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neonponders · 3 years

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Based on @lovebillyhargrove ‘s This Steve with This Billy. (original concept credit to @youfuckingdonut)

I’m having more success with mafia drabbles than my on-going mafia fics orz

• • • • • • •

Steve didn’t know what Billy’s job actually was.

He knew the guy wore nice shirts and nicer blazers, suit jackets, and tuxedo pieces. He knew Billy had to be either the boss or close to it, because he only wore the pieces of a full suit or tuxedo. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if he burned every tie he saw. Always had too many buttons undone.

But he looked good. And he knew he looked good. He walked right up to Steve waiting in line with Robin at a cafe before it closed. They’d gone to a nightclub at the absurd time of 8 o’clock. Hey, no door charge because they showed up so early. They were drunk off their ass and sweaty by 11pm. He called it an efficient night out.

“I’ve never been so happy to have a box of stale croissants in my life,” Robin mused as the tired barista used the tongs in the glass display case.

Steve bounced from foot to foot, still dancing to the bad radio pop overhead. He cracked open his juice from the chilled shelves, since asking for a coffee five minutes shy of closing might get a wad of spit mixed in -

“You’re light on your feet.”

Steve didn’t think too heavily on it when he was drunk. Everyone was prettier when the brain behind the eyes was in some cups, just like all food tasted better. Maybe he should’ve devoted more brain cells to the moment. But that was a lost cause now.

He and Robin chatted and Steve apologized for his hand being wet with condensation and sweat when the guy offered a handshake. Even through the sparkly haze of alcohol, Steve could tell he gave Steve the time of day more than Robin, but they were on their way out anyway.

Steve might’ve said, “Well that was a great nightcap. He’s tasty,” a bit loud before the cafe door shut behind them. Robin coughed on her croissant and Steve guffawed and swiped it for himself before taking off down the street with her chasing after him.

But then Steve just kept running into him.

The guy from the cafe.

Walking into the park as Steve was leaving it. Strolling by the bank before Steve went inside.

With his designer clothes and his clean shoes and smooth, clean shaven jaw made ever so slightly tacky from skincare and lotion when it touched Steve’s face. Because he leaned too far forward over the table he was serving at his upscale restaurant job and

Time froze in a vacuum

Because Steve could’ve sworn he - Billy - lifted his face into the shadow of Steve’s neck. Inhaled.

It was a miracle he didn’t drop a plate or spill a glass. He dared the briefest glance but blue eyes pierced him regardless of the emotion behind them. Steve felt like a dagger tied on a string hung through his belly, lazily stirring his nerves and threatening to land dangerously in his groin.

He left the table before he made a fool of himself and all the company present. Large tables guaranteed large tips. He’d be set for the next month if he just didn’t fuck this up. He strode past the open-air kitchen and the ‘butler’s pantry’ area to hallway with the staff bathrooms -

Hands turned him around by his hips, surprisingly warm despite the thick poly-cotton of his white apron and the black slacks underneath.

The dagger fell.

The kiss was soft despite how ravenously Billy plundered his mouth. It was all Steve could do, to hold onto his nape and then wrap his arms behind Billy’s neck. He tasted like steak and amaretto and neutral sweet, like a man. Mewls and moans left Steve’s throat like he couldn’t stop them. Didn’t want to. Just wanted to drown in whatever this was.

Billy pivoted them so Steve pressed into the wallpaper. He hummed again as his hand found the clean shaven fade on the back of Billy’s head, his blunt fingertips petting and scratching there like he hadn’t known this man for more than an hour of collective encounters.

A sound left Billy’s chest. It hit Steve’s core like a pebble on a bell before he broke the kiss enough to meet Steve’s gaze. Clear blue eyes far more sober than Steve felt and probably looked. Wrecked with lust for this stranger who had money and means to always find him.

“A car’s going to pick you up later.”

Steve blinked with reticence, not wanting to leave this haze but already out of it.

“Get into the car.” The pad of Billy’s thumb touched Steve’s lip, light but insistent. He breathed, “Steve,” before leaving the hallway. Pleading. At least, Steve wanted it to be a plea.

But he was gone when Steve checked back at the table to top up waters and drinks. In singles and pairs, the group left until Steve was left to collect dishes and wonder who the hell managed their tabs. His manager answered that question for him moments later, by shoving a thick fold of cash into his apron pocket.

“Your tip from table twenty-three.”

“I didn’t see you get the bills,” he commented, intending to reach in and see what the high rollers tipped -

She shoved his hands away from his pocket. “You don’t take money out in the open, silly. Get back to your locker for that.”

Steve knew he never saw her with a pile of receipt folders with credit cards sticking out of them. But he went back to work and didn’t take inventory of his tips until closing.

That table might’ve spent $1200 on dinner and drinks.

Steve got $1100 in tips. What kind of math that was, he didn’t know, but he couldn’t fixate on it too much, because inside the fold of money was a piece of paper with a phone number. No name. Steve could assume it to be Billy’s but he didn’t know...

Get into the car.

Steve zipped up his coat as he stepped out of the employees’ entrance. He emerged out of the service alleyway to...a regular city street. No cars more or less than normal, and none of them stood out...

Did he even want to get in?

He almost shook his head, just to jostle his thoughts around. “Don’t be stupid, don’t be stupid,” he whispered to himself as he turned and marched his ass home. He didn’t know this guy: a person with a scary amount of recon on his life to be able to find him at any ol’ time. His dinner friends weren’t exactly a college reunion, either.

But he kissed like a god and tasted like one too.

He held Steve like he wanted him, and Christ, Steve wanted to be wanted.

The privilege of being craved.

He was wrist deep in shampoo with his eyes closed when he realized someone pounded on his apartment door. The panic of rinsing suds off his body as fast as possible, the terror of someone at his door at 2am, and the fury of pissing off his neighbors at 2am spurred him out of the shower and into a t-shirt on top of the towel around his waist.

God sure as hell could’ve been at his door and Steve would’ve answered it the same way.

“It’s 3am! Shut the hell up!” he hissed.

Billy looked equal measures of pissed and concerned, but he blinked and amusement crept in. He wore a long, swanky pea coat that looked soft to the touch. Steve was more preoccupied with moving out of his way when the guy strode right into his apartment.

“Why didn’t you let the car pick you up?” Billy’s gaze moved around the Spartan yet cluttered living room.

“Uh, I didn’t see one?” Steve sassed before he admitted, “Or...it’s a street? Lots of cars.”

Billy’s attention landed on him like he didn’t quite believe it. Steve stood in a towel with dripping hair, for god sake. Billy’s eyes raked over him as if he were putting together some pieces of a puzzle that Steve didn’t understand. Or was mundane life so difficult if you could just drop $1100?

Billy took his hands from his pockets and started removing buttery leather gloves. “Do you have a roommate?”

Steve felt like another dagger was about to fall, but where, he couldn’t tell. He inhaled and sighed, “No.”

“Who is that woman to you?”

Steve’s brows reached for his hairline. “You mean my best friend?” he challenged.

Billy laughed. Derisive and amused and...impressed? Relieved?

He threw his coat, jacket, and gloves on the IKEA couch and those hands found Steve’s waist again. “Billy?” he managed before he had those lips again. Before Billy’s hand found the base of his skull and encouraged him to tilt for better access.

Then Billy let a moan seep into his sigh. Their lips parted audibly and he breathed, “No one talks to me like you do. About me. To me. You-mmh.”

He took Steve’s lips again like he craved. Steve shivered against his erection brushing against the fibers of his towel.

“Can I finish my shower?”

“No,” he purred darkly, arm locking behind Steve’s waist as the other pressed a rolling hand to Steve’s front.

He trembled through a broken shout, panting against Billy’s lips and jaw, gripping his silk shirt at the risk of scratching the threads. Billy licked over Steve’s lips, and Steve was dangerously close to cumming right there.

“Billy...” he whined. He warned.

Bright eyes gazed steadily at him through hooded, dark lashes. “Keep saying my name like that. I’ll give you everything.”

#harringrove #ficlet #this steve with this billy #lovebillyhargrove #youfuckingdonut #for the non-americans: you take your bill and divide it by 5 #that amount is a 20% tip and what's expected #or so i've been taught #i'm queer and don't do math #anyway~#I HOPE YOU LIKE IT BABE #orz #mafia au #mobster!billy #waiter!steve #living his best life in the city

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dragonthewriter · 3 years

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Six Months Later

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34321180

Six Months. That’s how long it had been. Of course, that wasn’t how long it was supposed to take, Beast Boy had original said he was going to be gone “A month, month and a half at most. Just need to get in tune with my animal nature.” As puberty began to hit him, and rather late, he was starting to show signs of his animal sides taking more control, and even he had to admit it was making him a liability. So he headed off, taking his part of the T-ship.

Raven had kept in contact with him. All the Titans did, but Raven was the only one who did everyday. A trend noticed by everyone excluding the empath herself. Their nighttime chats had often run so long, Raven would wake up to her communicator still out and still on. The first few times, Raven would apologize the next time they spoke, only for Beast Boy to tell it was fine. He wasn’t about to tell her how cute it was to hear her yawn and snore softly.

He started by heading to Africa, where he was raised. He had stayed with the tribe his parents had befriended, and who had taken him after his parents died and before the Doom Patrol showed up. He would tell her stories of going on hunts with the other men in the tribe. Even with his vegan sensibilities, he understood it was their way of life, and could respect that they took great care in only hunting for what they needed. It was around this time, she noticed his voice cracking a bit.

After two weeks there, he moved on, traveling to every biome on the planet he could reach. The arctic, deep in the amazon rainforest, the arid desert. He would regale Raven with what forms he learned, what unique things he gleaned from his time in their shapes. As it felt he had crossed off every location on his list, he told he was planning on coming home. “Just a week with the Doom Patrol, and I’ll be back in Jump City.”

But things kept coming up. At the six week mark, Mento fell sick, and he wanted to be there until his adoptive father felt better. The disease took longer to overcome than expected, and in that time, the Brotherhood had made a move in France. With Mento still down, Beast Boy joined the Patrol in their mission. Most of their time was just playing recon, Beast Boy and Negative Man doing the work of trying to track down their enemy.

When he wasn’t flying over the city, he was keeping in touch, talking when he could, texting when he couldn’t. After two weeks, Raven awoke to one last message. “Found Base, Going dark. I’ll message you.” The three days before she heard anything felt like the longest in her life.

Then she got his call. At first, she didn’t recognize his voice, puberty definitely coming hard for the changeling. His voice has already gotten past the random breaking and was deeper. She heard him tell about how the Brotherhood were all back in prison but she wasn’t listening, focusing less on what he was saying and how he was saying it. His regular scrawny form did not match the voice he now spoke with.

A week after returning from France, Mento was given the all clear, and Beast Boy was sent to return home… Until the Titans East had a problem and needed back up. Since Midway City was closer to Steel City, Beast Boy made the journey.

A group of rather B-list villains had made trouble for the East team, and an extra Titan was enough to begin balancing the scales in their favor. Raven and Beast Boy’s nightly chats remained, now the empath hearing how he had stopped Johnny Rancid by himself, and other exploits she had to wonder how much he was embellishing.

A message she did get from Bumblebee gave Raven pause. ‘Are you dating Beast Boy?’ followed by ‘Does he have a girlfriend or is he fair game?’ Raven ended up assuming Bumblebee just wanted a rebound after her and Cyborg broke up due to distance, and her only other choices were a civilian, which always had problems, one of the twins, who were way too young, and Speedy and Aqualad, who were comfortably in a relationship with each other.

Raven did begin to suspect something though, when Kitten used her one phone call after Titans East arrested her to ask Raven if ‘it was open season on the green guy, or do I have to fight another one of you titans for the privilege?’

Once all villains were in prison, and Titans East released Beast Boy from their service, he was finally on his way home.

Until a storm hit his ship and he crashed just outside of Gotham. A quick phone call to his mentor, and Robin secured a place for Beast Boy to crash at Wayne manor, and the use of the Batcave to repair the T ship. Of course with the watchful eyes of Alfred using schematics from Cyborg to make sure he did everything properly.

Just a day shy of the six month mark, his ship was airborne and headed back to Jump. Raven decided to use the couple of hours of flight time to mediate before their reunion, figuring six months apart had lower her defenses to Beast Boy’s abrasive personality. On the phone was one thing, but in person was a whole different thing.

On her way, Robin stopped her, and said Alfred wanted to forward a message to her. “Tell Miss Raven that Master Garfield was quite eager to discuss her at length, and is quite fond of her. Also, if she enjoys tea as much as he says she does, I would love to have her try my own, as it would be nice to have a hero who actually appreciates it come by for a cup or two at some point.” Being the two more emotional stunted titans, neither truly grasped the message, focusing more on the tea portion.

—————————————

“Really,” Cyborg asked. “No more vegan?”

“No, i’m still preferring to stick to that diet, but there were times I didn’t have the luxury. When in rome and all that.”

“So you don’t want to join us at the next Bbq and…

“Friend Raven!”

Raven barely noticed Starfire call out her name. She had entered the common room to greet Beast Boy, but stopped when she saw him in-between Cyborg and Starfire. Half a year ago, he barely came up to Cybrog’s waist, but now he was just about as tall as Starfire. His body was much more filled out, as well. While he wouldn’t been at Superman level of muscle, he was far past the almost stick figure he had been when leaving.

And then there was the hair…

It was long, coming down past his jawline on the side of his face, the rest gathered into a ponytail behind his head. With the way his head had been turned, she couldn’t see his face, but when Starfire called out her name, he turned to her.

His eyes sparkled when he saw her. There were still that familiar shade of green, but something in them shined, and Raven noticed his pupils were more cat like.

Even his face was different. Baby fat cheeks had become chiseled features, and his snaggletooth fang had found a home inside his mouth. But when he smiled at the sight of her, she could see the fangs were only sharper and longer.

And framing either side of his face was that hair. Raven was already back on it, unable to get past seeing it like that.

“Come over, and say hi to the new Beast Boy,” Cyborg said, patting him on the back. Raven floated over to them, as Cyborg continued. “Notice anything different?”

Raven was never one for being at a loss for words. Even when she answered with silence, it was always clear to the listener, that it was planned. Yet here she was, unable to speak for a moment.

“You hair,” she muttered out, making Beast Boy blush.

“Wow, I’m like a foot and 3/4 taller and you notice my hair first?” He brought a hand up to his head. “Yeah I never had a chance to get it cut, but first thing in the morning…”

“Don’t!” Raven said too quickly for even her own obliviousness to overcome. Everyone was now staring at her, Beast Boy’s transformation forgotten for her reaction to it. “I mean, you shouldn’t. It looks nice like that.”

It seemed to make Beast Boy relax, but Cyborg and Starfire just gave her a look.

“Well, if you think it looks good, I’ll keep it,” he said, giving her another warm smile that made Raven feel a bit weak in the knees. She could hear the words relay to her by the Batman’s butler. ‘Quite fond of her.’ Raven saw his eyes sparkle once more.

‘Oh.’

‘OH.’

#bbrae #teen titans

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moongoddesskiana · 3 years

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I'm just thinking about AU where you keep elements from different canons for maximum angst as well as maximum 'you done fucked up my fave' because the writers really don't understand my fave's origin story

So Jason recently left the Titans (have I ever watched more than the first 3 eps no but I've seen enough clips and fanvids) and is back to working with Bruce. They are working on a case where the criminal has diplomatic immunity, Jason goes to confront the dude who proceeds to fall off the balcony (also for kicks the dude said that no one was going to believe that Jason had nothing to do with it when Jason tried to save him and he shoved Jason off) and dies.

After this Jason is forced to go to therapy where Leslie (whom he already knows and trusts) helps him a bit though he is still very much struggling. Jason then over hears Bruce say that Jason is being too rough and is going to be taken off active duty, Jason then runs out of the manor and into Crime Alley. Bruce tracks him down and they have a conversation like the one in Titans and Jason asks Bruce not to give up on him and that he had nothing to do with the dude's death.

Not sure if I'm gonna have Bruce believe him or not, but Bruce thinks this is for the best and doesn't realize how much this fucks up Jason and worsens his feelings of being rejected. As Jason leaves the alley but is still in the neighborhood an old neighbor flags him down saying they have some of his family's old things. Jason sneaks back into his room and goes over everything in the box hoping to find some of his mom's old things, what Jason actually finds is his birth certificate. The mother's name starting with an S but otherwise unreadable. Jason doesn't feel like he has anyone to go to and tries to track down his bio mom.

Cross referencing Willis addressbook he finds 3 possibilities, I'm gonna be lazy and say that Sheila was in town for like enough time for Jason to find her in Gotham. Meanwhile Joker broke out of Arkham and Batman's on the case and thinks that Sheila's job's local warehouse known to not usually be in use is Joker's next move. Sheila tells Jason she has to go to a meeting but to meet up later when Bruce runs into Jason.

Bruce asks Jason where he's been and what is he doing on a Joker case (it's been like a week since Jason left the manor only leaving a note saying that basically reads I know when I'm not wanted don't do a obligatory search.). Jason for a second thought Bruce had been looking for him and that he actually cared until he asked what Jason was doing on a case, Jason's sense of rejection escalates.

Bruce says that Sheila workplace might be in trouble but that he was also checking out another lead. Jason tracks down Sheila to warn her that the Joker might be up to something using her work's warehouse, she's like sure kid uh huh until he shows he the Robin suit. Then Sheila says to help her search the warehouse before her meeting which was to happen at the warehouse so that they would know if anything bad was inside.

Jason says that he should call in Batman just in case when they round a corner in the warehouse and the Joker is there. Jason (in Robin suit) turns to Shelia to yell at her to run when she pulls out a gun and points it at Jason telling him "sorry kid looks like you trusted the wrong person this time."

Jason is then tied up and beaten with a crowbar, whilst Sheila sits back and smokes on a nearby crate. Jason goes unconscious and Sheila is tied to the warehouse while the Joker says there can be no witnesses. Jason tries to get them both out of there while he struggles to move, they make it to the door when he hears a timer seconds away from zero while Sheila tries to open the door. Jason covers her body with his own while resigning himself to death. The warehouse explodes.

First responders are already on the scene when Bruce gets there. Sheila is alive long enough to tell Batman that Jason was a good kid, a better kid than one she thought she would make. The first responders found Jason before Bruce did, Robin was pronounced dead on arrival.

Everything is happening in between season 2 and 3 btw, well at least until Red Hood arrives.

Dick hears about the explosion over the news and rushes to Gotham, team in hand. They miss the funeral. Dick finds out that Jason had been missing for a week before that and is pissed Bruce didn't tell him. A month later Tim forces his way into Robin and gets assistance from the Titans who welcome him with open arms.

3 months after his death Jason crawls out of his grave, Scarecrow and the League of Assassins are working together (don't ask why idk either) and Jason stumbles across a meeting. Someone notices Jason isn't responding properly and they began experimenting on him eventually realizing that one of Scarecrow's toxins makes him less fearful and respond to orders more. Talia grows to give a shit and puts him in a Lazarus Pit before she is sent away but still partly in charge. Ra's says to drug him before he wakes up and to make Jason reliant on the drugs and on the League of Assassins.

Jason is trained up for a year before they put him on the scene as a figurehead but not really in charge of anything Red Hood. Jason tries to keep civilian casualties as low as he can, tries to keep things centered on ending Gotham's crime and criminals. He makes his number one rule no drugs to kids, no harm to children, no exceptions.

Two lackeys who drugged Robin were made as examples. Jason himself was still force fed Scarecrow's toxin every day.

The code name Red Hood was one of the few things that he had been given control over a nice little Fuck you to the Joker (still alive and kicking) which he had a do not engage order for so he couldn't kill the guy himself (not that he thought he would be able to even with the toxin). Jason tries to use it as a force of change, a force of good for Gotham. Sometimes when the drugs were wearing off he wondered how much harm he was doing compared to good, and how easily he killed criminals.

The league of assassin's pulls out of Gotham for reasons Jason doesn't know about, Jason tries to get clean while an imposter with meta abilities impersonated Red Hood in order to get to Hank and does Gotham harm. The titans have been in town for most of the time btw. The meta, a telepathic shapeshifter, bumped into Jason read his mind and figured Jason Todd would be a good cover for them while they did this and they could implant memories into Jason later and no evidence would lead back to them especially because of Jason laying low and trying to detox alone.

So yeah Jason still murders people but the stuff in the show making someone snap their neck, civilian casualties that shouldn't have happened and killing Hank, that was a meta in this because I can't see even a very fucked up Jason doing those things.

Everyday the meta tracks Jason down reads his mind and implants new memories. Jason tries to get help but that keeps getting stopped or people refuse to help him for the things they think he did.

The meta is taken into custody when someone realizes that that isn't Jason because either he called one of them or one of them saw him one the street collapsing. This leads to so much confusion epically since Jason has two sets of memories the stuff he did do (duffle bag of heads) and things he didn't do (kill Hank). In the process of sorting his memories the Titans realize how much they fucked up with Jason especially when they hear him say 'Arkham is to good for me, I need to be put down, I'm poison.' After hearing him whimper in his sleep begging Bruce not to put him in Arkham, to not leave him with the Joker.

Jason and Tim mostly get along and become siblings, but Gar is the only Titan who didn't really hurt my fave from what I know. The rest didn't really treat Jason as one of them and didn't try to understand him or empathize. I heard that Kori was also okay with him but then I saw a clip from 3x08 and I was like :/

Don't have anything else currently for this idea

#batman #robin #jason todd #red hood #bruce wayne #dick grayson #nightwing #dc titans #titans live action #l rambles #l rants #l ramble #l rant

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chilling-in-the-dark · 4 years

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The Batboys Growing Up as Yandere’s Part 5: Damian Wayne

This is a yandere story; it mentions elements of obsession, possessiveness, death, murder, and kidnapping. If any of this is triggering for you, I understand, and you don’t have to read it.

As always, feedback is welcomed.

Tim had moved out by the time Bruce found out about Damian; in fact, Tim had left as soon as his girlfriend returned his affections.

When Damian Wayne was still Damian Al Ghul, he’d always been told that caring too much for anyone was a weakness, that it would get him killed. So, he couldn’t understand why his father, the great Batman held on so tightly to his wife. Damian doubted that the woman whom he refused to call a Wayne, because that right should have been reserved for his mother, could even defend herself properly. Damian would have killed her in the early days if he thought he could have gotten away with it.

Though Mrs. Wayne’s patience and constant care slowly wore down his walls, and then he started to envy his father. Yet at the same time, Damian didn’t think he deserved someone; he was a demon who’d killed people. Yet, at the same time, he craved love, Damian yearned for soft touches and sweet smiles.

It was the summer before his freshman year of high school when he’d made a dumb mistake, one his mother would have killed him for, and when the villain he’d been fighting used it to their advantage, he’d barely managed to get away with his life.

It had surprised you to find Robin bleeding out on your fire escape. Against your better judgment, you took him inside and tended to his wounds as best you could, glad your mother was rarely home since her and your stepfather’s messy divorce, you think after six of them she’d learn to cope better.

Damian woke several hours later to find an angel leaning over him; for half a second, he wondered if he’d died. Damian corrected himself; if he died, he certainly wasn’t going to meet an angel. Also, he probably wouldn’t feel like he’d just been given the beating of a lifetime.

“Oh, thank god your alive,” you spoke, relief flooding your voice. You’d done your best to stop the bleeding, but a lot of his wounds looked like they needed stitches, something you weren’t capable of.

Once Damian came to as much as his blood loss would let him, he felt his face, relieved to find his angel had left the mask in place. Robin didn’t speak much until Batman arrived, but then as he was carried out by his father, you could have sworn you heard, “Thank you,” fall faintly from the boy’s lips.

You didn’t know it, but you’d come to regret the night you’d saved a Robin from certain death.

It wasn’t a month later your mother came into your bedroom, demanding to know why you had a letter from Gotham Academy. “So, help me, you better not have applied I told you we can’t afford this and don’t you dare bring up scholarships, those don’t cover uniforms or books.” She’d spent the better part of an hour yelling, not letting you get a word in edgewise, so you couldn’t tell her that you hadn’t applied. Finally, she thrust the envelope onto your dresser and left.

You knew it was probably a scam, but you opened the envelope anyway, only to find a letter about being awarded a full Martha Wayne Foundation scholarship, it supposedly covered every expense necessary to attend. You decided that you’d look up the school’s number and call them in the morning. At worst, you’d end up embarrassed, but if this letter was real, you might have a shot at a future.

It had taken more strength then Damian thought he possessed, to keep him from killing your mother, as he watched the live feed from the security camera he’d installed in your bedroom. Damian had only put them in there because he wanted to keep you safe, but sometimes he couldn’t help himself; he wanted to see how his beloved was doing.

He’d been happy to see you on the first day of school. Actually, he’d gotten to see you before class even started. Your bike tires being several years older than you, had finally given out, and of course, it had started raining of all things.

You’d been cautious when the town car came to a stop beside you, even more so when you saw the back window rolled down to reveal Damian Wayne, but the boy had somehow managed to get you into the car with him. While he’d been rough around the edges, Damian had managed to come off as sweet and charming. It hadn’t been hard something about your presence soothed him, made it easy to let out emotions he usually kept bottled up.

He’d spent the day by your side, and for the first time in a long time, Damian felt at peace; in his eyes, you truly were an angel sent down to save his soul. Damian was convinced that meeting you was fate, that some higher being was giving him a chance, someone to love and that maybe if he did it right and kept you safe, it might make up for his sins.

You were sixteen when Damian had finally asked you out, you’d been happy, how could you not be, your crush liked you back, You’d gushed on the phone to your friends for hours afterword, they were dumbfounded that you hadn’t realized how in love with you the boy was, “He calls you Beloved for peat’s sake, of course, he’s in love with you.”

To you, this was a new relationship, but to Damian, it had been formalizing what he already knew to be true. You were his, and that class ring on your finger would prove it until a wedding ring could take its place.

That time would come on your graduation day when Damian had just finished his valedictorian speech when he knelt in front of you and pulled out a small black box. You knew what was in it before he’d even had a chance to open it and reveal his family’s heirloom engagement ring. Mrs. Wayne must have given it to him.

You’d cried happy tears as he put the ring on your finger, once that was done Damian leaned in to kiss you while ignoring the clicking of cameras. Despite what many think, Damian loved PDA because it let the entire world know whose protection you were under. You wanted the wedding to wait until after college, much to Damian’s dismay, but he’d begrudgingly accepted your choice. Though to Damian’s satisfaction, the wedding came a lot sooner than you’d planned.

You’d been attending Gotham university for a few months now and had been loving it, that is until you spent longer then you’d planned in the library. You knew Damian would want you to call him so he could come and get you, but you knew he was on patrol, and while you didn’t like the idea of walking in Gotham after dark, you’d walked home at night before and never had an issue.

Tonight though, a mugger had pulled you into a dark alley and pointed a gun at your face demanding all your valuables. You’d relented giving the man everything you had on you, but you’d forgotten to give him your ring. You loved the ring, and it was a Wayne family heirloom, but you knew it wasn’t worth your life, so when the man slapped you and demanded you give it up. You instantly started working the ring off your finger.

Just as you’d slipped it from your hand, Robin showed up and started whaling on the guy. You’d never seen Damian so vicious before, but he’d refrained from killing the man in your presence, not wanting you to see death. An angel should never have to see such darkness, no that was reserved for a demon like him, so Damian slipped a tracker on the unconscious man and took you to the manor. Once he’d managed to calm you down enough to sleep, he’d go back out and finish the job.

Damian had used the incident to convince you to marry him sooner, playing up how short life could be and asking you what the point in waiting was. The next day the two of you applied for a marriage license, and during New Jersey’s mandatory three-day waiting period Alfred and the other Wayne wives planned and organized the whole wedding. It was a small and intimate affair, but lovely none the less, everything had been perfect.

Until the next day, that is, when you woke up and found yourself in a locked room, you definitely hadn’t gone to sleep in. Damian was also noticeably absent. Your heart was in your throat, had you been kidnaped, if so how did they get into Wayne manor and why didn’t Damian wake up, your husband was a light sleeper.

There was no way anyone could have taken you without waking him up even if, by some improbability, you hadn’t woken up yourself. You’d never felt so relieved as you did when Damian walked through the door breakfast tray in his hands. Maybe this was some sort of staycation to make up for not being able to go on a honeymoon.

“Dami, why is the door locked?” You asked anyways, not expecting the answer that you were going to get.

“To make sure you can’t leave the safety of this room beloved,” He said, and your blood froze because Damian’s tone made it sound as if he believed it was completely normal to lock his wife in a room. You tried to explain to him how messed up that was, but he ignored your arguments. Your husband wasn’t the man you thought he was.

You weren’t dumb enough to think you could take Damian in a fight, so you waited until he left for patrol to start looking for an exit. All that got you was a bruised shoulder because, apparently, the window was freaking bulletproof glass.

You’d decided that tactic was useless because all it got you was Damian fussing over you, and right now, the last thing you wanted was your kidnaper anywhere near you. So, you stopped eating and made it clear to him that you weren’t going to unless he let you go. Part of you still loved him, so it broke your heart to see such a proud man beg, but no matter how much he cried and pleaded, you held firm.

You kept it up for about a week before you woke up tied to the bed, Damian making it clear that if you weren’t going to eat willingly, he’d force-feed you, after all, he’d vowed to keep you safe, even if it was from yourself.

Tags

@yanderepeterparker

@idkmanicantenglish

@prettyafghan

Grow up as only

@neon-phosphorecsent

@foggyturtleknightangel

#yandere damian wayne #yandere damian wayne x reader #Yandere DC #yandere dc comics #Yandere #yandere x reader #x reader #reader insert #yandere dc comics imagine #yandere dc comics x reader #Dark DC #dark batman #Yandere Batboys #Yandere batman #CITD writes #The Batboys Growing Up as Yanderes #PART 5

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blueberrylemontea-fanfic · 4 years

Text

Change Your Life

Billy x reader

You patch Billy up on a regular basis, one night his dad goes too far and you really have to take care of him.

Softest thing I've ever written, it's just pure soft soft soft.

You had joined the party by accident.

One day the kids had come into the arcade to see that Mad Max's high score had been replaced by Boss Bitch's, and so the search began.

It didn't take them long to track you down and when they did, they begged you to show off your skills. You were taken aback by the six hyper teens knocking down your door, but you couldn't say that you weren't flattered they'd gone through all that trouble to find tou, so you agreed.

It turned out that they really liked you, and you really liked them too. And then you met their other babysitters, Steve and Robin, and suddenly your life had changed for good.

You didn't really have any friends in Hawkins before them but now you guys were inseparable. You had especially taken a liking to Max, the little firecracker reminded you a lot of yourself at that age. She was over at your place all the time, and you were over at her place a lot too, only when her parents weren't home though.

That's where you met Billy. You wouldn't exactly say that the two of you were friends, but you were friendly at least. Max talked about him a lot, they didn't really get along, although things had gotten better since they'd first moved to Hawkins. Max had started to put together how terrified Billy was that his dad would start taking out his anger on her too. It touched her knowing that he cared for her safety after all, even if he was still an insufferable asshole most of the time.

You had heard some of the horror stories about Billy's dad and you had observed plenty of altercations through the window of their house while waiting to pick up Max or dropping her off. That's how Billy and you had bonded, his dad had hit him and you had bandaged the wound.

Billy was surprised.

Surprised that you'd do that after the things Max and Harrington had probably told you about him.

Surprised that he'd actually enjoyed being around you in the short time that it took you to patch him up.

Surprised that he'd noticed himself gravitating to you when you were over at his house and even at school sometimes, even though he'd never admit it.

The patching up had become a regular thing, and when you could hear screaming down the road while driving over to the house, you figured tonight would be one of those nights again. But then Billy came staggering out of the house.

His lip was cut, his cheek was bloodied and his eye was already starting to swell, blood dripping from a gash right above his left eyebrow. He looked a mess. You hurried over to him, letting him lean on you for support.

"Y/N?" he sounded confused but grateful you were there.

"Yeah, it's me, Billy, I got you" you grunted as you were trying to hold him up.

"Is Max still in the house?" He shook his head.

"Mike's" he said weakly. You nodded and started guiding him towards your car.

"C'mon, I'm taking you home." You said simply, and once again, you'd surprised Billy.

He was an asshole to you at school.

He was an asshole to Harrington.

He was an asshole to those kids you loved so much.

And still you didn't hesitate to welcome him into your home.

It was a quick drive to your place and you drove in silence, the air was thick with tension between you as neither of you knew what to say. You guided him inside slowly and told him to take a seat while you went to get the first aid kit, a wash cloth and a towel. When you came back Billy was sitting on a stool at your kitchen counter.

"I'm gonna get you cleaned up, okay" you said before slowly dabbing the damp wash cloth over his face, washing away the blood. He looked a lot better after that already, his face was still swollen but at least it was clean. You grabbed the rubbing alcohol and poured some of it on a cotton wad. "This'll sting" you said before dabbing it on the gash above his eye.

You cleaned that gash, then the one on his cheek, then the one on the back of his arm that you hadn't even noticed before. You put a bandage on each one of them and poured him a glass of water.

"Billy?" You asked softly. He didn't look up at you. "Your dad did this to you didn't he?"

You'd never really talked about it before. You had hinted that you knew he hadn't just gotten into a fight before, but Billy had retracted so you'd dropped it.

You had let it slip when it was a scrape on his cheek or even a black eye, even if you'd wanted to tear Neil's head off for it, but this, this you couldn't ignore any longer.

Billy still refused to look at you. He was pissed, he was always pissed, and even though he was so grateful for what you were doing he couldn't suppress the anger boiling up inside of him.

"None of your business" he bit back at you.

"Billy" you said simply, your tone indicated that it was useless to deny it, you knew. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah right" Billy growled. "You don't give a shit, I'm an asshole and I deserve this, ain't that right? Don't pretend like you give two shits about me, Y/N!"

His tone was menacing and he had a dark look in his eye that would have scared you a couple of months ago.

It didn't now.

Carefully, you touched a hand to his cheek, caressing his face softly with your thumb before Billy grabbed you by the wrist roughly. His eyes were wide and he was baring his teeth at you, he almost looked like a feral animal. A person less accustomed to the defense mechanism would have bolted, but you didn't.

"Billy, I wanna tell you something" you said calmly.

"What?" He snapped at you, but he let go off your wrist.

"I'm gonna say something and you're gonna think it's cheesy and cringey and that I don't mean it, but I do. I really, really do."

"What?" He repeated, but it was more of a scoff this time than it was a growl, he wanted you to continue. Wanted to know what you could possibly have to say to him in that moment.

"You matter, Billy Hargrove.

I care about you.

I would miss you if you weren't here.

You don't deserve this, you're a good person."

Your hands had taken a gentle hold of his face as you urged him to look at you, to see that you meant it.

Billy wanted to fight.

He wanted to shove you off of him and run and break things.

He wanted to argue, wanted to disagree, wanted to yell that you were a liar.

Because he didn't believe you.

He didn't believe you because his father had told him the exact opposite so many times, because he'd made it perfectly clear that this was his fault.

Billy wanted to fight.

But he was so tired of fighting. With his dad, with Harrington, with Tommy, with Max... with himself.

So this time he didn't fight, this time he looked into your soft, loving eyes and completely broke down. He sobbed into your stomach as you held him close to you.

He kept mumbling he was sorry through his cries, and you knew it was because his dad always said that only dumb little faggots cry. "It's okay, Billy, you can cry. Don't hold back. It's okay." You planted a soft kiss on the top of his head and he whimpered at the gentility of it. He wasn't used to being touched so sweetly.

He had calmed down by now and he felt heavy and exhausted. He had wrapped his arms around you and nestled into your side, resting his head against your ribcage. You were toying with his curls lazily, which seemed to calm him. You let him sit like that until he stopped shaking and then you said

"How about you go take a nice hot shower and get some sleep? You can stay here tonight."

He nodded meekly and let you guide him upstairs. While Billy was taking a shower you searched your closet and found some sweats and an oversized, extremely soft sweatshirt that you thought would fit Billy. You left them on the hallway floor before the bathroom door.

Ten minutes later Billy came into your room a little shyly, dressed in the clothes you left out for him. The sweatshirt was a bit of a stretch but the soft, warm fabric engulfing him made Billy feel warm inside.

"D'you have a blanket for the couch?" He asked.

"I'm not letting you sleep on the couch, Billy, c'm here" you patted the soft sheets of the bed.

He looked hesitant.

"Don't worry, I'll take my parents bed" you added.

"No! No, that's not it" he said quickly, leaning against the door frame.

"Why are you doing this?"

He asked quietly, looking down at the floor. He'd been pondering on that the entire time he was in the shower but he couldn't come up with an answer.

You sighed soflty as you looked at the poor, broken boy before you. "Because you deserve it. Because I want you to be okay, to be happy."

You had walked towards him and wrapped your arms around him. He hugged you close to him, wondering what the hell he could have possibly done to eserve this. To deserve you.

You guided him to your bed and pulled the sheets over him after he climbed in. He looked up at you and you could feel the question lingering on his lips, but knew that he was hesitant to ask it. "Want me to stay with you?" You whispered and he nodded. You got in next to him and pulled him close to you.

"Thank you" he whispered as he snuggled back up to you. You pet his hair softly as you could feel his breathing slowing down. "Anytime" was all he heard before drifting to sleep.

The next morning Billy woke up feeling more relaxed than he had in years. His head was resting on your chest and his arm was draped over your hips. Your warmth was like a toasty comforter wrapped around him and Billy thought that he could stay there forever.

"Morning" he heard you whisper and he looked up to see your big y/e/c eyes smiling back at him.

"Morning."

Somewhere in the back of his head a voice was yelling that he was being a little bitch, that he should be deeply ashamed for last night, but you were playing with his curls again and it kept the voice at bay.

"I still can't believe you're being so nice to me"

You smiled softly "Well get used to it, Hargrove. 'Cause I don't plan on stopping"

He turned on his side so he could look at you properly. "Thank you" he smiled. You were quiet for a while before Billy spoke again.

"Hey, Y/n?"

"Yeah, Billy?"

"Could I kiss you?"

Your eyes went wide for a second and you swallowed harshly, but then you nodded your head.

"Yes."

Billy leaned closer to you and softly touched his lips to yours and that was it, his life had been changed for good.

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction

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meterokinesis · 4 years

Text

Black and Blue

Read it on AO3

Prompt: “bruises”

TW for domestic violence, physical abuse, harm to children. Please read responsibly.

Summary: Bruce Wayne never expected his children to come to him whole. But he never expected Tim Drake to be so bruised.

(Or, Batman saves the boy who saved him)

Bruce never expected his children to come to him whole.

Dick had calluses and impacted musculoskeletal growth, along with an anger Bruce wasn’t sure would ever be sated. Jason was malnourished and coping with PTSD, and had scars with more history than most developed nations. But of them all, he expected Tim to be the least shattered; he’d grown up in the lap of luxury after all.

He never expected Tim to be so bruised.

_________________

Tim was a smart kid, no doubt about that. Years ago, Bruce had taken a look at his records: straight A’s since kindergarten, fluency in three languages and working on a fourth, an IQ of 142. He wasn’t Lex Luthor, but it was impressive for a kid of just 13. Especially a kid who never seemed to stay in one place for long.

Tim’s school records revealed more than just his intelligence. He was taught by an au pair until kindergarten, then went to a private elementary school just outside Gotham for three years. From third to fifth grade he was enrolled at Gotham Academy as a boarder. Middle school was spent at another boarding school in Gotham, but he was allowed home on weekends. He’d start freshman year at a public school, Louis E. Grieves Memorial, the upcoming September.

Bruce didn’t pretend to know everything about child psychology, but he was sure that repeated upheavals were bad for any child, let alone one who was smarter than most of his classmates to begin with. He didn’t even want to think about Tim going to a public school in a few weeks.

It was the reports from Tim’s teachers that made Bruce hesitate the most:

Timothy struggles with connecting to other classmates.

Timothy stayed indoors during recess, claiming a stomach ache. When asked if he wanted to play with the others, he shook his head and went back to reading.

Timothy is a pleasure to have in class, but the school mandates that parents must sign off on permission slips, rather than nannies.

Timothy’s roommate frequently complains about Timothy’s nightmares. The Drake family doctor has prescribed sleeping aids to help the problem.

Timothy came back from his weekend at home with a black eye and multiple new surface injuries. He insists he fell while skateboarding.

It didn’t take a detective to know that Tim was being bullied. He was a skinny kid with gelled-up hair and an affinity for math. As Tim himself once put it, he was “every coming-of-age movie’s nerd who gets shoved into a locker.” That didn’t make it any better.

Bruce hadn’t realized that he was at the Drakes’ house until his knuckles stalled an inch from the door. The limo that hauled the Drakes around wasn’t in the driveway. This wasn’t a wellness check, it was a nice walk that ended in seeing his newest sidekick. That was an excuse he could live with.

He rapped twice: two loud, short knocks that seemed to echo. Not a minute later, he could hear locks clicking on the other side of the door, and there was Tim--all 5’2” of him.

It wasn’t Tim’s short stature or gelled hair that made Bruce’s heart sink, though. It was the bruises that caressed his jaw and temple that almost ended in a black eye. His nose was bruised, but Bruce didn’t think it was broken. Probably. The bruises were fresh, less than 24 hours old. Tim had been beaten up recently.

“Who did this to you?” He tried to ask gently, but it came out too harsh and too breathy all at once. Bruce reached out for Tim’s shoulder, but the young teenager avoided him with ease, like it was a practiced movement.

“‘S not important,” Tim mumbled, his tone achingly adolescent.

“I know you’re getting bullied, Tim. I know it’s been going on for a long time. I need you to tell me who it is so they can see consequences.” Bruce had never done this before. He’d saved kids from hostage situations and from the creepy guy on the playground. But he’d never had to save kids from other kids.

Instead of breaking down in tears like Bruce expected, Tim barked a short laugh.

“I’m not getting bullied, B. I’m Robin, do you seriously think Tyrone Wright bothers me anymore? Not to mention, I never have to see him again. He’s going to Gotham Academy next year.”

“Then who-” Bruce’s sentence fell apart as his mouth caught up with his mind. Fresh bruises. Not another kid. The Drakes left this morning.

Oh.

“Tim,” he began slowly, “did your father do this to you?”

Tim’s demeanor dropped immediately, and he wouldn’t look Bruce in the eye. Seconds passed without a response, and for a second Bruce could painfully feel how, in this moment, they were Batman and a scared child.

“He didn’t mean to,” Tim finally let out, his voice as quiet as a dying breath.

Worry churned in Bruce’s stomach. Those words were never a good sign.

“I need you to explain everything that happened last night, okay?” Bruce said, as gently as he could while his heart was breaking. “Do you want to talk here, or at the Manor?”

Instead of answering, Tim slipped back into the house, leaving the door open for Bruce to follow. Bruce crossed the threshold, and took in the Drake mansion. It was full of that post-modern, minimalist decor that Bruce despised. It looked sterile, like a museum or a morgue. It certainly didn’t look like a place that housed a 13 year old boy.

Tim led him past the foyer and the formal sitting room and into the kitchen, where he selected a stool at the island. The counters were marble and impeccably clean. The cabinets were glass and white-painted wood. It looked like something out of a magazine. Pictures lined the walls, but they were all landscapes of foreign lands. Bruce couldn’t spot a single family photo.

“Where are your parents? I thought they were supposed to be in Gotham for at least another week,” Bruce began, but he truly didn’t care that the Drakes were gone. Good riddance.

“They left this morning for Haiti. Some big dig started early and they couldn’t miss it,” Tim whispered, his tone much wetter than it had been a few minutes before. “We were supposed to have a big going-away dinner, but I was playing my music too loud and didn’t hear my dad when he called. He came in and saw me just sitting on my bed and told me to stand up. S-so I did and he slapped m-” Tim’s sentences were barely-suppressed sobs now.

“He hit you so hard you bruised?” Bruce prompted, frowning. “Has he done this before?”

“N-no. To both. I wasn’t ready and I fell and hit my head on my desk. It’s not like that’s what he wanted to happen.” Tim had managed to choke down the tears, and was now staring solemnly at Bruce. It was as if he’d learned to quiet his sorrow as quickly as possible.

“Tim…” Bruce murmured, but he could barely get the words out over the pain of his heart splintering. “You didn’t deserve that. It’s not your fault. Your dad shouldn’t have hit you. No adult should hit a child, ever.”

Tim stared at the countertop, but remained silent. Bruce reached out to pat him on the back, but when his hand brushed Tim’s shoulder, Tim flinched. Bruce didn’t try to touch him again after that.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” he finally said, putting on the voice he used as Batman. “We’re going to go to the manor, take a look at your injuries, and watch some movies. Alfred will buy us those ice cream cookie sandwiches if we ask nicely. That sound good?”

Tim nodded mutely and pushed himself off the stool.

“Okay, what do you need to pack to stay at the Manor? Clothes, obviously--maybe a speaker?”

“He broke mine. Before he hit me.” Tim mumbled.

Bruce froze, just for a second. “Well, we’ll have to fix that. How about we get you a new WayneTech phone? You can download music onto it, and I’ll get you some earbuds too.” Bruce followed Tim as the boy wove his way through the house, all the way up to his room. It was starkly bare, with a few posters and knick knacks but not much else. Tim shoved clothes into a duffel bag, did a quick survey, then looked at Bruce.

“Ready.”

That’s it? It was shocking how easily Tim could pick himself out of this life, like he was a piece of lint on a fancy suit.

Still, Bruce smiled. “Then let’s go. I’m thinking Star Wars for the movies, how about you?”

Tim quipped something about how Star Trek was superior in every way, but all Bruce could think about were his other sons. It hadn’t even been six months since he’d lost Jason, but he was already letting another child in. He wasn’t going to let another little boy slip through the cracks.

And when the Drakes came home from Haiti, he would show them no mercy.

#whumptober 2020 #my writing #abuse tw #domestic violence tw #physical abuse tw #bruise tw #jack drake is a rat bastard abuser and i hate him #batfam #tim drake #bruce wayne #batman #robin

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raewrites98 · 4 years

Text

Runaway Train

For @foxeshaveclaws! You wanted long-distance relationships and surprises gone wrong- it's my first time writing for Andreil and this fandom, so I hope this still manages to live up to that, while staying withing the realm of their relationship :) Thank you for your wonderful prompt! Happy Valentine's Day <3 @aftgexchange *** “Come on, Josten,” Wymack yelled from where he stood behind the plexiglass, “Hurry up.”

Neil grit his teeth. He readjusted his grip on his racquet and swung, fast and hard. The ball sailed across the court, right into Robin’s waiting net as she caught it with practiced ease. He tore his helmet from his head and ran a hand through his sweaty, tangled hair. Fuck. That was the third shot he had missed. (Keep reading here or on AO3!)

“Nice shot, captain,” Jack taunted with a sneer, leaning against the wall. He shared a glance with Sheena, who scoffed in agreement.

It was late afternoon and the team had gathered to practice for their home game against the Breckenridge Jackals this Friday. They had been running drills for the last half hour or so and Neil was suffering. He couldn’t focus. The harsh fluorescent lights stung his eyes and his head pounded viciously. His thoughts kept drifting off into nothing, mind numb from exhaustion. At this rate, Coach was going to bench him.

Wymack blew his whistle, the sharp ring echoing across the court. “Go home,” he said, “You better not pull this shit tomorrow.” He spoke to the team, but Neil could feel the weight of his words as if they were directed at him specifically. He was captain, he should be better than this. He was better than this.

They dispersed slowly, the girls heading to one locker room and the guys the other. Before they parted, Robin brushed a hand against Neil’s shoulder. “Sweetie’s later?” She gave him a half smile. Her wild, curly hair stuck to her forehead, face red and sweaty.

Neil nodded. He went to his locker without a word, sat down and started peeling his shoes off one at a time. Bruises were starting to form where he had been body-checked into the wall several times during their scrimmage. It was a familiar feeling, one that usually offered comfort, but now only made him feel worse.

A shadow fell upon him. Neil glanced up to see Jack leaning against the lockers, arms crossed. He was still in his bright orange gear, golden hair slicked back. “You better not fuck up this weekend,” he said. “I don't want people thinking the whole team sucks as much as our captain.” A few snickers passed through the room.

Neil grit his teeth. He undid the Velcro strap of his gloves. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering how Dan had ever managed this- the disobedience and disrespect from players who thought themselves superior. Even as vice-captain, he at least had been able to rely on Kevin’s demanding personality and fame to keep them in check.

But neither of them was here now. Even the cousins were gone, leaving Neil to start the fall semester on his own. He thought after years of running, he was used to being alone, but his time with the Foxes had changed that. He would never admit it out loud, but he missed them. Badly.

“If you do blow it, though,” Jack continued, “maybe Coach will actually do something worthwhile and give your position to someone who deserves it.”

“Like who, you?” Neil eyed him up and down. Jack was only a sophomore and already thought he was better than everyone else, simply because Kevin recruited him. He started shoving his gear in his locker. “Your defense is weak, you can barely hold your own against the press and, frankly, your personality is shit.”

Jack scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from the guy getting fucked by that psycho Minyard,” he spat, as if the words left a foul taste in his mouth. “Bet the press would have a field day with that.”

Neil clenched his jaw. Fuck this. His and Andrew’s relationship was never a secret, not with the way the Foxes gossiped, but it was private. He didn’t go around throwing it in everyone’s face, and he definitely didn’t need some arrogant little shit doing that for him. “Don’t,” he warned.

Jack laughed, raising his hands. “What are you gonna do? Make me run laps?” He rolled his eyes.

That was it.

Neil’s fist collided with Jack’s nose. It gave a satisfying, sickening crack, blood spurting from his nostrils as he stumbled back with a cry, clutching his face. “What the fuck!” He lunged forward. Acting quickly, one of their teammates grabbed him and held him back. “You son of a bitch!” he snarled.

Neil slung his bag over his shoulder. “You want the extra laps too?” Jack glowered at him. “I didn’t think so.” Neil slammed the door shut as he left, the sound of it echoing throughout the gym.

***

Neil’s phone rang as he was forcing himself through the last of his math homework. He picked it up without checking the caller ID. All these years and he still had the same ringtone. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Andrew’s voice was muffled. There was some shifting and crackling through the speaker, until he sounded clearer. “Heard you finally snapped.”

Neil rolled his eyes. “Who told you?” He chewed the cap of his pen and scribbled down something he thought resembled a logical answer. Tiny inked fox paws and exy racquets littered the margins of his paper.

“Robin.” Of course. She, along with the rest of the team, had found out during morning practice, when Jack strutted in with a bruised face and swollen nose. To say Coach had been displeased was an understatement.

“He was asking for it.” Neil shoved his book aside and walked over to the bed. He let himself fall backwards onto the mattress, hitting it with a soft huff as the air left his lungs. He balled his hand into a fist, watching the ugly, shiny white scars stretch across his knuckles. A deep purple bruise colored the skin of his hand. He didn’t regret punching Jack. If anything, he wished he had done so sooner.

“I’m surprised it took you this long,” Andrew remarked dryly.

Neil chuckled. Silence passed. He fidgeted with the strings of his sweater. “How was your day?”

“Long.” After graduation, Andrew had signed a three year contract with Boston’s pro team. He lived there now, in a small apartment Neil had the only spare key to. It hung on his key chain, along with the ones for Columbia and the Maserati.

Neil hummed. “You talked to Nicky?”

“More or less,” Andrew said. “He’s as disgustingly happy as ever.” A few months ago, Nicky finally moved to Germany. The wedding wasn’t until next year, but it was all he ever talked about.

“Good.” A pause. “You visiting soon?”

Andrew was silent for a while. “Not for a few weeks,” he said. “Think you can manage that long, Josten?”

He huffed. “I’ll be fine.”

“Sure,” Andrew drawled.

He rolled his eyes. He flipped and laid on his stomach, holding the phone in front of him. “I want to see you,” he mumbled into the sheets.

There was another pause, and for the briefest moment, Neil wondered if he had crossed a line. If he had made things weird. This was their first year apart and learning to navigate this whole long-distance thing was frustrating. They weren’t the most outwardly affectionate to begin with.

“Happy now?”

Neil looked up. A blurry, pixelated image of Andrew appeared on the cracked screen of his phone, glasses sliding down his nose and hair damp.

He was wearing his PSU sweater, Neil noted. “It’ll do, I guess,” he said with a shrug.

“I could hang up on you, you know.”

“You won’t.” Neil’s smile grew.

He didn’t.

***

“You sure you’re okay, Josten?” Robin asked as she chewed at the end of her straw, bending it left and right. Sweetie’s was surprisingly empty for a Monday night. A few people lingered at the bar and an elderly couple occupied the booth behind them, but other than that, it was empty. “And don’t give me that I’m fine crap.”

Neil pushed his eggs around, watching how the yolk broke and spilled across his plate. “Just tired, I guess,” he mumbled. It wasn’t a lie. He always slept better with someone near him. It used to be his mom, but over time, Andrew had managed to worm his way into that spot instead. In his absence the mattress felt too cold, too empty. It took Neil hours to fall asleep.

“You talk to Andrew?”

“Yeah.” They had called for another half hour or so, before Neil left to finish his homework. It was fine at first, but their conversation had quickly grown stilted, punctuated by one word answers and long silences. He noticed that was happening frequently lately. Thinking about it made him sick to his stomach. He pushed his plate aside.

“Then what’s got you so fucked up?”

“Nothing.”

Robin gave him a look.

He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s this whole captain thing, I guess,” he said, slumping back in his seat. The leather booth squeaked under his shifting weight.

“Hey,” Robin said, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “You carried us through the first season. You’re doing fine.” She offered him a reassuring smile.

The gesture was appreciated, but it didn’t make Neil feel that much better. “Yeah,” he muttered, tearing his toast to shreds.

Robin picked up her pencil and started tapping it on her sketchpad. The book was filled with scribbles and quick sketches of him and the team. She carried it wherever she went. “You know what? We should do something fun,” she said suddenly, sitting up. “After the game. Go out for a movie or whatever.”

Neil considered it. He wasn’t a fan of movies, or anything social really, but the idea of spending another night locked in his room alone sounded excruciating. “Sure,” he said with a shrug.

Robin looked surprised. “Okay,” she said. “Cool. Meet me here at eight?”

He nodded. Maybe it would help distract him, even if only for a few hours.

***

They ended up losing the game.

Earlier that morning, right before their last practice, Neil sent Andrew a quick text.

To: Minyard [6:45am] You watching tonight?

From: Minyard [7:25am] Can’t. Plans.

That shouldn’t have bothered him so much. When he was on court, adrenaline pumping through his veins, the weight of his racquet in hand, he couldn’t care less about who was watching. All that mattered was the ball in his net and the goal ahead. Everything else faded into the background.

But Andrew always watched his games.

And then, when he tried to pry for answers as to what these plans were, Andrew’s replies went from short to nonexistent.

Neil managed to walk the team through warm-ups, but he couldn’t stop the flow of thoughts that forced their way into his mind, whispering of his incompetence as captain, his lack of friends and his possibly dying relationship with Andrew. When the first buzzer sounded and he nearly dropped his racquet, startled out of his spiraling thoughts, he knew it wasn’t going to end well.

It had been a close call in the end though. With thirty seconds left on the clock, Neil soared across court, twisting and turning around the Jackal’s defense until the goal was in sight. He stopped, swung his racquet back and took the shot.

The Breckenridge goalie dove for it and at the very last second, caught the ball with his net. The crowd gave a deafening roar, drowning out the buzzer as it signaled the end of the game.

Neil’s heart dropped to his feet. He stared at the goal, a cold, dreadful numbness spreading through him.

“Come on,” Robin muttered, slapping him hard across the back, “Keep it together.”

The rest was a blur. As captain, he upheld his duty to entertain the press, but didn’t have it in him to bite back against their snarky, provocative comments. Wymack seemed pleased, if not a little concerned with his compliance.

No one spoke in the locker rooms. Tension hung in the air, sharp and uncomfortable. Most of his teammates slipped out of the room without a word, but Jack stopped in front of Neil as he stood. He towered over him, six feet of anger and misplaced arrogance. “Should’ve fucking known,” he hissed.

Neil bristled, fists clenched and ready for a fight.

“Don’t bother, Jack,” one of his teammates said. “He isn’t worth it.”

The door closed and Neil was left alone surrounded by an oppressive, judgmental silence. Sweat trickled down his neck. His chest felt tight with each breath.

There was only one thing left to do. He had to run.

***

The sun was long gone by the time Neil made it back to the Fox Tower. His legs burned and arms ached, but he felt better. Running lessened some of the panic that had held him in a vice-like grip, but their loss still hung over him like a thick cloud. What if Coach was wrong? What if he wasn’t cut out for captain?

The parking lot was mostly empty, save for a single car parked under the lamppost. Neil crossed the street and kept his head down as he passed. A few steps from the tower’s entrance, he stopped.

He turned. “Andrew?”

Leaning back against the hood of the car, a cigarette in hand, stood Andrew. He was wearing a burgundy button down and black tie, sleeves rolled up to reveal his arm bands. Under the flickering yellow light, his hair glowed a deep gold, neatly swept off his forehead. Neil swallowed thickly.

“Running away again, Josten?” Andrew took a drag from his cigarette and blew the smoke in his direction. His dark eyes flickered over Neil’s sweaty, disheveled appearance.

Neil walked over and came to a stop in front of him. It didn’t make any sense- Andrew wasn’t supposed to show up for another two weeks. What was he doing here? Had he been at the game? Neil hoped not. “Why are you here?”

“Take a guess.”

“I thought you had plans,” Neil bit, shoving his hands in his sweater.

Andrew looked unimpressed. “Is that your guess?”

“I don’t know,” Neil snapped. “Are you here to watch me ruin my career as captain?” He kicked a stone, watching as it skipped across the parking lot.

Andrew raised an eyebrow. “One game and you’re ready to jump ship?” He tsked, shaking his head. “I thought you were over the whole ‘flight risk’ thing.”

“I’m not running away,” Neil snapped.

Andrew stared at him, waiting.

“I just-” He tore a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, okay?” Once he started, he found he couldn’t stop. The words came rushing out with a single breath, every thought and twisted emotion he had bottled up since the start of the school year. “I’m not Dan, or Kevin. I don’t know how to be a good captain, and I definitely don’t know how to do it on my own.”

“Then quit.” The cigarette glowed bright orange, another puff of smoke drifting in the air.

Neil scoffed and rolled his eyes. “It’s not that easy.”

“Nothing is.” Andrew reached for him, turning Neil’s chin so he was forced to look up. He stared at Neil, stoic and calm, the deep brown of his irises like liquid gold, holding Neil captive. It was in that unwavering apathy he found himself relaxing, shoulders slowly sagging as his worries slipped away. “You’ll manage.”

Neil drew a slow breath. The acrid, sharp scent of the cigarette smoke eased his nerves. He nodded.

Satisfied, Andrew dropped his hand. He picked up Neil’s wrist instead, analyzing the bruised skin of his knuckles. He brushed his thumb along the row of scars.

Neil’s heart skipped a beat. He cleared his throat. “You didn’t answer my question,” he said.

“You missed dinner,” Andrew remarked.

A frown furrowed Neil’s brow. “What do you mean?”

“You had plans, didn’t you?”

Fuck. In his sudden and overwhelming distress, Neil had completely forgotten about Robin. She was going to be so pissed.

“Yeah, with Robin,” he said. “Did she tell you that too?” He wasn’t the kind to be jealous, but sometimes he wondered if she spoke to Andrew more than he did.

Andrew looked unamused. “I can’t believe how incredibly stupid you are sometimes.” He gestured to himself.

“What?” Neil’s eyes flickered over his outfit. Then it clicked. “I wasn’t meeting Robin, was I?”

“Reservations were at eight,” Andrew remarked dryly.

Neil checked his phone. Quarter past ten. He winced. Had he really been gone that long?

He didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t like Andrew to visit unprompted. Definitely not like this. Not as a ... surprise.

Something else caught Neil’s eye as he looked at his phone. “It’s February 14th,” he said, a slow grin curling his lips.

“He knows how to read,” Andrew said with mock surprise.

“That’s Valentine’s day,” Neil persisted.

“Really?” Andrew flicked the cigarette onto the ground, stomping it out with his foot.

“You know,” Neil said slowly, trailing a finger along the fabric of Andrew’s collar, “I wonder what the press would think if they knew Andrew Minyard was a hopeless romantic,” He stepped closer.

Andrew narrowed his eyes. “One hundred and three percent, Josten.”

He leaned in close, lips inches from Andrew’s. “Yes or no?”

Andrew flicked his head but pulled him forward by his collar. “Yes.”

His lips met Andrew’s in a soft, warm kiss that sent pleasant shivers down his spine. All of his worries faded into nothing and when Andrew’s cool, rough hands found their way into his hair, pulling him even closer, he knew that in the end, he was going to be okay.

#the foxhole court #andrew minyard #neil josten #andreil #my writing #raewrites98 #valentines day #fanfic exchange #fluff #neil is sad and slightly dumb #long distance relationship #surprises #all for the game #aftg #@foxeshaveclaws

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jadelotusflower · 4 years

Text

Robin Hood Rewatch: 1x08 Tattoo, What Tattoo?

aka Robin wants to do a war crime.

It’s been a while, but I’m back on my rewatch. This is actually one of my favourite episodes of the whole show, so get comfortable, this is a long one. Also, I welcome comments/discussion on any of these posts - I’m always up to talk Robin Hood!

Flashback time! 1191. Now, we’ve had the current date set as 1192 by earlier episodes and this is the story of How Robin Got His Scar - assuming that he must have spent some time convalescing before returning to England, he can’t have been back more than a year at the absolute most.

There’s no point talking about historical accuracy on this show - my approach is that any story ostensibly taking place in our history is that it’s an alternate universe, and this is an easy way to ignore when things don’t square with real events.

Robin fights with a broadsword in this scene, not his scimitar, and we never find out how/why he got the latter.

For plot reasons, Robin neatly slashes through Guy’s tattoo instead of cutting off his arm.

Okay, Richard’s birthday was 8 September. The attempted hanging in the first episode was 26 April, so it’s been less than five months? Actually, I think this works fine.

In an earlier episode I lamented that we never saw the bright green shirt again, but I was wrong, Robin’s wearing it under his hoodie and it had very frayed hems. I do think the show does a pretty good job of using costumes for the gang that actually look like they live in a forest and show significant wear and tear.

This is one of my favourite Marian’s costumes - it’s beautiful!

I never noticed before, but after Guy announces the engagement, Edward takes Marian’s hand and it’s very sweet.

The possessive way Guy holds up Marian’s hand to show off the ring is...yikes. And don’t the guests sound enthused!

Nobody ever brings up that it was Robin ignoring the signal because he just had to stick it to Guy and take the ring is the reason Djaq is captured, and they really should have. That said, I do like him being cheeky and kissing Marian’s hand before depriving her of the ring.

Guy could very easily have freed the dagger holding his sleeve with his other hand - but he wanted Robin to know it was he that almost killed him in the Holy Land. Just like Robin could have easily escaped, but instead waited for Guy in the forest - this confrontation has been brewing all season - so let’s get into it.

Guy starts with saying that the King has enemies because he wants peace, and “there will never be peace with the Turk.” So we assume that his motivations are with the warmongers - to scupper the peace talks with Saladin so the Crusade continues and Jerusalem is conquered. Which...doesn’t really make sense with what we know of Guy, that he would care about claiming the Holy Land, and this stance is actually contradicted later. It makes more sense that they would want to keep Richard in the Holy Land so Prince John can usurp his power while he’s away, and Guy can maintain his position. I think we can assume that is the case, and Guy is just deflecting/pushing Robin’s buttons with the war talk.

And of course, the confrontation is only ostensibly about Guy’s treason, secondly about dick swinging over Marian. Guy gets kicked in the face (for the second time this season!) and only stops his throat getting slit by the timely arrival of the gang.

Djaq is cool, calm and collected the entire episode, despite no doubt being reminded of her time in slavery.

“That’s what you taught us.” Robin told the gang all about the articles of the Geneva Convention, but like many a self-righteous superpower, thinks they doesn’t apply to him if a breach is “necessary.”

I jest, but Robin actually does stay his hand initially and listen to the gang. He does knock Guy out, but I don’t think we can hold that against him. Concussion Count: Guy (Total: Robin x 1, Guy x 1)

It’s kind of understandable that the gang are skeptical of Robin’s claims it was Guy who tried to kill the King - it can’t have gone unnoticed that Robin has war-related trauma, and just that morning a nightmare of that very event. It would seem convenient indeed that he suddenly claims he remembers Guy as the assassin, right after the engagement to Marian was announced.

I’ve said this before, but I really think it’s a strength of the show that it is prepared to Go There with Robin as a deeply flawed protagonist. Because the gang is 100% right, and he is 100% wrong - Djaq’s life should take precedence, and he is in no state of mind to be making life and death decisions.

Concussion Count: Guy and Robin (Total: Robin x 2, Guy x 2)

Confrontation Round 2 - ding ding!

Robin is straight up manipulative of Much to get himself untied and it hurts to see - there’s a real power differential to their relationship that Robin takes advantage of. Much knows more than anyone else how damaged Robin was by the war, he knows there’s this other, brutal, side of him that can triggered (”earlier...you were not yourself”), but he still loves his friend, he wants to believe in his promises, and he’s spent his life following Robin’s instructions and those habits die hard. He does try to do the right thing - he talks in a soothing voice (”you’ve had an upset” is so Soft), tries to get Robin to sit down and talk it through, but he is too far gone.

“I will kill you whether you talk or not.” Guy doesn’t believe him, and throws his earlier words back (“show me an argument ever settled with bloodshed”) but Robin is deep in his cold rage and when Much tries to intercede we get the heartbreaking “that is because you are also simple” which really, really hurts. Now, obviously we can explain Robin’s behaviour as a trauma response/ptsd episode, but not excuse it, because it really is a cruel thing to say, targeted to hurt Much the most and push him away, and all the “I did not mean it”s in the world doesn’t change that. It’s a disturbing pattern; that Robin will say something cruel in anger or frustration, then immediately take it back and say he didn’t mean it - but the thing is, a part of him did mean it, must mean it, because he said it - it may be a dark fleeting thought, those unkind things we all think sometimes, but Robin gives voice to them and causes hurt, and that can’t be undone.

Again, I give credit that this is a show that doesn’t always cast its hero in the best light - he does screw up, he does say the wrong thing, he does make poor decisions despite his good heart. Robin is such an interesting, complicated character - heroic but with another side to him, a capacity for cruelty and violence that most of the time he keeps in check, but every now and then he can’t stop it rising to the surface, can’t keep that dark side of himself contained, but can only try to push it back with regret.

He then shifts from trying to kill Guy to trying to torture him, and obviously it’s all very thinly veiled social commentary, but this was 2006, and as I’ve said in a previous post social commentary is why we retell stories like this.

As I said above, Guy contradicts his earlier reasoning with “what kind of king deserts his people to fight someone else’s war in a foreign land?” but I think this is more the fear talking, with that red-hot sword close to his face, trying to appeal to Robin’s kinder/protective nature. To which we get another yikes line from Robin - “if you were his people he was right to desert them.” I don’t think Robin believes this, he’s deflecting Guy’s very good point to try and justify torturing him.

But in the end, he can’t justify it, at least not without making it a fair fight. And it’s a good fight! Well acted and choreographed, visceral and emotionally intense - they way they get progressively sweatier and dirtier and more exhausted, the way the music shifts from the jaunty theme to silence to those haunting strings - one of the best sequences of the show, imo.

Guy continues to throw out arguments that I don’t think he holds himself, but rather what he thinks will appeal to Robin - “it’s not England’s war, it’s Rome’s” was the exact point Robin made in the first episode (”Is it our Holy War? Or is it Pope Gregory’s?”). When Robin rightly points out that Guy’s assassination attempt broke the ceasefire, and Guy responds that “there will always be war” and he wants a King that will fights for England’s gain, not the Pope’s. That, I think, is close to his true motivation.

We get confirmation that religious conviction is why Robin went on crusade, but that it was meeting those of other faiths and realising the Holy Land should be shared, not conquered, that turned his heart. This seems to be the primary cause of Robin’s trauma - that he fought in an unjust war, made under false pretenses, and that he was not a warrior for God, but a murderer. While Much is obviously also scarred from the war, I think he handles it better partly because it wasn’t his decision to go, he was just following Robin, and he didn’t have his faith and understanding of the world shattered like Robin did. Also, he’s selfless, he’s a caretaker, so I think he buries his own trauma deeper and it doesn’t bubble to the surface as much as Robin’s does but comes out in sadness rather than anger.

UTTER EXHAUSTION.

Guy’s taunts become more pointed - calling out Robin’s glory seeking and loss of status, then turn to Marian, and it seems his obsession with her (other than being The Only Noblewoman in Nottingham) is in part to have everything Robin once did - his lands, his title, and the woman to whom he was betrothed - especially taking into account the backstory of season 3. It’s rather gross the way he speaks of Marian (“do you think I won’t laugh every time...”) although I suppose you could argue that it was a targeted attack on Robin and not how he actually feels.

It’s interesting that at this point, Guy accepts that Marian is sympathetic to Robin and still has contact with her - he’s not entirely clueless.

Concussion Count: Guy (Total: Robin x 2, Guy x 3)

The scene between Robin and Marian is also very good - he does throw her “everything is a choice” back at her somewhat petulantly, but it shows that he listened to her, and took what she said to heart. Marian, like the gang, assumes the accusation against Guy is about her engagement, and they have two tense conversations at once (”you took his ring/you took his ring” is rather deft).

I feel for Marian here, because she’s in a bad situation forced into marriage with Guy, and it would be made so much worse if he’d done what Robin says. She’s trying to make the best of it.

Everyone’s reaction to “I like her/I think I love her” is priceless, and I will defer to this commentary on this excellent post. Also a shoutout to @angel-in-a-big-blue-box’s tags #I also love how marian's stepping back like 'I don't understand. Y'all just voice your feelings like that? #You don't passive-aggressively snark at each other?’ SO TRUE - neither can fathom actually being this direct - Robin snarks that “everything is a choice” about running off into the forest, when he means “choose me” but can’t say it.

Concussion Count: Robin (Total: Robin x 3, Guy x 3). Both of them about to develop CTE at this rate.

I’ve said it before, but for all his faults, Robin admits when he’s wrong.

Will’s awkward little “Djaq” and Allan’s grin and nod is so cute.

I would have liked a longer conversation between Robin and Djaq tbh, her “and you gave him up for me?” is perhaps a trifle too magnanimous of her, but it’s a nice little coda with the gang all sitting down together and forgiving Robin.

#robin hood bbc #robin hood rewatch #1x08 #tattoo what tattoo?

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bigskydreaming · 5 years

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Something that’s important to keep in mind when reading older comics non-linearly because you’re jumping around between the iconic greatest hits stories rather than trying to read older things entirely in the order they were published (which I fully understand is all but impossible, especially with how often titles crossover with other titles a person may not be all that interested in otherwise) -

Its just....that’s not the way they were intended to be read, and this means reading them this way occasionally loses some nuance.

I think this is highly important in the matter of the Last Laugh story, and with Dick’s reactions to Jason’s return in general, as well as other things like the Blockbuster storyline.

See, even when people do reference the Last Laugh story, the common takeaway is treating it as though Dick killed the Joker because he thought the Joker had killed Tim like he had Jason. That it was more about Tim.

And like yes, it absolutely was about Tim. But it was equally about Jason, and you can’t divorce that from the story. You just can’t.

Because read linearly, in order, with that story existing between stories before and after it rather than on its own, in a vacuum....

It was abundantly clear from stories AROUND Last Laugh that Jason was very much someone on Dick’s mind - not just in the ‘oh he feels guilty for him dying, and he should’ way that fandom tends to insist on (grrr), but just in the ‘he was my brother and I miss him’ way. Like Dick hallucinating Jason-as-Robin when he was near death himself, not to be haunted by his specter, but as a comforting presence. And like AFTER Last Laugh, when Dick was struggling with coming to terms with having crossed that one line he’d vowed to Bruce never to break.....he wasn’t doing it while hanging out with Tim and hovering obsessively over him and reassuring him of his presence and safety. He was doing it while secluded alone in his apartment, unshaven, drunk and staring at pictures of him and Jason.

That context is critical. Last Laugh was very much about Dick and Jason, every bit as much as it was about Dick and Tim.

And it was also about Dick and Bruce, and the fact that after Bruce resuscitated the Joker - telling himself he did it FOR Dick, because Dick wouldn’t be able to live with himself otherwise - Bruce did absolutely nothing to...help Dick live with himself and what he’d done. In fact, Bruce holds Tim back from going after Dick and says “he has to face what he’s done.” That was always more about Bruce being able to live with what Dick had done. And Dick was not unaware of this.

You have to factor in the placement of this in other stories as well. Like the fact that all of this took place in comic book time a mere few months after Bruce had FINALLY adopted Dick, at age 23, in Gotham Knights #17. At a time when Bruce being proud of Dick and Dick needing to feel like he wasn’t giving Bruce any reason to regret his decision - these were very much additionally contexts that matter.

As well as the fact that again, in comic book time, it was less than a year later that everything with Blockbuster unfolded, and culminated in his death. The death that Dick feels so guilty for, even though he really had nothing to do with it and shouldn’t have.

None of this is coincidental. All of this was linear. This was the context of all of these stories.

Dick loved his brother Jason. Dick mourned his brother, missed his brother, mere months after finally getting the adoption he’d craved for so long broke Bruce’s most sacred rule....because he missed and mourned and loved his brother, and his brother’s murderer threw all that in his face and Dick snapped.

And then....Dick is left to cope with this on his own by Bruce, because of Bruce’s own issues with what happened, and then to top all of this off, when Dick is at absolute rock bottom, he’s made to feel guilty for another death - and this absolutely 100% is affected by the fact that he feels HE JUST LET BRUCE DOWN BY KILLING THE JOKER. And is still very much affected by the aftermath of Bruce’s....not being there to help him through it. Which could have made all the difference in everything that went down with Blockbuster, let alone the aftermath.

But Dick was left to go through both of these things on his own, and it was only six months after Blockbuster’s death, Tarantula, the destruction of Dick’s entire CITY thanks to Chemo....that Bruce finally confronts Dick about all this, rather than comforts him, and expresses his disappointment that Dick lost sight of the value of his own life in all of this, somehow. Which - was supposed to be a buck up, kiddo kinda thing I guess? Idk.

And THEN factor in Jason’s return - with Dick not getting a chance to encounter Jason himself until Jason seeks him out in New York - mid murder spree - months after Tim was hospitalized by him.

Consider THAT context. Dick’s brother - the one he loved, missed, mourned - the brother he KILLED for, because of this (and that’s not on Jason, not at all, I’m just saying, you can’t divorce his CONNECTION to this event that is SO pivotal and central to all of this for Dick) - Dick actually GETS THIS BROTHER BACK....in the form of this guy who he’s not sure what to feel about, because he announced his return by almost killing the brother Dick has come to know and love since Jason’s own death. And Jason is full of resentment about what he perceives as Bruce’s betrayal - by not killing the Joker, and judging him for killing people - as well as proof he wasn’t loved and missed and mourned.

All of which is categorically untrue, given the full context of Last Laugh and its aftermath for Dick.....not just in the sense that Dick killed the Joker, in large part because of his grief for his brother....but also in the sense that contrary to what Jason often expresses as a belief - that Bruce would forgive Dick if it were Dick doing what Jason was doing - Bruce couldn’t even be AROUND Dick after Dick killed ONE person, TEMPORARILY....the same person that Jason SO BADLY WANTED SOMEONE TO KILL BECAUSE OF THEIR GRIEF FOR THEM.

How the FUCK is Dick supposed to feel about all of this?

And this is the context that has absolutely been ERASED by pretty much all of fandom, in regards to all of this. In favor of this cardboard cut out depiction of Dick as like this....frustrated and barely sympathetic older brother who just wants Jason to behave, so they can all be the perfect family.

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cdelphiki · 5 years

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Hello! Could you do "I'm not leaving you here!" with Tim and Damian? Can't wait to see what all you do!

There was no time.

Normally, Tim could form half a dozen plans, and then five more for every outcome of the first six whenever anything happened to them. But this time—there wasn’t time.

They had really gotten themselves into quite a pickle.

Well…

Damian had gotten them into said pickle.

He was too brash sometimes.

Maybe if he stoped to think more often, Tim would have more time to think now.

But instead, he found himself collapsed on the floor, trying his best to hold all his insides in where they belonged, while Damian subtly panicked by his side, similarly applying pressure to the massive gash in Tim’s abdomen.

It’d been a lucky hit, honestly. Tim had been distracted by trying to disarm the moron with the gun and wrongfully assumed Damian was handling the idiot with the knife. He hadn’t been. And that guy managed to slash out at Tim and get him, right in the side.

At least Damian took him out immediately after. What he’d been doing before Tim nearly lost more of his organs, he isn’t sure. But at least he pulled through in the end…

Now, though. Now they were royally screwed.

They were in a room, deep inside the compound they’d infiltrated, essentially trapped. There were two unconscious guys handcuffed to the radiator pipes, and about three hundred more outside.

Looking for them.

Tim could hear gunfire down the hall. The periodic bang bang of a trained gunman, walking through rooms, and shooting at whatever he saw. It was setting Tim on edge, because he knew they were looking for them.

And Tim couldn’t walk.

He could do nothing to defend Robin. To defend himself. He’d just be a passive observer to Robin’s death.

“Robin,” he wheezed, causing Damian to look up from his wound, the whites of his lenses not revealing anything the boy was feeling, “Go.”

There was nothing Tim could do. He wouldn’t be able to follow Damian. Wouldn’t be able to even make it out of this room, much less follow the complicated path they’d taken to get in this far. And Damian most certainly couldn’t carry him. Sure, he was strong, but Tim weighed more than him, and at this point he’d be pretty much dead weight.

“What?” he demanded, “and what, you’ll just cartwheel your way out behind me? Don’t be ridiculous.”

After pushing himself into a sitting position, Tim tried to shove Damian away from him, but all he succeeded in doing was groaning as his side protested at the movement.

“Drake,” Damian snapped, “do not be stupid. You are in danger of bleeding out if we don’t staunch the blood.”

“You,” Tim said, his breathing labored as he tried to get his body to obey him, tried to keep his strength in check, “need to leave.”

Instead of respond, Damian pushed Tim back down into a laying position and started rifling through his pockets. He pulled out an emergency suture kit, and Tim just reached out and grabbed his hand.

The gunshots were getting closer, and each double tap filled Tim with more dread. Because if they entered this room, there was absolutely nothing he could do. He’d be helpless, just laying here. As he calculated, he only had a few more minutes of consciousness before the blood loss got him, and then not much longer beyond of actual…. Aliveness. And Damian would likely get himself shot trying to defend Tim, and he did not want his last minutes on this earth to be crying over the death of Robin.

No thank you.

He’d much rather Robin leave and get away. Go find help, maybe. It didn’t really matter what he did, as long as he had a chance.

“No. There isn’t time. You have to get out of here.”

Damian scowled and pushed Tim’s hand away from the wound, after he’d threaded the needle and stuck a flashlight in his own mouth, to point directly at the wound.

Tim grimaced as the needle went into his skin, then clenched his teeth so hard he thought he might crack the crown in there when Damian pulled it through.

“Damian,” he plead, between stitches, “Please. You have to go.”

“No,” Damian snapped, pausing just long enough to hold the flashlight so he could talk, “I am not leaving you. So shut up.”

The gunfire paused for a moment, and Damian took it as an opportunity to get three more stitches in, each one making Tim suppress a groan. Because, damn, Damian was not being gentle.

“Sorry,” Damian mumbled, around the flashlight, “we’ll have to redo…”

“If you don’t get leave,” Tim whispered, just as the gunfire started up again, now more constant than before, “they’re gonna catch us. The sutures won’t matter.”

Scowling harder, Damian picked up the speed and put four more stitches in before finally cutting the thread. He spat the flashlight off onto the ground and snapped, “Do you want to die?”

“I want you to not die,” Tim replied, echoing Damian’s tone.

“Right,” he said, aggressively ripping open a clean pack of gauze before he placed it over the fresh stitches and started wrapping Tim’s entire abdomen, “Great. I live, you die. Just how everyone would want it, right? Is that what you think?”

The next gunshot happened not even 30 feet away, outside the locked door they were hiding behind. It made Damian jump, just slightly, before his scowl deepened.

Tim closed his eyes and put a hand to his forehead. “You bought us time,” he mumbled, trying to think through the haze that had started to set in, “You can get away and go get help. Then come back for me.”

“I’m not leaving you,” he whispered harshly.

“We don’t have much of a choice,” he shot back, succeeded this time at sitting himself up, Damian now done wrapping the wound. It was still bleeding, ever so slightly, but it wasn’t a danger of bleeding out anytime soon.

Kill him with infection? Sure. But that required he lived long enough for it to get infected. Either he’d be shot in about 64 seconds, or they’d escape and Alfred would fix it.

He was kind of counting on the getting shot option.

Damian looked around frantically and locked eyes on a pipe, laying on the ground among a pile of random repair pieces. He grabbed it, then tip toed to the door, positioning himself just beside it, waiting for their hunter to bust in the door.

“Damian,” Tim pleaded, whispering as loudly as he dared with someone just outside.

“Shut up, Tim,” Damian whispered back.

Just a second later, the door knob jiggled, and Tim sucked in a breath. Damian gripped the pipe tighter and lifted it high, ready to bring it down on the head of whoever broke in.

A gunshot went off, blasting the lock into a dozen tiny pieces, and then the door was kicked open, faster than a strike of lightning.

Tim was unable to suppress the pained cry he made when he jumped, possibly tearing one of the already shitty stitches.

At the same time, Damian swung the pipe and connected solidly with the helmet of their hunter, causing a crack to form right at the crown of it.

“The fuck,” Jason cursed, snatching the pipe from a stunned Damian and throwing it across the room, away from both Tim and the unconscious thugs, “Watch where you’re swinging shit, brat. You’re lucky I wear a helmet, unlike you dumbasses.”

“Hood,” Damian sighed, the relief in his voice so palpable, it made even Jason freeze.

“Yeah, kid,” he said, awkwardly patting Damian on the head, “I’m here.”

“Was that you shooting?” Tim asked, pausing in the middle to take a breath. His side was hurting about fifty times more, now. With the definitely popped stitch.

“Uh huh.” Jason crossed the room in three long strides and knelt beside Tim. Damian retrieved his pipe and took up position by the door, but considering how relaxed Jason was acting, Tim doubted there were anymore men outside to post threats to them.

He just hoped Jason hadn’t killed everyone in the building…

“Heard you two were infiltrating this place tonight. You should have talked to me first, I’ve been watching this operation for months. You were woefully unprepared.”

“Yeah,” Tim laughed, moving his hands so Jason could look at the quickly bleeding through bandages, “Figured that out.”

“Seriously, you brats taking on an entire gang’s main operation? By yourself? Idiots.”

“Tt,” Damian huffed, “We were fine until Red got himself stabbed.”

“It was your guy,” Tim protested, “Your guy stabbed me.”

“And then he wanted me to abandon him to die,” Damian continued, completely ignoring Tim.

Jason added another layer of gauze to the wrap, then pat Tim on the shoulder. “I know teaming up with the demon is difficult,” he said, slipping one arm behind Tim’s back and the other under his knees, “but really, there are much better ways to be rid of him than dying. Trust me. Been there. Done that. 0/10 would not do again.”

“Shut up,” Tim whined, trying his best not to cry a little as Jason jostled him. He wrapped one arm around Jason’s neck and closed his eyes tight. “I didn’t know you were the idiot shooting everyone.”

“Yes,” Damian drawled, falling in step just before Jason as they began making their way out of the compound, “I was not aware you were in Gotham tonight.”

“This idiot just saved your hide, you ungrateful little brats. And I lied about going on a mission. I wanted a break. But nooooooo, you morons had to go on a suicide mission instead.”

“Tt. It was not-”

“Red is actively dying,” Jason interrupted, “So zip it.”

Surprisingly, Damian did zip it. And he kept it zipped, at least as long as Tim could remember. Because he did eventually fall asleep, lulled there by the gentle swaying motion caused by Jason’s gait. If Jay tried to wake him, it didn’t work, and in retrospect, Tim was glad for that.

Because the next thing he knew, he was waking up in the Batcave, his torso properly cleaned and sewn up, an IV in his hand, delivering what Tim was sure to be heavy antibiotics to stave off whatever infection the crappy field suturing probably caused.

When he looked around, he was mildly surprised to find no Bruce sitting at his side. Usually Bruce was all over these sorts of things. His guilt complex awesome at making him be comforting after nearly dying.

Honestly, there was nothing like a ‘I’m glad you didn’t die, Tim,’ hug from Bruce.

But Bruce wasn’t there. Instead, Damian was sitting in the chair, his legs thrown up over the side as he watched something on his tablet, completely oblivious to the world.

“Where’s Bruce?” Tim croaked, then paused to clear his throat, because wow. He hadn’t used his voice in a while, had he? “How long was I out?”

Damian looked at his watch and said, almost uninterested, “About 17 hours. Pennyworth made Father go to bed a couple hours ago.”

Tim wanted to ask Damian why he was there, then, but he had the feeling doing so would just make Damian leave. And Tim didn’t really want to be alone. He always hated being alone, trapped in the medbay in the cave. It was dark and spooky down there, honestly. When alone and unable to work on anything. The screeching of the bats was just creepy. Sometimes.

So instead, he asked, “What are you watching?” as he sat his bed up some.

“A documentary series I found on youtube. It’s about royal families in Europe and how they’re all related.”

“Uh,” Tim said, scrunching his eyebrows, “That’s interesting.”

“Hardly,” Damian dismissed, waving a hand at Tim, as if asking him to stop talking.

And maybe being alone down here wouldn’t be so bad, after all. “What are you doing down here?”

Annoyance flickered on Damian’s face before he clicked the tablet off and stood. “If you ever,” he said darkly, taking the few steps to Tim’s bedside to point a finger at him, “ever ask me to leave you to die again, I’ll…”

Damian paused, and narrowed his eyes. Tim couldn’t help it, he had to ask, “You’ll what? Kill me?”

“Tt,” Damian huffed, scowling now, “Obviously not. That would be counterproductive.”

“Then what?”

“I’ll tell on you,” Damian decided, nodding to himself.

“You’ll tell on me? What are we, five?”

“Yes. I’ll tell Father and Grayson about your recklessness and—”

“I wasn’t being reckless,” Tim said, “Your guy stabbed me. Not! Reckless!”

“Whatever,” Damian said, rolling his eyes, “Just don’t do it again.”

Tim wanted to keep arguing. He wanted to tell Damian there was nothing he could threaten Tim with to make him value his own life above that of a literal child’s, especially when that child was kind of technically his little brother. But instead he could see the underlying anxiety forcing this entire encounter, so he couldn’t help himself saying, “Aww, you were worried about me.”

And instead of snap back and deny it, as Tim was expecting, Damian just scowled harder and said, “Of course I was. You were trying make me let you die.”

“Damian,” he sighed, rubbing at his face with his free hand. He was honestly so exhausted. Which was weird, sleeping 17 hours and all. “I was just trying to save you.”

“We’re family,” Damian said slowly, looking away from Tim as he did and crossing his arms, “I can’t….”

“Damian,” Tim interrupted, reaching out and latching onto Damian’s sleeve.

“Tim. Don’t ask me to do that again.”

All Tim could do was nod. Because he was afraid if he tried to say anything, he might just cry. Or say something stupid and ruin the entire moment.

But Damian spoke up, holding his tablet up for Tim to see. “I have movies on this.”

With a smile, Tim scooted over the best he could and let Damian climb up next to him. About an hour into The Incredibles, when Damian’s eyes keep drooping more and more with ever blink, and Tim was just about as close to falling back asleep, Tim whispered, “Sorry.”

And when Damian just nodded and leaned his head against Tim’s shoulder to fully fall asleep, he took it as forgiveness.

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harveywritings92 · 5 years

Text

Batboys scenario: Secret Model Girfriend. 1/2

The following is a non profit fan based story Batman, Red hood, Nightwing etc. belongs to DC Comics please support the official release.

I gain no profit from this nor do I own anything other then OCs and whatever sprouts from my imagination. Thanks for reading!

Batboys Scenario 1: secret model girlfriend.

Boys are dating a nerdy, clumsy and very plain looking girl, not knowing she's a very gorgeous model they've been obsessing over and one day they're invited to a shoot to meet s/n [Stage name] and let's just say the boys say some pretty hurtful shit, needless to say they get the biggest shock of their life when the model sounds an awful lot like their girlfriend!

Dick Grayson: Kori got him backstage he was so giddy about meeting [S/n] he has a lot her posters on his old bedroom back at the manor and a few cleverly hidden magazines hidden back at his and Y/n apartment, His girlfriend has no idea he's here...His eyes wonder around the set ladies of every shape and various stated of dress eye him, some flirtatiously, other curiously and few could care less.

You meet a lot of attractive men in this industry so the more seasoned models have learned *not to flatter yourself, chances are he's just window shopping or fishing for attention.* Then she came into his view [s/n] she looked more stunning in person than on paper.

She wore a dark blue cover dress over a white bikini, her short/long glossy hair was flowing, her plump red lip were curled into a friendly smile that brighten the room her eyes were covered by sunglasses, Dick felt butterflies in his stomach as the [y/height] woman approached the he caught wisps of her perfume in the air...

that caused Dick to stall for moment. It was familiar he quickly pushed that aside and introduced himself. Y/n being the ever good actress she was used her s/n's [accent], They hit it off pretty well they talked about the show and her up coming tour and eventual somehow got on to relationships. "So.. Kori says you have a girlfriend, what's she like?"

the model asked as the raven haired snorted, not his cutesy 'OMG I thought you'd never ask!~' snicker this was a sarcastic snort. "Oh...yeah, she's nothing special... pretty boring really." Kori and S/n both gawked at as he continued. "It's not serious, I'm only with Y/n because of a dar-" he was suddenly cut off by a seething Kori "Richard! that is Y/n!" she snarled ready to pummel him.

Dick's stomach suddenly felt like it was full of sand a lumped formed throat as the familiar little hiccups his girlfriend would make when she was trying hard not breakdown crying filled the very quiet set. he swallowed hard as S/n took off her wig and sunglasses letting her natural hair fall over her face, as her teary e/c eyes looked up at him in betrayal,

before Dick could say anything she pulled the keys to their apartment off her key-ring and threw them at him before running off sobbing, Kori went after her while all the other models gave the flabbergasted man the evil-eye, now Dick really was living up to his name sake.

Jason Todd: Artemis was your bodyguard when she wasn't with the outlaws, Jason got curious where the amazon was getting her extra cash from and followed her. to say he was excited was an understatement, S/n was he dream girl,

he had her posters,magazines and a few of her interviews saved on his phone, he used to and still does have a few inappropriate dreams about her, So, when he saw the Amazon talking the the Model who was in a red bunny girl outfit; Jason was over the moon.

While Artemis was very against the idea of letting Jason meet S/n..."He's going to hurt you." she said in hush tone, But you brushed it off saying that you've known Jason since before he was the hood and knew he wouldn't do anything!

Sure, he's S/n fanboy, but he loves you...Or so you thought! It's seemed like a normal interaction he asked for S/n's autograph and talked about her her travels and shoots then...got bad, Fast!

One second Jason was talking about his time in Japan talked about the cherry blossom festival how the petals reminded him of pink snow, the model felt a little off by this...he never talked to Y/n about this maybe thi...no, she was being silly!

"Oh, I've always wanted to go during that time, but scheduling is a bitch." She suddenly Jason's hand on hers the model cocked a brow looked up at the raven haired man, He said he was in the country for an escort mission got to spend a few night in a traditional hotel in the mountains...it was pretty relaxing.

"And it just so happens they gave me a free trip for two the next time I was there, how about it?" he smirked as S/n pulled away from him "Artemis tells me you have a girlfriend why d-" Jason's smirk immediately dropped then S/n mentioned Y/n who was hoping Jason was just joke flirting with her alter-ego.

But was soon throw out the window along with your broken heart! "Oh..her..Yeah, she a real prude, just dead weight" Y/n felt her anger boil over as he continued talking shit about her.

Y/n didn't even realize she punched Jason in the face, till she heard a crunch, and felt pain erupt in her left hand that was now broken. When her vision cleared she saw Jason on the ground clutching his now broken nose looking up at her shocked. "What the fuck? You broke my nose!" he snarled as the model took off her wig and sunglasses and his eyes widened in horror and awe as his girlfriend glared down at him tearful and angry.

"Fuck your nose! and fuck you!" she spat before running off, Artemis looked between them both before helping Jason up as she glared the raven haired man in anger and disappointment. "I told her this was a bad Idea..." the amazon huffed as she gathered Y/n's things and went looking for her, all while Jason just stood there too stunned to move as his mind kept repeating...

*Y/n is S/n...Y/n is S/n,* Y/n his small mousy (ex) girlfriend who he's known and trusted since his Robin days, was the pin-up model glaciers would sprout a pair of legs for, and earn a degree in linguistics just the for the off chance that she'll talk them?!...and he just fucking ruined it!

Tim Drake: Stephanie who found out S/n's true identity by accident, was the one who convinced Y/n to tell Tim about her other life, he was getting suspicious about her business trips, and late night phone calls...However, every time she had the opportunity to say something she'd chicken out or something would come up for either Y/n or Tim leaving it for another day of cancelled plans or Tim giving her the silent treatment for standing him up.

Then she came out of her bathroom to find Tim going through her phone! "What are you doing?!" The h/c demanded the raven hared man lips formed a tight line. "Who's Grant?" he huffed ignoring her question. "Nobody, just a co-worker!" she hissed trying to snatch her phone back but Tim kept it out of her reach. "Really? then how come I've never met him?" his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"He's been overseas the last few months, It's a lunch meeting we're discussing filming locations?" Y/n said wasn't a complete lie she did say she worked in a photography industry, And Grant was a fellow model who also doubled as location organizer for the firm, But Tim was still skeptical he could tell she wasn't being truthful.

"Really, Just a co-worker?"

" Is that a problem?"

"Yeah..actually you're my girlfriend, why hell is he calling you his sweetheart and baby?!"

"Sorry, I didn't realize my friends needed your permission to call me nicknames!"

Y/n snapped as Tim's jaw set indicating he was furious. "OH! So, now he's a friend, what the hell happen to just a Co-worker?!" The raven haired man demanded as the h/c flinched at his raised voice, This wasn't fair this wasn't fair at all! "I don't see that the big deal is, I don't give you shit for hanging out with Stephanie or Cassie?!" She huffed bringing his exes into the mix big mistake..."Well at least I can trust them!?" Tim seethed shoving passed her.

"What are you talking about?!" Y/n demanded she already knew where he was going with this. "I know you're cheating Y/n, So just save us both the god damn time and just tell me!" Tim snarled as Y/n looked affronted she knew it was coming, but it still stung that her Timmy would assume that she was sleeping around!

"Fine! You want the truth Tim? Well here it is, I'm S/n!" She said crossing her arms as Tim gave her a once over a sneered. "The model?...Right, If you're gonna play around at least make up a better lie then that..." He spat storming out of her apartment... leaving a sobbing Y/n in his wake.

Later while on patrol with Spoiler, Tim let her know that he and Y/n broke up when the blond demanded why? He told her how he went through Y/n's phone and found her texting Grant and how the H/c had the audacity to lie and tell him she was S/n the pin-up girl! "Tsk, can you believe her?" he snorted then noticed how nervous Steph suddenly got.

"Uh, Tim she wasn't lying..." the blond said meekly as Red robin looked at her incredulously. "Wh-What you mean?" he asked feeling clammy all of the sudden, Stephanie explained that Y/n pulled a Hannah Montana and really was S/n..Grant is gay and her set manager they really were just co-workers...

She was actually going tell him in the morning before she left for her meeting, But he had to be jealous,distrustful and nosy...then the reality slowly crashing down on him like bucket of cold water... He broke up with Y/n over nothing, he went back to her apartment intending to apologize, but it was locked down tight and Y/n was gone...

Adult! Damian Wayne: Y/n was bored she was stuck at home playing Skyrim and eating junk food, "Well I can't be having a worst time than Dami." she mumbled to herself, her boyfriend Damian Wayne was stuck at some conference in Bludhaven...the poor guy. After doing the thieves guild quest line, the h/c got bored and decided to watch some TV when she switch over she was met with a Vicky Vale live at a Wayne charity gala...

*Gala? Damian never mentioned a Gala.." Y/n was confused as she saw Dick,Tim even Jason on the screen with dates...Did Dami lie? She though for a moment. No, he's up-tight but Damian isn't a liar...The h/c stomach dropped when she saw her boyfriend on screen with some d-listed blonde wrapped around his arm.

Y/n's face contorted into anger as she shut the TV off, What the hell! why didn't he tell her about the gala?...She looked at her reflection from the floor length mirror, She was wearing her big glasses, no make up and a Transformers t-shirt...Was Damian embarrassed of her? the h/c felt tears welling in her eyes then shook her head and wiped them.

She'll show him! But first she needs a date! Y/n pick up her phone and called her friend Robbie Reyes (ghost Rider)."Ey, Robbie! It's N/n are you still in Gotham?" The Latino man confirmed that yes he was still in the city. "Good, there's this charity thing downtown and I need a date."

She smirked as the mechanic said he'll go but, he doesn't have anything to wear. "Oh,don't worry about that I got you covered." Y/n already called her stylist and the formal wear shop they got there the same Time Robbie did.

by the time they were done getting dress S/n and Robbie Reyes looked like a Hollywood couple. She in a dark purple gown with gold flowers decorating the front and dipped low in the back, and Robbie was in dark tux with a matching purple shirt and gold tie.

"Remember, I'm only doing because we're friends...And you promised an autographed poster to Gabe." the Latino chided causing the model smile that's Robbie always big teddy bear when it comes to his little brother! "Don't worry I haven't forgotten.." She eyed him int the tux and smirked Y/n was Robbie was fine.~ "Y'know you should clean up more often! you'd be a real chick magnet...you could use a girlfriend."

the man next to her snorted and rolled his eyes annoyed "You sound like my brother..." he sighed as they pulled into the Hotel parking lot a few men whistled in amazement at the black 69 Charger. the Valet took Robbie's keys eagerly, but not before the Latino gave him the 'don't hurt my car!' speech causing Y/n to roll her eyes...Men and their cars, She doesn't get it and never will, She looped her arms around his left arm as Vicky Vale zeroed in on them.

"Oh, speaking of late arrivals S/n has just arrived with a Bad boy!~ could love be in the air in Gotham?" The reporter questioned as S/n fans booed or cheered as as the 'couple' walked along the carpet. "Is it always this bright and loud?" Robbie whispered in the model's ear cringing as some girls squealed at the little interaction and the camera flashes went off around them.

"Yeah, but it get's pretty quiet once you get inside." She whispered back to the camera's it looked like they were flirting, as the blond reporter asked about their relationship, "Sorry, everyone but, Mr. Reyes is just dear friend of mine, he's got more important things going on then dating at the moment." The [fake/h/c] explained with a tight smile Robbie confirmed causing Vicky to pout as the two got inside.

Robbie was immediately blindsided by a man Y/n recognized as Jason Todd who started asking the mechanic about that sweet 69' outside! the two men started mingling and talking about cars.

while Y/n rolled her eyes and wandered the ballroom the model surveyed the room for Damian and found him and his little tart...Taking a deep breath Y/n made her way over to them, when she got close enough to hearing what they were saying.

her heart hurt as the man she loved told his fake entourage how plain and frigid she was not worth bragging about! Dick who knew about S/n looked very uncomfortable and disappointed in his little brother. then he noticed you and looked stunned to see you there, Damian must told them you were sick or something... feeling more determined Y/n stood up straighter and spoke.

"Really now, because an hour ago you were telling me how much you loved me..." She hissed in her normal voice Damian stiffened shoved his date away and whirled and looked around in a panic.

"Down here love." She said in her S/n accent his green eyes looked at her bemused as his date and 'Friends' all looked at Damian like he grew three heads. "Dude, your dating S/n??!" One of the men said befuddled remembering all the crap he was saying about his girl...they all pictured some librarian spinster type! Not one of Gotham's top desirable women.

"More like he was...oh, here take this I don't need it anymore." she huffed taking off the necklace he'd giving her for their anniversary and handed it to Damian, She got close enough for him to see some of her natural h/c peeking out from under her wig and the outline of her contact lenses. "I...But." Damian still in shock tried to figure out how to talk,

It was too late he dug his grave and he dug it deep. "It's been fun, Now if you'll excuse me I gotta find my date and go..." She said calmly and walked into the crowd disappearing in the sea people, Damian snapped out of his stupor and followed after Y/n just in time see her get in a black muscle car with an unknown male and drove off into the night....

#Dc #Batboys x reader #scenario #Damian Wayne #Richard Grayson #Jason Todd #Tim drake #dc x marvel #robbie reyes #ghost rider #batman #red robin #red hood #nightwing #koriand'r #artemis

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violetsmoak · 5 years

Text

Tabula Rasa [7/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20183281/chapters/49466486

Blanket Disclaimer:

Summary: Tim and Jason have known they are soulmates for years, though neither has said anything about it. Tim thinks Jason doesn’t know and is just trying to live with it. Jason thinks Tim knows but doesn’t care, which is fine with him, he thinks the soulmate thing is a crock anyway. But one night, a minor mishap forces them to confront the issue head-on, leading to a series of events no one could have predicted.

Rating: PG-13 (Rating may change later)

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #soulmate aversion #secret identity

First Chapter

Author’s Note(s): In which as time passes, Jay's not having an easy time coping with all this soulmate stuff, and Tim's still trying to figure everything out. And Alfred is his usual awesome self.

________________________________________________________________

“Forget almost being assassinated, how did he not die just from tripping over something in the dark, or eating expired food?” Jason asks as he looks around the disaster zone that is Tim Drake’s apartment. There are takeout containers and empty coffee cups covering every surface, and clothing soiled with dirt and blood and what looks like sewer sludge strewn across the floor. Packaging and bubble wrap twist around the legs of tables and extension cables create startlingly effective tripwire traps. “Can’t you people afford a maid service?”

“Surely even you aren’t so thick that you don’t understand why that would be a bad idea,” Damian points out as he walks in behind him, carrying several large boxes from the local hardware depot. As he deposits them, he surveys the apartment with something more like horror than disgust. “This is the residence of the man my grandfather considers his equal?”

“He’s not usually this bad,” Dick says with a sigh as he closes the door behind him with one hand and deposits his own burden of packages. His eyes rove across the open concept living area with a worried expression. “I was here like three weeks ago and it was spotless. I mean, his room was a disaster zone, but that’s just Tim. Messy genius, you know?”

“If this is how he lives, perhaps the social workers are correct that he needs a more qualified minder.”

Dick ignores that. “I don’t get it. It’s like he just gave up. What the hell happened?”

Jason remains quiet; he has a nasty suspicion he knows exactly what made Tim stop caring.

Whatever, I’m making up for it now, aren’t I? In fucking spades…

He’s been avoiding Tim’s apartment for weeks now, stubbornly squatting in different buildings every night or shelling out for a motel when he wants an actual bed or shower. But the last few days he found several itching bites on his skin, and hell no. He swore when Bruce took him in, he was done with bedbugs and lice and any other critter that can be found in questionably cleaned bedding.

As luck would have it, Dick was on his way over here with Damian to install handicap bars in Tim’s bathroom and check the place over for any other chores or tasks that needed doing.

“I still don’t see the point of that,” Jason says, nodding at the boxes of tools and components. “In what universe do you see B letting Tim leave the manor any time in the next year or so? Even when he gets his memories back.”

“It’s a compliance thing,” Dick informs him. “Now that Tim’s making actual strides in recovery, social services will be coming at some point to check that everything is set up for his rehabilitation if he chooses to come here. If it’s not done, it won’t look good.”

“That chick’s still pushing this?”

“Oh yeah. She keeps coming up with new requirements she insists be filled. Independent psych evaluations, bi-monthly physicals performed by state doctors—she even wants him to attend mandatory rehabilitation at some government facility in Blüdhaven.”

“What? Why there?”

“Aside from the fact Gotham’s mental health infrastructure is riddled with the criminally insane?”

“Fair…”

“Babs looked into her and it looks like Bruce had the right idea. Gillian Sato’s a nobody. Completely average in everything, trying to make a name in her department by going after a big fish. And you know that Bruce has been CPS’ great white whale since he took me in. You too.”

“I remember,” Jason says with a scowl.

It was shortly after he was taken in by Bruce. He had just started as Robin, was beginning to see Bruce and Alfred as family and the manor as home. And then some do-gooder social worker with the ‘best intentions’ and a dislike of Brucie Wayne exploited a technicality that let her remove Jason from the Wayne household. The next weeks and months dragged Jason through such an emotional wringer that his already abundant trust issues increased by orders of magnitude. Even before he and Bruce started to butt heads later, Jason would never truly be at ease in the manor ever again.

Or anywhere, really.

People let you down. People left. People could be taken away from you. These were the facts of life, and Jason vowed never to forget them again.

It’s yet another reason he’s so resistant to the idea of soulmates. Having one just makes it easier to be let down or to have them taken away. Hell, he’s seen that firsthand, hasn’t he? A simple errant bullet and he almost had to watch his die. He can’t even imagine what this whole ordeal would feel like if he was close to Tim.

Lost in his thoughts, it takes him a moment to realize Dick is still talking.

“…her higher-ups barely know anything about her. Most of them are willing to let this thing with Tim go, but she’s the one who keeps pushing it. Poking for loopholes whenever she hits a new roadblock.”

“So have Barbie make her go away,” Jason suggests.

“And give support to the idea Bruce Wayne is above the law because of his money?” Dick challenges. “That would put a lot more attention on the issue than anyone wants. For now, we just play it the legal way. Once Tim’s eighteen, she’ll have lost a major avenue to exploit.”

“Which means you guys have to put up with her trying to wrap you in red tape for the next four months at least.”

“This is ridiculous,” Damian mutters.

“I know.”

“Not that—although yes, this farce of legal compliance is a waste of everyone’s time. But I’m talking about how no one has done anything about Drake’s condition other than wring their hands.”

“Excuse me?!”

“If we’re ever going to go on with our lives, he must be fixed, and faster than some useless stretching is going to do.”

“Kid, how exactly do you think your dad got back to fighting condition after Bane broke his back?” Jason questions. “‘Useless stretching’ was a big part of it.”

“And a hell of a lot of drive,” Dick adds. “Which Tim doesn’t really have enough of right now. I mean, I know he wants to get better, but it’s not the same as if he knew who he was.”

“Exactly. He would already be walking, I’m sure,” Damian nods. “Then you’re in agreement with me.”

“Well, yeah—wait. What am I agreeing with?” Dick asks, suspicious.

“Through my observations of the situation, I have determined that Drake is unlikely to ever regain full functionality or his memory. The easiest way to fix this would be a Lazarus Pit. I happen to know of one in Cuba.”

“Holy no Batman!” Dick cries. “Did you forget what happened when I tried doing that for Bruce?”

“It would be different in this case, since we know for sure that it’s Drake and not a decoy,” Damian argues. “At least, the body bit. And Todd recovered from brain damage thanks to the Pit.” He considers Jason. “Well. More or less. I did not know you before, therefore I have no basis of comparison.”

“And you also missed the murderous rampage that happened afterward,” Jason growls. “Not being able to control yourself sucks. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

Even Tim.

Especially not Tim.

“If anyone possesses the ability to fight off the effects of the Lazarus Pit, it’s Drake,” Damian insists. “He does not have the same latent anger or violent tendencies as Todd’s files say he had.”

“Hey, stay the hell out of my business!”

“Tim might not be as violent as Jason is or was—”

“Screw you, Dickhead.”

“—but he definitely has the capacity for anger. And as it is, he suffers from severe depression,” Dick informs them soberly. “To the point where he’s considered suicide at least once in the past.”

Damian and Jason’s eyes snap to his face.

“What?” Jason demands.

“That was not in his file.”

“Because he didn��t want it there,” Dick tells them, weary. “In case someone tried to use it against him.”

“Don’t you think that’s kind of fucking important to people know about?” Jason demands. “Especially if they have to go out in the field with him?”

He’s having a sudden flashback to the night when everything came out into the open, when he swooped in to save Tim from a fall that he should have been able to divert himself.

Shit. What if that wasn’t an accident like I thought?

“We all have things in our history we don’t want in the files,” Dick reminds them, his face becoming hard for a moment as if he’s remembering something. Then he shakes it off. “Tim’s been dealing with it. He’s on medication, he reaches out when it gets bad…but it’s an ongoing process. I don’t need to tell you guys that.”

“If he didn’t want anyone knowing, he’s going to be pissed you tattled.”

“I’m only speaking up so Damian understands what a bad idea it would be to put Tim in a Lazarus Pit. Depression on top of Pit madness? I don’t want to even think about what he might do.”

Not to mention bringing him anywhere near where Ra’s might pop up is asking for trouble, especially since he can’t fight him off right now.

“So, you are insisting on this waiting nonsense,” Damian concludes, looking frustrated.

“It’s all we can do for now, Little D.”

The kid’s expression remains stormy.

⁂

Damian strides into Tim’s bedroom one morning, wearing a determined expression and followed by his gigantic dog, Titus.

Tim feels a little wary, not so much because of the intimidating canine, but because his younger brother rarely comes near him voluntarily.

“I have read in numerous medical journals the benefits of animal companions in increasing the likelihood of recovery from traumatic brain injuries,” he announces. “Since Father is adamant, we are not getting another dog, I have decided to allow you to spend time with Titus while I am engaged in my studies. I am confident it will contribute to improvement in your condition.” He gestures at the dog. “Titus, stay with Drake. I shall collect you later.”

Then he nods to himself, as if concluding business, and leaves the room.

Tim stares after him, utterly bewildered at the turn of events. Titus watches the boy go, whines for a moment, and then looks over his shoulder at Tim, head cocked to one side as if wondering what that was all about.

All he can do is shrug, which he feels ridiculous about a moment later because Titus is a dog and has a limited understanding (even if Damian speaks to him as if he’s a human being). Still, a beat later, the dog wanders over to Tim’s bed, and rests his head upon the mattress, gazing up at Tim with curious eyes, his tail wagging somewhat.

Slowly, Tim reaches out with his right hand and places it on the dog’s head, causing the tail-wagging to speed up, and scratches him behind the ears.

Titus thus becomes a semi-permanent element of Tim’s recovery process. Damian comes by every morning to drop the dog off as if he’s a parent leaving a child at daycare or school and leaves for several hours. Titus then goes to Tim for obligatory head-pats and only lets up when it becomes clear Tim’s energy is flagging. Even then, he doesn’t go anywhere, simply curling up beside Tim’s bed. When Damian returns, he pokes his head in, nods again, and gestures for the dog to depart with him.

The whole situation is bizarre, but Tim thinks it’s the way Damian expresses worry.

Having Titus around has the added benefit of intimidating Gillian Sato whenever she comes for one of her ‘visits’. Jay can’t always make it there before she does, and she somehow manages to insist on meeting with Tim privately to avoid bias (which he doesn’t understand). Those visits when Jay isn’t present are as short as possible to comply with her wishes, but they’re long enough that Tim is always exhausted and confused at their end. With Titus there, he’s at least a bit more comfortable; the dog appears to sense when his anxiety is climbing or when Ms. Sato says something that makes him uncomfortable.

“It’s rather concerning, Timothy,” she tells him in a voice meant to be kind. “Considering all the resources Mr. Wayne has at his disposal, that he insists you recover here. Instead of in a facility specifically created to rehabilitate TBI patients. It’s almost as if he’s trying to keep you here under his watchful eye.” She leans forward, expression worrying. “You want to get better as soon as possible, don’t you?”

Before Tim can try to parse out exactly what she’s asking him (because he knows somehow the words don’t match her intention), Titus hackles raise, and he begins to growl.

Almost that same instant, Alfred will sweep in and declare that Tim is quite tired today, perhaps they can continue this interview some other time?

Tim wonders if he isn’t standing at the door eavesdropping, even though somehow, he can’t reconcile that image in his head.

Depending on the time of day that Ms. Sato arranges her ‘visit’, the family member that sits with him changes. He much prefers when it’s Jay—he’s the only one whose presence helps Tim calm down quickly after such an interview—but he’s learning to appreciate and trust everyone else in his family.

He’s come a long way since waking up in the hospital and seeing nothing but a bunch of strangers.

Bruce continues to make efforts to spend time with Tim when he wakes up in the mornings. In addition to the sudoku and crossword puzzles, which Tim has started trying to do himself in his spare time, Bruce has started playing other games with him. First Go Fish, and later Memory.

They were games suggested by Dr. Thrussell to help with Tim’s mental rehabilitation, but it turns out playing with Bruce is fun. His expression is awfully serious for what Tim knows are simple children’s games, but he always becomes exceedingly pleased when Tim makes a correct guess.

Dick, who Tim has learned from Alfred is a police officer, is not always around due to his work shifts being somewhat irregular, but when he is, he goes out of his way to help Tim with whatever he might need. It’s both touching and overwhelming; Tim likes Dick, but he feels the same amount of mental exhaustion when he leaves as he does when Ms. Sato does.

How does one person have that much energy?

His favorites besides Jay, are Cassandra and Stephanie.

Steph is nice, as well. She’s affectionate with him, has a good sense of humor, and unlike everyone else who seems wary about touching Tim beyond helping him groom himself or for physio, she’s very tactile.

And she smells nice.

He feels a level of comfort with her that is like when he’s with Jay, which he supposes is because they used to date before she and Cass discovered they were soulmates. Perhaps it’s why he doesn’t question her presence in his life the way he still does sometimes with Bruce or Dick or Damian.

And then there’s Cassandra, who’s just…amazing.

Because she’s like him, somehow.

There’s intelligence in her eyes, but she has trouble getting the words out just like he does. When she sees him struggling with his brain to mouth disconnect, she looks empathetic and he knows it’s not pity or guilt.

The latter is a look he’s started to recognize in Jay, and he doesn’t like it.

He wonders if whatever makes him look like that is the reason he doesn’t get along with the rest of the family. He wishes he could ask, though he suspects even if he could, he wouldn’t get a straight answer.

He’s not sure if that’s normal for this family, or if it’s just another attempt to keep from upsetting Tim. Ever since he started to improve, everyone seems to be wanting to keep him occupied and entertained. Sometimes it’s fun—like today, with Steph egging him on while playing Candy Crush—and other times, it’s just…

Exhausting.

His convalescence aside, Tim has noticed there are times when he feels exhausted and strained for reasons other than his injury. He doesn’t know where those feelings come from, just that he dislikes them.

⁂

One evening, a little over three months following the shooting, Jason shuffles into the manor and wonders how this became routine for him.

It should worry him; how easy it’s been to slip back into the habit of being greeted by Alfred. Into toeing off his boots in the entrance closest and loitering in the kitchen to see if there’s anything left over from lunch or dinner.

It’s deceptively simple to fall into the mental trap of calling this place home again, which is why he never lets himself stay longer than a few hours. Even when Alfred keeps offering to make up a guest room or tries to tempt him with homemade scones for breakfast the next morning.

(He can’t go near his old room, the mausoleum to shattered dreams and stolen childhood.)

Jason’s usual arguments against that are quieter right now, his mind on what Damian said the other day: that no one is trying to help Tim.

In the strictest sense, the sentiment is bullshit; everyone in the Family has been bending over backward trying to make his rehabilitation priority, to protect him from two-faced social workers and asshole paparazzi looking for a story. But there’s been no headway on the shooting, and he wonders if anyone else but him is still looking into it.

Which is stupid, because he knows for a fact that Bruce is a dog with a bone and won’t let any case go, let alone one where his kid got hurt.

So why hasn’t he found anything yet?

He knows from experience, both as Robin and Red Hood, that some cases take longer than others. Bruce spent an entire year investigating the Holiday killings before Jason got involved, and during their years together there were several ongoing cases that dragged for weeks and months before a break could be made.

There are some that remain unsolved to this day.

But this is Tim, you’d think he’d be more motivated. Unless…

Unless he has found something and just doesn’t want to share it because he thinks Jason’s going to go on a vengeful, murderous rampage.

He clenches his fists.

It wouldn’t be the first time that Bruce kept something from him or anyone else if he’s on a case he’s decided is his. He even keeps Dick out of the loop on stuff like that, and he’s the golden child.

Jason’s probably just being paranoid.

Except…

Except he learned paranoia from the best, and that paranoia isn’t always just paranoia, and if Bruce thinks he’ll react badly to something, of course he’s going to keep it from him. Which means they’re going to have a problem because this case isn’t going to get solved if they can’t share important information.

Instead of heading toward Tim’s bedroom, Jason changes course and makes a beeline for the Cave entrance in the study.

He reaches the bottom of the staircase just in time to see Nightwing and Robin peel out of the garage on two bikes. A cowl-free Batman is hunched over the computer, looking up something on the main screen, while the ones off to the sideshow various CCTV feeds from the Narrows, Tricorner and Burnley.

He catches flashes of Black Bat and Signal in the latter two, and scowls.

“I should be out there.”

“That’s not your concern right now,” Bruce replies without even turning around. “You should be upstairs with Tim.”

There’s a derisive snort at that, and Jason glances over to see Blondie balanced on her own bike, adjusting her hair beneath her cowl.

“Problem, Bat-chick?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t sound like nothin’.”

“Just seems like certain people are easier to forgive than others.”

“Stephanie,” Bruce warns, still not looking at either of them.

“No, it’s fine,” she replies. “Let’s keep tiptoeing around the giant pink elephant in the room. And by giant pink elephant, I mean crime lord.”

“That what you’re goin’ with?” Jason challenges. “You’ve been stewin’ on that for three months, and you’re gonna give me grief over bullshit that’s over and done with?”

“Clearly it’s not over and done with.”

“If you’ve got a problem with me, strap on the steel tits and own up to what it’s really about.”

“Okay, fine!” Blondie hops off the bike to march forward, stopping a good foot away from him and shoving a finger at him. “You might be his soulmate, but don’t think that gets you off for all the crap you’ve pulled. Especially since you’ve known this whole time.”

“What I know or knew is none of your business. But if you really want to have a competition about who hurt him most, my name ain’t the only one on the list.”

“Are you seriously trying to pull the ‘everyone else did it too so it’s okay’ defense?”

“No, I’m telling you to be careful in that fragile fucking glass house of yours.”

“Speaking of houses, how long are you going to keep playing house with Tim before you break his heart again? Are you going to do it right when he gets his memories back, or wait a few days for him to adjust and then drop him?”

“You think I’d be that big an asshole?”

“I know you’re that big an asshole. And so did Tim,” she shoots back, merciless. “He told me you were dead.”

“I was dead.”

“And then you weren’t. And he still always told that to anyone who asked. He knew whatever this is with you, it was never going to happen, but it also wasn’t going away. So, he was trying to move on. And if he’s smart—which we all know Tim is, memories or not—he’ll stick to that gut feeling. Because the longer he’s involved with you, the more hurt he’s going to be when you inevitably break his heart. If you were any kind of decent, you’d get the hell out of his life before he finishes imprinting on you like a baby chick.”

“That’s enough,” Bruce says, and this time he does turn around. “Stephanie, patrol.”

“I’m going,” she replies. “But not because you told me to.”

She stalks toward her bike, and after a few angry revs of the engine, speeds off out of the cave.

Bruce is still looking in Jason’s direction; he can feel the frown. “Provoking her isn’t helpful to anyone, least of all Tim.”

“What argument were you watching?” Jason shoots back. “If anyone’s provoking anyone else, it’s her. And I’m telling you now, B, if she wants a fight, I’ll give it to her. I’m putting up with enough crap because of this soulmate thing, I didn’t sign on to let Timbo’s pissed off ex-girlfriend take shots at me.”

“The lack of evidence in this case is frustrating everyone.”

Jason gives him a disbelieving look—there’s no way that Bruce can be so emotionally stunted that he can’t figure out what Blondie’s little tiff was all about.

Then again…yes, he is.

Rather than stew over Blondie’s accusations (and the fact that she’s got more of a point than he’d like), Jason decides to focus on what Bruce actually said.

“So you haven’t found anything on your end, either?”

He leans against the giant computer, keeping a conspicuous distance between him and Bruce, and trying not to feel awkward and naked without his helmet on. He doesn’t actually remember the last time he was down here and not in uniform.

“No.”

“Really. Nothing? Not a single goddamn clue? This is all just some random person that decided to take the kid out?”

“It’s not the first time someone has attempted to assassinate Tim.”

“Yeah, but I heard about that, it was all planned for. This wasn’t.”

“Hence the continued investigation.”

“Yeah, well, there’s no way you’ve been on the case this long and haven’t found something.”

Bruce is quiet for a moment and then nods. “Based on the lack of available evidence, whoever did this was a professional. Elite even.”

“No shit. We knew that from Day One.”

“I’ve since narrowed down a list of suspects from around the world, who have the capability of pulling this off.”

“And?”

“And they’re all either accounted for or dead.”

“So why do you look more constipated about this than usual? You’ve had harder cases with less evidence.”

“Almost all of these snipers were trained by David Cain.”

The name makes Jason tense. “He’s dead.”

“Yes. But before he died, he mentioned something to me. That there were others.”

“Others like Cass, you mean.”

“Hn.”

Jason grits his teeth. “So, your theory is some designer assassin Child o’ Cain decided to come to Gotham just to shoot Tim?”

“It’s not a theory. Just a possible connection. There’s too little evidence to support it.”

“Then what the hell are you spending the time on it for?” Jason demands. “If we’re going for wild conspiracy theories, why not an alternate universe or time travel? It’s just as easy to speculate someone came back in time to assassinate Tim or put him out of commission for whatever reason.”

“I won’t discount those theories either,” Bruce allows, because of course. “But in either situation, anyone coming here for Tim specifically would likely be enhanced to survive whatever means brought them here.”

“Or it’s one of us.”

Bruce doesn’t meet his gaze, but there’s a subtle tensing of his shoulder muscles.

“I saw that,” Jason points out quietly. Bruce says nothing. “You think it would be me, don’t you?”

“I never said that.”

“If it were one of us, I’m the best marksman, so if it were anyone of ours to come back and put a bullet in his head, it’d be me.”

Bruce stands then, agitated. “You’re jumping to conclusions and letting your feelings cloud your judgment. This is only one of many theories, not even the one that’s most likely—”

“Except we both know that ain’t the case!” Jason snarls. “You know as well as I do, I’m probably the reason he got shot in the first place!”

“Jason—”

“I did this, B! I was in the middle of a pissing contest with some asshole moving in on my turf and Tim got caught in the crossfire. I might as well have pulled the trigger myself!”

“You did not cause Tim to be shot,” Bruce snaps.

“That’s not what you thought when it happened,” Jason reminds him bitterly.

“And I’ve since revised my opinion. I don’t believe this to be related to the contract that was put out on Red Hood.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a totally glowing recommendation!”

“Whoever is after you obviously isn’t aware of your civilian identity, or they would still be pursuing you,” Bruce replies. “Going underground would only keep you safe for so long, and it’s been months. Whoever is targeting you may have been watching Red Hood, but they weren’t watching you. Therefore, the likelihood of Tim’s shooting having anything to do with your activities is low.”

“Seriously? That’s your explanation?”

“Jason,” Bruce sighs, and he’s pinching the bridge of his nose in a familiar gesture of exhaustion. “I’m trying to tell you I don’t think you’re responsible for this. Why are you fighting me on it?”

“Because nothing is ever that easy with you! And you’re usually the one driving the ‘Jason messes everything up’ bandwagon. Don’t tell me that’s changed all because I happen to be the kid’s soulmate.”

“That has nothing to do with it. I’ve already explained my reasoning, and it’s enough for me at the moment.” He fixes Jason with a calculating look that he doesn’t like. “The question is, why are you so determined to make it your fault?”

Jason opens his mouth to respond, but the words get stuck in his throat as he realizes he has no idea how to answer that.

Bruce continues. “Your behavior is inconsistent.”

“Hell, yes, it’s inconsistent! It’s been months and I still have no fucking idea how I’m supposed to deal with all of this!”

“Perhaps you should take some time,” the older man replies, turning his attention back to the computer. “Away from here.”

Jason narrows his eyes. “Away from Tim, you mean.”

“He’s at the point where he is no longer uncomfortable with the rest of us, and you did make it clear that you only intended to stay by his side until his condition improved. I’m sure with some explanation you could take some time. It might help.”

“You just…that’s not even…”

Jason falters, not sure how to respond, because really, this is his get-out-of-jail-free card. He did say he was only going to stick around until Tim was doing better, and the kid is doing better. He can get back to his search for the dick that got him to go to ground, can get back to living his life the way he wants it and not based around a convalescent’s schedule.

But the idea of it just now, makes him feel queasy, like he’s running a dirty deal.

And on top of that, it bothers him that while Bruce is certain he’s not responsible for Tim’s injury, he still obviously has an issue with the fact they’re soulmates.

It shouldn’t bother him.

It absolutely should not bother him.

And yet.

“You’re a fucking piece of work, you know that?” he snaps, and heads right back up the stairs, mind racing and unable to settle on a single conflicted thought.

Upon reaching the study he finds Alfred on his way in, a tray of tea and sandwiches in hand. The older man takes one look at him and purses his lips, and puts down his burden.

“From your expression, I suspect Master Bruce will be sulking too much the rest of the evening to be interested in dinner.”

“Like I care,” Jason grunts, slamming the false front of the clock entrance closed.

“Were that the case, you would not be damaging the furniture.”

Jason scowls, though it’s somewhat tempered when Alfred offers him the sandwiches he was obviously about to bring down to Bruce.

He takes a petty satisfaction in polishing off every bit of food and tea while Alfred pretends to busy himself with tidying the already pristine study. Although he’s clearly remaining nearby should Jason need him, he doesn’t try to force a conversation.

How does he always know…?

Jason surprises himself when he’s the one to break the silence. “Why the hell does this soulmate shit have to be so complicated? Everyone else just gets it, and I just want to jump out of my fucking skin because it’s making me crazy.”

For once, Alfred doesn’t comment on his language.

“As I understand it, you have never had another person with whom you could confide about this before. You had not manifested your mark when you first came to us, and Master Bruce does tend to avoid matters of the heart and soul except when necessity requires it.”

Jason grumbles, “No kidding.”

It’s not just now, either.

Years back, Bruce got through the sex talk with his usual emotionless, detached aplomb, but didn’t bother with any of the other stuff. Jason would have thought the guy had no heart at all, except he saw how invested he got with the women in his life that mattered.

“And I would imagine discussing it with Mr. Harper and Ms. Anders has not helped, given the substantial difference in circumstances.”

“You got that right…”

“Then perhaps I might offer my own understandings if only to provide another perspective.”

Jason shrugs. “Why not? It’s not like anyone else cares, other than to look like I kicked a puppy whenever I’m in the room with Tim.”

“It has always been my belief that one’s soulmate is the person who will have the most impact on one’s life.”

“So why isn’t mine the Joker?” Jason shoots back spitefully.

“As if that creature ever had a soul,” Alfred scoffs.

“I’m just sayin’, your logic’s flawed.”

“And if you think a homicidal clown gets to claim to be the biggest impact on your life, I wash my hands of you. Do you realize you are scarcely 21 years old? You have an awful lot of life ahead of you to have that one moment, traumatic as it was, to define all of it. Perhaps in those first few months or years following the incident, yes. But you have a future, Master Jason. Soulmates are not just for the moment, but for the breadth of your lifespan. And however much strangeness we see on a regular basis in this world of ours, none of us have the ability to discern the future.”

“Except maybe Duke.”

“Except perhaps Master Duke,” Alfred allows, his mouth twitching somewhat. “But even that only comes in flashes. He cannot know it all. And neither can you.”

“Is that your convoluted way of telling me ‘chin up’?”

“That is my convoluted way of telling you that you are not the only person to find the matter of soulmates difficult to navigate. And no one—not even Master Bruce—is expecting you to figure it all out right away.”

Jason snorts. “You sure about that?”

Alfred simply raises an eyebrow as if insulted by his pearls of wisdom being questioned, and Jason raises his hands in surrender.

Never question Alfred. He knows everything.

Still, he suspects that Bruce will be getting a rather pointed talking-to in the near future. It makes him feel marginally better about the whole thing.

“Now,” the older man continues in a businesslike tone, “Timothy is in the family room this afternoon. However, I would understand if you do not feel up to seeing him today and would be perfectly willing to make an excuse for your absence should you require it.”

Jason almost accepts the out, but then remembers Bruce making a similar suggestion—albeit with more suspect motives—and shakes his head.

“Nah,” he sighs. “Knowing Timbers, he’s been waiting up all day. Least I can do is say 'hi'.”

“Indeed,” Alfred agrees neutrally, but there’s a twinkle in his eye that suggests approval.

As long as no one else decides to ambush me with their emotional crap today, it should be fine, Jason decides, leaving the study and wandering down the hall.

⁂

Tim is sitting in the family room watching Arranged.

He spends most of his time there, either alone or with whatever member of the family is still at home that day. After so long being practically bedridden, he’s desperate to be anywhere that’s not his bedroom.

Alfred wheels him out into the gardens whenever it’s not raining or damp or windy (which, being May, it almost always is), and he’s since enjoyed the sun on his face for the first time that he can remember. He also got to experience his apparent first sunburn, because it seems his skin is notoriously sensitive.

Worth it though, to be outside.

He shifts, sitting up on the couch in front of the large television. He’s surrounded by a staggering number of blankets and pillows; Tim’s not even sure he really needs them to support him anymore—he’s been sitting up on his own for a while—but Alfred insists it’s better safe than sorry.

Titus is lying on his feet, dozing but alert. Tim’s wheelchair stands beside the couch, with Alfred the Cat (Damian seems to not have much imagination when it comes to pet names) curled up on the seat. Occasionally he opens one eye as if to check on Tim, and then returns to sleep.

He’s not a bad recovery-cat, I guess.

On-screen, Cordelia de Vere and Bertram Montmorency get to know one another and discover they actually get along, being of complementary temperaments. They have undeniable chemistry and their dialog is full of witty diatribe and veiled insults that he can’t help enjoying. It’s much more interesting than what Cordelia had with her soulmate, which he agrees with Jay about. Tim’s not sure if it’s a better match than Bertram and Maurice, who the prince continues to see in secret. Meanwhile, Gerald seems to be getting along just fine, joining the army and vowing to build himself up to meet the standards of Cordelia’s parents. He doesn’t actually seem outwardly bothered by her absence, except for several sequences of him writing her love letters.

“Never mind a bullet, this is the kind of crap that gives you brain damage,” a voice informs Tim, amused and somewhat mocking as usual.

Tim’s eyes snap instantly to Jay as he appears in the room, and he feels a smile break out on his face.

“Hi.”

It’s one of the words he’s been working on in therapy and can finally say it without having to mentally or actually hum through a children’s nursery rhyme song. It gives him a thrill of accomplishment, albeit one that pales at the thrill when Jason’s eyes widen in surprise, and then something that Tim imagines might be pride.

“Hi back,” he replies and glances around the room. The car glares up at him like he expects him to question or end his occupation of the space, but Jason simply throws himself down on the nearby easy chair—it’s the only piece of furniture free of pillows and blankets—and squints at the television. “I can’t believe you’re still watching this.”

Tim snorts and shoots Jason a wry look, mentally telegraphing his thoughts. And what are you doing right now?

“Don’t give me that, I’m humoring the invalid.”

“Uh-huh,” Tim grunts.

“That’s a lot of sarcasm for someone who can’t manage actual words yet.”

Tim doesn’t take Jason’s abrasive comments as an insult. Along with Steph, he is the only one that doesn’t try to coddle him. He talks to Tim the same way he talks to everyone else, which, like he’s equal to them even though his brain is making things hard for him right now.

Still, the reminder of his lack of verbosity directly on the heels of his recent accomplishments strikes something in Tim, something like annoyance. Something that suddenly wants to prove a point.

He frowns in effort, trying to line up thoughts and words and the movement of his mouth.

“This is seriously predictable,” Jason complains. “Obviously the writers are trying to set it up that he shows up again and sweeps her off her feet. Then the rich boy goes back to his boyfriend and watching all this is a total waste of time.” Tim doesn’t respond, and Jason glances over at him to gauge his reaction. Only to notice now that Tim is watching him instead of the show, mouth turned downward in a frown. “What?”

Tim’s lips part, then purse, and he makes a kind of humming noise in his throat, closing his eyes in concentration. He takes a deep breath and then utters a sound.

“Ju…jjuh…juh-ay…”

He blinks, somewhat surprised by himself. Jason seems to echo it. “Did you just…?”

Tim’s mouth quirks upward and he feels almost smug. Then, he slowly sounds out the word again. “Ja-ay.”

It’s slow and stilted, and his voice is raspy from disuse, but it’s there, decrying his enforced muteness.

Jay is sitting up ramrod straight now. “Holy shit, you’re trying to talk.”

The naked awe on his soulmate’s face makes him feel warm, and so Tim plods onward, ignoring the way sweat breaks out on the back of his neck or the way he feels a little dizzy.

“Th…than…kyuu…”

Jay’s expression appears to shutter, awe becoming confusion. “Uh…for what?”

“Sa…say…” Tim is panting a bit from the effort now.

“Hey, forget it, don’t push yourself,” Jason implores him, sitting up and making a pacifying gesture. “Three words is enough progress for—”

“Say-ved,” Tim interrupts doggedly. “Safe. Me. Heard…duh…di…Dick…say. You. Say-ved me.”

There.

That was almost two full sentences. He knows they’re crude and basic and maybe not quite what he was trying to say, but he managed to communicate on his own without blinking. It fills him with a buoyant glee, a bubbling temptation to laugh though he knows from experience that doing that would just make his head spin and throb.

He expects Jay to look proud again, happy or relieved—maybe even a sarcastic, teasing quip.

What he doesn’t expect is the wild gleam in Jay’s eye or the way the blood rushes from his cheeks. He looks like someone punched him, and then he’s standing, backing away.

“That…” He swallows. “I’ve got to…”

He doesn’t finish and instead turns and practically bolts from the room, leaving Tim staring after him in shocked dismay, wondering what just happened.

________________________________________________________________

To Be Continued

Poor Timmy. And just when he's starting to show some of his old spunk, too...

Things are heading for their first boiling point. Someone's got to knock some sense into Jay, either literally or metaphorically (who wants to take bets on who it will be?).

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wistfulcynic · 5 years

Text

Three Non-Blondes 3 / 4

Sooo, the chapter count has grown yet again because I have no chill. This is the last time, I swear, and also Chapter 4 will contain the best dumb OUAT-related joke that I or anyone else has ever written. So that’s something to look forward to.

Summary: Mary Margaret is certain that her fiancé’s sister Emma and his best friend Killian are perfect for each other. What she doesn’t know is that they think so too. Matchmaking hijinks ensue.

Rating: T

AO3

Chapter 3:

David snuck quietly into his mother’s kitchen and reached for the small cupboard above the refrigerator where he knew she kept her liquor. She didn’t know that he knew —or he didn’t think she did, but then David had never been the sort of teenager to pilfer alcohol and give the secret away via noticeable reductions in bottle volume— and he loved that she hid it in a place she needed a stool to reach but he could access easily. Sometimes it was nice that she still thought he was ten years old. He groped for a moment before withdrawing the bottle of bourbon that was the “secret” ingredient in Ruth’s apple pecan pie. He wasn’t much of a liquor drinker as a rule, generally preferring beer or a nice brown ale. But today, he thought, he’d make an exception.

Grabbing a glass, he poured himself a generous measure and gulped it straight down, managing not to cough too loudly as it burned a trail to his stomach. Before he could think better of it, he poured another shot and tossed that back as well —it went down easier the second time— and was just debating a third when the door opened and Mary Margaret appeared.

“What are you— David! It’s not like you to drink whiskey!”

Gathering his liquid courage, David turned to face her. “Sweetheart, you know I love you more than anything and normally I would never question your judgment,” he began, then took a deep breath. “But are you sure this is a good idea? I just feel like Killian and Emma should be left to make their own choices—”

“No one is saying they can’t make their own choices.” Mary Margaret interrupted firmly. “All we’re doing is nudging them in the direction of the right ones.”

David plunged ahead, heedless of all peril. “Are you sure that’s what we’re doing? Because it feels a lot like playing with people’s lives.” Whew. There. He’d said it.

“If people can’t get their own act together then other people need to step in,” snapped Mary Margaret. “Do you want Emma and Killian to be miserable?”

“But they’re not miser—”

“They will be, if they have to spend their lives alone because they’re too stubborn to see what’s in front of them.”

“Killian’s hardly alone, I’m sure he was in bed with someone when I called him this morning—”

“The wrong someone, David!”

David gave up. Mary Margaret in full battle mode was a force he was not equipped to reckon with. So he kissed her head, promised to be out in a minute, and surreptitiously took a generous swig straight from the bottle before returning it to its hiding spot just as the doorbell rang.

“Here goes nothing,” he muttered, and prepared to herd two people he loved into an ambush set by a third.

—

An hour later, David was… baffled. Nothing seemed to be quite going as he had expected. Which considering he had expected disaster, was… good?

Maybe?

Certainly, Mary Margaret didn’t seem to feel that there was anything wrong. She had introduced Killian to Belle as per the plan, barely restraining her glee as he and the pretty brunette had struck up a lively conversation within minutes of the introduction, then had begun prodding Emma in a way that was not nearly as subtle as she probably thought.

“I’m so glad Killian and Belle are getting along, I knew they would,” she said as she and Emma sat in a corner of the living room, watching the pair in question. “I know Killian gets around a bit but this isn’t like those women he picks up at the pub. He and Belle have actual things in common—”

“What, because he’s a writer and she’s a librarian?” Emma broke in. “There’s a lot more to Killian than just books, Mary Margaret.”

Mary Margaret didn’t even seem to hear her. “—Killian deserves that, you know, he deserves a real relationship with someone who loves him. I think Belle could be it.”

“Do you, now?”

As far as David understood the plan (and if he was perfectly honest, he wasn’t certain he did understand it), Emma was supposed to be jealous hearing that. She was supposed to realise her feelings for Killian in a blinding flash of clarity, some twisted Damascene moment, and resolve then and there not to let Belle take her man.

Or something.

Instead, she just looked amused.

“Yeah, I’m not sure she’s really Killian’s type,” said Emma. She was, David noticed, holding her face very straight. Unnaturally straight. It was, in fact, exactly the same face she’d worn that year she found all the Christmas presents before Ruth managed to wrap them and had held it over David’s head for weeks. It was the face she had when she was trying not to laugh with glee.

“No offence, Emma, but you’re hardly the best person to judge what Killian’s type is,” said Mary Margaret.

“No, you’re probably right,” said Emma’s mouth, but her eyes glinted with mischief. “I mean, I hardly know the guy.”

“Well, exactly.”

Mary Margaret smiled sweetly.

Emma smiled sweetly.

David’s head began to hurt. There was definitely something fishy going on here.

—

Things had become no less piscine by the time they made it to the dinner table. Mary Margaret managed to ensure that Killian and Belle sat next to each other with Emma across from them, and her smile as she watched Belle ask insightful questions about Killian’s latest book was decidedly smug.

“Look at Emma,” she mouthed at David, whose angle on his sister was better than hers. “What’s her face doing?”

David watched Emma as the conversation died down while people helped themselves to food. She looked like she always did when she was about to tuck into their mom’s cooking, practically dancing with anticipation, and also… just for a moment, just the briefest flash… she smiled. At Killian. A small, secret smile, of the sort people only exchanged with those they knew intimately. Intimately in a very specific way.

David’s eyes shot to Killian. Who was smiling the exact same smile.

Holy fuck, thought David in a blinding flash of clarity, a twisted Damascene moment. They’re fucking.

—

“Well, I think that went very well,” said Mary Margaret, some time later after everyone else had gone and she and David were cleaning up the kitchen.

“Mmmmm,” said David.

“Phase Two launches next Saturday. Have you called August?”

David decided to give it one last try. “Yes, but I really think that—”

“No, David, this will work, I’m sure of it. We’ve already made a great start.”

David sighed. “Okay,” he said.

—

“Phase Two” as Mary Margaret called it was scheduled to get underway as soon as both Emma and Killian arrived at the pub for their usual Saturday evening meet up. All the troops —by which term Mary Margaret meant David, Regina, and Robin— had been marshalled early, and at ten minutes before the anticipated arrivals she and Regina had their heads together at a small corner table leaving David and Robin to drink alone.

“So I’m told Phase One was a huge success,” said Robin.

“Hmmm.”

“You don’t agree? Regina said that Mary Margaret was ecstatic.”

David chose his words carefully. “It pains me to say this, and if she ever found out it might actually pain me, but I think Mary Margaret may be wrong.”

“About what?”

“I think,” David leaned in closely to be sure they weren’t overheard, even though the women were deep in conversation and paying no attention to them at all, “I think Emma and Killian are already together.”

“What?”

“Look at the facts,” said David, and proceeded to tell his friend everything he’d observed at the dinner plus all the evidence he’d spent the past week carefully collecting. He had, he flattered himself, built a case that was meticulous and thorough. David was a good detective after all, even if his beloved did sometimes imply that he needed to be more observant in his personal life. Once he’d identified a mystery and applied his skills to it he usually solved it. This one hadn’t even been that difficult to crack. Once you actually looked at the signs, it was so obvious, like they were barely even trying to be subtle. David wondered if he should be insulted that they’d put so little effort into deceiving him.

“Do you realise,” he said to Robin, “that we haven’t seen Emma and Killian together in the same room for at least six months? Every other weekend one of them has an excuse for why they can’t come out with us, while the one who does come out only stays for a few drinks then pleads some commitment or other and makes an early exit.”

“Huh,” said Robin. “Now that you mention it, yeah, I can’t remember the last time I saw them together. But that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re together, er... together.”

“Not by itself, no, but combined with how they acted at dinner it’s a pretty compelling case. But we need to keep a close eye on them tonight, see if we can find the smoking gun. You in?”

“To find evidence that two of my friends are secret lovers and thereby foil the matchmaking scheme masterminded in part by my girlfriend? Hell yes I’m in.”

Just then Emma arrived, a fashionable three minutes late. When she was followed precisely two minutes later by Killian, whose hair looked mussed and his cheeks pink, like he’d been, just as a for-instance, standing outside a pub on a brisk, breezy April evening for precisely two minutes before following his secret girlfriend inside, David’s lips curled into a grin previously only observed by those he’d interrogated and he subtly fist-bumped Robin.

Gotcha, he thought. You two are so busted.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret was saying, her face the picture of innocence as she steered her friend towards a dark-haired man sitting in a nearby booth and Regina distracted Killian. “You remember David’s old college roommate August.”

“Um, sure,” said Emma, shaking August’s hand.

“August’s just got back from Japan,” said Mary Margaret. “Emma, you’ve always wanted to go to Japan, haven’t you?”

“Uh, yeah, I have,” said Emma on a note of surprise as her eyes flitted over to Killian. David was also surprised by this angle of attack. Didn’t Mary Margaret remember…

“Why don’t you tell Emma all about your trip?” Mary Margaret pushed Emma at the booth where August was sitting. “None of us has ever been to Japan, and—”

“I have, actually.”

They all turned to look at Killian, who had extracted himself from Regina and returned to the group.

“Er, what?” Mary Margaret forced a smile.

“I’ve been to Japan. Don’t you remember, Mary Margaret, I taught English there for a year after I finished university? I’m sure I must have told you.”

“Um, no, I don’t remember you ever saying—” Mary Margaret shot Regina a look of alarm, but her stepsister only shrugged.

“Oh, aye, I loved it there,” said Killian cheerfully, subtly manoeuvring himself through the crowd and rearranging everyone so that when they slid into the booth Emma was across from August and he was next to her. “Some of the best food I’ve ever eaten and a fascinating culture, don’t you agree, er, August, was it? Curious name.” He barely allowed August a moment to answer before launching into a discussion ranging from the comparative merits of okonomiyaki from Osaka versus the Hiroshima version to whether it was preferable to visit Kyoto in the spring to see the cherry blossoms or the autumn to see the maple leaves, commandeering the other man’s attention completely and leaving the rest of the group gaping at them with various expressions of consternation, dismay, indignation, and amusement on their faces.

“Of course, I was there for just over a year so I was able to do both,” he said, “but what do you think, Julian?”

“It’s August—”

“Oh, yes, of course it is, I always did get my Roman emperors mixed up.”

“— and I was there in the summer.”

“Strangely appropriate for a man named after a summer month,” remarked Killian with a look of such contrived innocence that David couldn’t believe Mary Margaret and Regina didn’t see what he was up to. “Well, if you ever get back…”

“What the hell does he think he’s doing?” Regina hissed in Mary Margaret’s ear, just loudly enough for David to hear.

He wanted to reply that it looked to him very much as though Killian were saving Emma from having to spend an evening feigning interest in August’s tedious travel stories —he remembered all too well the pain he himself had suffered after August spent spring break in Thailand that one year, if only he’d had a Killian of his own to rescue him back then— and enjoying the hell out of himself in the process. As for Emma, she had the Christmas present look on her face again.

Realisation dawned. (That had been happening a lot lately.) Just then Robin returned with a round of drinks and when he’d finished handing them out to everyone David grabbed his arm and pulled him aside. “They’re playing us,” he said, half indignant, half impressed. ‘They know what’s going on and they’re freaking playing us.”

“I think you’re right,” Robin replied. “They’re holding hands under the table.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I saw when I gave them their drinks just now.”

“God, it’s like they’re trying to get caught.”

“Or they just have no chill.”

“Or they think we’re too dumb to notice.”

“Well, they might not be far wrong there,” said Robin, just as their respective partners came over to join them. Mary Margaret’s mouth was moving, but no words were coming out and Regina looked pissed. “How did this happen?” she asked as they approached.

“How did you two not know that Killian lived in Japan?” retorted David “He’s got Japanese art all over his house—”

“I thought he just liked that aesthetic—” began Mary Margaret.

“—and one of his novels was partly set there!”

“Naturally I assumed he simply researched that book on the internet!” scoffed Regina.

David stared at them. “His first professional writing job was a series of travel articles about Okinawa!”

“Well I didn’t know that, did I?” cried Mary Margaret. “I never thought he’d actually been there, I just thought—”

“Oh, I see,” said David, understanding in yet another bright flash. “You thought he’d be jealous because August’s been where he wanted to go and would enthral Emma with stories about it, was that the plan?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, it’s backfired but good now, hasn’t it?”

“No,” said Mary Margaret. “Not yet. I have one more ace up my sleeve.”

She marched back over to the booth. “Killian,” she said sweetly, interrupting what seemed to be a rapidly heating argument over whether fugu was overpriced claptrap or a valid cultural experience that justified the price, “I was just wondering, did you call Belle yet?”

“Aye, a few days ago.”

Mary Margaret’s eyes lit with triumph. “And?”

“And I introduced her to my friend’s cousin Will, you remember he’s here visiting for a month or two. I thought they might hit it off.”

Mary Margaret’s face fell like a deflated soufflé.

“Did they?” asked David, twisting the metaphorical knife in his dear one’s gut even though he knew he probably shouldn’t.

“Very much so. They’re out together right now, if I’m not mistaken,” said Killian.

Mary Margaret pulled herself together, smiled the right smile and spoke the right platitude, but when she pulled David, Regina, and Robin back into their huddle she was glowering darkly, the light of battle glinting in her eyes.

“We’ll get them in Phase Three,” she said.

#cs ff #cs ff au #cs fic #captain swan #matchmaking #matchmaking fail #secret relationship #David is the only smart one here #except Emma and Killian #best friend's sister trope #never play a player son

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thinkingaboutyoungroyals · 6 years

Text

Tyrus Month: Ren Faire

You’ll Be The Prince And I’ll Be Your Knight (AO3)

The bus was slowly loading with passengers and Cyrus anxiously swung his head around, his eyes scanning the surroundings.

“Are you sure he’s coming, Cy?” Buffy asked, sounding impatient.

“Yeah, the bus leaves in 10 minutes, we have to get on,” Andi added.

“He’ll be here!” Cyrus said but was almost on the verge of disappointment. “He promised me he would.”

“Hey, if he doesn’t show, it’s okay,” Jonah offered, placing a hand on Cyrus’ shoulder. “Not everyone is into Ren Faires. If you guys didn’t take me last year, I probably wouldn’t have known how fun it is.”

Cyrus tried not to care too much because he knew caring too often led to disappointment. But, TJ promised he would come with them that day.

When Cyrus had brought up the annual Renaissance Faire in conversation the other day, the older boy said that he had never gone before. So, naturally, Cyrus invited him to tag along and TJ had looked uneasy but not unopposed to the idea.

What if he had changed his mind and didn’t want to go anymore because he thought it was lame? He could have at least texted Cyrus.

Pouting and resigned, Cyrus was about to just get on the bus when he heard a loud, “Underdog!”

His head swung around to see TJ jogging towards them, hair in disarray and devoid of its usual gel, and his hoodie unzipped.

Cyrus felt his heart skip a beat at the sight. The older boy looked cute. Not that he wasn’t cute all the time. But, it was a rare sight to see TJ Kippen without the gelled back hair. Now, Cyrus wondered if he would survive the 4 hours or so they would be spending at the Faire.

“Sorry! My alarm didn’t go off and my parents left early for work so I couldn’t catch a ride,” TJ huffed when he neared them.

“Dude, did you run here?” Jonah asked.

“No, I flew,” the other boy replied, sarcastically but without malice.

Jonah seemed to accept this with a laugh. “You crack me up.”

Meanwhile, Andi clapped her hands, happily. “Okay! Now that we’re all here, let’s go!”

With the short-haired girl leading the way, they all filed into the bus, ready to start their day at the Renaissance Faire.

“So… what exactly do you do at a Renaissance Faire?” TJ asked as they followed a crowd of costumed Ren Faire-goers.

“Tons!” Cyrus answered, excitedly. “You can wear costumes and eat giant turkey legs and joust and speak like you’re from ye olde days.”

TJ chuckled. “Not my usual way of spending a Saturday but sounds like fun.”

Cyrus grinned.

Their little group stopped outside a giant tent and he turned to the taller boy.

“First things first: costumes!” he exclaimed

They went in and the girls immediately headed for the gowns while Cyrus took TJ’s arm and dragged him towards the tunics, trousers, and fake chainmail. Jonah stayed by the entrance, examining a barrel of fake swords.

“You can have your pick of any costume you want!” Cyrus announced with a dramatic wave of his hand at the outfits in front of them. “You can be a lowly peasant, a charismatic noble, or a brave knight!”

Lips pursed in concentration, TJ’s eyes scanned the costumes in front of him

Nerves took over Cyrus and he couldn’t help but feel anxious. What if TJ thought this was too weird and dorky?! What if he never wanted to hang out with Cyrus again?!

“What are you dressing up as?”

TJ’s question broke through his anxious thoughts and melted them away.

“O-Oh… Um… Probably a noble.”

“So… like a Prince?”

“More or less.”

TJ smiled and turned back to the rack of costumes. “Then, I’ll be your knight in shining armor.”

Blood rushed to Cyrus’ face, burning his cheeks and ears. “W-Wait, what?”

But, TJ had already asked the help of a passing employee, pointing at the costume he wanted.

When they emerged from the costume tent, they fit right in.

Andi was dressed in a baby blue princess dress, a plastic circlet on her head.

Buffy had, once again, picked the same costume she did last year of a rogue but in red, this time. Her only addition was a bow and arrow.

And just like last year, Jonah opted not to dress up, but he picked up another sword and strapped on some fake leather gauntlets.

Meanwhile, Cyrus had opted for a pair of black trousers tucked into boots, a white tunic with a dark blue overcoat and black belt, and a matching blue hat.

“What’s taking TJ so long?” Buffy asked, arms crossed as she tapped her foot against the grass.

Cyrus shrugged. Earlier, TJ couldn’t decide on the top he wanted so he sent Cyrus ahead since the latter finished getting dressed way before he did.

Finally, the costume tent’s flaps opened to reveal the remaining member of their group.

Cyrus’ breath hitched and he found himself openly staring as TJ stepped out.

The basketball player was wearing fake chainmail, topped with a long-sleeved blue tunic and black trousers tucked into boots. Tied to the black belt around his waist was a fake sword. His hair had been brushed and it shined in the sun. He stood tall and proud, his back straight and chin up... like a real knight.

“Wow,” Andi breathed.

“You look…” Buffy trailed off.

“Docious magocious, man!” Jonah piped.

Cyrus swallowed the lump in his throat as TJ turned to him, as if asking what he thought.

“I would have worn the helmet and gauntlets too, but they were too heavy,” the athlete said. “Maybe next year.”

Cyrus’ heart fluttered. TJ was literally at Renaissance Faire for only twenty minutes but he was already planning on going next year. If he wasn't careful, Cyrus was going to fall hard and fast and he wasn't sure if the other boy would even catch him.

Woe is he who crushed on someone unattainable.

TJ must have taken his silence for disapproval as his smile disappeared.

“You don’t like it?” he asked, sounding like a kicked puppy.

“No! I mean, yes! Yes, I like it!” Cyrus managed.

The taller boy still looked unsure. “Really? It doesn’t look too much, does it? Should I have skipped the chainmail?”

“You look amazing! Really! I swear! You look so good! I mean… you look good.”

Cyrus was stammering now and he mentally yelled at himself to stop talking.

However, it looked like his words were effective because the pleased smile was back on TJ’s face.

“Okay, we’re all ready, right? Let’s go!” Buffy announced and followed by Andi, she led the way into the Faire.

As they walked, TJ’s head swiveled everywhere, taking in all the sights and asking Cyrus questions that the shorter boy was only all too happy to answer. He also translated a few basic medieval phrases and sentences for him.

“Art thee famished, Sir Knight?” Cyrus asked him at some point.

“Um… yes?” TJ cutely answered.

“Say, ‘Aye, my Lord!’”

“Aye, my Lord.”

The whole group each bought a giant turkey leg and ate as they walked. They visited the shops and bought a few souvenirs.

They passed by some people dancing to lute music and before Cyrus realized what he was doing, he had grabbed TJ’s arm and dragged him to dance. The athlete awkwardly followed along with the movements, but he got them, eventually.

From the corner his eye, Cyrus spied Andi sneakily taking a picture. He would have to ask her to send it to him later.

After the little dancing session, they got to walking again.

They passed by the tug-of-war tournament and they paused to watch two guys going at it to the cheers of the crowd. After a few more tugs, the guy on the left managed to bring the rope to his side, knocking the other guy off his box. The crowd cheered and the winner received his prize.

“Buffy and Jonah did it last year,” Cyrus whispered to TJ when the lady asked if anyone else dared to volunteer and show their strength. “They did it for hours.”

“Cool,” TJ replied before turning to Buffy. “Are you doing it again?”

“Nah, I already beat Jonah,” she replied.

“Oh, look, that guy is going!” Cyrus piped, excitedly as a guy dressed in a Robin Hood-like costume stepped forward and took one end of the rope.

“Does anyone dare to taketh the challenge of this noble sir?!”

No one moved.

“No one is braveth nor strong enough?”

“I’ll do it!”

Cyrus’ eyes widened as TJ left his side and stepped up to the box and picked up the rope.

“Excellent! Ready? Begin!”

With bated breath, Cyrus watched TJ pull on the rope with all of his strength. The jock had his game face on, one he normally wore on the court.

His opponent wasn’t much bigger than him, but the playing field was level. The rope jerked once or twice in either direction but otherwise, barely moved.

“TJ’s doing great,” Andi said, sounding impressed.

“Come on, TJ!” Cyrus cheered, forgetting to speak in medieval. “You got this!”

TJ pulled on the rope and his opponent almost slipped off his box, making the crowd gasp.

“TJ! TJ! TJ! TJ!” Cyrus chanted.

Gaze flashing briefly to Cyrus, TJ gave the rope another tug and just like that, the other guy fell forward off his box.

The crowd cheered, Cyrus the loudest of all. He wanted to run up to the other boy and jump in his arms to hug him in congratulations but restrained himself by planting his feet firmly on the ground. It wouldn’t do to cause a spectacle here.

After the lady had placed his prize around his neck, TJ went back to the rest of their group, showing off the little gold medal.

“That was so cool!” Andi exclaimed.

“Totally dosh, man!” Jonah added, slapping TJ’s hand.

“Not bad, Kippen,” Buffy said, fighting a smile.

Laughing, TJ thanked them before turning to Cyrus. The younger boy was beaming with pride.

“Sir Knight, thee did well,” he stated.

“I thank… thee… my Lord,” TJ replied.

Cyrus wanted to squeeze his cheeks. He was so darn cute.

Then, TJ removed the medal from around his neck and offered it to Cyrus.

“For thee, my Prince.”

Once again, Cyrus felt himself turn red and his heart fluttered at the sweet gesture.

Technically, if these really were medieval times, TJ would get on one knee and pledge his allegiance to Cyrus, but that might be too much to ask from the older boy at the moment.

So, Cyrus simply accepted the medal and wore it around his neck. In front of him, TJ was smiling up to his ears, his green eyes practically sparkling in the sun. Cyrus couldn’t look away.

He truly did look like his knight in shining armor.

“Um… guys… we’re still here.”

Andi’s voice broke through their moment, making Cyrus look away in embarrassment. He almost missed his two best friends’ knowing looks towards him.

“Let’s go over to the jousting! It’s starting in ten minutes!” Buffy piped.

Arm-in-arm with Andi and Jonah following along behind them, they went off.

Cyrus turned to TJ and bravely held his hand out. “Shall we, Sir Knight?”

TJ slipped his hand into his, flashing him a sweet smile. “Leadeth the way, my prince.”

Hand-in-hand, the Prince and his Knight walked off into the sunset…at least, that was how it went in Cyrus’ head. His heart was beating too fast for him to truly comprehend that he, Cyrus Goodman, was holding T.J. Kippen’s hand.

The day felt like a true fairytale and the hand holding was quite the happy ending he had always dreamed of.

He couldn’t wait for next year’s Renaissance Faire.

#tyrus #tyrus week 2018 #tyrus month

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