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ihni · 2 months

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Billy Hargrove has been dead for little over two months when Steve opens the door to find him on the doorstep, dirty and pale and shaking. He stares at Steve with wide eyes – bluer than Steve remembers – before he collapses into a heap of dirty limbs halfway across the threshold. Steve pulls him inside, disposes of him in the couch in the living room, and naturally proceeds to freak the fuck out.

After some processing, he decides that he must be experiencing a very vivid dream – and honestly, it’s a welcome change after the usual nightmares – and since it’s merely a dream, he opens a bottle of his dad’s best whiskey, because where’s the harm, right?

An hour later finds Steve sitting on the floor with his back to an armchair, predictably drunk and watching Billy sleep. Or possibly being unconscious. It doesn’t really matter which, since it’s only a dream.

Turns out, though, that it’s not a dream – or if it is, it’s a damn weird one. Because Billy wakes up, and when he looks around the room and spots Steve there, he starts to cry, which. Is not something that Steve’s brain could ever dream up, alcohol-soaked or not. And Billy feels solid enough under Steve’s hand, when he awkwardly pats the other boy’s shaking shoulders.

The events that have taken place are eventually revealed, but make no sense to either of them. Apparently Billy woke up somewhere dark and cramped (the coffin, he doesn’t say, but Steve hears it anyway), promptly panicked, and … broke out, somehow. Dug himself out from the rain-soaked earth, and stumbled along the roads until he saw a house he recognized. Which was Steve’s house.

It’s impossible, Steve knows. Billy has been dead for months. Steve saw him die – had first row seats to the sight of him getting impaled by a monster made out of meat and bones – and coming back from the dead after all that is simply not possible. Yet here Billy is, sitting on the floor of Steve’s living room, not a mark on him.

(Literally. There are no marks, no scars. Just smooth skin where they both know he was speared through.)

They spend the rest of the night slowly making their way through Steve’s dad’s expensive whiskey.

In the morning, Billy says, voice hoarse; “I need you to drive me to California.”

Steve thinks of asking why. Thinks of Max, thinks of Billy’s parents, thinks of telling the Party or the police or at least some adult who would possibly know what to do. What he says, though, is “Okay.” The world swims, and he adds, belatedly, “Tomorrow, though. I’m too drunk to drive now.”

A snort is the last thing he hears before he falls asleep where he’s sitting.

~~~

Half the next day is spent nursing hangovers and realizing that nope, last night wasn’t a dream or an alcohol-induced hallucination. The other half is spent making preparations for the trip.

Now when Steve is sober, he revisits the idea to simply tell someone. Billy being back is a miracle, and there are people mourning him, people who has missed him –

Billy shuts that down hard and fast. “No one is mourning me here,” he says, voice gravel-rough. “If they act like they do, it’s because they’re feeling guilty. There’s nothing left for me here.” He licks his lips, and his next words are a whisper. “I never wanted to come here in the first place.”

And, like. If he really thinks about it, Steve realizes that they wouldn’t be able to keep Billy being back a secret if he stayed in Hawkins. And if they tell Max, or Billy’s family, then word would spread. The government would no doubt hear of it. There would be a high probability of Billy being taken in for tests, experimentation, whatever else.

He doesn’t deserve that, Steve thinks as he watches Billy emerge from the shower wearing borrowed clothes. Because Billy died saving them. Sacrificed himself for them, even when they’d done so little to try to save him. This? Driving Billy to California? It’s the least Steve can do for him.

~~~

They get on the road the next day. Steve has taken time off work blaming the death of an elderly aunt and a rare family gathering, and been as vague as he can get away with concerning how long he’ll be away. Early in the morning, they put their bags – Billy’s is a borrowed one, containing only Steve’s things since he has nothing of his own and understandably didn’t want to keep the clothes he had on when he was buried – in the trunk of the car, and get in.

Steve is driving. When they pass the “Leaving Hawkins” sign, Billy lets out an audible sigh and slumps down in his seat. Steve glances over at him, and Billy explains without being prompted; “I always hated this town. I can’t believe they fucking buried me here.”

His incredulousness over the fact draws a snort out of Steve.

~~~

It’s strange, how easy it is to get used to having Billy Hargrove next to him while in a confined space. Stranger yet, how well they get along considering their history. And even more strange, how different Billy seems now, when they’ve left Hawkins behind them.

Or perhaps it’s not strange at all – at least not in comparison to all the other weird stuff they’ve both seen and somehow lived through. In the great scheme of things, one young man coming back from the dead and wanting to go back home doesn’t even make the top ten list of weird shit.

Billy is surprisingly funny, and witty, and smart – and it is dazzling without the sharp edges. It takes Steve a while to recognize what is missing, and when he does, it makes him watch Billy with new eyes. Because Billy doesn’t seem to exist behind a layer of anger anymore. The tension is gone. The further they get from Hawkins, the easier Billy seems to breathe.

The change is remarkable. Makes Steve think that he probably never knew who Billy really was, before this.

He finds himself thinking that he is looking forward to getting to know the real Billy.

~~~

They take turns driving. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they sit in companionable silence, and sometimes whoever’s in the passenger seat naps while the other drives. They stop at gas stations to stock up on gas and snacks, and at diners for food. That first night, they drive straight through, but the next night they stop at a motel for some proper sleep in a bed.

They share a room, but lie in separate beds. They talk for hours in the dark before falling asleep.

“I never wanted to be buried underground,” Billy says, when they’re both on the edge of sleep. “They knew that.”

“What did you want, then?” Steve asks, never having considered an alternative.

“I wanted to get back to the ocean,” Billy says. “Have my ashes spread over the surface of the water and become one with the waves again.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say to that. That he’s sorry that even Billy’s own family didn’t respect his final wishes? That it sucks that they buried his body in the dirt of a town he hated, leaving him to rot there forever when he never even wanted to come there in the first place?

“’One with the waves’ … That sounds beautiful,” he decides on. And then, as an aside, “I’ve never even seen the ocean.”

Steve can hear the smile in Billy’s voice when he speaks next. “You’re going to love it. It’s … everything.”

~~~

They get closer – to California, and to each other – and the closer they get, the less urgency Steve feels to get to their destination. Because what will happen when they get there? Steve can’t just leave Billy there without a means to support himself. Without a home, without a car, without money – without someone to take care of him. Steve can’t help it – he worries.

And then he looks at Billy’s smiling face next to him, and feels his worries being washed away.

He still finds himself taking the scenic route more often than not. Insisting on taking detours to see the sights. Claiming he’s too tired to drive unless he takes a break.

Billy smiles as if he knows what Steve is doing, but he doesn’t make a comment. Doesn’t complain. Seems to enjoy this little bubble they’re in together, in Steve’s car with the world passing them by outside.

It’s strange. But it’s nice, too. Steve kind of doesn’t want it to end.

~~~

The last night, they stop at a motel an hour or two from their destination. They could have kept on driving, but none of them seemed to want to. So they get a room, as usual. Steve pays, as usual. There are two beds, as usual.

Yet, when it’s time to sleep, Billy forgoes his own bed and goes to stand by Steve’s. There’s a question in the air between them, unasked.

Steve answers by peeling back the comforter in invitation. His mouth is dry and his heart is beating like a drum in his chest as Billy climbs in next to him.

They don’t speak much, that night. But they kiss. And they hold each other.

“I never wanted to come to Hawkins,” Billy whispers between kisses. “And I hated it there. But I met you, so I guess it wasn’t all bad.”

The next morning, they wake up in each other’s arms.

~~~

“I’ll show you my home,” Billy says when they get back in the car after breakfast. Steve is back behind the wheel, because he wants a reason to keep his eyes on the road. If he watches Billy too much, he’ll do something stupid – like turn the car around and go back to Hawkins with Billy still in it, or perhaps decide not to go back to Hawkins at all, himself. Just, stay here with Billy, for a while longer.

It’s a fantasy that hurts, so he pushes it down. Concentrates on following Billy’s directions, and drive through a city bigger than one he’s ever been in.

(When he first spots the glittering blue between buildings, he gasps. So does Billy.)

They drive through the city, then out of it. Along a winding road with fewer and fewer buildings around, the ocean vast and terrifyingly endless to their right. Eventually Billy directs them down a gravel road that doesn’t have a sign and looks like it might lead onto private property. Steve would worry, would perhaps protest, if it wasn’t for the longing on Billy’s face.

They have to walk the last bit, Billy says. They get out of the car. It’s hours before noon, but it’s already warm. Steve’s in just a T-shirt, and for a second he his face to the sun to feel the warmth of it on his skin – before turning to Billy only to see him turned to the sun, too. Like a flower in bloom.

He looks golden, in this light.

After a short walk down a steep incline, they end up on a little beach. A tiny one, empty, with rocky outcrops on either side which makes it seem like they’re the only people on earth. The sand is fine and pale under their feet, the water lapping at the edges of it and then stretching out in front of them until it meets the horizon, far far away.

It’s beautiful. But it’s not exactly a house. And didn’t Billy say he’d show Steve his home?

“Mom used to take me here when I was a kid,” Billy says, kicking off his shoes. Steve does the same, and pulls off his socks as well. “We used to come here all the time.” Billy holds out his hand with a smile, and Steve takes it. They make their way to the water. “She’d watch me play in the water for hours, sitting on a towel, just listening to the waves and the seagulls.” The first step into the water is a shock – it’s cold, but not freezing. It almost feels alive. Steve takes a tentative step after Billy, bolstered by Billy’s widening smile. “I think taking me here was the most peaceful she ever got to be. It was for me, at least. The best times of my childhood.”

They stand there in the surf, feet in the water and holding hands, when Billy turns to Steve. His eyes are shining with unshed tears and his smile is wobbly as he places his hands on either sides of Steve’s face and leans in for the softest of kisses; their lips just barely brushing against each other.

“Thank you,” he says, and Steve’s heart skips a beat because it sounds like goodbye, “for not letting me stay buried in Indiana.”

He backs up a step. Brushes a tear from Steve’s cheek – that he hadn’t realized had fallen – and turns towards the endless sea. Takes a deep breath and starts walking.

Steve wants to reach out to stop him, wills himself to to say something, but he can’t. Somehow, he knows that this is where they were heading from the start. This is why they had to go here.

As Steve watches, Billy … dissolves. Like in a movie. One moment he is solid, and the next he’s … not. He turns to dust in front of Steve’s eyes, fine dust that glitters like gold in a sudden ray of sunlight. It – he – is spread out over the water, is carried over the clear surface by the gentle breeze.

Instead of being trapped in the ground inland, he becomes one with the waves again.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #sorry guys #canonical character death #got a scene stuck in my head and had to get it out #look at me keeping around the 2K mark!

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motleyfam · 11 months

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Dick is convinced that food always tastes better after a show.

His dad laughs and tells him it’s just because they’re acrobats and they can’t eat much prior to spending a few hours intricately twisting and flipping their bodies through the air over the dizzying roar of the crowds below. Hunger, he tells his son, has always been the best spice. But Dick thinks there’s more to it than that. There’s something about the buzz — the energy following a performance — that makes even the simplest of dishes special.

With so many different cultures and nationalities represented at Haly’s, Dick is used to eating all sorts of things, learns to tell who’s making dinner each night by the aroma of the various herbs and spices wafting out from the tent. There’s a Russian acrobat and a Taiwanese contortionist and a French wire walker and a clown from Cleveland, and the only common factor seems to be their insistence that the nine-year-old could use some more meat on his bones. He helps his mother stir cornmeal porridge and stuff cabbage leaves with ground meat and rice while his dad, grinning, juggles bell peppers and onions and cans of tomato paste in an arc above their heads.

It’s always late at night by the time they gather around the plastic folding tables with full plates, aching muscles, and weary smiles. Snippets from conversations in three or four different languages wash over Dick, and he doesn’t understand everything, but he doesn’t mind it either. The food and laughter warm him from the inside out, and he eats until his belly is full and his eyelids start to grow heavy. His mother pulls him into her lap and lets him curl up against her chest, and he’s lulled to sleep by the hum of the troupe members’ voices, perfectly safe and content.

The night that Dick’s parents fall to their deaths, there’s beef goulash simmering on the cookhouse stove and just the smell is enough to make him sick.

#dick grayson #fanfiction #batfam #i was scrolling through some of my past fics the other night to answer an ask #and i came across this one #it's the intro to Comfort Food on ao3 but i debated leaving it just as this drabble #which is much angstier than the full fic #the full fic's more bittersweet and i'm a softie #but i wanted to share it just in the drabble format as well #so we can have both flavors #angst #grief #canonical character death #drabble

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mrslectermoriarty · 1 month

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Headcanon Series #6 New because I wanted to update the original post but that shit wouldn’t let me, so I had to delete it.

Bradley Bradshaw grows up hearing story after story about his great father and when he starts speaking he asks questions about why his dad isn’t there and why they visit that stone all the time (it took Mav and Carole a whole minute to realise he meant Nick’s tombstone), so Mav sits him down one day and tells him with a surprisingly steady voice that his dad flew high enough to reach heaven and now he spends his time there, looking down them and whenever Bradley sees a jet in the sky, it’s his dad telling him how much he loves him. Bradley is barely four years old and that’s the only child-friendly version thing Pete can think of. He even draws a tiny F-14 on a sticky note and hands it to Bradley, telling him to look out for these. Bradley is delighted and starts drawing his own F-14s and with every year passing, he gets better and better. His first attempt finds its place on Nick’s grave, the second goes to Carole, then Pete gets one and by the end of the month the whole class of 86’ possesses Bradshaw-Artworks.

Bradley stops drawing after his fight with Pete and swears to never to touch a pencil again for that purpose but then Tom dies and Bradley deeply mourns his loss. He thinks back to the days when Pete had taken him in after his mother’s death and how Uncle Ice had been with them so often, he basically lived with them. His chest hurts with the thought of Pete having lost, what Bradley always had secretly been convinced was the love of his life and he thinks maybe he can make an exception for Tom. Because even if he despises Pete for pulling his papers, no one deserves to suffer this much alone.

So when Pete comes home from Tom’s funeral, he finds a folded piece of paper taped to his door and when he opens it, he is greeted with the sight of two quite good drawn F-14s, one coloured in silver and the other in red and blue. He frames the paper and hangs it on the wall across his bed, where it’s been hanging ever since.

I am no artist, as you may notice. This is just kinda how I imagined it to look like. Feel free to draw your own version; I’d love to see how your ideas turn out!

#top gun #top gun 1986 #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #nick goose bradshaw #carole bradshaw #pete maverick mitchell #pete mitchell #f 14 tomcat #drawing #lowkey angst #canonical character death #goose dies #iceman dies #icemav #tom iceman kazansky #headcanon series mrslectermoriarty

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sadlybeans · 3 months

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No More Batman AU Part 1: Robin is Dead

(link for AO3 here)

Batburger was the last restaurant Jason would’ve chosen to give money to, but it was the closest to the apartment and also the cheapest. After all, wherever else can you get two vegetarian sandwiches plus fries and drinks for 9.99? Alas, going into the store plastered with Batman and Robin memorabilia that made him want to punch a wall.

The teenager at the register talked with a bored monotone voice as he repeated the order, completely unphased by the suspicious man towering at the other side of the counter, and Jason scoured the restaurant as he did, evaluating for any possible danger. The booths by the corner were occupied by a group of girls still in their uniform and talking loudly as they discussed an upcoming dance recital, and the only other table that was occupied consisted of a young college student having a breakdown as they typed frantically on a beaten up laptop, all in all not an apparent threat. Actually, Jason was the biggest threat in that place, towering over all the costumers with his 6’3 frame and broad shoulders that were poorly concealed by a red hoodie and a black leather jacket.

“… do you want to add anything else to your order…?”

“No” he tossed a twenty bill on the counter just as his phone pinged. I’m starving, come back this instant. He sighed. “Make it twice as fast and you can keep the change”

The cashier vanished towards the kitchen in a hurry.

Gotham hadn’t changed at all since he died, from her dirty streets to the police sirens echoing in the distance and her shadows flying overhead… the same shadows he was trying to avoid as if his life depended on it. Even if he was believed to be six feet under he took all the necessary precautions to conceal his face, even wearing a surgical mask in the short three minute hike to the shitty rental unit they called home.

“Food’s here” he announced as he took off his shoes and jacket, dropping the mask as well. From the hallway you could hear the cacophony of noise the washing machine was making.

Unpack, fold the napkins, serve. Still nobody else in the kitchen.

“Your painting is still gonna be there later” he drawled in a louder voice towards the hallway.

Nothing.

Fuck… he really cursed his decisions in life in that moment, and also found a newfound respect for all single mothers and fathers out there.

“Damian Al Ghul-Wayne, it’s time for dinner and if you don’t come here this instant I’ll drag you here myself”

Something was thrown on a desk -a sketchbook most likely- and seconds later a lanky teenage boy emerged from his bedroom, slamming the door behind him and stomping his way over to the table, where he sat down without saying a word.

Damian had grown since the first time they met— back then he was only five, a tiny ball of anger that gave nightmares to his experienced tutors. Now he was fifteen and he was, to Jason’s relief, an almost completely normal child; he watched TV, he liked animals, he liked painting and writing, and he was smack middle on his teenage rebel phase. Assassin abilities aside, he was no different from most other kids his age thanks to Jason’s influence, something Thalia often reminded them both of.

He’s a little demon brat. He would tell her.

You just miss the days in which he was glued to your shadow. She would answer affectionately.

They had not seen her in over a year now and Jason knew part of his attitude was due to being in a completely different place with a different culture, away from his grandfather’s luxurious palace and his mother’s love. But it was for his own good… he deserved to know his father too, and Thalia had always intended to have him sent to Gotham eventually, although not as late as it ended up happening.

However… one year after arriving in Gotham, they had yet to seek out the Bat. Jason didn’t like to admit it, but he wasn’t ready to part from the boy he had raised for the past decade, because once he dropped Damian at his doorstep he would not see him again for a long time, if ever. And apparently Damian wasn’t eager to leave, as he hadn’t asked about it once.

“I’m going out tonight for a job” he announced, breaking the silence “tomorrow morning we have an appointment in Gotham Academy to enroll you, so wake up early and dress in something that isn’t a hoodie and sweatpants.”

Damian frowned, squeezing the empty wrapper of his sandwich on his fist.

“I don’t need to go to a stupid school full of dumb children! I’m much smarter than that bunch of… bunch of idiots!”

Jason rolled his eyes.

“Don’t get smart with me, I taught you to tie your shoes and helped you with your essays” no matter how hard Damian tried, he was still just a baby in his eyes “your mother arranged this for you, so you are going. Coming to live with your father means mixing in and being normal”

“But I am not living with father!”

Jason sighed.

“You will soon, so it’s better to arrange some things beforehand, to help you adjust—“

“It’s not fair!”

“Life isn’t fair! Look, just— going back into routine will be good for you, and besides school doesn’t start for a few more weeks. I know this is new and all but you do need to socialise too”

“But I don’t want to go, why can’t I make my own choices if you want me to grow up so badly!?”

“Because you’re still a child! You think you know everything but you don’t, I was fifteen once too! And until you can make your own decisions it’s my job to do what’s on your best interest”

Damian threw his cup to the ground spilling ice everywhere and ran back to his room, slamming the door so hard that the downstairs neighbour knocked on the floor -their ceiling- with a broom seconds after.

Jason wasn’t too hungry anymore. Maybe they could have the leftovers later.

Walking inside a Batburger was like stepping into a personalised nightmare, with Robin’s face plastered in every wall and menu. Dick Grayson pursed his lips and avoided looking anywhere but straight at the line of people in front of him, holding his bag (“it’s not a purse, Steph, who else is gonna carry all of your stuff while you guys run around?“) tightly.

Normally going to the faire every year involved them following the long standing tradition of devouring a mountain of tacos and making a competition out of it, but that year the owner of their favourite truck had retired and nothing tasted the same. They were tired and hungry, and Batburger had the shorter line of people waiting, be it for their mediocre food or their “Five Minutes or Free” slogan.

After waiting for seven minutes, he called bullshit on that slogan and texted a photo of the sign to the groupchat, demanding Bruce send them a lawsuit.

Tim answered with a zoomed in picture of the tiny print at the bottom that basically said ‘restrictions apply’.

Dick sighed defeatedly and resigned himself to wait for a few minutes more, when one of the other patrons started raising their voice.

“-sorry sir but your order says—“

“I know what it says, I’m not illiterate” the young boy answered in a snappy tone “I explicitly told your half deaf coworker that I wanted no pickles! Make it again!”

“But the ticket says—“

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“No sir, but—“

“Then make it again!”

“We’re not allowed to do that but I can offer a discount for—“

The kid seemed about to jump over the counter to strangle the employee and Dick decided he needed to step in less they caused a bigger scene, so he slipped behind the teenager.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt— I know this is a really big inconvenience for all of us here so, why don’t you just give this kid a new order? He clearly doesn’t want the pickles and your coworker might’ve simply forgotten to write it down”

The employee looked unsure.

“Company policy is very strict”

“Then is there anything else we may be able to do?” Dick asked with a smile, purposefully letting his jacket move and show a corner of his old police badge.

The employee smiled nervously.

“I’ll bring out a new one—“

He disappeared to tell the cooks and Dick sighed, shaking his head. The kid huffed and crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed, and a minute later the guy came back with the new sandwich and Dick’s full order. He smiled and took his order, but the kid didn’t bother to hide his distate as he snatched the paper bags from the counter.

For some reason, he decided to follow quickly.

“Hey, did nobody teach you to say thank you?”

The kid stopped to turn to him, and he finally got a good look to his face; he had brown skin darker than his own and black hair that tried to be arranged as rebel but was too soft and straight to stick to said style. His eyes were hidden behind round sunglasses and he wore a black hoodie that was a few sizes too big.

“Did nobody teach you how to mind your own business?” he replied sarcastically.

Dick nearly gasped like a suburban white lady, as Duke usually called said expression.

“That’s not—“

“Whatever”

The kid turned around and walked off, leaving Dick with his mouth gaping as he watched him go to a tall intimidating mountain of a man waiting by a lamppost. He too wore a pair of fashionable round sunglasses and a red mask, with only a tuft of wild white hair visible from beneath his red hood. The kid’s father or uncle maybe?

Dick’s phone pinged insistently and he groaned, turning away and forgetting about it as he walked away to go find the others less Steph started bombarding him with more texts about starving to death.

By some miracle nobody had been murdered when he sat down at their table, although Tim had left them to hang out with his friends instead. Dick thought it was so great he was socialising, and it was so nice to see Cassie and Bart all grown up. Conner looked so happy too, which was a relief after all he had gone through— Dick made a mental note to call uncle Kal and ask how Lois and Jonathan were doing. Ever since Bruce retired from the hero business Nightwing had picked up his place and he was the main line of communication between his father and the League; they never knew of his secret identity but they still considered him a close friend so they kept in touch, which Dick was grateful for since god knows Bruce needed it.

“Finally!” Steph snatched a bag from his hands and started passing on each person’s order “Why didn’t you hurry? You’ve gotta leave before six if you want to avoid rush hour”

“I’m sure they’ll make it just fine” Duke appeased her, pushing the biggest bag of chips towards Cass, who thanked him with a smile. “It doesn’t close anyways”

“That’s not the point and you know it—“

Dick offered a small smile and started eating in silence while soon their conversation drifted off into other topics. They didn’t try to include him or Bruce into it, they knew that it was already inconvenient enough that their annual faire trip had unfortunately coincided with this specific date—

Normally, this one day a year was reserved for peace and quiet; Alfred would be off from early in the morning and they’d spend their time doing their own things in relative silence, and Cass, Tim and Duke would pretend they did not notice that a certain locked door was ajar at the end of the hallway. Then at around lunch Dick would come into the manor, leave them takeout, and he would leave with Bruce, both of them dressed semi formally, not always in black. Cass, Tim and Duke would pretend there wasn’t any tears in Bruce’s eyes when they said goodbye.

Tim had gone once, when he was a kid, just to pay his respects. He says they stop by a small quaint flower shop to pick up the same arrangement as every year, and then they sit with Jason for a while in the empty cemetery. Forget-me-nots, camellias, white chrysanthemums. They would be back an hour or so later, and Bruce would hug each of his boys and his princess, and the next day they would slowly build back up to normalcy.

Duke had suggested they cancel that year, that the faire would come back the next one anyways, but it hadn’t been such a bad idea to come after all… it was nice. They shared time as a family and they had fun, and most importantly neither Bruce nor Dick had been particularly down the whole day. Not that— not that they shouldn’t be sad… none of them knew what it was like to lose a brother or a son.

“— don’t forget to use your lights” Dick came back to himself just as Bruce was lecturing Tim, car keys in hand.

“I know B, I’ve been driving for months” the boy sighed, holding out his palm.

“Don’t worry mr. Wayne, we’ll keep Tim out of trouble!” Bart chirped from behind Dick’s little brother.

Bruce looked far from convinced.

“Are you sure you don’t want Cass and Steph to drop you off?”

Tim groaned and Dick chuckled, finally stepping in.

“I’m sure they’ll be just fine, Tim’s a big boy now”

Tim gave him the middle finger but Bruce finally relented and gave him the keys, letting them go after a hasty goodbye. They watched them retreat and Dick smiled softly at his brother’s hand holding Conner’s.

“We’ll be going too, I think. Tell us when you arrive, yes?”

“Be safe on your way” Duke told him after giving him a pat on the back.

“Bye!” Steph waved from the other side of the table.

Cass hugged their father and then Dick, patting his back gently and whispering a goodbye. Dick had to keep reminding himself he’d see them later that night as they walked to the parking lot.

“—that’s why the Jason Todd Fund—“

The car breaked hard and Damian yelped as he was propelled forwards and nearly slammed his face on the windshield if not for the safety belt across his chest.

“What the fuck was that!?” he coughed as he sat back up “What’s wrong with you!?”

Jason wasn’t listening, his knuckles turning white where they held the steering wheel and his shoulders tense. He must have heard wrong, he surely had… he turned the volume on the radio nearly all the way up and the locutor’s voice filled the car.

“— today marks the tenth year since the tragic death of Jason Todd-Wayne and thirty five other victims of Park Row during a building explosion orchestrated by the Joker before his disappearance. This year’s vigil is attended by Bruce Wayne’s daughter Cassandra and his foster son, Duke Thomas. Bruce Wayne himself and his eldest son Richard Grayson have refused their appearance and expressed their wishes to mourn in private as many other families have chosen to do, but it is only thanks to Wayne Enterprises’ generous donation that the vigil is possible—“

Jason had almost stopped breathing entirely, frozen in his seat, and even Damian was shocked into silence, staring wide eyed at the radio as if that could provide any answers or context into what they were hearing.

“—tham Gazette was able to interview Richard Grayson on the matter and his words have moved the hearts of many today;” and it was him, it was his voice in his car: “There’s no words to express our gratitude at the kindness shown by all of Gotham. All of us have sadly lost a loved one to criminals like him, all of us have felt the desire to give up sometimes, but it is a testament to our strength that we continue to fight despite our pain. It reminds us that we are all equals in this world. For us… we never had a body to bury, never had closure as to what happened to my little brother, and we are not the only family with a member that will forever be missing—“

Jason turned off the radio and the silence was deafening for all of two seconds before it registered in his brain that the cars lined up behind them were honking like crazy. Slowly the car moved forwards and he turned right on the corner, parking right in front of a half deserted pizza place.

He just stared at the road outside and the people walking by going about their normal day, to the dirty sidewalk and the lights reflecting off the damp concrete. For a year he had been living in the same city, breathing the same air, and he had never once heard a single word about his ‘old family’ beyond a few commercials on the TV about Wayne Enterprises. Hell, he hadn’t even bothered to go out at night to observe Gotham’s vigilantes— and now, the first time he had to confront the fact that his past was still alive right there in Gotham, it happened to be on the damn tenth anniversary of his death.

Fuck, it wasn’t even the right date, he died nearly an entire week earlier in Ethiopia.

He had— He had to leave. He couldn’t… this was too much, he should’ve never come back to this cursed city no matter how much Thalia begged him to, he should’ve never played house with Damian for so long knowing he would have to say goodbye anyways. So he had to leave now that he wasn’t entangled in anything with them just yet. Damian’s school enrolment was all handled, he knew how to move around the city both by simple directions and public transport, he knew the basics of human interaction— he was ready. He had been ready so long ago and Jason should’ve let him go then.

He merged back onto traffic and started drafting travel plans just as a light rain started falling.

“Hey bud, your books are still all over the living room, we need to leave this place spotless by the end of the day!”

The kitchen appliances had come with the apartment and neither of them would need any of the other things he’d bought when they moved in so he left them all where they were, the landlord could probably make some use of them or donate them. The fridge was already empty and their trash had been taken out so they would just stop at a nice place to eat later.

Clothes had all been handled, documents were already on the organised folder, trinkets packed up for donation or in the car, passport ready and plane ticket right besides it—

“Damian have you seen my phone?” he lifted up the cushions and looked around, he could’ve sword he had it in hand seconds earlier! “I was thinking we could go to that lebanese place down on 38th? It’s not too fancy but the food was good and I know you liked it even if you won’t say you did.“ as he spoke he made a couple laps around the living room and then figured it might just be in his bed “Or if you want we can try something new, we can splurge as much as you want— Damian?”

He had to do a double take as he nearly walked by the open bedroom door; the last suitcase was open on the bed, neatly organised clothing and books put on it, with only a last few things on the desk. The teen boy say besides it completely still, staring at the dull grey carpet and his spotless white socks.

“You ok?”

Damian didn’t answer, didn’t even acknowledge his presence despite the fact that for the past two years he had gone off every time Jason set half a foot into his bedroom like he was doing now.

“… I know this is probably very sudden and that’s making you nervous but I’m sure everything is going to turn out fine, if it doesn’t then Thalia will surely come pick you up right away and—“

“Why do you want to get rid of me?”

Jason’s words died in his mouth.

“W-What?” he let out in a whisper.

“I’m never going to see you again” he repeated, twisting the sleeve of Jason’s hoodie between his fingers “Is that why you’re trying to get rid of me so badly?”

For a moment, Jason stared at him, at the way his fingers moved, and then he looked around the room and all the books that once had been his but had slowly been stolen away after he was done with them, and to the suitcase full of clothes of which half had once been part of his own closet.

“Of course I’m not” he said weakly, not knowing what to say “I know this isn’t great and I… I can’t keep you here forever, kiddo. It doesn’t mean that I like it but your dad—“

“He’s not my father”

“Damian—“

“Forget it, I never said anything” he grunted as he stood up and walked out of the room, bumping their shoulders roughly as he passed by.

“I didn’t mean to—“

“I said forget it!”

Jason stood there lost on what to say or do as he heard the door of the bathroom closing and locking, and it wasn’t until minutes too long of standing there that he realised Damian wasn’t coming back. Moving in automatic like a robot, he organised the last things left in the bedroom inside the suitcase and zipped it up.

His heart felt like an endless void when they carried their things down the stairs to the car, Damian’s face obscured by his sunglasses and the hood of his sweater. It only grew larger and larger as the motor ignited and as they drove away from the building. It was just a shitty rundown unit that cost way too much for what it was actually worth, everything had broken down at least ten times over the year, the walls were paper thin and the neighbours all sucked, and yet it still felt like losing the only home he had had in the past ten years.

It didn’t brought him any relief when Damian passively aggreed to eat chinese, nor when they finally had an entire meal without bickering or full on fighting. He didn’t even scold him for wearing sunglasses indoors, or for refusing to touch the green peppers on his meal.

The food tasted like nothing as his head kept spiralling into a million thoughts and possibilities and what the repercussions could possibly be if he just refused to give up Damian, and then he felt so stupid for even thinking he was cut to take care of the boy when the past year had left clear he was a shitshow of a caretaker and that the only reason he had had success during the boy’s childhood was because Thalia was there along with a small army of tutors and caretakers. He would be so much better off, so much happier, once he arrived at the manor regardless of how Jason felt about it because like it or not, Bruce Wayne was his father and there was nothing to do about that.

As they drove away from the restaurant he kept trying to convince himself that he was just overthinking things, that he was going to be just fine once they split up, that he wasn’t going to be worried all day every day, that he wouldn’t regret walking away forever.

The taxi driver was punctual as she had promised and she helped them load the car with Damian’s suitcases and boxes, leaving only just Jason’s luggage in the backseat. Then she gave him a sympathetic pat on the back and got on the car to give them some privacy.

“I already paid for the ride, she’ll drop you off at the doors and then you give this to either your father or Alfred” Jason put the folder in Damian’s hands, repeating the instructions he had drafted and memorised days ago “your phone and electronics will likely be inspected but I already wiped any identifying or sensible information regarding me, so you text your mom when you get there and she’ll let me know, it should be right before my flight. Remember that you were here with just another random assassin, nobody of relevance, got it?”

Damian pursed his lips at the folder and nodded stiffly. Jason took a deep shaky breath.

“… I’m sorry. I’m gonna miss you, even if you don’t think I will. If I can— If I ever have the opportunity, I’ll write or- or something”

“….”

In a last impulsive decision he pulled Damian to his chest and just— hugged him. For one, two, three seconds and then just maybe an entire minute or more. He never wanted to let go. Damian didn’t hug back.

When he pulled away he cleared his throat and smoothed over the rumpled hoodie, escorting him back to the taxi and closing the door behind him. Damian didn’t look at him once as they drove off.

Jason would like to say he didn’t stand there on the empty street for long minutes after the taxi disappeared in the distance, that he didn’t feel like his entire world was ending as he drove to the airport, and that there wasn’t any tears clouding his vision the entire trip.

And if he could only just have thought of staying a minute or a few seconds longer, then maybe he would know that in the backseat of that taxi, a fifteen year old boy was sobbing quietly as he hugged a folder against his chest.

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wangxianficrecs · 1 month

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places under the sky by narie

🔒 places under the sky

by narie

T, 17k, Wei Wuxian

Summary: Wei Wuxian braces himself for what might come next, the story of how this man died by the Yiling Patriarch's hand—at Nightless City, at the Burial Mounds, as the rest of the sects tried to bring that great villain to account. "What was his name?" Uncle Gan sits back, twiddles his thumbs as he thinks. "Well, it'd be Wei something, of course." "Wei Changze, wasn't it?" chimes in a new person, and if anyone agrees or disagrees, Wei Wuxian does not hear them. His wine bowl slips from his grip and the sudden clatter of it barely registers over the unexpected sounds of his father's name. Wei Changze, slipping so careless from a stranger's mouth here in small Taozi, here of all places under the open sky. Wei Changze. - Wei Wuxian meets his grandmother. No, not the immortal one. The other one. Kay's comments: The first comment under this story just read "Oh. Oh. This was heart breaking" and yeah. I couldn't have said it better. Absolutely heart-breaking, devastating and sad, but like in the best way possible. Not a happy story at all, but instead one that leaves you feeling as if your heart has been clawed open. The Untamed canon where Wei Wuxian accidently meets his grandmother, on his father's side of the family, during his post-canon travels, while he pines away for Lan Zhan. Surprise grandma, but he can't bring himself to burden her with the truth of who he is and so simply introduces himself as Mo Xuanyu. Excerpt: "Did your sect know they had a son? He was born here, in this house. Little a'Ying," she adds, effortlessly, thoughtlessly, smiling at him. The name in her mouth is unfamiliar, a warped version of those that have claimed him before. A'Ying is a child's name, the most childish of them, and although of course it's supposed to be his, he doesn't recall ever having been that. He's been a'Xian to shijie, to Uncle Fengmian sometimes, and he is Wei Ying to Lan Zhan now, nothing else. It's not a name he owns, and he does not like the way it lingers in the small space between them: innocent, untroubled, unaware, reaching for him and offering to tie him to this place. It's instinct to look away to avoid it, to busy his hands and his gaze with his teacup, to reach for the final cake. Yet he can't stop his hearing from betraying him, he can't not hear Zhang Rufen as she continues, "They always took him with them when they went wandering, all three of them were very stubborn. I used to tell Chang'er to leave the boy here with us, but neither he nor his wife would hear of it. He would not have been so much to feed, and we were doing better by then, we could have used another pair of hands to help with the orchards as he grew up." There it is again, this possibility, this other life, offered to him with fully unhesitant regard. He tries to avoid it, but it unspools in front of him, so bright and clear, almost tempting: the seasons, the harvest, the river, the cool moist soil settling under his nails and around them, working its indelible way into every groove of his fingers, a different sort of ink. Tending life, instead of rending it. A good life. Maybe it would have suited a'Ying, whoever that boy would have become.

pov wei wuxian, post-canon, the untamed compliant, the untamed, rogue cultivator wei wuxian, canonical character death, grief/mourning, closure, sad wei wuxian, wei wuxian has a family, funerary rites, family dynamics

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

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this-world-of-beautiful-monsters · 4 months

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holy war

avatar (2022) / avatar (2009) / the messiah part 3 (job 19: 26, i corinthians 15: 21, i corinthians 15: 51, i corinthians 15: 52, I corinthians 15: 54-56, romans 8: 31)

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milobyelo · 2 years

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Maverick sees Iceman every morning.

He sees him in the blue of the petunias they planted together in the backyard two years ago.

He sees him in the blue of his favorite dress shirt that he wore on their first wedding anniversary.

He sees him every morning when he cooks french toast, his favorite breakfast food, in the pan Iceman bought him while he was at Homegoods spending an outrageous amount of money on new things for their house- despite the fact it had already been loved and lived in for 30 years now.

Every morning and every night when he brushes his teeth and has to pluck his green toothbrush out of the holder- that also holds Ice’s blue one because he could never find it in himself to throw it out despite it no longer having a purpose- he sees his husband.

He sees him in the park in the couple that walk through smiling and holding hands, enjoying each other's presence.

He sees him in the ocean, in the sky, when he sees his favorite liquor at the store, in the accent of the weatherman on channel 12, in the diner he loved to take him to, in the san diego heat, in the rain that drips down the window, and everyday when he wakes up and spends his days in the air in a cockpit teaching a younger generation the skills and maneuvers the two of them perfected together.

He sees him everyday, every hour, every minute, every second.

And he thinks he’ll keep seeing his husband in everything until the day he dies.

They’ll meet again, he doesn’t know where, he doesn’t know when; but he knows they’ll meet again, some sunny day.

#top gun #top gun:maverick #icemav #maverick x iceman #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #based on ‘we’ll meet again’ by Bera Lynn #rip iceman #canon compliant #canonical character death #sorry lol #angst #no beta we die like goose #top gun 1986 #fanfic #drabble #i heard this song and immediately pulled out my laptop and write this in 5 minutes so excuse me if it’s not good #and grammatically bad I’m not great at grammer

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batmobilestires · 8 months

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just Dick hallucinating Jason after he died :(

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nikki-pondtheauthor · 4 months

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Relationships: Dick Grayson & Danny Fenton, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd

Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death

Summary:

"What do you want for Christmas?" Dick paused to think for a moment, before he said, "A miracle." That's all I want for Christmas. A miracle. ... The loss of Jason Todd will forever haunt Dick's mind, guilt eating him inside and out. In his path of self-destruction, Dick finds himself stumbling into the Ghost Zone and meets a ghostly-time apprentice there.

@haunting-heroes-creative-games

#dpxdc #hauntingheroesadvent23 #haunting heroes #Dick Grayson #Angst #Grief/Mourning #fanfiction #ao3 #canonical character death #please read the tags and warning first

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charleslee-valentine · 7 months

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Bobby gets back on the bus from ‘Nam a week or so later than the other soldiers in his unit. They kept him in the hospital a while, doing surgeries on his head and rebuilding his skull out of metal.

There was one part of him he couldn’t get back though. Not ever.

He’d heard the news about Nubbins through a postcard for some roadside attraction they’d killed the owners of years ago to drive out competition. Written on the back in scrawly writing, they made it clear as day- “Your brother is dead.”

Not that he believed it. Nubbins wouldn’t leave him. They promised as kids not to die without the other.

He’s still in his uniform, still stained with his own blood, when he storms upstairs to their old shared room.

“Robert Sawyer don’t you dare defy me! Get your skinny ass back here!” Drayton called after him, maybe trying to protect him.

He hadn’t listened.

They kept Nubbins. They even put a little over shirt on him so he wouldn’t get cold. And Bubbas keeping him company and everything! It’s like nothings wrong at all.

Bubba cries as he holds him. Weeps and shakes and blabbers on and on.

Bobby doesn’t move away from the doorway yet. He just doesn’t wanna spook his little brother.

“He-Hey Bubba.. N-Nubs.”

His Bubba looks up at him, and there’s tears in those big eyes. It reminds him of when they were little, and Bubba was just getting real good at walking, when he’d tripped and skinned up his hands and his knees.

The only difference is back then Nubbins had been the one to pick Bubba up and make him giggle by blowing a little raspberry on his cheek or telling him something silly, bringing the light back to their toddler brother's face.

This time, Bubba carries Nubbins. And Nubbins just stares. He lifts him up real gentle-like, and places him in Bobby’s arms.

Up close, Bobby can see the places they stitched and mended on his brother. Metal ties and staples keep his joints together in some places.

But he’s together! So the shape he’s in, he’s practically okay! Bobby expected worse when he heard he got hit by one of those big rig trucks. In his mind, his twin was just a pile of gore and bones, all the stuff they never use in their cooking.

Bobby helps Nubbins to stand up, ignoring Bubba's panicked noises, and just keeping his hands under his brother's armpits to keep him from crumbling down onto the ground.

His jaw is broken, held together by a couple of stitches, so Bobby does the talking for him, “What-What’chu cryin’ ‘b-bout?”

Bubba sobs and makes more of his whimpery little noises in response, showing the subject of his panic by grabbing Nubbins by his shoulders and just shaking. Rattling his loosely strung together bones and making just the sickest crunching noise.

Well, he always was a little scrawny. It makes Bobby smile just a little to see his brothers haven’t changed all that much.

He even helps Nubbins raise up his stiff hand and wipe away the tears under Bubba's mask with them, “I-It’s o..k-kay! Your b-big brothers a-are here!”

Bubba still looks skeptical, so Bobby does the only thing he can think of and initiates a group hug. First he hugs their little brother, then gives Nubbins a little push forward. Instantly Bubba squeezes them back, his sobs turned to quiet sniffles, comforted in his big brothers’ arms.

All these big emotions and feelings are enough that Bobby could just sing! So he does. He belts some lines of an old Sly song that’s a few years old by now.

“It’s a family affair, oh..! Blood out there, blood out there!!”

“N-Nubbins sing the-the backup!!” He encourages his twin to join, holding up his cracked jaw and bobbling his head back and forth for him while he sings the words in echo, again in that slightly different pitch he uses to speak for Nubbins.

That part even gets Bubba to giggle a little. Just like when they were young and the only way they could get the baby to smile was to play together. No fighting, no yelling, no calling names and tearing hair out and throwing punches.

Call him a hippie, but that inspires something in Bobby’s heart. Makes him feel some genuine affection, “Let’s..Let’s all p-promise right n-now! No more l-leavin’ each other. Not for n-nothin’!”

To seal the deal, he holds out his shaky hand, leaving only his pinky finger up. Bubba instantly locks his larger finger around Bobby’s, and together, they help unfurl Nubbins’ hand, slow so they don’t bust any of the patch jobs, and have him join in the pinky promise.

Everything will be fine now.

Nubbins wasn’t really gone. They’d always have him. So what if he needed a little extra help to get by? He always had, and so did Bubba. Bobby didn’t mind taking care of them.

That’s what brothers are for.

#chop top sawyer #bobby sawyer #bubba sawyer #nubbins sawyer #drayton sawyer #the Sawyer family #tw death #tw delusions #canonical character death #my writing #this made me sad so I wanted it to make everyone else sad too <3

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asnarkyandironicusername · 6 months

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Day 27 of @remadoramicrofics - Moody

When Remus returned to the Burrow, mostly everyone had retired for the evening, he sent Bill home to his fiancee and quickly apparated home to his own wife. He wasn’t surprised when she dug her wand into his throat. “Where does my husband transform during full moons?” she asked.

“Terribly far away from his wife,” he sighed, “in a small cottage in Wales.”

She dropped her wand and stepped aside, letting him in, before quickly locking and charming the door. He cupped her tear-stained cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Dora.”

She choked out, “D-did you f-f-find him?”

Remus shook his head and she let her curled fist hit his chest before she buried her face in it. Remus wrapped his arms around her and held her close. “I’m terribly sorry. Bill and I, we searched as long as we could. There’s no sign…We think they probably took him immediately.”

“What would they even want him for?”

Remus sighed. “We may never understand all of their motivations.”

“I just can’t believe that he…” the thought died on her tongue as she was overcome by more heavy sobs.

Remus ushered her to the couch before he set about making a cup of tea. He did it the muggle way, using the time to collect his thoughts. He brought the tea to Dora and took a seat next to her.

Eventually, she calmed down enough for the sobs to recede and laid her head on his shoulder, holding the cup in her lap. “Harry said he met Mum and Dad.”

“I’d imagine their first meeting went better than mine? It’s hard not to like Harry, even if he’s a bit reckless and hard-headed. He comes by it naturally, gets it from his father.” he said with a hint of a smile.

“Oh,” she huffed with a roll of her eyes, “they didn’t dislike you. And since he woke up shouting at them, I don’t see that being very likely.”

Remus pulled her close. “Dora, I was so worried about you, when you didn’t come right away.”

“I could tell.” He settled an arm across her shoulder and held her tight. “I was glad to see you. So glad, but then…” The tiny smile disappeared from her face and she dissolved into sobs and Remus quickly moved the tea to the side table before pulling her into his lap.

He pressed his face into her mousy brown locks and whispered placating words as she shook with mournful sobs. There was nothing he could do and the realization made him feel powerless. He wished he could take the pain, not that he necessarily knew how to handle loss, despite his familiarity with it, but he would have done anything to stop her pain. He always would.

Instead, he sat there, holding her, and rubbing her back gently. “I…is there something I can do, Nymphadora?”

“N-no, Remus, he’s gone and no one can find him. They could be torturing him!”

“They aren’t,” he assured quickly.

“How do you know that? Maybe he dodged the curse.”

“Because, even if the curse had missed him, there is no way that he –” Remus started but froze. He wasn’t sure insisting that Moody couldn’t have survived the fall from his broom was very reassuring.

She stared up at him with red eyes before she nodded with a sniffle. Remus pulled her tight. “I’m sorry, Dora.” He winced even as he said it; he sounded like a broken record and the more he said the damn phrase the cheaper it sounded. He held her as she sobbed and shook and tried to think of something, anything that would ease the pain. Instead, he was left hoping just his presence was enough and knowing that it wasn’t. He held her the rest of the night until the first tendrils of sunlight clawed over the horizon.

#remadora microfics #remus x nymphadora #remus x tonks #nymphadora tonks fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #nymphadora tonks #remus lupin #Minor angst #mad eye moody #canonical character death

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bloody-bee-tea · 5 months

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24 Days of Satosugu 2023 Day 6 - Easy

Suguru watches Yuki Tsukumo drive off on her bike, his hands in his pockets, before he goes back to his previous seat. He spots Haibara’s empty can in the trash and he briefly wonders what his underclassman will bring back from his trip.

If he even makes it, a dangerous little voice in Suguru’s head says and he doesn’t quite have the strength to silence it completely.

It’s likely the voice is right, after all. One of these days a mission will get the best of them all, one of these days a curse will prevent them all from coming back, and it’s just a matter of time.

If Haibara doesn’t die this time, me might still die on the next mission, or the one after that.

They are all doomed like that, Suguru thinks and puts his head in his hands.

He can still hear Tsukumo’s voice in his head, agreeing with him that his proposed idea is certainly one way to get rid of curses in their entirety and Suguru isn’t sure he likes how seriously she took him.

If he’s being honest, he was waiting for her to laugh in his face, to call him out on his stupid, childish reasoning, but instead she took him seriously and even somewhat agreed with him.

Suguru doesn’t know what to do with that.

His hand twitches with the urge to get his phone out, shoot a quick text to Satoru, certain that he could talk it over with him, that Satoru would set him straight again, but Suguru stops himself. Satoru is out on a mission; has been out on missions the entire month.

Suguru doesn’t even remember the last time he saw him and he’s certain even if Satoru had a moment to spare he wouldn’t want to discuss stupid hypotheticals with Suguru.

Suguru presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, making sparks erupt behind his eyelids and he wonders if he can just stay like this. Stay here, glued to this uncomfortable bench and never have to take on another mission again; never be responsible for another life again, never have to face a curse again.

It would be easier, Suguru thinks, if he could simply walk away from all of this.

“Don’t go,” a voice suddenly rings out to him and Suguru whips his head up.

Satoru is standing right there next to the vending machine, and even though Suguru hasn’t seen him in ages, he looks the same.

Of course he would, Suguru thinks. It’s not as if anything can touch him these days.

“Don’t leave me,” Satoru says, his voice wavering the slightest bit and Suguru watches him with a frown as he comes towards him, spilling himself into the chair right next to him.

“What?” Suguru belatedly asks, because he doesn’t understand what Satoru is talking about.

And it’s unlikely that he just read his mind, though Suguru wouldn’t put it past Satoru to learn something like that just for the fun of it.

“You’re going somewhere,” Satoru says with a flick of his fingers to Suguru’s temple. “Somewhere I’m not sure I can follow you, so please, Suguru. Don’t leave. Don’t go. Don’t leave me behind.”

“If someone is leaving, then it’s you,” Suguru gives back and hangs his head so his hair hides his expression.

Satoru doesn’t need to see how bitter he surely must look.

“You’re leaving me behind,” he mutters to the ground and startles when Satoru leans against him, his head on top of Suguru’s, forcing him to stay in that position.

It might be easier, too, if they have to talk about this. Suguru isn’t sure he could stand Satoru’s searching gaze right now.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Satoru asks and it’s ridiculous enough that it makes Suguru huff out a laugh.

“Yeah, and for how long?” he bitingly asks, because surely Satoru is only here to report to Yaga and then he’ll be gone again, sent on another mission.

It’s been like that for the longest time, after all.

“Dunno,” Satoru replies, and Suguru can feel him shrug. “I’m inclined to stay, though. You don’t look well.”

“I told you, it’s—”

“It’s not the fucking heat, Suguru, don’t bullshit me like that,” Satoru vehemently says and Suguru flinches. “Something is wrong, something is making you leave me and I won’t have it.”

“What does it matter?” Suguru whispers out. “It’s not as if you need me. You’re the strongest. It doesn’t matter if I stay or not.”

It’s the first time Suguru ever mentioned the possibility of leaving and if he’s being honest, it feels kind of freeing.

He could simply walk away. Maybe. If he forgets about Satoru for a moment and tucks the need to protect everyone away, he probably could simply leave.

And he truly isn’t sure if Satoru could follow him. Or would even want to.

“Yeah, I don’t need you to be the strongest,” Satoru callously gives back and Suguru’s heart sinks in his chest.

Of course Satoru doesn’t need him; Suguru isn’t even sure if Satoru ever needed anyone in his life.

“But Suguru, you don’t need me either. You win your fights on your own, just like I do. But the fact that we both can doesn’t mean we want to, right?” he asks and nuzzles closer, brings his arms up to sling them loosely around Suguru’s middle. “I don’t want to win my fights without you there.”

Satoru’s voice is quiet between them, as if he’s giving Suguru a precious gift that he needs to handle with care, and maybe he is.

“Me neither,” Suguru admits and reaches out for Satoru’s hand, tangling their fingers together.

His heart warms when he realises that Satoru turned off Limitless for him.

“What’s going on, Suguru? What’s bothering you?” Satoru asks, squeezing Suguru’s hand and Suguru opens his mouth but he fails to find the words to explain these things to Satoru.

Satoru doesn’t see it like he does, Suguru knows that; Satoru thrives in fights, thrives off danger and strong opponents, uses them to grow and learn and jump beyond the limit of what was previously thought possible.

Meanwhile all Suguru does is break; he cracks around the edges with every curse he has to take in, with every life that is lost and he’s not sure for how much longer he can hold himself together.

“I’m tired, Satoru,” is what Suguru finally comes out with and it’s such an understatement, it almost makes him laugh.

Satoru seems to understand though, because he nods and he doesn’t laugh at Suguru either.

“You want to take a few days off? I’ll talk to Yaga, and I’ll stay, too.”

It’s not going to magically fix things, because Suguru is already too broken for that, but maybe it’ll be a start. Maybe it will mend even the tiniest of cracks and that might be better than nothing.

And so he agrees.

~*~*~

Only half of Haibara comes back.

Suguru and Satoru took a day off and half of Haibara is missing, while the other oozes blood all over the table, dripping down on the floor.

Suguru hears the steady drip echo in his ears, overlapping with the maddening sound of clapping and it feels as if he’s drowning, as if Haibara’s blood is reaching up to take him as well.

It would be what he deserves.

If he was a little bit stronger, just a little bit steadier in his convictions, Satoru wouldn’t have felt the need to stay, and maybe would have aided Haibara after finishing his own mission.

Maybe, maybe, maybe—the what if’s are going to destroy Suguru, he can already feel the spiral starting.

The drip, drip, drip of Haibara’s blood echoes loudly in the otherwise silent room.

“Don’t leave me,” Satoru whispers out next to Suguru, reaching for his hand and squeezing it almost painfully and everything snaps back into focus.

“I’m here,” Suguru replies, and he knows that Satoru is not asking him to not die.

He’s asking him to come back from whatever place his mind took him to, and if Suguru is being honest, that might even be harder than staying alive.

“It was supposed to be an easy mission to exterminate a second-grade cursed spirit!” Nanami tells them from the side of the room, right before he throws a chair across the room. “Damn it.”

He slumps against the wall, a towel over his face and Suguru doesn’t know what to do. And it seems Satoru doesn’t either, because he’s unnaturally quiet at Suguru’s side.

“Their faith in Ubusunagami—that was a local deity. That was a first-grade curse!”

Something Haibara never should have fought against on his own, Suguru thinks.

“You need to rest for now, Nanami,” he says, because someone has to.

“I heard you’re going to take it on,” Nanami almost spits out. “I don’t understand why we don’t leave everything to you two anyway. Gojo alone would already be enough.”

Suguru flinches at those words, because it’s true what Nanami says. Satoru doesn’t need Suguru to come with him to exorcise that curse.

He doesn’t need him.

“I don’t want to be enough, not when that means I’m alone,” Satoru says, his eyes burning into Suguru’s as he’s driving that point home once again.

Nanami scoffs at that, before he gets up, throwing the towel right at Satoru’s face.

“Yu shouldn’t have been alone, either.”

It’s not as if they can say anything to that and Suguru suspects it’s not even like Nanami wants them to say something.

He just lost his friend; Suguru is certain he wouldn’t hear anyone spout useless platitudes at him either, if he just lost Satoru.

They watch Nanami leave, and all they are left with is one half of an almost cold corpse. The dripping is getting louder again.

“Suguru,” Satoru says and Suguru jolts.

Even though their hands are still clasped, he forgot that he isn’t alone.

“Don’t go,” Satoru whispers, pressing close to Suguru.

Suguru knows that he wants a reassurance—needs it even—but Suguru can’t find the words. There is nothing he can say to Satoru, nothing he can promise him and when Satoru’s face falls, Suguru knows he must have read that right off his face.

“I’m here, I promise,” Satoru says, and he is; he is a hot, steady presence at Suguru’s side.

The only question is for how long that’s going to hold true.

“I just need you to stay, too.”

His voice echoes in the room, being met with nothing but silence and the dripping of Haibara’s blood.

They exorcise the curse in less than half an hour.

~*~*~

Suguru can hardly hear anything over the rushing of blood in his ears. His eyes are fixed on the girls in the cage and he’s sure that the non-sorcerers are still talking, are still spouting nonsense at him, but Suguru can’t hear them.

All he can see are the girls; there are wounds all over them and they are clinging to each other, clearly scared out of their minds.

And the non-sorcerers keep talking.

Suguru doesn’t know what they are saying, can’t make out their individual words anymore; instead all he remembers is what Tsukumo said to him.

That it’s up to him which part he chooses.

“Everyone, shall we step outside for a moment?” Suguru asks, plastering a smile to his face, pretending as if his head isn’t near exploding with the sound of clapping and blood dripping but his steps are sure when he follows the non-sorcerers outside.

He watches them turn around to him, clearly expectant of something, and Suguru is going to give them something alright.

The curse is already licking up his throat, his mind almost eerily quiet now that he made his decision but then he freezes.

“Don’t go.”

It’s Satoru’s voice that cuts through the cold haze that fell over Suguru and it feels close enough that Suguru whips his head around as if Satoru was standing right behind him.

There is nothing, except the house with two scared kids and suddenly Suguru can feel his eyes burn.

Satoru’s voice rings out inside his head, pleading with him, and Suguru reaches for his phone with shaky hands.

“Yo, you done already?” Satoru greets him when he picks up the call and a tear slips down Suguru’s cheek.

“I need you here, Satoru.”

“Suguru, what’s going on?” Satoru asks, all traces of humor wiped from his voice.

“I think—I might be leaving you,” Suguru admits, the curse almost choking him because even now Suguru still feels the need to get rid of these non-sorcerers.

Nothing has been easy these past few weeks and yet admitting this might still be the hardest thing Suguru ever had to do.

But Satoru asked him to stay, asked him to not go, and even though Suguru never promised him anything—knew better than to do that, really—he can’t bring himself to go through with it without giving Satoru a chance to set him straight again.

Satoru was looking to him when he wanted to kill everyone who was clapping in that room; now it’s Suguru’s turn to look to Satoru, to let him guide him.

“Where are you?” Satoru asks, an urgency in his voice Suguru has never heard before and he’s quick to tell him.

He knows it’s stupid, knows Satoru cannot be here any time soon, not with how remote this place is, but Suguru has to try.

He has to try or he’s going to lose himself.

“Wait, let me get a map, I can—” there’s rustling on the other end, making Suguru frown.

“What are you doing?”

“Coming to you, what else,” Satoru snaps and Suguru blinks.

“It’s—far. Can’t you just stay on the phone with me?” he asks, because he thinks if he has Satoru’s voice to guide him through the constant noise in his head, maybe it’ll turn out fine.

“Suguru, if you think I’m leaving you alone for even a second when I could lose you, you’re mistaken. Gimme a moment,” he snaps out and hangs up on Suguru.

The beeping of the phone adds to the cacophony in Suguru’s head and he feels as if he’s being swept away by all of it.

It seems Satoru has made the decision for them both, Suguru thinks numbly and turns back around to the non-sorcerers.

But instead of them, he comes face to face with Satoru.

“Suguru,” Satoru breathes out, stumbling where he stands, and Suguru reaches out to steady him on reflex.

He didn’t really expect to make contact, thought maybe his mind came up with one last image to try and deter him from whatever he was going to do.

But his hands meet Satoru’s arms, real and solid, and Suguru’s eyes snap up to him.

“How?” he breathes out and Satoru gives him his trademark grin.

“Long-distance teleportation.”

“You can’t do that,” is the only reply Suguru can think of to say and something in him settles when Satoru reaches out for him, hands tight on his upper arms.

“I can when it comes to you, when it means preventing you from leaving me,” he breathes out and Suguru slumps, trusting Satoru to keep him up, at least for a moment.

“I don’t know where to go,” Suguru admits, whispers the words between them and Satoru’s eyes blaze.

“You go to me. You always go towards me,” he says, his voice imploring and Suguru can do nothing but nod.

It seems as good a direction as any, if he’s being honest, and at least like that he’ll still have Satoru at his side.

“Okay,” he agrees and wasn’t prepared to see the raw relief on Satoru’s face.

“Always to me, Suguru. Promise me,” he still says, as if he needs to make sure that Suguru is not going to slip through his fingers when he takes his eyes away for even a second and normally, Suguru would find it overbearing, would laugh at him for being this clingy, but Suguru is lost, adrift with no anchor and making Satoru his seems like a good idea.

“I promise,” he replies and slumps forward, resting his head on Satoru’s shoulder. “Always to you. I promise, Satoru, I promise. Just—tell me what to do.”

“We’re going home,” Satoru decides and Suguru flinches, his mind going back to the girls in the cage.

“There are—” he points at the house, the non-sorcerers completely forgotten and Satoru nods without needing further explanation.

“If I leave you here alone for a moment, will you be alright?” Satoru asks as if Suguru could wander off at any second and Suguru hates how right he is with that.

“I’ll stay here,” he gives back, blending the non-sorcerers out so he doesn’t do anything stupid.

Satoru nods after one last searching gaze and then jogs into the house. Suguru hears a loud noise followed by silence and then Satoru is back, one girl propped up on his hip, the other trailing behind him, her hand fisted in his shirt.

“Meet Nanako and Mimiko,” Satoru introduces them. “And now we’re going home.”

“Can you teleport all of us?” Suguru asks even as he crouches down to pick up Nanako.

“Hell no,” Satoru snorts out. “We’ll take the train.”

It’s completely ridiculous and it’s enough to make Suguru break out into wheezing laughter. Suguru knows that he’s overreacting, that it’s not even that funny, but Nanako and Mimiko are out of their cage and Satoru’s eyes are fixed on Suguru, promising him that he’ll always have a path to take as long as it is towards Satoru and really, that is all Suguru can ask for at the moment.

“Let’s go home,” Suguru agrees, still chuckling slightly as he reaches out for Satoru’s hand.

Satoru threads their fingers together, squeezing Suguru’s hand with reassuring steadiness and Suguru feels a little bit lighter than he did earlier this morning.

Maybe it’s okay if he leans on Satoru like this, he thinks and when Satoru smiles at him, he’s certain that Satoru will make sure that he’s always steady enough for Suguru.

And Suguru is going to rely on him.

#bt writes #jjk #satosugu #geto suguru #gojo satoru #hidden inventory arc #angst #canonical character death #fix-it of sorts #hurt/comfort #codependency

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