear to,” he swallowed, “serve as your apprentice.”

“And?”

“To follow your orders.” Words. Just words, he told himself, even as frustrated tears pricked at his eyes. “But--”

“No,” Slade barked. “No conditions. That isn’t how this deal of ours works.” Slade pulled the sword back and slid it back into its sheath. “We’re done,” he said shortly, and waved a hand toward the tray of food that Dick had given up on looking away from. “When you finish that there’s medication in the kitchen.”

Dick watched Slade walking away, fully confident that he had won, and what was left of Dick’s anger reached its boiling point.

“What about you?” he burst out. Slade stopped, and turned slowly. “If this is a deal, then what’s your oath?”

Slade surveyed him for a long moment before he spoke. “You have what I’ve already promised you, that I’ll teach and train you to the best of my ability...and that your life from now on will only be as difficult as you make it. You have my word on that. And I do keep my word, Renegade.”

He turned, then stopped as though something had occurred to him. “Oh, and I fixed you a new uniform top. You’ll be wearing it tomorrow night.” Slade grabbed something from the table beside him and tossed the black and orange bundle of kevlar beside the food tray before starting for the hall. “I’ll be going out tonight,” he called back. “If I were you, I’d use the time to ensure I was in shape for my first encounter with the HIVE.”

As soon as the doors closed behind Slade, Dick dropped like a stone into the chair by the table. His stomach was doing uncomfortable things at the sight of the food, and it was all he could do to make sure that he ate slowly enough to keep the food from forcing its way up again.

Finally he finished and leaned back in the chair. Slade had left an ice pack beside the tray; Dick carefully pressed it against his ribcage, and was musing over what medication he should take before proceeding with some semblance of a workout when Slade’s final words finally sank in.

The HIVE? They were going to ‘encounter’ the HIVE?

The one mystery that had haunted him beyond that of Deathstroke’s identity had been the HIVE’s location and intentions. The Titans had known that Ravager had been hired by the mysterious organization, but beyond that Dick hadn’t had a clue of where to start an investigation. That had left the team completely vulnerable to whatever attack might come next, and it had been driving him mad.

But then Deathstroke had proven himself a more immediate threat, and the organization had lost its priority.

What was Slade planning now? He had as good as said that first night that he planned to hold the HIVE accountable for what had happened to his son, and that he intended for Dick to help him do it. Well, that was one thing Dick would not object to.

Dick’s gaze drifted toward the new uniform lying on the table, forgotten until now. A little curious, he reached to pick it up

--only to drop it like a burning coal.

A familiar emblem, a golden ‘R’ that he hadn't expected to see again, was attached to the kevlar over his heart.

R, for Renegade.

  + - + - + - +

  A flurry of thin screeching and leathery wings heralded his return. Long, weary steps, hindered by the tattered cape tangling around his ankles, carried Batman from the landing bay toward the main computers and past the enshrined uniform.

His fingers skimmed a feather touch across the glass casing in answer to the youthful greeting whose deafening absence hollowed the cave out into a tomb, as it should. He settled heavily into the computer chair, and exhaled as much of the weight as would pass out of his lungs, while the gravity still dragged him down.

Familiar clipped footsteps approached his seat from behind, and then paused. “Welcome home, Master Bruce. I trust that you return uninjured?”

Bruce didn’t push back his cowl, didn’t turn. In keeping with their nightly routine, he activated the computer before Alfred would inquire further.

“Sir,” Alfred began again, hesitantly, “during your absence Lucius Fox made multiple attempts to contact you. I...must insist that you listen to what he had to say.”

“I’ll look into it,” Batman said, and his voice came out like gravel. He swallowed, and then out of basic duty, and debt, he forced out the rest. “...Thank you.”

Alfred opened his mouth briefly before resigning himself to pensively pinching his lips together.

Batman pretended not to notice.

Alfred’s concern was ironic, to say the least. If patrols had been ending with more injuries than usual, even Alfred must understand how little that mattered now. With that shrine erected in memory of a child’s life cut short while the father’s inexplicably lingered on, it was impossible to believe otherwise--or to be selfish enough to wish that the still-living child might return to the city that would only eat him alive too.

He prepared to review Gotham’s recent activity. It was inevitable that an excursion with the League, no matter how rare or how urgent, had resulted in him being cut off from his city. He had told the League to contact him for nothing less than an emergency of intergalactic proportions--and they had then proceeded to summon him for exactly that.

Grimly, he braced for the inevitable. The unanswered signals, the damage, the deaths...

An alert flashing across his screen interrupted his search, and in an instant he was viewing surveillance footage of a recent theft from Wayne Tower.

At his shoulder, Alfred sighed. “Perhaps the messages shall be unnecessary,” he said, a note of tension coloring his tone.

Batman didn’t have time to wonder why before the screen came to life. A figure in orange and black emerged from a hatch and darted across the rooftop--with the Teen Titans hot on his heels. At one end of the roof the figure halted, hand pressed to his ear, as if listening to an earpiece.

Bruce’s finger slammed down on the keyboard to freeze the screen. He zoomed in. The intruder was clearly a teenager, whose long dark bangs nearly obscured the domino mask that left his identity unmistakable.

Bruce lurched to his feet, shoving back his cowl, eyes glued to the screen as he searched desperately for a contradiction to what he already knew to be true.

But the recording played on, and Bruce watched as Dick took on his own team single-handedly, his attacks clearly restrained, yet marked with the ferocity of a battle he could not afford to lose. By the time the clip ended the Wayne sign’s lettering was scattered in smoking shambles across the roof, and Dick had vanished with the dissipating smoke, leaving Bruce with a hauntingly familiar hollow forming in his chest.

“Is the lad alright, sir?” Alfred asked softly.

Was he? Bruce should know, he should have watched his surviving son more closely because he recognized those colors, that pattern--

and, already, it was happening again.

[pixiealtaira]

Hives

Pairing: Kurt/Adam

part of Kadam week 2017

Hives

After a run in with Rachel’s taste in laundry detergents…or rather her ‘I heard that so-and-so used this type of detergent and it is way expensive and we have to order it online because Ohio doesn’t even carry it, it is so exclusive’ taste in detergents…way back in 10th grade the third week her knew her, which left him with a rash and itching for three weeks, Kurt never allowed Rachel do touch his stuff.  He eased up once, itched for another week and ended up with half his underwear a lovely lavender because Rachel didn’t think she needed to wash her new purple sweater by itself for a while. He tried banning her from using anything other than scent free mild as can be detergents, but that hadn’t worked at all, so he just banned her from his stuff.

He had not thought about the washable items in the rest of loft.

After the snow day, they had one of those ‘emergencies’ that made Kurt consider the mental abilities of both Rachel and Santana.

Rachel was supposed to have been doing dishes.   She was supposed to have done them the night before, she didn’t and so Kurt informed her that they had better be done before he got back from classes or she was doing dishes under his watch for the next month as he ran out the loft to make it to his classes.  He wasn’t a favored child, he couldn’t afford ‘mental’ days.  Santana saw movers across the way who had removed their shirts as they did their heavy lifting. Lesbian though she may be, Santana wasted no time opening the window and catcalling.  Rachel went running to watch as well…and drool.

The sink overflowed.  The sink overflowed and neither paid any attention to it until their feet at the window across the room started to get wet.

They ‘mopped up’ using every towel, dish towel, and blanket other than his in the loft.  Then to cover up that ridiculousness, Rachel washed it all…with a brand new ‘newest trend’ detergent she bought from an on-line store that was dubious at best, just because she heard Madame Tibideaux used it from one of the little trolls that followed her around like a lost puppy.  

The scent was so over powering that they then put everything in the dryer with citrusy dryer sheets hoping to cover the one with the other.  And sprayed air-fresheners and lit incense and candles.

Kurt had invited Adam home with him for the evening. They’d planned to work on a few mash-ups and then cuddle on the couch and watch TV.

Kurt should have turned them right around and gone off to Adam’s place the moment they walked in and his eyes started to itch, but Adam insisted that even though his eyes were itching as well, that he’d be fine.  However both assumed it was some sort of incense or something Rachel had burned searching for her inner eye to point her in the right direction for auditions. Kurt opened the windows to try to air out the loft and they sat in the kitchen area by the open window while they worked their mash-ups.  The irritant wasn’t too bad in the kitchen with the windows open.

However it wasn’t really spring yet, and it got chilly. Kurt and Adam decided to move to the sofa and pulled the fleece throw off the back to cuddle into while they watched “Are You Being Served” and Adam pointed out jokes Kurt missed.  Kurt had kept his sweater on, but Adam was wearing a long sleeved T-shirt and had pushed his sleeves up.

Adam started to fidget about ten minutes into the first episode they were watching.  He said he was fine when Kurt asked though, so Kurt just cuddled closer. By twenty minutes, though, Kurt’s neck had started itching and Adam was scratching his arms and sides and both their eyes were watering so badly that they couldn’t really watch the episode.  Kurt threw the blanket off and growled, meaning to stalk off to find Rachel and knew what she’d been burning in the loft.

He didn’t even manage a step.  He saw Adam before he could move.  Adam was covered in hives and scratching and his face was starting to swell.  Kurt grabbed the blanket and sniffed, coughing at the scent which was making his throat itch.  In the few second between sniffing the blanket and looking at Adam, Kurt could see the hives on Adams neck were more red and swollen and that Adam was starting to scratch at his neck and Kurt wasn’t certain if it was because his throat was swelling or not.

Kurt cursed and pulled Adam to his feet. He dragged him out the door and to the nearest urgent care health clinic that used a sliding scale for poor college kids.  They contemplated sending them elsewhere, and nearly had to as Adam’s breathing become labored. However they had the necessary meds there, which Kurt knew because it was where Brody got his allergy shots, which is how Kurt knew of the place in the first place, so the medical personnel decided to keep them there unless it turned into a ‘serious’ issue with ‘complications’.  Kurt worried and paced and called people while waiting.

Kurt called his dad and then sat by Adam’s side as the first shot they gave Adam helped enough that his breathing was normal within a half hour and the swelling in his face and neck went down. He called his boss because it was late and he doubted he’d make it in the next morning. He wasn’t leaving Adam alone even if they made it home before midnight. He called several Apples so they could explain to their teachers the next day that Kurt and Adam weren’t at school but would probably be back the next day but certainly by Monday.  That was right after the second shot Adam got in an effort to reduce the hives and his itching.  While he was sitting beside Adam after that shot the nurse who came to ask if Adam would like water while he was there noticed Kurt itching and the rash creeping up his neck.

Kurt called Rachel and informed her that if EVERYTHING she’d washed in whatever she washed stuff in wasn’t removed from the loft, and taken to a cleaners and had professionally cleaned in a manner to remove irritants by the time he got home and the detergent wasn’t removed and thrown out completely, he was going to charge her their hospital bills and sue her parents for letting her endanger others by encouraging her insane and usually delusional hero worship.  He called Santana to make sure Rachel followed through and informed her he’d tell Brittany that she was making Kurt’s baby soft skin red, rashy and not soft if she didn’t help Rachel clean the loft and sanitize it.   Kurt called Rachel a half hour after he received his shot in the rear end.  When it was sore and bruised feeling.  Later he almost let himself feel guilty for calling the girl when he was tired and worried and in pain…but one look at Adam squashed it.

It took three shots and nearly 12 hours for Adam’s reaction to ease to the point where they could go home.  A shot later and even Kurt wasn’t rash free. Kurt was grateful he didn’t break out in hives and didn’t need that shot, although they gave him a shot for the rash and itchiness anyway since it would work faster in that form than pill form.  Their clothing was removed and sacked up and they were given scrubs to wear home. Kurt was exhausted and had been near tears since he’d seen the hives, but he hadn’t let himself fall apart yet.

They went home to Adam’s place.  After both had showered and changed into soft clothing, they tucked themselves away onto Adam’s bed to sleep.  Adam was a bit worried about Kurt.  He just kept getting quieter and paler as they get ready to snuggle down for the day.  Kurt also looked like he was ready to collapse.  Adam was well aware that although he had dozed while at the clinic, Kurt had not.

“I am so sorry.” Kurt said.  His voice was soft and Adam could hear the tears in it.

“About what?” Adam asked.

“My stupid roommates trying to kill you?  Not making us leave the moment our eyes itched in the first place?  Toxic flesh-eating detergents…I don’t know.” Kurt listed off sounding slightly more hysterical with each item.

Adam kissed the top of Kurt’s head and pulled him closer. “None of it was your fault.  In fact I am pretty certain you offered to find someplace else to go when we first walked in, I said it would be fine.”

“I wasn’t though!  I could have killed you!”

“You didn’t.  Furthermore you noticed the hives and swelling before it bugged me enough to feel the need to deal with it.” Adam said, carding his fingers through Kurt’s hair.  “It would have been much worse if we hadn’t headed to the urgent care when we did…could have even been ambulance worse. I could have added to my ultimate American experience by adding a ride in an ambulance.  See if it’s any different from Britain.”

“Don’t even joke about it.”

“I’ll be fine darling.  I’m more worried about you.” Adam said.

“Me? Kurt asked.

“You had a bad reaction as well, and you have to go back and hope they have it cleaned out enough not to cause you issues,” Adam said. “Not to mention when you were chewing her out on your phone it sounded like this wasn’t a completely uncommon thing.  What if whatever she gets hold of next is worse?”

“I’ll call her dads.  They talked some sense into her in high school; hopefully they will get through to her this time.”

“You could stay here for the next few days?” Adam said quietly.  

Kurt smiled. “I could.”

“I mean…just until I have someone go over and make certain things are all right back at the loft.” Adam said. “You could share my bed, just like this.  And in the morning we’ll make pancakes.”

Kurt leaned up and kissed a nearly rash free spot on Adam’s neck.  “I think that sounds like a plan.  I think I might be sleepy, Adam.”

Adam chuckled. “Go to sleep, love.  You looked out for me at the docs, I’ll look out for you now.”

“No,” Kurt said between yawns. “I need to stay awake and make sure you’re ok. What if the meds stop working and you can’t breathe!”

“I will be fine and they won’t.”

“But…”

“And if I start feeling at all not on the mend I’ll call the number they gave us immediately.”

“But…”

“Go to sleep, love.” Adam repeated, rubbing Kurt’s back in a soothing motion.

Kurt yawned and Adam rubbed his back while Kurt lost his battle with sleep.

Adam snuggled his sleeping Kurt closer.  Kurt stayed with him every moment he could, and had been back by his side within fifteen minutes after his own shot, sitting in a hard chair watching over him.  That wasn’t something to scoff at, not something to let go of.

Besides, he rather wanted Kurt a permanent fixture right where he currently was.