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danny-chase · 3 years

Note

Big Brother instinct, Dick and either Cass, Gar, Danny Chase, Steph, Kara, Rose, or anyone else u want

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Batgirl (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dick Grayson & Cassandra Cain, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne Characters: Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain, Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Dick grayson centric, Fire, Burns, hair styling, Ice Cream, Hurt/Comfort, Late Nights, Fluff and Angst, Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Batfamily Dynamics (DCU), Missions Gone Wrong, Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain is bad at feelings, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings Series: Part 11 of Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:

Dick talks with Cass after a mission doesn't go as planned.

Fic under cut

“Argh!” Dick snaps back to attention as Bruce’s angry grunt rattles through the cave. The few bats still in for the night stir, their wings rustling in the distance. An avalanche of papers fly off of Bruce’s desk, and his grizzled form slumps forward, hands firmly planted on the table. His shoulders sag under some unknown strain; as if he’s carrying the weight of the sky.

“Hmm.” Dick blinks back another wave of exhaustion, he’s not working on a case – but Bruce is – and company always makes working more fun. Besides, Bruce is on a time limit and Alfred can’t stop him from escaping his room. So. Here he is. He took an oath - it’s his job to help.

Dick’s eleven and Bruce’s a pillar of reassurance – a precariously stacked pile of rocks constantly on the verge of crumbling. He has no idea how to pick up the pieces. No idea how to seal the cracks. “Bruce?” He mumbles, swinging his legs off his spinny chair. Bruce doesn’t look up, his mouth drawn in a tight line. The ghost of tears well in his eyes. Not good.

Dick scoots off the chair, lightheaded for a moment. He shakes the stars out of his eyes, nodding back and forth, up and down, like Bruce does when he’s sleepy. It’s late. He has school tomorrow. Not that it matters. Bruce will let him skip if he asks the right way. He jogs in place for a few seconds, readying himself, warming up his muscles.

There’s not much he can do to help, but he can at least put on a little show. He runs forward launching into a cartwheel, picking up the papers as he goes – Bruce likes his tricks, sometimes they even make him laugh, sometimes –

Bruce snags his ankle out of the air, his quick reflexes saving Dick from crashing into the edge of a counter. He finds himself hanging, the world stuck upside down as his hands dangle inches from the floor. “Thanks.” He looks up at Bruce’s weary face.

A yawn escapes his lips, and the corners of Bruce’s mouth twitch. “I’m going to have to child-proof the cave at this rate.” He tries for humor but it falls flat, his hearts not in it all.

He stares up, sticking his tongue out. Bruce’s frown doesn’t fade. “Are you okay?” He asks. Bruce’s hands fumble, and Dick swings dangerously low to the floor before he’s recovered. Not willing to take the chance again, he curls up, grabbing Bruce’s forearms and pulls himself up through his arms, settling himself on sturdy shoulders.

Bruce drops his feet. “I’m fine. Why would ask that?” He sounds almost hurt and Dick’s too tired to figure out why.

He slides down easily, Bruce gently deposits him on the floor. “You looked sad.” A yawn leaves his mouth without permission, he stumbles slightly, and a hand clamps down on his shoulder. He reaches back up, and Bruce throws him up against his shoulder, wrapping him in a hug.

Dick yawns contently, his eyelids fluttering without his permission, as Bruce starts walking towards the stairs. “I’m sorry…” The arm around his back pulls him a bit tighter. “I’m just not enough.” A shaking hand combs through his hair and Dick squeezes back because he doesn’t know what to say.

Bruce grunts as he takes a step up the stairs. “Sleep on it?” Dick suggests, resting his eyes for just a moment.

“Mmhmm. It’s bedtime.” Dick’s half asleep by the time they reach the top. He’s not sure he hears Bruce whisper, “You’re a great kid, chum.”

It took Dick years before he really understood the feeling. And even more years before he made the connection that that was how Bruce had felt on late nights spent scouring for clues that just didn’t seem to exist, having worked for days straight on three hours of sleep, and watching Gotham send all of it up in flames setting you back months on an investigation.

He’s learned there’s nights it’s impossible to save everyone – hell, he’s seen Clark get his ass kicked, and Clark’s damn near close to god. Dick would know – the Titans have fought their namesake. But the Titans have fought humans and lost despite half their members being godlike, and besides that most days now he’s alone. It doesn’t matter how hard he tries, how much he plans, how prepared he is; sometimes things just go to hell and a handbasket and there’s nothing he can physically do to prevent it.

Most of the time, he’s fine with that. It’s fine he has limits. Logically, he knows he can’t be expected to everything. Logically, he knows it’s a waste of time to worry about it. Logically, he knows it’s okay to take a night off, watch a nature documentary, invite a friend over, stay in and spend the night simply existing.

But it feels like he could be doing more – should be doing more. He feels that restlessness overtake him, and springs to his feet “Bruce I-”

Bruce gives him his patented bat-glare from where he’s sitting, looking up from a familiar pile of papers. Once it would have intimidated him into sitting back down. Now he just returns it with a patented one of his own. “-I think I’ll suit up and head out for the night, Tim could probably use some back up with-”

“Dick.” There’s this exasperated tone that Bruce can only ever seem to muster when saying his name. He pauses for a just a second, his eyes flickering down to Bruce’s clenched fists and tight shoulders. “Let me handle it.” It comes out as an order, but reading between the lines, it’s a plea.

Bruce would never admit it out loud, worry practically bleeds out of the man. Guilt gnaws on the inside of his chest, though, he’s not sure what it’s even from; the guilt of making Bruce worry or the guilt of being a useless sack of broken and bruised ribs while people need Nightwing’s help. Being benched sucks, but he knows enough to compromise. “Let me run the comms? Babs could use a night off.” She sleeps less than him and Bruce knows it.

The gray streaks in Bruce’s hair stand out all the more as he lets out a bone deep sigh. Dick rolls his eyes – he doesn’t get to do this right now. “You literally let me go out last night I don’t understand why-”

“Last night was an emergency. I didn’t have a choice.” His frown widens, his face etched in an eternal look of pain, mixed with disproval. “Two nights ago… you almost…” His mouth seals itself shut, unspoken words hanging in the air between them. It’s Bruce that breaks the gaze first. “Run the comms, don’t overexert yourself. It should be a quiet night…” He stands, hesitates before walking off “And get to bed early.”

Dick bites back a laugh, Bruce hasn’t talked to him like that since he was thirteen. “Alright.” He resists the urge to poke fun, and follows Bruce through the passage behind the grandfather clock.

“So Ives was talking about the Pirates of the Caribbean movie with me the other day, and we might go see it this weekend if I have the time. Gee- I can’t remember the last time I saw movie in theaters or even really hung out with him.” Tim’s endless chatter helps him stay awake in the dimly lit cave. His throbbing ribs help too, maybe he shouldn’t have tried doing push-ups. “Dad and Dana want to drop me off, but Ives has a car now, though dad’s still worried cuz of the time some wacko tried to stop us at a traffic light.”

Dick hums, a smile creeping its way up his face. “I can drop you off if it’s an issue.”

“Really?! That’d be awesome, you could stay for the movie if you wanted to, but I don’t know if you’d like it, I mean are pirates really your thing? I always figured you’d be more into Vikings or probably aliens actually, or something like-” A red light flashes on the screen, and Dick snaps to attention.

“Hold that thought.” Tim’s chatter ceases immediately as Dick furiously types on the terminal. He punches into the main line. “Batgirl how fast can you get to the corner of 16th and Murphy’s Ave, there’s a building on fire and you’re the only one anywhere near the Upper East Side.” A 911 operator calms down a hysterical woman in his left ear, Cass asking direction in the right.

He pulls up a map. “I-I can’t find a way out!” The woman shrieks. “I don’t know what happened, I was sleeping and-” she breaks off into raspy hacks.

“Go straight, turn right after three blocks down.” Dick winces, as the lady continues chocking on smoke. “C’mon Cass. Get there.” He mutters off the line. He eyes his cycle sitting idly in the bay – he’s twenty minutes out; Cass needs backup. He opens up another line. “Batman I need you to follow Batgirl, what’s your eta?”

Bruce grunts back, he hears thudding over the line. “Fifteen minutes.” The woman screams in his other ear, he yanks the earbud out as a massive bang nearly blows out his eardrum. Picking it back up, he can’t hear the woman anymore, only the roar of flames and falling debris.

“Shit.” He pulls up video from a street camera. “Shit.” The building’s collapsing in on itself. “Permission to call the league?” He clicks through to their line of communications, his finger hovering over the button.

“Here.” Cass scrambles into view, bursting through a window. Shit.

Bruce learned his limits long ago. Dick’s finally settling into his. Cass? They simply don’t register on her radar. The buildings coming down in mere minutes; she’s going to get killed.

“What’s the situation?” Bruce yells in his ear.

“Batgirl get out of there!” He screams at Cass. She’s going to die – the building’s not stable, and he’s the one that sent her there. “Make it five minutes – the building’s coming down.” He yells to Bruce. “Batgirl!” He watches a few windows blow out. A firetruck careens down the street.

“Permission granted.” Bruce huffs and Dick can’t click the button fast enough.

A couple more windows blow out, and the building seems to lean to the side. Finally he sees Cass climb back out a window, holding a couple kids in her arms as she leaps to the ground. “BATGIRL GET THEM CLEAR!” His heart pounds in his throat as she runs forwards, the building groaning behind her, crumbling to the side. Chaos erupts, chunks of flaming debris cascading from the top of the building, as the second floor merges with the first.

Dick blinks, his mouth dry. “There’s more people-” he can’t hear Cass over the ensuing cacophony as he watches the building topple to the ground. “NO!” He faintly hears her scream as the screen erupts in static.

Dick slams his fists on the desk. His chest constricts painfully. “Nightwing. Report.” Bruce’s steady voice reminds him to breathe. His chest spasms. Shit. “Nightwing!” Bruce demands as he tries to catch his breath.

“Building collapsed.” He manages to get out. “One sec.” He takes a few deep breaths, leaning back in the chair for support. “Batgirl report.” He’s greeted with silence. “Batgirl, please, if you’re there I need you to respond.”

“I…” Cass trials off. Dick sighs in relief. “I’m sorry.” The line cuts off. Well. Shit.

“Nightwing! I’m headed to the location.” Bruce squawks. Dick sighs.

“It’s going to be a long night. Search and rescue, I’ll call in backup.” Shit. So much for an early bedtime.

“Hey.” Someone shakes his shoulder. He makes a grab for their wrist and misses, his mind processing where the hell he is. He blinks a few times.

“Cass?” Her hair’s plastered to the side of her head and she’s covered in soot. Nicks, rips, and tears decorate her costume. Dick wipes his eyes as the ashy smell of smoke overwhelms his senses. Cass takes a few steps back, heading towards the locker room. “Wait.” He had something to say to her, his mind racing to catch up.

She hops up onto a counter. His mind shuffles through the events earlier in the night. “Bruce sent you back?” Cass nods glumly. The rescue efforts weren’t going well when he dozed off. The JLA sent in everyone they could spare; there’s nothing they can do anymore. Not that Bruce won’t try.

Cass’s lips are sealed. There’s a haunting expression in her eyes, her shoulders slump forward, her hands firmly plant themselves on the counter for support.

And his friends think he’s too much like Bruce.

“Hey.” He starts. She gives him a weary look, tears welling in her eyes. Well, maybe not exactly like Bruce. “Look, I’m sorry I put you in that position.” Cass shakes her head. “Sometimes things like this happen. I should have-”

“Stop.” Cass pulls her feet up on the counter, getting dust everywhere. “I should have been faster.” She swallows, refusing to let the tears spill over. “My fault.”

Dick watches as she glides off the counter, yanking off her gloves and dropping them on the floor. Burn marks dot her hands and the edges of her hair are singed. “You did everything you could.” She hesitates, before taking a step towards the showers.

“Not enough.” She mutters before storming off, leaving a trail of soot in her wake.

He stands up. “Cass.” The lock snaps shut with a click as she slips into the bathroom. Leaving Dick in an empty cave once more.

By the time he returns downstairs, Cass is already out of the shower, looking displeased. “You took my clothes.” She notes unhappily, a pale pink towel tucked tightly around her shoulders.

Dick watches water drip down from her hair, pattering on the floor. The trail leading back to the bathroom is now mixed with water and soot. Alfred’s going to be pissed. “I took your costume.” He clarifies. “And I brought you clothes.” He gestures towards the open door.

Cass scowls, planting her feet defiantly. “I’m going out.” She reaches out a hand. Dick shrugs – there’s no way she can find where he hid her filthy suit before they get a chance to wash it.

It’s all too familiar, reading the lines across her brow, watching her shoulders slump when she stills, and scanning red rimmed eyes. “What are you going to do like that?” He points out, Cass angrily storming towards him. “You’re tired, you’ll just end up being in the way.” He dodges left as a fist flies past his face. “You would have hit if I wasn’t right.” She’s faster than him on his best days.

She glares at him with pursed lips, staring before turning on her heel and storming off towards the bathroom. The door slams behind her, triggering the rustling of far away wings.

Dick sighs – he hopes he wasn’t this temperamental when he lived with Bruce. “Come up to the kitchen when you’re done, I need your help with something.” The lie rolls easily off his tongue, though he feels a twinge of guilt as Cass groans behind closed doors.

Cass’s eyes widen as she enters the room. Dick offers a smile as she edges closer to the table. He tosses a spoon, she snags it out of the air. “Dig in.” There’s a carton of chocolate ice cream – double chocolate chunk brownie sundae with hot fudge and chocolate sprinkles to be precise – and tons of candy. It’s not stuff Bruce keeps around, but Dick’s has a stash at Tim’s house reserved for movie nights. He’ll restock later.

Cass vigorously stabs the ice cream with her spoon, a smile dancing across her face as she takes a few bites. She pauses, sticking the spoon back in the cartoon, looking up with a confused expression. “Why?” She’s wearing fluffy pajama bottoms, fuzzy socks, and an old worn college sweatshirt that’s frayed at the hems. Dick can almost pretend he’s back, talking to Donna after she broke up with Roy their sophomore year of high school.

She’s watching Dick carefully. He hums casually. “You had a rough night.” This is what the Titans always did. She shrugs.

“Things happen.” She shovels a few more bites into her mouth. “I want to go out.” It’s hard for Dick to find her tough and grizzled when she’s guzzling gummi worms, kicking her feet back and forth on the stool.

“Consider this a reason to stay in.” She gives him a sideways glance. “You did as much as you can, that’s enough.” Cass looks pointedly at her ice cream, not hesitating before diving back into it.

“Spar with me?” She licks a skittle before sticking it in her mouth.

Dick snorts. “If I don’t have a heart attack, I think Bruce would.” She snaps up to attention, grabbing his wrist and quickly finding his pulse point. “I’m fine, Cass.” Her hands are freezing. He places one of his on top of hers. “If you weren’t there I wouldn’t have been.” He says quietly, catching her eye. “Thank you.” She pulls back as if burned, quickly busying herself with the candy. He waits a moment before adding, “I think those kids you saved are grateful too.”

Cass throws a bag of M&M’s at him, he’s a second too slow and it pelts him in the face. “Noted.” He grins. “Uh, also, I’m going to have to do something with your hair.”

“What.”

“Cass, hold still.” She immediately stops squirming under his hands. “Thanks.” She hums back, tucked under an old blanket that never seems to leave the back of the couch. Bruce still isn’t here, but Tim checked in after his stakeout, and headed home a half an hour ago. He snips away another lock of burnt hair, tossing it into a trash can next to him.

He rests his forearms on the back of the sofa, contemplating which section of her hair to start with next. “You find one you like yet?” He asks, peeking over her shoulder at the images of hairstyles.

“Uhh.” She scrolls a bit more. “I don’t care.” She tosses the phone up to the top of the couch.

“Mmm.” He didn’t expect much else. Donna texted him a picture earlier to copy – something easy to pull back but still stylish. He attacks the next section, carefully brushing out the tangles, starting bottom to the top. He’s oddly grateful for all those times he did Donna and Kory’s hair.

‘Practice for when Bruce finally adopts a girl.’ They used to tease. ‘You’ll have a real sister, and if his track record holds she’ll have black hair and blue eyes.’ He’s never lived the irony down. Though, Cass’s eyes are a beautiful warm brown, so Donna and Kory can take that.

“You know.” He keeps his tone light. “Most hairdressers and their clients talk.” Cass remains set in stony silence. “Though I guess most people go to a salon to get their hair cut.” He just visits Joey. “Some people say it’s like free therapy.”

“You talk a lot.” Cass notes. He pulls up doodle jump on his phone and passes it back to her. She plays a couple rounds before the phone’s placed back beside him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He already knows the answer, but still asks all the same.

“No.” Bruce never wanted to either. Barbara used to talk to him… before he left for the Titans and took years to look back. Though he likes to dream otherwise, he knows there’ll come a day when Tim won’t want to talk to him anymore either.

It doesn’t get any easier being shut out. “That’s alright. If you change your mind I’m here.” He grabs the shears, snipping away another dead end.

“Thanks.”

“Dick.” A hiss awakes him, light following soon after. He squints, turning away to bury his face in a cushion. “Where’s Cassandra?”

He turns, eyes snapping open as he quickly scans the sofa. The blanket hangs off the edge, Cass nowhere to be seen. One of her custom batarangs sticks out of his armchair’s armrest, a few inches from his hand. “She must have found her costume.” He notes, glancing towards the pajamas crumpled in the doorway. His eyes meet Bruce’s as he lets out a tired sigh.

His hair’s dripping, fresh from a shower, and it’s singed at the edges. Dick nods towards the sheers on the coffee table. “Tomorrow.” Bruce decides, crossing the room, picking up the blanket as he goes. Dick pushes down the footrest, slowly rising to his feet. His ribs twinge at every move, in hindsight, falling asleep hanging off the side of an armchair wasn’t his best idea. Bruce hovers closer than normal, watching carefully, worry lines set in concern. “Bed.”

Dick’s too tired to argue. “Bed.” He agrees. And though Bruce doesn’t carry him, he accompanies him up the stairs.

#bad things happen bingo #dick grayson #cassandra cain #batfam #batfamily #nightwing #batgirl #my writing #sorry i've had this request for like 2 months but you know what we made it eventually 💀😅#thanks for the request anon!#i couldn't resist doing Cass but shout out to you remembering Danny Chase exists like dang iconic

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sunyoonandstars · 6 years

Text

✨Linked✨ || BTS Soulmate AU Series || You x !Soulmate! Yoongi | You x Jimin || Part 18

Text/Social Media/Narrative Series || Soulmate & College AU

Previous Part | Next Part

LINKED MASTERLIST

“According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.”

― Plato, The Symposium

Credit goes to the incredible @789cream for creating this beautiful moodboard for my series. Thanks again!

You should’ve known, should’ve been able to tell by the way [Suga] talked about his soulmate. About you. You should’ve figured it out before it was too late. Before he, somehow, made his way into your mind and heart. But you were just too preoccupied with Jimin and everything that was going on. You really stood no chance.

And now … What now?

Your thoughts keep racing, chasing their own tails.

Pairing You x Soulmate! Yoongi You x Jimin

Word count 5.072

‘siblings’, according to age: Namjoon, Jimin, y/n, Taehyung (you grew up living in the same foster home as implied in earlier parts of this series)

fluff, angst, hints at/of smut

❗️Warning/s ❗️ mentions of emotional trauma, suicide/suicidal thoughts, death, hospitals/sickness, and child neglect

Previously, on ‘Linked’…

Eventually, after years of successfully having avoided it, you have come across your soulmate. An ominous stranger of whom you know no more than the back of his head, his phone number and that he works as a part-time barista at your (former) favorite coffee shop.

Having been pressured by a friend into contacting him, things start to get complicated. Because your heart already belongs to another. And, haunted by the ghosts of your past, the last thing you want is for your soul to find its one, true, destined mate.

After texting back and forth for days with the man only known to you as your ‘Soulmate’, you are forced to break contact since he is starting to get too close and your boyfriend Jimin is anything but pleased with that. When your paths, however, cross, the ominous ‘Suga’, as he calls himself, refrains from revealing his true identity to you - which would mean an instant link of souls and the end of his torture - and, instead, is set on making his way into your life the right way.

A fateful accident at your workplace is followed by a visit to the emergency room and a falling out with your boyfriend, Jimin, leading you to turn to a virtual stranger for comfort ...

CHAPTER 18

Now it all makes sense. Why I felt so drawn to you. Why you knew me so well. Why you appeared when I was at my weakest.

How could you?? When were you planning on telling me your birth name?? Once I broke up with Jimin?? Or would you even have waited that long??

Shit. I trusted you. I was so blind. I should’ve seen it coming.

Don’t contact me. I really can’t have this right now.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Yoongi can’t stop himself from muttering this same word over and over again as he pulls the cannula out of his vein without giving it a second thought and gets up and out of the uncomfortable hospital bed, his mind racing, all his thoughts revolving around you.

He has no idea how long ago you left. He doesn’t even know where you would go from here, where there is even the remote chance of finding you. But what he does know is that he cannot stay put here and let you walk away, just like that, sitting it out, not even trying to hold you back. His soulmate. He cannot just let you slip through his fingers. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was never supposed to be like this. End like this.

No. He refuses to believe this is the end. It can’t be. It can’t.

“Where do you think you’re going, young man?”

Yoongi doesn’t get very far, though. Before he can make it out of the room, he is stopped by a firm hand grabbing his arm. Nothing seems to escape this nurse’s attention.

“Back to bed. Now. The doctor responsible needs to discharge you before you can set a foot across this door sill.”

“But —”

“No buts.”

“But — Wait. Who even paid for my treatment?”

“Your friend did, of course.”

“What? She —?”

“And now stop wasting her precious money and go back to bed. The doctor will examine you again in the morning. Only then will he be able to tell if you’re free to leave. We want to do our job properly after all.”

Reluctantly accepting the fact that there is no use in going against this unrelenting woman, Yoongi eventually caves in and does as he is told, watching the nurse re-connect the IV bag to his bloodstream.

“What’s that?”, he inquires, gesturing towards the plastic bag filled with a clear liquid.

“Antibiotics.”

“What for?”

“You are suffering from pleurisy, young man.”

“Of what?”

“An inflammation of your pleura.”

“Due to what?”

“Trauma, it says on your chart. Apparently, one of your ribs was badly bruised.”

“Oh.”

“Well. You’re all set now. Take a nap. Drink a lot of water. There is pain medication sitting on your nightstand, in case you need it to sleep.”

“Thanks.”

Pleased with her work, the nurse takes a step back and eyes him intently, her head tilted to one side like that of an attentive dog.

“You’re so young, but your body is so tired already.” Hands resting on her hips, she sighs, shaking her head in discontent. “I hope that woman of yours takes good care of you in the future. You need someone who feeds you right. Good food. Home-cooked.”

Her well-intentioned words hit him like a blow to the stomach.

“Yeah. Sure”, he nods, struggling to conjure up a cordial smile. “I’ll let her know.”

If I ever see her again.

“If you don’t, I will”, the nurse — Yoongi takes a quick look at her name tag — called Oh jokes. “Such a handsome young man, but far too frail.”

She clicks her tongue in a reproving manner.

“Now rest. Let the medicine do its work and get some sleep. You look like you could use it.”

With that conclusion, she turns away and leaves Yoongi to his torturing thoughts, your last words echoing in his mind, haunting him until he, eventually, drifts off into sleep.

Headphones on, your phone in airplane mode, hands buried deep inside the pockets of your black bomber jacket, you start walking at a smart pace, quickly bringing a safe distance between yourself and the hospital you just left. Even now you’re still shaking, your legs barely carrying your weight.

It’s him. It’s really him. It can’t be. But it is. Your thoughts keep spinning.

Suga. He’s your soulmate. No doubt about it. You could clearly read your name as you frantically checked Suga’s pulse, the letters standing out blood red against the pale skin of his wrist. Y/l/n Y/n. The possibility of him having linked with another woman of exactly the same name not too long ago, judging by the early stage of healing his tattoo manifested, and him coincidentally stumbling into the very bar you work at just about when you broke off any contact with your anonymous soulmate is close to zero.

It’s him. It must be him. Suga being your soulmate makes an awful lot of sense, now that you come to think of it. It would explain everything. Why you were so drawn to this ominous stranger who didn’t feel like a stranger to you at all. Why you blindly trusted him from the very start. Why you felt so comfortable around him, felt like he was the first person on this godforsaken planet to actually understand you. Why your burn wound, or rather the inside of your left wrist, the spot on your skin that is supposed to be taken up by his name, started itching again every time you were near him.

You should’ve known, should’ve been able to tell by the way he talked about his soulmate. About you. You should’ve figured it out before it was too late. Before he, somehow, made his way into your mind and heart. But you were just too preoccupied with Jimin and everything that was going on. You really stood no chance.

And now … What now?

Your thoughts keep racing, chasing their own tails.

How do you even feel about him? About Suga? Why do you miss him, although you left him behind in that hospital bed no more than thirty minutes ago? And are any of those feelings real? How will you ever be able to tell? And if they are, how could you just overlook the fact that he tricked you? That he lied to you, abused your trust? And, most importantly and purely hypothetical, how could you ever be with him without actually establishing the Link?

Because linking with him is still not even close to an option. The mere thought of it makes you sick to your stomach.

After all, you don’t want to end up like her. Like your mother. Pitiful. Desperate. Without power or sanity.

No. No way. Not ever.

You will never let yourself abandon all control over your own life like that. You will not give in to genetics. Nobody other than you and you alone, not your soulmate, not science, not fate, will ever take the reins of your so-called destiny.

That’s what you swore to yourself when you saw your mother’s lifeless body dangling from your kitchen ceiling all those years ago. Leaving you alone. All alone in this strange and cold world. Her own child, no more than four years old. Simply because her soul couldn’t take the loss of its one true mate.

No. You will not become her. You will not surrender. Not ever. Not for the life of you.

Even if it means you are to spend the rest of your existence in isolation. You will, under no circumstances, subject yourself to this kind of power.

Your nails boring deep into your palms, the pain, at least to some extent, bringing you relief, you keep striding forward aimlessly, your feet carrying you to a location even unknown to yourself while deafeningly loud punk rock seeps out of your high-fidelity headphones, almost successfully drowning out each and every painful thought of Suga and Jimin.

Because, as if you didn’t have enough on your plate already thanks to this unexpected revelation of Suga’s true identity, sitting in the hospital’s waiting room you forced yourself to face reality and turned your phone back on. A decision that resulted in you being presented with more than a dozen unread and exceedingly unsettling messages by your distraught boyfriend and worried brother.

With shaking hands, you kept scrolling through the countless angry outcries Jimin had sent your way last night while you were sound asleep in Suga’s studio. Your muffled gasps echoed from the walls of the quiet anteroom as you skimmed the text messages depicting the progression of Jimin’s heartbreaking exasperation over the course of several hours.

Approximately 26 hours ago ...

Present Time.

His words still haunt you, their tone desperate.

‘You still love me, right?’

Jimin must have been hurting when he wrote [these words].

As you now mend your pace, tears burning in your eyes, blurring your vision, you can see him before you. The lost, ‘damaged’ teenage boy whom you shared your first kiss with all those years ago. In your mind’s eye, you can see it play back like a movie. The night of the thunderstorm when you had tried to run away from your foster home — the fourth in total that child protective services had placed you in. Jimin ran after you, despite the pouring rain. When he finally caught up with you, he begged you to stay and confessed his feelings. He told you that you were the most beautiful person he had ever met and that he loved you for all that you were, and if any fourteen-year-old ever spoke these words and truly meant them, it was Park Jimin. His eyes gave him away. They were genuine. You knew you could trust him.

Jimin was the first person you ever let in. If he hadn’t come after you that night, there’s no telling where you’d be right now. Dead, for all you know. He saved you. You saved each other.

The both of you had made an oath that night, to protect one another and always stay together, come what may.

Back then, it had felt right and keeping your promise seemed to be possible, the only possibility, really. But now, at this moment, you don’t know anymore. If you ever truly reciprocated his feelings. If you ever loved Jimin the way he loves you. Or if you just needed a companion. Someone to catch you when you fell. A friend and nothing more.

Sure, your feelings for Jimin changed quickly following his heartfelt confession. You suddenly saw him in an entirely new light. Not as a wanna-be brother anymore. But as a man.

When you first got together, the two of you were young and both your bodies were riddled with hormones. You were inseparable and couldn’t keep your hands off of each other whenever you were alone. Being intimate with Jimin was exciting. You never even gave your reasons for craving after his touch and body much thought. You never questioned your desire. In hindsight, though, you’re not sure if you enjoyed the sensual part of your relationship merely for the satisfaction it gave you or because it was Jimin pleasuring you. If you’re entirely honest with yourself, you’re afraid the former is the case. It has been for a while, at least. But it never bothered you. Not until you learned what it truly feels like to want somebody. Need somebody. On so many more levels than just this one.

Damn. And there he is. Back again. Suga. In your head. Haunting your every thought.

You can’t erase the pictures. Of his pale face. His limp body. He looked so small in that hospital bed, so vulnerable. It took all the strength you had in you to leave him behind. But staying around until he’d wake up wasn’t an option, either. Right now, you’re in no condition to face him. Being around each other won’t do either of you any good until you have all of this figured out. Or at least some things are starting to make sense. Because, right now, nothing does.

What you need is a drink. Or two. Your feet carried you to the right place then, you acknowledge as you lift your head to find yourself staring at the neon sign hanging over the entrance to the Plutarch.

Great. At your workplace on your night off. How pathetic. On the other hand, though, where else would you come across an unlimited supply of free drinks at this time of night? Right. Nowhere.

So, straightening your posture, you throw open the door and step into the bar where you are greeted by the all too familiar stench of sweat, booze, and nicotine.

Drink in hand, you stumble through the Plutarch’s back door and into the fresh night air, the boosted bass of the electronic dance music following you outside, echoing through the littered back alley.

A few minutes pass until Taehyung eventually picks up, his voice low and heavy with sleep.

“Y/nnie? What’s up? Where are you? It’s late.”

You can hear fabric rustle in the background.

“Shit. I woke you up, didn’t I!?”

“It’s okay, y/n. I’m glad to hear from you. Let me just — Wait a sec — I don’t wanna wake up Nana.”

Your heart stings at the mention of his soulmate and the image of them peacefully sleeping side by side, perfectly content in the knowledge of having linked with their mate for life.

With a shake of your head and another sip from your beer bottle, you push aside that useless thought.

“Where were you, y/n?” He pauses, the sound of a closing door filling the silence on his end of the phone line. “Is that music I hear? Are you out? Alone. Or with —”

“With Suga?”, you scoff, kicking an empty coke can. “No. No, I’m not with him. Not anymore at least.”

“He told you? That I called?”

“Yeah. Sorry that I didn’t text you back. I read your messages. I didn't mean to worry you. It’s just — Everything is a little overwhelming currently. And — And I —”

You wanted to hold them back. So badly. The tears. You told yourself you wouldn’t cry again and you tried hard, so hard, not to give in. But the alcohol combined with the sound of Taehyung’s warm voice eventually break your resistance.

“Y/n? What’s wrong? What happened? Are you crying? Are you okay!?”

“Funny thing’s that I’m perfectly fine. But Suga — He —”

“What’s wrong with him? Is he in trouble?”

“He’s in the hospital, Tae. He — He just collapsed. Out of the blue. And I — I saw it, okay!? That he’s my fucking soulmate!”

“Oh.”

“Oh!? Is that really all you have to say to that, Kim Taehyung!?” you scream into the receiver, your voice cracking, drowning in stifled sobs. “He was wearing my fucking name on his wrist, Tae. Did you know? You knew, didn’t you!? You fucking knew!”

Of course, he knew.

“Y/n, have you been drinking?”

“What!? Why?”

“It’s just. You’re cursing. A lot. And you only —”

“Does it really matter right now?”

“No. I — I just want you to be safe, that’s all.”

With one big gulp, you empty your bottle.

“I’m fine, Tae. Never been better. It’s your friend you should be worried about. You can find him in the Seoul National University Hospital, room 1346. I paid for his treatment and all, so no need to worry about that. Just … make sure he’s okay, I guess.”

“Yes! Of course! I’m already on my way. But — Did you —”

“No, Tae, we didn’t link. I left before he even woke up. I still don’t know his name and I want to keep it that way.”

“Of course. Of course! I get it. I do. With all that happened to you. I get it, okay? I’d never tell you. It’s not my place.”

“Right”, you snicker. “So, it wasn’t you who sent him to the Plutarch that night, when we ended up in the ER?”

You are met with silence.

“It’s okay, Tae. I don’t hate you or anything. I mean, you should’ve stayed out of it. But what’s done is done and I know you meant well. Just — From now on please don’t get involved. I mean it.”

“All right. I won’t. I promise.” He seems to mean it. And you know, Kim Taehyung is a man of his word and he respects you far too much to consciously go against what you want.

“Thank you”, you sigh, running a hand through your hair, damp from sweat. “I just can’t have any more drama right now.”

“Then you should better not come over, I guess.”

“Why?”

“Because Jimin’s crashing on our couch. He arrived here early in the morning, drunk as hell, and didn’t leave ever since.”

Shit. He must’ve missed his rehearsal.

“Okay. Thanks for the heads-up.”

“Where will you sleep then? Do you have a place to stay?”

“Dunno. Maybe I’ll stay with Catrina, my colleague. Her roomies are nice. They won’t ask questions.”

“So, you’re at the Plutarch?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s good.” He sounds relieved. “At least you’re safe there. But, don’t do anything stupid, okay? No going home with random strangers and stuff, okay?”

“Tsk. What are you? My dad?”

“Please, y/n. Promise me you won’t fall back into old habits. I remember quite vividly what the sleeping around did to you when you, you know, were on a break from Jiminie.”

Yes. You remember, too. And part of you wants to feel it again. Wants to be used again. To be treated like a piece of meat and thrown away after. But the other part knows very well where these kinds of escapades usually lead you. And you’re not to keen on going back to that place. Because, deep down, you’re scared that, this time, you won’t make it back.

“All right, I won’t. I promise. No screwing around tonight. I’m not in the mood anyway.”

“Haha. Good to know”, Taehyung laughs. His deep, warm, rich laugh. The laugh that makes you feel safe and grounded wherever you are. Like hot chocolate. You’d give anything for a hug from him right now.

“I love you, Tae. You know that, right?”

“Ah. You always get so sappy when you’re drunk.”

“Stop it, or I’ll take it back.”

He clears his throat before he speaks up again, his tone almost solemn this time.

“Yes, I know, y/n. And I love you, too. You’re family. You always will be.”

“Thank you. Nana is a lucky woman.”

“I’d say it’s the other way around”, he jokes, eliciting a genuine smile from you. Taehyung, the life of the party, so handsome heads keep turning wherever he shows up, always so humble.

“Well, give my love to her. And —”

You stop in mid-sentence, your mind suddenly blank. You know what you mean to say, but the words just won’t come.

“Yes, y/nnie. I’ll take good care of Suga. Don’t worry.”

“Thanks”, you barely manage to croak out.

“No need to thank me. Let me know later if you found a safe place to stay for the night.”

“Will do.”

After you said your goodbyes, you end the call and are left with nothing but deafening silence. Even the music is gone now. And dawn is breaking already.

As if by command, Catrina pokes her head out through the back door, her eyes searching the alley until they find you.

“Here you are! Come on. Move your pretty ass. It’s time to leave and we have to lock up. I wanna fucking sleep, okay!?”

Impatient as always, she waves you nearer, grabbing at your sleeve and pulling you inside as soon as you come into range.

“Do you have a death wish I should know about!?” She shakes her head, strawberry blonde hair flying. “Jeez, y/n. It’s freezing cold outside. What were you even doing there? You missed all the fun.”

Playfully punching your shoulder, she throws her head back, her crystal clear laughter resounding in the now-empty club.

“There was this hot chick who —”

“Cat”, you cut her short, having trouble to keep your teeth from chattering. “Could I maybe stay with you for tonight? Or this week? Or, you know, just for a while?”

“So, basically, I fainted because of this pleurisy thing, the resulting fever, extreme physical and emotional stress due to the proximity of my unlinked soulmate and the implied consequences, like cardiac arrhythmias and stuff. And, well, malnutrition over an extent of a few weeks, months maybe. On top of that a moderate panic attack. Things like that. They just all came together somehow. At that very moment. Or that’s what the doctors say, at least. I didn’t even see it coming.”

Sitting on the edge of Yoongi’s hospital bed, Taehyung listens attentively while the other one cites his numerous bodily defects, his countenance suggesting that none of this is any of his business or reason for particular concern. Yoongi speaks as if he is talking about someone else, not meeting Taehyung’s eye. Nonetheless, the older one fails miserably in his attempt to hide his true state of mind. He’s anxious, restless, clearly tormented, judging by the way Yoongi’s fingers nervously fiddle with the rim of his sweater’s wide sleeve and his teeth keep gnawing away at his swollen lip, nails bitten short to the bloody nail beds.

Taehyung can very well imagine what it must look like behind those dark, glossy eyes. He remembers the agonizing hours after meeting Nana and until she finally linked back with him as clearly as if it happened yesterday. And, at this point, Yoongi has been existing in this limbo of longing for a week already. It’s incredible that he is even still alive, Taehyung thinks to himself. His friend must surely possess a strong heart and mind not to be driven insane by this burning desire to be with his one destined mate. Especially the knowledge of your current situation should be torturous to him. Because, if his distant expression is anything to go by, Yoongi must have a rather good idea of how you are dealing with this whole mess.

“That doesn’t sound too good, Hyung”, Taehyung eventually concludes after Yoongi has fallen silent and resorted to motionlessly gazing into space. “I talked to her, just a little while ago, in case you were wondering.”

“To who?”

“Come on, Yoongi. Who are you trying to fool? She’s all you can think about.”

Arms crossed over his chest, Yoongi leans further back into his pillow, looking away, lips pursed in disapproval.

“It’s five in the morning. What are you even doing here? Did you sleep here?”

“Kind of. Y/n called me to look after you. But that’s not what’s important right now”, Taehyung protests. “Don’t try and change the topic. You can’t just act like nothing’s different, Yoongi. Like this isn’t a big deal. Come on. Talk to me. Y/n basically went missing for 24 hours, dropped off the face of the earth. What happened? What did you do? What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t, okay!?”, Yoongi snaps at him, having trouble keeping his voice down, it appears. The nurse shoots him a warning glance whereupon he pulls his blanket up to his chin like a sulky five-year-old. “Just — After I met her, thanks to you.” He pauses to dart a murderous look at Taehyung. “I couldn’t stay away anymore. I wanted — No, I needed to see her again, to be with her, to feel her close and make sure she’s okay. Because she didn’t seem like it when I left her that night.”

“I know. Okay? I know what it’s like. From experience. But — You must’ve felt like shit.”

“No. Well, yeah. But she kinda made me forget, you know? Whenever I looked at her, the pain disappeared. Or at least I didn’t feel it anymore.”

“Or you fooled yourself into thinking you didn’t feel it anymore. Yoongi, you could’ve died. Of heart failure or something. Do you realize that?”

The older one just shrugs in response. His indifference is starting to anger Taehyung.

“Hyung, you shouldn’t be this reckless. I mean, If you don’t care about yourself, at least think about her. How do you imagine she would’ve felt if she found out she could have killed you? Or how she must be feeling right now, knowing that she’s responsible for your pain?”

Finally, he engaged his friend’s attention. Alert, Yoongi’s eyes shoot up to meet his.

“What did she say? How is she?”

“Well …”, Taehyung sighs. “She’s not exactly great. But I think she’ll live.”

“Is she staying at your place?”

“No. She can’t since –– —”

“Since what?”

“Well. That’s where Jimin is staying, so …”

“Oh.”

Taehyung can literally watch Yoongi’s mood drop to an all new low.

“Are they — Did she mention if they were —?” he cautiously asks.

“What?” Yoongi answers his tactless question with one of his own. “If y/n mentioned anything about making up with him? With this dancer guy?”

“Hey, careful there. Jimin’s like my brother. I love him. And he doesn’t deserve to be in the middle of all this, okay?”

“All right, all right. Sorry.” Yoongi raises his wiry hands in defense. “But, no, it didn’t seem like she was particularly looking forward to seeing him again. She had a couple of, I don’t know, panic attacks or something, just talking about him. How she didn’t love him anymore but she didn’t wanna hurt him either.”

“Yeah, sounds like her.”

Poor Y/nnie, Taehyung can’t help but think to himself. You must be miserable right now. Knowing you, his sister, the last thing you’d want to do would be to hurt anybody, most of all Jimin. Taehyung is well aware of how special a bond the two of you had formed over the years. He watched it flourish with his own two eyes. Breaking it can’t possibly be an easy thing to do.

“So, Taehyung?” Clearing his throat, Yoongi props himself up on his elbows. “Would you mind telling me something? Because I didn’t get a chance to ask her.”

Taehyung has a feeling he is about to break his word he gave you on the way over here.

“Sure. Ask away. I’m just not sure if I can answer.”

“Fair enough.”

Yoongi sits up, leaning in closer, his eyes eager.

“Y/n’s feelings towards the whole Link business are rather extreme, it seems. So, what’s up with her and this soulmate thing? Why is she so adamantly against it? There must be a reason and I think I deserve to know.”

He knew it. Taehyung knew he would regret making that promise to you. Because he is about to get so involved in your business, there will be no getting out of it again.

“Well, she has her reasons, that’s for sure”, he starts out, swallowing hard.

Please don’t hate me for this, y/nnie, he sends a quick prayer to the hospital’s unsightly styrofoam ceiling before he continues.

“Have you ever heard of phantom pain?”

Yoongi nods.

“Well, the soul can have it, too. And some people aren’t strong enough to endure it.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Y/n’s mother — She committed suicide. Six days after y/n’s father, her mother’s soulmate died. The woman just couldn’t take it. And hung herself in their family kitchen, right in front of her four-year-old daughter eyes. After having neglected her child for days, not even feeding her, only screaming her husband’s name time and again, sobbing herself to sleep while her daughter was literally starving next to her.”

Taehyung can barely fight back tears as he retells your life story, his voice trembling. He still remembers the girl he first met more than ten years ago. Frail. Pale. Scared. Untrusting.

“When Y/n became of age and was first allowed access to her files, I got a glimpse of pictures that were taken when child protective services found her back then. She was in a terrible state. No wonder she’s still traumatized. She remembers everything, Hyung. Every. Little. Detail. But most of all the screams. She once told me that, sometimes, she still hears them in her sleep.” A cold shiver runs down Taehyung’s spine at the thought of it. He really hopes you’re not alone right now. All of this must surely, once again, have stirred up those horrible memories you tried so hard to bury.

“Her mother turned into an entirely different person with her husband’s death”, Taehyung proceeds after a few seconds of silence. Meanwhile, Yoongi seems to have fallen into some kind of paralysis. Taehyung can’t be sure if his friend is even still breathing.

“The second she lost her soulmate, she lost herself. And y/n never ever wants to go through that, to allow anyone or anything to have this kind of control over her state of mind. But can you blame her?”

Wide-eyed, Yoongi stares at him, his even features distorted by agony and rage.

“No. Of course, not. She’s not the one to blame here. I— I get it. I get it now.” He stammers, jaw clenched. “Why she hates me. And she’s right to stay away. Maybe it’s for the best. Knowing this, how could I ever see her again? How could I make her be with me? I must make her sick.”

“No. Don’t say that, Hyung.”

“But I’m sure it’s true. Maybe I should just leave her alone. Disappear from her life. I could never — How could you let me go to her, Tae? I — I can’t force this onto her. She must feel revolted by the idea of even being near me.”

Taehyung can see it in his eyes. Yoongi’s pain. His horror at the realization of what he most likely put you through. His misguided disgust with himself.

“Yoongi, it’s not your fault.” He reaches for his hand, but Yoongi flinches, pulls it back under his blanket.

“You didn’t know, Hyung. And her mother was just one case. One in a million. She was simply … weak. And you and y/n, you’re stronger. And she will realize that. Just give her a little time. Don’t give up just yet. Please”, he begs. But Yoongi seems unimpressed, cold even.

“I think you should go, Tae. I just want to sleep right now.”

“If you really want me to leave, I —”

“Yes, I do”, Yoongi cuts him off, his tone harsh, as he already gets comfortable in a lying position, curled up into a ball.

“Okay. I have to get to work anyway”, Taehyung sighs. “Have a good rest, Yoongi. And get better, soon. I’ll come by again tomorrow and I don’t care if you want me to or not. I’ll be here.”

“Whatever”, Yoongi grumbles, by now having been entirely swallowed up by his blanket.

“Bye, Yoongi. And it’s not over, okay? Don’t forget that.”

As soon as he is sure Taehyung has left, Yoongi kicks off his blanket, his limbs as restless as his thoughts.

Being aware of what you went through and must be going through right now, how could he just stay here? Lying in bed? Sleeping, as if everything was right in the world? When it clearly isn’t?

No. Merely putting up with the way things are and playing dead isn’t an option any longer.

Yoongi has to think. To clear his head. And he can’t do that here. Not in this room full of the sick and dying with nurse Oh watching him as closely as if he is about to burn this whole place down.

No. He has to get out of here. To get moving. To sort out his thoughts and figure out the right thing to do in this kind of situation. If such a thing even exists. And in order to do so, he needs to talk to somebody.

Yoongi is curious what Jimin has to say to all this as he makes his way towards Taehyung’s apartment in the refreshing cold of the early morning hours.

END OF CHAPTER 18 || TO BE CONTINUED

Thank you for reading! I hope you like the series so far and this chapter didn’t disappoint. 😌

Here you can find my Masterlist in case you feel like checking out more of my BTS fiction.

Also, if you have Spotify, you can listen to the ‘official’ 🎶 playlist 🎶 to the ‘Linked’ series here. It contains all the songs having been sent back and forth between Yoongi and the reader in the past and some more tunes fitting the series’ vibe.

Take care and have a great day! ☺️💖

NONE of the GIFs used are mine. Credit goes to the initial creators. Thank you for your hard work and dedication.

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