#father brown fic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bluejaysandblackbats · 4 months

Text

Five Little Ducks

Fandom: DC Comics, Batman

Summary: Bruce finds a magically de-aged Jason.

Chapters: 7/13

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, Zatanna Zatara

Additional Tags: De-Aged Jason Todd, Magic, Babysitting, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, POV Third Person, Bruce Wayne is Not Okay, Bruce Wayne Tries, Jason Todd Has Issues, Childhood Trauma

Chapter Seven: Please Don't Think It's Funny

Bruce let Jason play hide-and-seek in the manor. He thought it'd be harmless but realized he'd made a horrible mistake after an hour. He called Duke and Steph to help, trying to conceal his panic. Steph arrived first, and Duke met her shortly afterward. "How do you lose an eight-year-old kid?" Steph asked as she checked under the staircase and the tables. "The world's greatest detective is the world's okay-est dad." She chuckled to herself as she jogged up the stairs. "Jason! Jason! If you stop hiding, I'll give you all the candy in my pocket!"

"Yeah, because he's gonna take candy from a stranger," Duke teased as he checked up high.

"Wait, he's tiny... Like, fit inside cupboards small," Steph whispered. They started opening cupboards and knocking on them. Duke came to a halt and grabbed Steph's arm.

"I think I know where he is, but Bruce isn't gonna like it," Duke replied, "Bruce! He's in the cave!"

Bruce darted upstairs, pushing Steph and Duke out of the way as he zoomed past them into the Batcave. Jason stood near the computer sobbing. Bruce ran to him and scooped him up. "Jason, I'm so-. You're so light," Bruce pulled away and looked at Jason's face. "Oh no... Jason, I'm Bruce Wayne... And I want to help you." He was so caught up in finding Jason that he didn't notice the difference in size or the change in his scent. He smelled so young. He even looked young. Not quite an infant, but he was close.

Bruce rocked Jason until the crying stopped. Duke and Steph came downstairs, and they exchanged a glance. "He's-."

"Jason Toddler-."

"Duke!" Steph chastised him.

"You thought it," Duke mumbled.

Jason cupped his hands around Bruce's ear. "Is Mama gone?" Jason mumbled.

"I think so, Jason... I think so," Bruce asked.

"Where's Daddy?" Jason questioned.

"Jason, would you like a cookie?" Bruce replied. He was afraid to say anything to upset Jason. He was so tiny and fragile. Jason nodded. "These are my friends Stephanie Brown and Duke Thomas."

Jason sniffed and waved at them. "She's pretty like Mama," Jason pointed to Steph. Steph chewed her lip, holding back tears of her own. She came up to Bruce and took Jason.

"Well, aren't you a sweetie pie!" Steph exclaimed in a sweet voice despite the tears in her eyes. "Let's go get you the biggest cookie in the kitchen."

Duke and Bruce followed her upstairs. Steph sat Jason on the counter and messed up his hair. She turned around and grabbed a cookie from the jar. Jason held it with both hands. "Thank you," Jason whispered, "Mama's gone... But where's Mommy?" Then it clicked for everyone in the room. Jason had forgotten his birth mother, but he was old enough to talk by the time she'd gone.

Jason ate his cookie, and Bruce poured him a small glass of milk. "Bruce, he's-. How old are you?" Steph asked as she grabbed the glass.

"This many," Jason whispered as he held up two fingers.

"Bruce, he's two. He can't drink out of a cup like this. Don't you have any emergency sippies?" Steph asked. She covered the cup with plastic wrap and poked a straw through. "Here you go, cutie pie."

Jason drank his milk and set it aside. "Thank you," Jason whispered. Bruce was still in shock. How could Jason have regressed?

Jason reached for Bruce, and he announced something, but neither Bruce nor Duke could make it out. "He said he has to wash his hands in the potty," Steph replied.

Bruce carried Jason to the downstairs restroom, and Steph plopped down on the couch in the living room. "You okay?" Duke asked as he sat next to her.

"I guess so... I mean," Steph took a deep breath, "It's weird to see a guy like Jason so tiny and vulnerable."

"Guess it is kinda sad when you put it like that," Duke replied. Silence fell between the two, and Bruce brought Jason back.

Jason tugged Bruce's sleeve. "Mr. Wayne? Can I go up?" Jason asked. Bruce nodded and picked Jason up. Jason closed his eyes. "I so tired."

Bruce rubbed his back. "Yeah? It must be so exhausting having to be a big boy when you're scared, huh?" Bruce asked. Jason nodded.

"I like you," Jason whispered. Bruce lay back in the recliner, still holding Jason. "You be here later?"

"Of course. We're not going anywhere," Bruce whispered. Jason held on tight to Bruce's shirt. "Jason... It's alright."

"Okay," Jason mumbled. Bruce smoothed Jason's curls down and watched as they bounced back into place. Jason loosened his grip on Bruce's t-shirt and started to suck his thumb quietly.

Bruce gestured for his phone once Jason was asleep. "Text Zatanna for me," Bruce whispered. The only noise in the room was the soft sound of Jason sucking his thumb. Duke sat on the couch with his phone in hand. "Can you tell her I need her help and that it's an emergency?"

"He's exhausted," Steph whispered as she looked at Jason. "Why do you think he got smaller? I thought he was getting older?"

"I'm hoping Zatanna can answer that... I hope this is as small as he gets," Bruce spoke softly. Zatanna texted back immediately, and before Steph could read the message, she appeared in their living room.

"I came as soon as I heard you say emergency," Zatanna stated, "What's wrong?"

Bruce pointed down at the little boy sleeping on his chest. "Remember my son, Jason? This is him," Bruce answered. Zatanna chewed her lip. "When I found him a few days ago, he was five years old, and he had an inscription written in liquid on the back of his head. Latin."

"Here, let me hold him while you write it down... How old is he now?" Zatanna asked. She took Jason and patted his back as he stirred.

"He's two. He was eight this morning and seven yesterday-. He was getting older, but now he's young again," Bruce replied as he took a piece of paper and wrote down the Latin inscription. Zatanna glanced at it. "I got a distress call from Jason, then his line went silent, and when I got to the warehouse, he was five years old. Every time he ages, he forgets who I am to him... He knows I'm Bruce Wayne."

"Someone failed Latin in high school... But, I can tell you now, it's not a curse. I think he asked for this," Zatanna explained, "This spell is sort of like the flu. You have to let it run its course, but once it's over, it's over... From what I gather, whoever did this fudged the Latin. They should've said, puer mens et corpus potest cor sanare. That would've followed with the implied intention. A child's mind and body can heal the heart, was what they should've said in Latin... But the spell on the back of his head read a child's mind and body to a child's heart."

"If he asked for this-. He called me because he wanted me to take care of him," Bruce whispered to himself. Jason lifted his head and looked around.

"Mr. Wayne?" Jason mumbled.

"It's okay... I didn't go anywhere," Bruce reassured as he reached for Jason. Zatanna handed him over, and Bruce smiled at him. Jason blew him a kiss.

Bruce smiled. "Where's Daddy?" Jason questioned. Everyone grew silent.

"He had to go away for work for a little while," Bruce whispered, "So, you'll be here with us until he gets back." Jason hid his face in Bruce's shirt.

Bruce rubbed his back as Jason burst into tears. "Aww, it's okay, Jason. We're gonna take good care of you until your daddy comes home," Steph reassured him as she walked over and stroked his cheek with the back of her hand.

Zatanna waved and uttered something before disappearing. Bruce offered Steph and Duke a painfully grave glance. "What I'm about to do can never leave this room," Bruce warned. They nodded.

Bruce set Jason down on the couch. "Do you know Mr. Rogers?" Bruce asked. Jason nodded as he cried. Jason took several deep, tear-filled breaths, attempting to self-soothe. His whole body shook as he wept and stuck his thumb in his mouth to keep quiet. Bruce patted Jason's arm before singing Please Don't Think It's Funny. Jason listened carefully and hiccupped as he took his thumb out of his mouth and wiped his tears away. Halfway through the song, Bruce tickled Jason to elicit a laugh, and Jason tried to sing along. Duke and Steph stared in shock at Bruce dancing and singing with Jason. Jason let Bruce hold his hands.

After Bruce finished the song, he breathed, and Jason copied him. "Mr. Rogers always makes me feel better when I'm scared... What about you?" Bruce questioned. Jason nodded. "He's such a good neighbor. I want to be a good neighbor like him. Could I be your neighbor? Would you like that?"

"Uh-huh," Jason offered Bruce a smile.

"Thank you for your smile. I know that was really hard... You are such a brave little boy," Bruce complimented him. Jason sat on his knees and leaned forward, kissing Bruce's forehead.

"You're nice... I like you," Jason whispered. Bruce wiped Jason's face with his thumbs, and he beamed.

#fic #batfam #Jason Todd #Bruce Wayne #Dick Grayson #Stephanie Brown #Duke Thomas #Zatanna Zatara #De-Aged Jason Todd #Magic #Babysitting #Father-Son Relationship #Fluff and Angst #POV Third Person #Bruce Wayne is Not Okay #Bruce Wayne Tries #Jason Todd Has Issues #Childhood Trauma #five little ducks fic

31 notes · View notes

wolves-in-the-world · 8 months

Text

tags on krakenartificer's post about a leverage au where nate enters the priesthood but ends up running cons for people who come to him for help anyway:

#now i need a crossover episode of catholic priest nate who's still running leverage style shenanigans #with father brown [via @trivalentlinks]

thank you for making me stare at the wall in fascination and horror about this crossover

they'd be occasional allies occasional confidantes they'd go behind each other's backs once or twice and only kinda regret it. This nate hasn't gone through the same loss as in canon, but that wouldn't make him a whole lot softer, so he'd be fundamentally irritated with father brown - his tested and unshakeable belief and his optimism about the human condition - and father brown would be generally concerned about everyone on nate's end, and nate not the least of it. They'd play chess together and be fairly well-matched. They'd visit each other's confessionals to check in.

we'd get some interesting acknowledgement of father brown's "I'm nice and simple and harmless" grift (which I could also call power negativity) which is only kind of a grift because he really is that nice and harmless beneath, except that he uses it to get information from people.

flambeau would be utterly thrilled and (playfully?) insulted not to be father brown's only criminal associate.

the leverage crew would be correctly suspicious of flambeau, I think, but sophie would greet him by name - possibly with a kiss to the cheek, possibly eyeing him like he's a viper in their midst - and reference some very improbable occasion when they were after the same prize. He mentions she was using a different name then; he doesn't say what it was. Bonus points if he also had his eye on the dagger in the Rashomon Job but had the flu / was unexpectedly in prison / had to attend a grandmother's funeral at the time.

I have this certainty in my mind that the leverage crew would be largely dismissive of sid's abilities and he'd kind of snort and roll his eyes about it - he's at worst a common criminal and very lower class, so he's used to being understimated - and surprise them with his connections or lock-picking or holding his own in a brawl or fixing an elderly car in the quickest dirtiest way imaginable. (Parker would decide she likes him then; the others would be reassured after seeing how gentle he is when talking with her.) He'd also nope out of leverage's business at a sensible time, because father brown's rubbed off on him and he doesn't actually want that kind of danger - unless the con's personal.

(I'm not sure whether to set this in leverage time or drag it back to father brown's 1950s so I'm settling for mashing the two together and pretending it's not an issue. See also: geography.)

… father brown would have I think one harrowing conversation with eliot where they mention their time in the military, the marks that killing people and losing people leaves on a person - father brown already does this in canon, tells someone it's unfair that they're mired in trauma and alcoholism when he found his faith through trauma instead, it floored me - and after brushing on repentance and god here, he wouldn't bring it up with eliot again. (I think father brown varies on this in canon, frankly, but he often respects that kind of boundary, and I think he'd recognise a wound so sore it should be left to heal however it can.)

(yes I'm playing with fictional priests like barbie dolls but no I'm not comfortable with the conversion aspects, so apologies and bear with me while I skate on past that.)

(he'd describe eliot as a good person, once, or as someone working very hard at it. Eliot would be on edge about that for the entire con, finding a little too much uneasy satisfaction in getting to knock people out and play the bad guy - play at the simpler stuff he used to do. Sophie might catch father brown for a word about it; father brown wouldn't be that clumsy again.)

I think father brown and nate would both talk bunty out of getting involved in a joint kembleford-leverage operation except in the most innocent way possible. The problem is she actually would make a good getaway driver, and she's thrilled with the idea, but she's already had some run-ins with the press and the law and can't risk another; luckily she's better used as a distraction elsewhere.

and I'm sorry to do this, but I think lady felicia's husband would be a mark or potential mark at one point. It would be fraught.

(the main reason I haven't recommended father brown's heist episode (s7e10), aside from not having a background on the politics in it, is that it shows lady felicia as a victim and pulls the heist on her behalf. The show largely convinced me to ignore the messy reality of her and her husband's inherited wealth, but that episode made me kinda uncomfortable - which is a shame, because seeing these characters pull a heist was fucking great.)

mrs mccarthy would be used against her will or knowledge as a distraction while someone's pockets are picked. She isn't told until afterwards, and then only half by accident. She is, of course, horrified. Father brown was absolutely the one to suggest it in planning, but flambeau slips in mid-apology to smoothly take the blame.

I could in fact go on and this is in fact a problem.

—

editing to continue:

I'm actually thinking that father brown might approach eliot from an ex-military angle and not a Religious Authority angle at all - eliot was raised protestant, after all, and it's an entirely different vibe. And I have to think eliot's guarded around father brown for the very fact that he's a priest and seems to mean it in a way that nate, I feel, wouldn't. So they may avoid the topic entirely, or as close to it as they can when brushing on, well, eliot's entire moral injury situation. Which is good news for me.

bunty would admire parker for being different and capable and getting up to exciting things, though would probably fail at any attempts at friendship until she thinks to ask what parker likes doing and ends up learning to pick pockets that evening. The second those two are around buildings tall enough to rappel down she's in danger. (The second parker can slip away at night she's giving the church a go; father brown gives her a look the night before and quietly warns her about the dodgy roof.)

mrs mccarthy decides fairly quickly that hardison is a very nice young man (his nana instincts are online and functional) even if he spends far too much time on the wretched computer. She's determined to feed him and half the time he's determined to find ways to politely refuse, though the strawberry scones are actually pretty good.

she's appalled by eliot's job, and fiercely territorial of her kitchen when he offers help, even just cleaning up, but once she's seen him get in the way of trouble she's absolutely catching his arm and half hiding behind him in any crisis real or perceived. (She still doesn't approve of him.)

lady felicia sees hardison and eliot as two very different kinds of novelties and does some talking to hardison about tech (mostly listening and marveling) and some quietly ogling both of them, and especially eliot once she's seen him fighting. (Eliot unfortunately turned on his charm when he realised she sort of expected it. She doesn't get to chat with charming southern gents all that often - it's very shallow, and she's not serious about it.)

thank goodness bunty's too young for eliot so I don't have to go there. He has to tuck her out of sight in a barn at some point when trouble's headed their way; when the mess is almost cleaned up and she's grabbed a rifle from somewhere to tell the the remaining goon to clear off, with every appearance of competence, eliot takes it from her and disarms it with a smear of blood under his nose and a slightly betrayed expression.

hardison and sid get along, aside from a little initial insecurity on the parker front, and get to bitch a bit about flambeau, who hardison mistrusts from the start.

flambeau... he admires parker, from a distance - professionally and not very effusively - but after he watches her work for a while he seems to realise who she was trained by, and tells her as much. He says he was too, for a very short time, and it's unclear if he'd gain anything from making it up. Says that he and archie had a difference of opinion - and has a way of saying it that implies there might have been fire involved.

#hello. hi. sorry folks. I do in fact recommend father brown (the bbc show) SO LONG AS #you're aware of and comfortable with the fact that he IS a catholic priest.#messy show kind show I had the flu when I fell in love with it #flambeau and sophie would communicate in ways the other characters wouldn't understand and low key flirt like it's breathing #both nate and lady felicia would be jealous and have to DEAL with the fact that they're jealous #this is going to end with nate leaving the priesthood to get to know sophie and run cons with the team isn't it #with father brown's blessing-and-cautions-and-please-stay-in-touch (which he obviously does)#father brown #leverage #orig #this is a separate post to spare the previous OP because I got a bit carried away #and trivalent sorry for referencing characters you don't really know yet!! this just sort of Happened I'm as surprised as you are #can I make this make sense enough to fit one episode's worth of story. maybe.#it would in fact be concerningly plausible to write a modern day fic with a small english village that's apparently stuck in the 1950s #my head's in my hands about this country tbh #catholicism cw #christianity cw #this post may self-destruct after a while we'll see

20 notes · View notes

emiliebemily · 11 months

Text

The Bat-Family and the eagle.

“Devastating, isn’t it?” Oracle sighed, gaining attention from those within the Batcave.

Stephanie looked up from sparring with Bruce Wayne’s biological son, Damian Wayne, “Huh? Ow!”

“Emilie Ferguson.” Oracle pointed at the screen, “Her family died in that fire, remember?”

“Goodness, that was quite awful, Miss Gordon. I do hope she is well.” Alfred Pennyworth appeared from the corner of the BatComputer, “Cookies anyone?”

Timothy sipped on his coffee, “How old is the girl?”

A new deeper voice came from the shadows, “She’s 17, so she’ll be your age.” Bruce Wayne, jumped out from his Batmobile, Dick Grayson stretching on his way out.

Oracle watched as a couple left the orphanage the 17-year-old was staying at, noticing how they left rather angrily even going up to the reporter and claiming the girl to be a nuisance. Barbra shook her head, “It seems like Emilie keeps refusing people to adopt her.”

“Why would she do that?” Stephanie asked, “Loads of people have come forward to adopt her and it seems that she’s turning them all down.”

“We all can understand why.” Timothy said.

Dick Grayson took a chocolate chip cookie and glanced at Bruce, the Batman, “Fancy taking another one in?” He joked.

Bruce only glared before sliding into his chair, running a background check on the girl and her family.

“Woah, she’s utterly loaded.” Dick said, earning a slight slap from Barbra, “It’s true, and to think she’s a millionaire.”

“Her parents won the lottery two years ago and did nothing with the money, except giving it to her, plus all of their earnings, when you add them both, yeah makes her a millionaire. But also makes it so people will come after her. It is only a matter of time before people realise that her parents did not spend that money. She needs to be protected.”

“Bruce, are you considering?”

“No. I can hardly handle all of you, I can’t imagine another one.”

“Bruce, the footage.” Stephanie frowned, glancing up at the screen, at the young woman and how she thrashed around in her neighbours arms, trying to reach the home eagerly. Stephanie’s heart ached for the girl, and turned to Bruce who sighed.

“There is nothing I can do.”

“There is. You can adopt her.” Tim said with a cookie in his mouth, half joking as well as Stephanie elbowed him.

Damian on the other hand was rather unsure on this offer, “Another imbecile? Father, surely not.”

Bruce shook his head, “Enough. I’m not adopting anyone. Drop it.” A new screen pops up, with footage of an interview between Emilie Ferguson and a news reporter. Barbra hits play and they begin to watch the interview.

“Thank you for joining me today Emilie, I appreciate you taking the time to take in this traumatic incident.” She gave a reassuring smile, to the girl who sat opposite. The girl had style, and dressed wealthily, though Cassandra, who had been quiet the entire time could just tell how terrified the girl was to be sat in front of the camera.

“Thank you for having me.” Emilie smiled, it wasn’t fake but anyone from afar could tell she did not want to do this interview.

“Now, from constant news reports, we have seen an increasing amount of families come here to visit you, some even offering you a place in their home. I must ask why don’t you go with them? Do you not want a home?” Dick stared in disbelief, “Did she really just ask that?”

Everyone watched the girls movements, noticing how she took a deep gulp, then an inhale and large exhale, almost as if she had to control her temper, “I understand the concern of me having a home. Don’t you think that’s all I want to do. Of course I want to find a home. I want to go home. But quite frankly, I cannot. As it is all burnt. My home is burnt. My family are dead. And you’re worried about which family will meet me and possibly adopt me?” Emilie frowned, slightly sending glares at the reporter, though the reporter did nothing to listen to her and instead continued asking the questions.

“How does it feel knowing so many people, from all over the world, have seen your videos of the fire?”

Emilie bit the inside of her cheek, “Oh, you mean when the news recorded me in a very vulnerable moment? Well… the fact I cannot leave the building without a microphone being shoved into my face, asking ‘if it is true that I burnt the house down’ or ‘when I will be adopted’. I don’t like it. I want to be left alone.”

“Then why agree to this interview?”

“So you can ask all your questions and then leave me alone.”

“Poor girl.” Alfred said, shaking his head. Taking the tray back and heading up, “If only someone could promise her privacy.”

Bruce leant back in the chair, ignoring the knowing and exciting and the disapproving glances from everyone.

“Several families have came forward and said that you have been ‘rude’, ‘inconsiderate’ and even a ‘brat’. Is this true? What led to this behaviour?” The interviewer asked, clicking her pen ready to write her response.

She took a moment to reply, and clenched her fists to stop herself from slapping the interviewer. Taking one look at her and shaking her head, everyone gaped as she stood, “I don’t want to do this interview anymore. Thank you for your time. But I do not answer to such idiotic questions to apathetic people.” She continued to gently take the mic off and walk away.

The screen went blank.

“Unbelievable.” Dick shook his head, “They treated her like shit in that interview.”

“Affirmative.” Damian said, crossing his arms.

“Oh.. I know that look.” Barbra said, eyes widened as she took in Bruce’s face, “You’re considering it, aren’t you?”

Bruce shook his head, before looking out at everyone, “Of course not. And anyway, don’t you have patrol to do?”

Everyone was reluctant but still went on their way to head out on patrol.

Alfred approached him, “Shall I clear your schedule for tomorrow, Master Bruce?”

“That would be the best.”

36 notes · View notes

owl-by-night · 2 months

Text

To Catch a Thief - Chapter Six

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53865664/chapters/139993423

A nightmare, a truce and Father Brown returns from London

#father brown #my fic #hercule flambeau #felicia montague #monty montague #still paddling this damn canoe

6 notes · View notes

autisticlancemcclain · 2 years

Text

The night his parents died was far to beautiful to host such a tragedy.

It hadn’t been muggy, for the first time in weeks. A cool breeze had gently rattled his mother’s windchimes hanging from the front porch, rustling the light curtains pulled aside from the windows. The air had smelt sweet, and the clouds had been deep and colourful; the beauty of the moments before sunset.

He remembers his mother had looked so excited. The bags under her eyes — permanent residents for as long as he could remember — seemed lighter, somehow; maybe because of the wideness of her smile. She had her favourite dress on, the purple one with pockets.

He remembers his father a little less clearly, but sees him in his mind’s eye all the same. He’d had his beard trimmed, for the first time in a while. He was wearing his favourite bright orange Hawaiian shirt, which clashed with his mother’s dress so horribly it had made Rachel wince, but they looked so happy. So light, like the weight that had been crushing them — slowly, steadily, over the years — had lifted.

“What movie are you going to see?” he’d asked.

His mother had laughed, brightly and airily.

“Oh, who knows,” she’d said. “Whatever’s there.”

He and Veronica had exchanged a smile. He was happy for them. It’d been a while, since they’d gone out and done something just for them, just because they could. Because there was time, finally.

“We’ll be home in a couple hours,” his father had said, “no later than midnight. Lancito has a bottle ready in the fridge, it just needs to be heated a little. Remember, test —”

“Test it on your wrist, yes, yes, we know.” Rachel hadn’t even looked up from where she was running careful, careful fingers over baby Lance’s face. Caressing him, really. Baby Lance was staring at her just as intensely, making quiet little mumbling noises as his tiny fists clenched onto her fingers.

(Rachel’s closeness with Lance was a bit of a shock, to everyone. She had been the baby of the family for fourteen years until Lance came along, so there’d been some… concern. Would Rachel struggle with the new dynamic? Would she have trouble bonding with the new baby?

She had just been so… blank, when Mamá and Papá had sat them at the dinner table, sheepishly handing them ultrasound photos. She’d never seemed excited to shop for baby clothes, or build the crib, or touch Mamá’s growing belly. Never negative, of course not, but nothing passed neutral. Everyone had been a little nervous.

But the concern had been unfounded. The second Rachel had held newborn baby Lance in her arms for the first time, dark brown eyes meeting dark brown eyes, she’d sighed, this sound of total awe, as if it had been punched out of her. She’d hunched over him, protectively, pressing the gentlest of kisses to his head.

She held him as often as she could. She loved that baby. Mamá liked to joke that Rachel held that baby more often than she did.)

“Is Marco practicing?” Papá has asked, just as quiet violin started swaying with the wind blowing through the windows.

Mamá had smiled, turning soft eyes to the staircase.

“We shouldn’t interrupt him,” she’d said. “Maybe we’ll just go.”

“No, you should say goodbye. He might be all grouchy, if you don’t. Accuse you of playing favourites.”

Luis didn’t know why he said it, then, but he’s glad he did. He’s glad Mamá had laughed, running up to staircase with Papá to say goodbye to him, too.

They’d left, then, dancing out the door and blowing kisses behind them. Papá’s shitty Corolla revved a couple minutes later, squeaky brakes detailing his careful reversing out of the driveway.

Luis doesn’t remember the next couple hours. Everything’s a little hazy, in his mind, nothing concrete — it had been such a normal night, then, his brain had not thought to carefully preserve every moment. To detail every second, of the night that changed his life.

There’s so much he doesn’t remember.

He remembered Marco coming down to join everyone, at one point, practice over for the night. They watched a movie, although he can’t remember which one. Maybe Rachel remembers.

He knows Lance fell asleep, snuggled in Rachel’s arms, after she’d carefully given him his bottle. He remembers asking her if she’d like to set him down upstairs, give her arms a break, and she’d looked almost offended.

“Set him down,” she’d asked, “why would I do that? He’s fine, anyway. He’s a good sleeper.”

More of the night passed, things blurring in his memory.

He does remember baby Lance wrenching himself awake and positively screaming.

Rachel had startled, terrified she’d somehow hurt him.

“Is he okay?” she’d panicked, wide eyes watching Luis as he scooped him from her arms.

“His diaper’s chill clean, and he just ate —” Luis checked the clock. 10:48, it’d read. The numbers burned in his memory — “three hours ago. He shouldn’t be hungry.”

“Maybe he’s just bored?” Veronica had suggested.

Marco glanced at Lance warily. “He doesn’t sound bored.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Luis had agreed, rocking Lance gently.

“Hey, hey, mijo,” he’d cooed, “it’s okay. It’s okay. Mamá will be home soon.”

He’d wailed harder at the sound of her name, cries reverberating the walls and shaking the foundations of the house. Luis bit his lip. Lance was a quiet baby, and usually a happy baby. He’d never screamed like this before.

“What’s wrong, Lancito?”

He remembers that Lance had never stopped wailing. He remembers that Luis had tried calming him for almost a half hour before Veronica tried, thinking she might feel closer to Mamá, but it hadn’t worked. He remembers they’d tried feeding him, but he wouldn’t latch. They’d changed him, swaddled him, they’d even tried a warm bath.

Nothing.

“He’s gonna make himself bleed,” Rachel had sniffled, her own eyes wet. Lance had screamed himself hoarse, at this point, soundless, but his little body tensed with the effort of each wail.

“Neither of them is answering,” Marco had said, slamming the phone back down on the receiver. “I’ve been trying for fifteen minutes. Nothing.”

Luis turned tired eyes to the oven’s clock. 11:36.

“The movie theatre closed six minutes ago,” Veronica had whispered.

Luis had never felt more like the oldest sibling in his life. Holding his sobbing baby brother, unable to comfort him, with the rest of his siblings staring at him with scared, tired eyes, and he had no answers.

“I don’t know what to do,” he’d admitted, because it had seemed better than lying.

It had not helped.

He remembers that they’d sat there, watching the clock tick, Lance’s screams still echoing through the house, for 24 minutes.

“Something’s wrong,” Rachel had whispered, right as the clock struck 12. They’d all known it, but there was something about her saying it, making it permanent. Making it true.

The phone had rang, at 12:49 in the morning. Veronica had Lance, then, so Luis had been able to answer it.

He remembers that he didn’t want to. He remembers feeling dread.

“Hello,” he’d croaked. He hadn’t spoken in hours.

“Hi, is this Luis McClain?”

“Speaking.”

“I am so sorry, Mr. McClain. I have some unfortunate news.”

Luis hadn’t needed her to continue. He knew, deep in his chest, what she was going to say. He let her continue anyway.

“Your parents were involved in a car accident earlier this evening. They died on impact. They were just now ID’d. You are listed as their next of kin. I’m so sorry.”

He had known it. He had. But hearing the words punched the air out of him, stole the breath from his lungs. He heard Rachel sob, saw Marco press her to his chest. Saw a single tear drip down Veronica’s face, landing in a splatter on Lance’s head. Lance made a noise from his wrecked throat for the first time in hours, a warbled sob that seemed to take up all the air in the kitchen.

Luis dropped the phone, and it hung down from the counter, bouncing on the coiled wire. The woman called for him, several times, her tinny voice needling his ears. It took him several minutes to force his limbs into movements, pick the phone back up.

“W — what do I need to do?”

“…There’s an officer and a social worker here with me at the hospital. There are some affairs that need to be addressed. We need you to come here as soon as possible.”

“I have my siblings, with me. I can’t leave them alone.“

“You can bring them, if they can come.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

He remembers that he didn’t bother to say goodbye. Just hung up.

“We have to go to the hospital,” he’d announced. He remembers that he hadn’t cried, yet. He remembers that right then he was just thinking about the next step.

“Okay, let’s go, kiddos,” Veronica had said. She’d herded Marco and Rachel to the car and buckled a still-crying Lance into his carseat, while Luis dug around for the minivan keys. He remembers that no one had sat in the front with him; Marco sitting with a desolate Rachel, and Veronica still desperately trying to soothe Lance.

He doesn’t remember the drive to the hospital. He doesn’t even remember the walk to the morgue. He barely remembers being led by a man, taller than him, to see his parents one last time.

(It’s hard to forget the faces of his parents, so drained from blood they were grey, except for the red splatters on their faces. The strange shape of his father’s face where his skull cracked on the steering wheel because of an airbag that didn’t work. The squished mess of his mother’s regal nose.

He wishes he could forget. He’s glad he didn’t let anyone else see.)

He had walked back to where everyone else was waiting, numb. He remembers that the social worker promised to come talk with him tomorrow, help make plans for a funeral and look at the wills and final wishes. He remembers wondering why it mattered. He remembers being informed that the time of death was 10:48. He remembers looking at Lance, baby Lance, who had finally passed out, little face red and streaked with tears, and wondered how the hell he had known. Had he felt it? A cosmic change, shift in the universe? How had this little baby known the second he had lost his parents? Because there’d been no other way to explain it, the endless wailing. The grief, he’d somehow experienced.

He had herded everyone back to the minivan, paying the $25 damned dollars for parking. He remembers that Veronica had sat in the front, this time. Rachel had fallen asleep, on the way home, head resting on Marco’s shoulder. Marco had spent the entire ride staring blankly ahead.

Luis remembers rolling down the window, the warm, summer-night breeze ruffling his hair.

It really had been such a beautiful night.

———

next chapter

152 notes · View notes

bisidneycarter · 5 months

Text

no bc i was just vibing w sullivan mrs d a TINY BIT and now....

#christ almighty #NEED TO WORK ON MY FIC RN BC IT HAS THE ONLY SULL MRS D PROPOSAL THAT SHOULD EVER EXIST #father brown spoilers #11x10

6 notes · View notes

valdrinorm · 1 year

Text

my personal TUC: Next Gen class headcanons

al matsui-sinclair: battle smith artificer. she has a knack for the arcane inherited from her mother and an instinct for protection and healing inherited from her father. her steel defender is a metal dog named ox jr.

cat lee: hexblade warlock / phantom rogue multiclass. la gran gata becomes her patron at a young age, and i can see her being a weird little goth who's fascinated by death due to her origin story, hence phantom rogue.

langston brown-herrera: peace cleric. hear me out, because i know draconic bloodline sorcerer is the obvious option, but comparing langston to iga or the shens, i don't think it makes much sense. considering that the dragon of bleecker street's one regret was not living a life as a human, i think it makes most sense for langston to take after his vox populi father, but with a subclass focused specifically on the bonds between people.

#im like half-planning a next gen fic taking place right after kingston's death #focused on langston learning to understand both the human and dragon sides of himself #and grieving both his father and the future he thought he would have before he understood his responsibilities #as the next dragon of nyc #anyway #tuc #dimension 20 #the unsleeping city #alejandra matsui-sinclair #catherine lee #langston brown-herrera #aug.post

34 notes · View notes

sarcasticteapot · 1 year

Text

And no, my head won’t accept straight Sullivan. I’m loyal to Cartivan✨

#I don’t have enough middle fingers to tell you how I really feel #Isabelle is a sweetheart but no #Sid where are you when we need you #sid x sullivan #I’ve read too much Sid x Sullivan fics to accept anything else as a canon #my biggest fear becomes true #father brown #bbc father brown #inspector sullivan #sid carter #my cartivan heart hurts

27 notes · View notes

mittenlady · 10 months

Text

guys i think @etherfalling loves angst

#etherfalling #actually shoutout to etherfalling i am so happy to see my writing actually make people feel things #im never sure if it’s emotionally impactful or just #words #cuz i wrote it also i am used to half the things i write about #klavier’s emotionally abusive brother issues inspired by my emotionally abusive mother issues CANIGETA HOOOYAAAH #mother blonde blue eyes so is krissy gavin #i am also blonde (i have brown eyes tho shoutout tonMICHAEL!!!!! go jewish people (that is my father (dead)))#okay anyway for some semblance of fic updates CAYA arc 2 is going to be depressing #simon going delulu #klavier ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm #need to make sure im conveying what i need to convey with him i’ll get back to you on that.#watching my friend play AJ tho and it’s a nice refresher. also fun :) but it’s reminding me I need to make him more obnoxious #channel my inner 17 year old to write him #(i am no longer 17 but it was hell)

7 notes · View notes

montabeau · 2 years

Text

something i absolutely need to see: lady felicia somehow getting roped into going camping.

perhaps it’s a charity thing, and she was pretty much guilt-tripped into going because it’s a cause she’s raised a lot of money for in the past (à la s4 ep6 when she’s lowkey guilt-tripped into staying in the nhs hospital). there’s also quite a few other people from kembleford there, including most of the main cast — father brown, mrs m, sid, goodfellow, and any of the inspectors really. you know what, let’s make it sullivan so we can have a Very Gay scene where he and sid bump into each other while they’re both still wearing whatever they slept in.

anyway, felicia keeps complaining to anyone who’ll listen about how she’s having “an absolutely dreadful time out here in the middle of nowhere” (aka in a field that’s about ten minutes’ walk away from the village) — and things don’t exactly improve for her when she finds one of the other campers dead.

cue the classic lady-felicia-has-just-found-a-dead-body scream, sullivan arresting completely the wrong person based on some misleading evidence, and father brown trying to find the real killer before an innocent person is hanged

#literally if someone knows of / writes a fic like this please send me the link #i am literally begging you #i need this to happen more than i need to breathe #also idk how coherent this post is tbh cause i haven’t slept in over 24 hours but anyways #lei’s fic ideas #father brown #bbc father brown #fr brown #mrs mccarthy #sid carter #lady felicia montague #inspector sullivan #sergeant goodfellow #cartivan #sid x sullivan

55 notes · View notes

bluejaysandblackbats · 4 months

Text

Five Little Ducks

Fandom: DC Comics, Batman

Summary: Bruce finds a magically de-aged Jason.

Chapters: 5/13

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, Zatanna Zatara

Chapter Five: Borda

Jason knocked on Bruce's door at two in the morning. Bruce groaned, forgetting Jason was seven years old, and he answered the door. He was so exhausted he never thought to look down. "Mr. Wayne," Jason whispered, "I did a bad thing."

"Oh? What did you do?" Bruce questioned, still not opening his eyes.

"I threw up," Jason mumbled. Bruce blinked hard and looked down at Jason. Jason had a greenish pallor, and his eyes were red and puffy.

"You threw up... That's alright. Are you done?" Bruce questioned. He was still half-asleep.

"I threw up on the rug," Jason mumbled. Bruce reached for Jason's hand, and Jason flinched.

"I'm not gonna hit you. Do you wanna be picked up?" Bruce questioned. Jason rubbed his eyes and nodded. Bruce scooped him up and rubbed his back. "I'm sorry that you got sick."

"I can clean it up... I was just-. I-. I got scared that I'd get lost," Jason stammered.

"You don't have to do that," Bruce whispered. Bruce imagined Jason's eyes were puffy because he probably fretted over the mess, crying out of fear of punishment. "Accidents happen, Jason... Okay?" Jason hid his face in Bruce's shoulder as they entered the room. Bruce turned the light on to assess the situation, and he nodded. Sure, enough, there was a little clear puddle in the center of the rug.

"I'm sorry," Jason whimpered. Bruce held the back of Jason's head in his palm and put some bounce in his step as he walked to the hall closet to grab the cleaning supplies.

"It's alright... It's nothing little baking soda and seltzer can't fix," Bruce whispered, "Jason, I've gotta put you down now-."

"Just a little bit longer... Please," Jason whispered. Bruce nodded and bounced from one side to the other. It was so hard to remember that Jason wasn't a baby. He was so small and easy to hold onto. Easy to hold onto. Jason hadn't been easy to hold onto in years. For years they'd been caught up in a violent struggle of push and pull. It felt good just this once to be needed. "Nobody picks me up anymore..."

"Well, I'll pick you up anytime you want," Bruce promised, "I don't care how big you get... I'll always try-." His voice broke. Bruce was bombarded with images from Jason's death. He took a steadying breath, and after a few moments, Jason pulled away.

"You can put me down if you want... I'm tired now," Jason whispered. Bruce nodded and tucked Jason into bed. Then, he tended to the mess on the rug. Jason lay on his side, staring at Bruce. "Mr. Wayne... I really am sorry," Jason apologized again.

"It's alright... Do you feel better?" Bruce questioned. Jason nodded. "That's all that matters..."

"Is Dick your son too?" Jason asked. Bruce nodded. "Why did he go away?"

"He had to go home... He doesn't live here anymore," Bruce explained. Jason blinked hard.

"You live all by yourself?" Jason questioned. Bruce nodded. "Aren't you lonely?"

"Sometimes," Bruce answered as he finished cleaning up. "I'll be right back." He put everything where it belonged and returned to Jason's room.

Jason waved at Bruce. "My dad told me a scary story the other night because he was mad at me... He said his dad told him the same story," Jason whispered.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Bruce questioned. Jason nodded.

"My mommy says if something's scary, sometimes you have to tell the story to someone else so that it won't worry me anymore," Jason explained.

"Alright," Bruce replied.

"Can you turn the light on first?" Jason asked. Bruce nodded and turned on the lamp with a remote. "If it's foggy, I'm not supposed to walk to school unless he's with me... But I went anyway because it was library day. So, when he got home from work, I wasn't there. He grabbed and shook me, and I wanted to cry, but I didn't." Bruce nodded.

"Did he take you to school?" Bruce asked. Jason shook his head.

"He told me kids shouldn't go out in the fog without their mommies and daddies because of the Borda. Do you know what that is?" Jason questioned. Bruce shook his head. "She's a scary witch with a blindfold that kills kids with ropes for going where they're not supposed to." Bruce nodded.

"Were you upset when he told you that?" Bruce questioned. Jason nodded.

"But he didn't stay mad... I told him I was sorry, and he took me home. We played the lock game, and he got his money back from our neighbor," Jason replied.

"What's the lock game?" Bruce asked.

"We played it in our building... Sometimes he'd forget things in people's apartments, so he showed me how to unlock doors with different stuff, so we don't have to bother anybody," Jason explained, "I can unlock a door in less than a minute."

It took everything in Bruce's power to hold a straight face. He was furious. How could Willis trick a child as sweet and innocent as that into breaking and entering into apartments? And Jason was none the wiser. "What's the matter?" Jason questioned. Bruce shook his head. He knew Jason had to learn to steal from someone, but he had no idea this was how it all started.

"Did you play any other games with Willis?" Bruce replied.

"Um... The police game. Mommy didn't like that one," Jason replied, "I had to sit in the car when he'd go shopping and honk the horn when I saw police. I have to smile and wave at the police, and if they stop and wave at me, I win."

Bruce swallowed hard. "You don't play checkers or anything like that with him?" Bruce questioned.

"Oh," Jason yawned, "Sometimes he'd play the drums on my stomach while dinner cooked... I like that one. It's my favorite."

Bruce made a soft noise as Jason closed his eyes. "Any other games?" Bruce asked.

"It wasn't a game, but when he reads-. When he used to read the paper, he would let me hold one side while he held the other... I liked it because he always gave me a kiss instead of telling me to turn the page," Jason replied. Bruce kissed Jason's forehead.

"Thank you for sharing your stories with me," Bruce whispered.

"Thank you for holding me," Jason mumbled. Bruce tried not to seem sad, but he couldn't help but feel pain in the pit of his stomach. Willis's love for Jason was there, but it was selfish. Jason accepted that as it was. Jason accepted scraps of love when he deserved much more. Jason deserved the world, and even Bruce failed to give that to him.

29 notes · View notes