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queen-of-hobgobblers · 11 months

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Case Study: Tim Drake

Chapter Two (Previous chapter) (Next Chapter)

tw violence, gun violence, blood, implied death, nonfatal injuries, swearing, reference to murder

[2 years ago, Gotham City]

Snap- snap- snap!

Ear-splitting screams, colours blending together, red, pink, yellow, red, red, red-

Bernard wants to scream. He wants to say something, anything but the glint of silver in his peripheral vision tears the voice from his lungs, his effort to breath shredding them apart from the inside out. It’s not that this sort of thing is unusual in Gotham. Quite the opposite, he’s been preparing for this type of situation since the first grade. But to actually be in a shooting is a whole other thing entirely. He runs and he runs and he runs, past overturned tables and loud crashes, past blood-stained concrete and a pale hand reaching out in his peripheral view-

The hand grabs his arm and pulls him to the side, behind a wall.

He throws a punch out with his free hand on instinct and is met by a steady palm. “Bernard.”

The blond blinks to see Tim Drake staring back at him, gaze detached and even in a way that takes years of practice. There’s glimmers of concern in his eyes, though. Little sparks of relief giving him away.

“Tim?”

“Yeah. You good?”

“I… yeah,” Bernard swallows thickly, and the words aren’t even completely a lie. Fear still fills him to the brim but he feels a little steadier now. A little more secure.

Tim gives Bernard a quick once-over to make sure he’s alright- and he’s fine for the most part, there’s little cuts to his hands, against his jaw, but other than that he’s okay- before he lets out a miniscule breath. “Good.” The brunette pushes him further into the nook. “Stay here.”

The blond falls back with several people huddled against between the narrow walls, waiting this out together. Under their tough exteriors, they all look just as scared as he is- men, women, everyone in between, all silently praying for their lives.

No matter how long you’ve been in Gotham, no matter the shit you’ve seen, you never quite lose that primal fear of death. Not really.

Bernard turns back to see Tim peering past the edges of the wall, watching for danger, reaching out and grabbing anyone who runs past, ducking them to safety. The other detective quickly makes himself useful calming people down and boosting morale. He puts to use all the first aid knowledge he knows, staunching a man’s bleeding with his blazer, washing his hands with a water bottle a woman happened to have on hand every time he treats someone else.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Tim, eyes hardening in anger, jaw slanting further in distaste with each passing minute. Before he can ask what’s wrong, the brunette yells out, “Bernard!”

“Yeah?” the man answers, not looking away from where he’s bandaging up a boy’s shoulder.

“Look after them!”

“Wait, why, what are you- Tim!!” Bernard jerks up and reaches out to grab his rival’s hand, attempting to pull him back into the hollow, but Tim’s fast, grabbing some sort of a metal pole and rushing out towards the direction of an active shooter.

“Cad é an fuck, Tim?!” Bernard screams as he runs out after him, his words bleeding out into Irish the way they did whenever he was upset. He wants to follow, he has to, but he’s being pulled back by a mass of hands.

“Tim! Tim! Stad, stad, le bhur thoil! Chathaigh mé-”

A hand places firm on his shoulders, and a heavy gaze meets his own. One of the people helping him clean up wounds. “You need to help take care of the others. Tim will be fine on his own. He always is.”

Bernard wants to protest but he bites his tongue. The man’s right. About the first bit, at least. So Bernard goes back to patching up people in need and keeping everyone’s spirits up, and the next few hours especially are a blur.

He remembers the feel of wet fabric neath his fingers and red stained against his palms. Remembers whispering comfort to a girl looking no older than her teens. Loud shouting and hurried feet kicking up dust. Waiting in silence in the cold hours of the night. Remembers the bright flash of sirens, and remembers the sound of them even clearer. Someone prying cold, blood-hardened fingers from his grasp. Darcy’s voice drifting through the air, waking up next to her the following morning in his bed. Remembers her strong hold around him and the tears stained wet against his shirt, the sobs floating around the boat for days.

He doesn’t really remember why he was there in the first place. Doesn’t remember arguing with Tim over some trivial case neither of them managed to solve.

He vaguely remembers the police report that came out a few days later: the cops apprehending the shooter onsite, Tim managing to help hold him back, getting away with nonfatal wounds to the arm and chest.

He remembers wondering deliriously just what events could have fallen into place to turn Tim Drake into the person he was today.

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[Present day, Gotham City]

(Days since Tim went missing: 1)

Of all the mysteries Bernard had tried to crack over the years, Tim Drake was the toughest. The man was a puzzle locked inside an enigma, wrapped in some truly horrendous style choices. Every discovery he made about him just led to more questions. Tim was Gotham’s cryptid, everyone knew or has at least heard of him, but no one really knew him. His past, his hobbies, wants, interests. Everyone’s only witnessed a small piece in the tangled web that is Tim Drake.

And every piece was contradictory too. He seemed aloof, reserved, but he was still friends with just about everyone. He was often remarked polite and law-abiding, but Bernard’s looked through the list of his various violations and it might as well have been the longest list of infractions in Gotham. He preferred using his wits to solve a case but was still ripped enough to stand his own in a fight. Bernard’s spent so much of his life fitting people into little boxes and Tim’s traversed in and out of each one with ease.

He’s tried asking Tim but it always led to more questions. He tried asking other people but there’s not much difference. They knew as much as he did. He even tried stalking him online, but it just led to a bunch of dead ends and social media profiles set to private (“Darcy, I swear, this is all purely to get a leg up on the competition, quit looking at me like that!”). In other words: no dice.

The man’s like water with how quick he adapts and changes. That’s the only way Bernard can describe it, water. He’s ever-changing, constantly adapting, and can fit into any shape or disguise required of him. Tim was a different person from second to second and Bernard was never quite sure which version he was going to bump into that day. He could see all the hanging bits and pieces, but never the person at the center of the net. There are a few things he’s managed to figure out however.

His address for example.

“You think he’s going under deep cover or something?” Darcy asked from the passenger seat.

“What?” Bernard asks, fingers tapping against the wheel. Ten minutes to the apartment, ten minutes longer…

“Maybe he’s gone deep undercover Mission-Impossible-style to take this murderer out on his own,” she mused, adjusting her glasses with interest. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“He’s literally never done that.”

“First time for everything.”

“Any other bright ideas?”

Darcy thought for a moment. “Tim’s the murderer?”

“Darcy.”

“Sorry, sorry, but. You’re right. He’s never done this before. I’m not sure what to expect.”

Bernard let out a breath. “Me neither.”

Eight minutes, eight minutes…

“Can you read that aloud?” Bernard asks, when he spots Darcy going back over the article for clues out of the corner of her eye. He needs something to keep his mind occupied while he waits.

“27 year old Local Detective for Hire Tim Drake was reported missing by a friend of his on Thursday morning,” Darcy obliged, “days after the twin murders of Eddie Reese and Dana Winters. Police have released sparse details at this time, but have stated that it’s too early to comment on whether or not these events are connected.”

“Social media has been rife with speculation, theories ranging from him going rogue yet again to even having been hit by the serial killer themself.”

“‘Frankly, this is one of the less shocking stunts he’s pulled,’ Police Commissioner Montoya stated when prompted upon by reporters. ‘There are no plans for a serious look into his disappearance at this time. Especially with this murderer on the loose-’”

“Stad,” Bernard gritted out before he even realized what he was doing. He doesn’t realize his hands clenched firmly to the wheel till he spots white knuckles gripping against metal for dear life. He loosens his hold and checks the rearview mirrors again. Places his eyes back towards the road. They just passed Gino’s Pizzeria… off-brand Starbucks… nearly there, nearly there…

Darcy notices his anxiety and wordlessly goes back to her research, leaving them to spend the next five minutes in silence.

They finally pull up to the parking lot and make their way to the lobby.

“412,” Darcy types in confidently, and the speaker connects.

Bernard quietly hopes that this has all been one big misunderstanding, and he’ll hear Tim’s quiet voice come out of the speaker, annoyed that Bernard had come all the way to his address to bug him. His heart drops into his ass when he’s instead met by a far older one instead, too familiar to misplace.

“Detective Williams GCPD, how may I help you?”

“Private Investigators Darcy Thomas and Bernard Dowd here. May we come up?” the woman answers back.

There’s a long pause on the other end and Bernard swears he hears the officer mentally ask God what he did to deserve ever crossing paths with them and their bullshit. “I can’t let you in, you two know this.”

“And you must know by now that there’s no stopping us.”

“Darcy,” the two men say at the same time, but for Det. Williams it’s more of an annoyed reprove while for Bernard its a groan of we-need-him-to-help-us.

“Sorry, sorry, force of habit. We’re your best bet right now- I’m being serious,” Darcy barrels on as Det. Williams let out a pained groan on the other end. “Commissioner Montoya won’t let you send out a proper unit to solve Tim Drake’s disappearance, so your best option if you want to find him- and I’d suspect you especially would want to find him,” she adds, referring to the pseudo-mentor-mentee-like relationship between the officer and the missing detective, “is to refer this to the two people you know would do anything to solve this particular case, and have the time and resources to do so. Neither of us are Sherlock Holmes, I’ll admit, but a broken clock is right twice a day, and both Bernard and I have absolutely been right more than twice in our entire careers. Surely, we wouldn’t fumble this.”

There’s an even longer pause on the other end.

“Did it work?” Bernard asks.

“Let’s hope,” Darcy whispers.

Finally, door clicks open. “Come up.”

The two detectives let out twin breaths and start towards the elevator.

“You okay?” Darcy tilts her head at him as they make their way up. “We’ll find him. I promise.”

“Yeah,” Bernard swallows and remembers bright blue eyes and dark locks and an infuriatingly smug smile. He stands straighter, eyes narrowed in focus. “Yeah, we will.”

The elevator doors open up and they slip out, walking through the hallway till they make it to door 412.

Bernard knocks.

The door swings open with a creak.

“If you ever tell anyone I did this, I will deny it vehemently,” Det. Williams grumbles when he lets them in.

#this chapter is brought to you by the time tim took on the mob with a baseball bat #bernard dropped everything to go check up on his homoerotic rival/definitely not crush #darcy had to shove the omelet down his throat to get him to eat something and then jump into the passenger seat to avoid being left behind #the things she has to put up with smh #i might have been doing too much telling and not enough showing #i’ll have to work on that #my writing #batfam #tim drake #bernard dowd #darcy thomas #detective williams #timber #rival detectives au #dc

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fiendishartist2 · 1 year

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eaten from the core and out to the skin– mp100

Reigen strutted through the halls of Salt Middle School, passing empty classrooms and bustling club rooms at a brisk pace. As he turned an unfamiliar corner, he schooled his worried expression to something closer to irritation. Reigen was on a mission and he couldn't let any weakness show. He came upon the door he was directed to by the woman in the main office.

He entered with a hand on his hip, suit bunching up at the action. Reigen surveyed the small office, eyes catching on the cheesy inspirational posters and self-help books. He wrinkled his nose, ah, a guidance counsellor. Oh god, Mob, what kind of trouble did you get yourself in this time. Speaking of Mob– Reigen spotted his student sitting in the only other chair in the cramped office. His shoulders were brought far up to his ears and his head was hung low. Whatever they called him in for, Mob sure was taking it seriously.

Whatever, Reigen thought confidently, we'll be out of here in no time if I have anything to say about it.

The woman that had called him in sat at a cluttered desk that took up about a third of the small room. She smiled widely, brushing back her black bob behind her ear. Her elbow nudged against one of the many stacks of paper littering her desk.

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Reigen. Please, take a seat." He obliged, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair. He tapped his foot impatiently.

"Would you mind telling me why I was dragged out of work to be here?" Mob hiked his shoulders higher, curling in on himself. His flat fringe cast a dark shadow over his face, covering his expression. Reigen thought he could see his lip wobble out of the corner of his eye, however.

"Ah- apologies, it was at Shigeo's request. I'm sure he didn't mean to interrupt." Mob asked for me instead of his parents? Reigen narrowed his eyes, lips pursing in thought. Mob never asked Reigen to pick him up from school unless something was really wrong. Last time this happened, Mob was trying not to blow up over the black eye some kid gave him. That day, Reigen had to keep reminding himself that a 26 year old man beating up a 12 year old middle schooler was definitely illegal. Now, seeing the way Mob's face was painfully schooled, like he was just barely holding it together, Reigen felt the same urge to hunt down whoever had done this.

He took a steadying breath, cracking a placating smile, "No, it's alright." Some of Mob's tension dissolved, "But, I do want to know why you called me." He tried, making sure to keep a pleasant tone. The last thing he wanted was to get Mob all worked up about whatever it was he did.

The guidance counsellor smiled, although it was fake just like Reigen's. Just a gesture meant to put the other at ease. She cleared her throat politely, picking up a file from under her elbow and sliding it across the table to Reigen. He leaned forwards, eyes scanning the page.

He landed on a few scribblings in pen that read 'lunch hour', 'truancy', and 'physical altercation' before she interrupted him.

"Shigeo was absent from all of his classes today and was seen by another student loitering in a club room during second period mathematics. As well as-" she picked up the paper, reading with a light hum, "-Ah, here– during lunch hour, Shigeo pushed a classmate, resulting in a dislocated shoulder." She read it off so stiffly, like a judge reading a list of crimes out to a jury. Reigen resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her seriousness. That's what Mob was in here looking like he was on the verge of breaking down for? Skipping class and pushing a kid? Reigen had done much, much worse in his school days– this was practically nothing.

Holding in a scoff, Reigen hummed sympathetically.

The counsellor sighed and put the paperwork down. She levelled Reigen with a tired stare, "As this is the first time I've had to discuss Shigeo's behaviour with a parent or guardian, I'm not going to punish him." Reigen's face softened before he could stop himself and she pounced on the opening, pressing her lips into a thin line. Or maybe this game of social chess was all in Reigen's head and she was just emoting like a normal person. Either way, she continued, "However, due to school policy, I still need to come to an understanding with Shigeo."

Reigen nodded, "Of course," he went on the attack, "I'm sure Mob didn't mean anything by his actions. Sometimes he just gets overwhelmed and-" his good natured smile slipped as Mob joined the conversation.

"I meant to push him. I'm sorry…" He whispered, hands twisting around each other. C'mon, Mob! I'm trying to vouch for you here, just don't say anything and I can get you out of this scot-free! he screamed internally. Unfortunately, Mob never had figured out telepathy, so Reigen's pleas went unheard.

"I skipped my classes too, on purpose." He continued in his soft voice. His warbly confession felt wrong, twisting itself around Reigen's stomach. This was all too serious, why was Mob getting so worked up over nothing?

Reigen swallowed the questions that crawled up his throat in favour of clawing the conversation back to normalcy. He patted Mob's shoulder forcefully, nervous laughter bubbling out of him.

"Such an honest student I have! As you can see, he's much too well behaved for trouble-making. So really, we should just let this whole thing blow over, huh?" Reigen boasted in his salesman voice. Despite directly contrasting Mob's incriminating words, he hoped she would believe him over his student by confidence alone. Judging by her unamused expression, it wasn't working.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Reigen, but multiple students admitted to seeing the fight at lunch. Now, Shigeo," she turned her attention to him. Mob didn't even look up from his lap.

"Why don't you explain to me why you were absent from class?" Reigen crossed his arms, turning to his student as well; he obviously wasn't getting them out of there any time soon. And, he was actually kind of curious about that too. Mob wasn't a perfect student by any measure, but he hated getting scolded and was too polite to break any rules anyways. It was really out of character for Mob to skip a whole day of classes.

Mob didn't react. Reigen couldn't be sure he even heard the counsellor's question at all. The boy sat so still he might have even been holding his breath.

Just as she got ready to try another approach, Mob sucked in a sharp breath, "...I don't know." His voice shuddered. Reigen's mood curdled instantly– Mob was definitely lying to them. There was nothing to lie about in the first place; sure, skipping class was against the rules but it wasn't egregious and it certainly wasn't uncommon. A bead of sweat rolled down Reigen's temple.

"Were you bored in class? Maybe you wanted to meet up with friends or get an early lunch?" She listed off the most common excuses bolder delinquents gave her. She hummed, leaning her chin on her entwined fingers, "How about an emotional reason? Did you feel upset in class and needed to take a walk?" She probed gently.

Mob curled imperceptibly inwards, holding his shoulders tighter to avoid reacting. But, Reigen spotted his clear sign of guilt: Mob's hands were gripping his knees with white knuckles.

"I'm sorry. I don't know." He replied robotically, voice getting flatter as Mob's distress grew. Uh oh, Reigen realised suddenly, this is bad. Mob really doesn't want to talk. He rubbed his clammy hands on his thighs, readying himself to step in and stop this situation from escalating any further.

Before the counsellor could say another word, Reigen went on damage control.

He hummed in surprise, drawing his phone from his suit pocket. In one fluid motion, he flipped it open and pressed it to his ear. He made a show of clicking the 'answer call' button.

"Spirit's and Such Consultation Office. Reigen Arataka, greatest psychic of the 21st century speaking. How can I help you?" He nodded along to the silent client on the other end of his fake call, "Hmm… an important job, you say? Please, calm down sir, of course I can handle it."

As he dialled the theatrics to 10, Mob spared his mentor a glance. Reigen trained his eyes on the wall, only so that he wouldn't break character once he spotted the dried tear tracks running down his student's red cheeks. Reigen widened his eyes dramatically, letting his mouth fall slack in mock horror. His imaginary client was describing quite the gruesome scene.

"Oh wow, that is very serious." He mumbled just loud enough for the counsellor to catch it. Reigen held back a smirk as she let out a worried hum.

Standing from his seat, Reigen straightened his tie, nodding again, "Stay calm and get to safety. My disciple and I will be there as soon as possible. How many victims did you say this spirit claimed already?" As he spouted a bunch of concerning nonsense, Reigen gestured for Mob to follow him. He scrambled out of his seat, thankfully used to Reigen's antics enough to understand the scheme he was pulling.

"Oh my-! Is something wrong?" Reigen flicked his eyes to the counsellor rising from her desk, a hand on her chest. This time, he let his satisfied smirk free, facing the door. Dramatically, he clicked his phone shut. In his grimest voice he could muster, Reigen put the final nail in the coffin.

"Yes. I've just gotten a call about a violent spirit terrorising innocent civilians. It's serious- life or death, you see." He reached for the door handle, "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to cut this meeting short. I'm sure you understand." With that, Reigen threw the door open, steering Mob out of the school briskly. Sure, it was one of his more reliable lies, but it didn't fool everyone and Reigen would rather be caught dead than have to own up to lying straight to someone's face.

Once they were outside the school, he relaxed. Reigen clapped his freed student's shoulder with a relieved grin.

"Alright, Mob, let's get out of here. What do you say to an early dinner? On me." Of course, that would mean Mob's paycheck would be lighter tomorrow, but it's the thought that counts. Money doesn't grow on trees after all.

Reigen stopped his stroll when he realised Mob wasn't following. Instead of falling into step with him, Mob was still standing in front of the school, his face buried in his hands as his shoulders jumped up and down sharply.

Reigen rushed over to him, hovering around his crying student. He floundered; Mob hadn't cried in front of him in what must have been years. He hadn't cried in front of anyone else in much longer.

To his surprise, Mob tipped forward until his forehead rested on Reigen's chest. Reigen froze before placing a tentative hand on the top of his student's head. Gently, he patted down his shiny black hair.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked. Mob mulled it over for a few minutes. Reigen didn't mind; he knew that Mob needed time to think about what he was going to say. Mob had always been a quiet kid and when he wasn't lost in thought, he was speaking his mind– even if the things that came out of his mouth were terribly blunt. So, in the middle of the day outside of the school they had just ran out of mid-conversation, Reigen and Mob stood as Mob collected his thoughts. Reigen really hoped no one would spot them.

"He poured milk on my head." Is what eventually wrestled it's way out of Mob's throat. It was mumbled, like he was both scared and ashamed of the admission.

Reigen didn't understand the gravity he was giving it, but sometimes Mob was just sensitive about violence. No matter how tame or justified.

"The kid you pushed?" Reigen prompted. Mob just nodded, "Well then, I think he deserved it. Serves him right for being a jerk."

He thought that would be the end of it; Mob would wipe his eyes and give Reigen a faint, grateful smile, and then they would be off eating mediocre ramen at the cheapest place in the city. Instead, Mob unfurled a bit, grabbing Reigen by the front of his blazer and burying his face in his chest as he choked and sputtered.

"Woah, kid!" Reigen wrapped him up in a real hug, confused at Mob's sudden clinginess, "Mob, calm down, you're hyperventilating." He struggled to keep the panic out of his tone. Mob shook his head frantically.

"Okay! Okay, Mob, just breathe," Reigen shushed, rocking them back and forth slightly in their hug. He hoped it was comforting, he wasn't very well versed in hugs. Mob wasn't usually touchy like this.

He felt a few teardrops soak into his shirt before he collected himself.

He ran a hand through the back of Mob's bowl cut, "It looks like you got most of it out, but you probably want to get properly cleaned up, huh? How about I walk you home and-" Mob shook his head again.

"You don't want to go home?" Reigen took the resounding silence as a yes, "And you probably don't want to go to the office, right?" Nope, alright, last resort, "Okay, what about my apartment, then? You can get cleaned up and I'll order takeout." He sweetened the deal, "And we can watch those action shows you like?"

Mob thought about it; it had been a while since he had been to Reigen's apartment, but he remembers it being pretty cozy. He liked hanging out there when he was younger and his parents needed his boss to act as his pseudo-babysitter. Reigen always tried to make his few stays there fun. And although 'free' dinners were regular with Reigen, Mob was really hungry from missing lunch to hide in the Telepathy Club room. Takeout sounded like a dream at this point.

"Mhm." Mob hummed.

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Reigen gathered his haphazardly folded pyjamas, placing them in Mob's arms. He shot the boy a smile, but Mob's eyes were glued to the ground, glazed over with a distant frown on his face. He took the clothes with a quiet thank you, padding into Reigen's small bathroom. The door clicked behind him loudly in the silence.

Reigen sighed, scrubbing his face with a hand. Maybe he should get into something comfier as well.

The shower started as Reigen dug around for anything remotely wearable. I hope I didn't give Mob the last of my clean laundry… Just then, Reigen pulled a crumpled sage green ('barf green' a particular spiky haired kid jeered in his mind) tracksuit from under his bed. It didn't have any obvious smells or stains so it was passable in Reigen's book.

He jumped into bed, relaxing into the pillows and dragging his laptop towards himself. As he sent out emails and filled out his calender with upcoming appointments, he heard the shower shut off. A few minutes later, Mob shuffled out of the bathroom, wet hair plastered to his forehead and cheeks red from the hot water (or from crying, his brain supplied unhelpfully). He was fiddling with the hem of the oversized sweatshirt Reigen gave him. It went past his hips and the sleeves pooled at his wrists. The pyjama pants he wore had to be rolled up at his ankles and cinched tight around his waist. Reigen didn't like he frail he looked.

Reigen pulled out his phone, rummaging through all of the random papers in his desk for a takeout menu. Just as he sat up to move to his couch, the mattress dipped next to him as Mob settled on the bed. He pulled his knees to his chest. Wordlessly, Reigen handed him the menu.

Once they had their food ordered, Reigen pulled up a new tab in Mobgle, quickly searching through suspicious websites for good quality rips of Mob's favourite shows.

"Cover your eyes, I don't know what kinda ads will pop up." He reminded Mob, chuckling. His student just hid his face in his knees.

Soon, they were huddled around Reigen's laptop, eating their dinners and watching TV. The show was in pretty good quality, but even then, Reigen had no idea what was happening. As he watched the flashy fight scenes, he wondered why kids even liked this stuff. It was just guys yelling at each other and blowing shit up with magic. He realised that might be a bit hypocritical, remembering the magical girl cartoons of his childhood. Kids like to watch other kids wear colourful outfits and fight with superpowers.

Reigen cringed; after seeing what that mentality did to real children, he couldn't watch the show without feeling a bit sick to his stomach. Or maybe it was the two bowls of ramen he ate…

The credits played softly, some woman singing about friendship over quiet piano. Reigen collected their leftover bowls and chopsticks, taking a quick three-step trip to the kitchen to throw out their trash. He stretched, wincing at the way his back popped way too loud to be healthy. As he made his way back, he realised Mob had paused their show.

Reigen hesitated at the side of his bed, before perching on the edge of it next to Mob. He reached out and patted his knee, silently imploring him to talk.

"Shishou-" Mob started, face crumpled in a way that looked painful, "I'm sorry for bothering you." He bowed, "I caused so much trouble today for no reason. I made you come to my school when you could have been working."

Reigen shook his head harshly, "No, no! No, Mob, you didn't bother me. You needed my help back there. What kinda shishou would I be if I didn't get you out of trouble, anyways? Besides," he cracked a smile, ruffling Mob's hair, "I don't blame you for skipping class after what that jerk did."

Mob ducked his head down, wrapping his arms around his knees.

"That's not… why I skipped." He whispered. Reigen stilled.

"No?"

Once again, Mob was tense. He was pulled so taught, he was shaking. The room held its breath for a minute or two as Mob collected his thoughts.

"I wasn't feeling well this morning. I had a nightmare- uhm- about school."

Reigen hummed softly, not wanting to break whatever spell made his student want to talk about what was bothering him.

Unfortunately, Mob held his tongue, falling silent again.

"What happened in your dream, Mob? You can talk to me, you know." Reigen prompted. Mob's face was blank, but his breathing came out in short bursts, revealing the emotions boiling just beneath the surface.

"Do you remember when we had to- to help that possesed girl?" It didn't make sense; why did Mob look so scared?

Reigen nodded. Of course he remembered that awful job; he remembered how he had to sit and watch his disciple put himself in danger while he could do absolutely nothing. He remembered getting in a cab to go home and how Mob refused to look him in the eye the whole ride, but glued himself to Reigen's side. He remembered how jumpy he was and how unstable Mob's powers were for a whole week after. Now, three weeks later, Reigen was just glad they got out of there without incident and they could put the whole thing behind them.

"Asagiri? Yeah, what about it?" Reigen replied flippantly.

Mob flinched.

"When I was in her mind with…" He was staring at his feet, gaze worryingly distant. It looked like he wasn't even present in their conversation– like he was only talking through himself from somewhere else.

"With Mogami," he mumbled the psychic's name, "I was in there for a long time. I think it was longer for me than it was for you."

Reigen stayed silent, rubbing small circles on Mob's knee with his thumb. He hoped his small reassurances were enough to clear that fog from Mob's eyes.

"Um- it was months, actually." He confessed. Months?! How could he have been there for months? It took only half an hour at most for Mob to exorcise Mogami. Reigen barely bit back his questions.

"That world I was in, it was…" he paused, struggling to find his words, "Shishou, you didn't exist and my family didn't either a-and-!" His grip around himself tightened. As his aura spiked, his hair started to float, revealing wide, scared eyes underneath.

"Everyone hated me– Minori hated me and Ritsu didn't care about me and all of my classmates thought I was awful-" Mob couldn't breathe. All he could see as he squeezed his eyes shut was Minori's malicious smile. The smile she gave him when she picked on him, called him names, cornered him in the halls, poured milk over his head. Cold sweat dripped down his face and it was like he was back there, his own blood gushing from his head and over his cheeks. It felt like dying.

Meanwhile, Reigen was getting more confused with each confession; what was this other world Mob was talking about? What does he mean he didn't exist? Were they still talking about Mob's dream? What does this have to do with Mob skipping class?

"I'm sorry, Mob, but I don't really get what you're trying to say?" Reigen said gently. Mob's eyes opened and he startled like he forgot Reigen was even there.

"M-Mogami," again he said it in a hushed tone, "He made a world in Minori's mind. It was like my life here but- but none of my friends were there. And I think my family wasn't either because... I lived alone." He didn't mention how Mogami took away his powers. He didn't know what he would do if Reigen found out what he did once he got them back.

"Minori…" Mob scrubbed his palms over his eyes, drying the tears springing up against his will "She always targeted me at school." 'And everywhere else,' was left unsaid.

"I don't know why, um– why she hated me so much, actually. One time…" His hands twisted in his borrowed sweatshirt, right above his stomach, "She spilled a carton of milk on me. On purpose." He confessed in a hushed voice.

Reigen's heart clenched. So that's what he's so upset about, he thought, relief flooding through him. Just as he started to make up a speech about how that job was over and he was safe, Mob continued speaking.

"A-and I was scared of going to class because…" The cups and plates in Reigen's cupboards started to rattle, "Be-because-" he flinched as a something shattered in the distance, phantom pains sparking on the skin of his cheek. Reigen paid the ruined dish no mind. He barely ate out of them anyways.

"My teachers they would- uh. If I got a-a question wrong… they hit me. Um- hard." Mob's words oozed shame. He hung his head, cheeks flush with humiliation.

It's not everything, Mob knew. It would probably never be everything, if he was being totally honest. Six months of pent up frustration at the world, crushing loneliness, and a hopelessness so all encompassing he thought he would choke on it every day couldn't be voiced in a single conversation. All Reigen needed was context right now, Mob told himself. There was no need to worry his shishou with details of box cutters and cats and the cackling laugh of high schoolers.

He threaded his fingers in his flowing bangs, "I know it's not real," he reassured himself, "But it's still so- it makes me feel so-" he floundered, mouth popping open and closed.

"Scared?" Reigen supplied weakly. This whole conversation made him feel like that, actually; scared and weak.

Mob finally looked him in the eyes and the open desperation could have made him cry. He opened his arms and Mob fell into him.

“I had a dream about it last night…” he croaked, “I co-couldn’t calm down all day. I was scared of hurting anyone s-so I hid in the club room instead of going to class.” Mob’s voice broke, “I’m sorry.” He whispered. Whether Mob was apologising for breaking the rules or for keeping this a secret from Reigen, he couldn’t tell.

Reigen tucked the boy's head under his chin, wrapping his arms around his small back. Small because he's a child. A child you failed to protect. He counted with Mob, trying to get his breathing under control. Reigen tried to stay present but his own distress was mounting by the second, stirring in his chest and making his heart race.

How long did Mob say he spent in that hellish world? Months? Reigen tightened their hug with shaking hands. Mob was trapped in Mogami’s manipulative illusion for so long with no one to turn to– not even himself it sounded like. Reigen was almost glad for it; he didn’t want to know how Mogami would have twisted their relationship. He didn’t want to think about what kind of irreparable harm he could have caused.

The thought of himself raising a hand to Mob in the same way his teachers had was enough to make him nauseous.

After what could have been hours of hushed voices and panicked sobs, Mob’s aura calmed down and Reigen’s apartment was finally still. Reigen held his student long past the sun setting, no matter how much his back protested the action. He rubbed circles in Mob’s back, talking about anything and everything until he slumped against his chest, fast asleep.

He was in the middle of a rant about the proper way to season pork when the peace was broken by his ringtone. It was muffled, tangled in the comforter they both sat on. He rifled through the blanket's folds, digging out his phone and flipping it open. The time blinked back at him.

"9:13 already?" He mused under his breath, hitting the answer button.

Before he could start up his customer service greeting, the woman on the line cut in.

"Reigen?" Mrs. Kageyama demanded, relief lacing her concern. Reigen's eyebrows rose.

"Oh, hey, Mrs. Kageyama." Reigen answered dumbly. She forewent her usual correction of the formality and rushed into the reason why she called.

"Is Shige with you? He was supposed to be home hours ago and he hasn't been answering his phone." Her tone was scolding but the frantic pace she spoke with gave away her anxiety. Reigen looked down at Mob's slowly rising and falling back as the boy dozed. He still clung to Reigen's middle in a tight grip, sitting up despite his exaustion.

"He's with me. Sorry for worrying you, I didn't see the time." He pinched between his eyes, "It's been a long day, if I'm being honest. Shigeo's asleep right now, but I can get him a cab or something if you need him home."

Mrs. Kageyama answered slowly, a warning just under her words, "Did something happen?"

Reigen winced.

Lying to Mob's parents wasn't something he loved doing- they already put so much trust in him with their son and violating that trust made his skin crawl. They could also be pretty intimidating when they wanted to be, especially his strict mother. What had happened on the Asagiri job was horrible and keeping that from Mob's parents didn't sit right with him.

On the other hand, Mob seemingly hadn't told anyone else about it yet. If his student wasn't comfortable telling his parents about Mogami, then Reigen had no place doing it for him.

"Nothing drastic. Just a bad night's sleep, I think," he stretched the truth. "He's hanging out at my place." Reigen let out a hollow laugh, "Don't worry, he's been fed. We were just eating ramen and watching TV before you called."

"I wasn't criticising you, Reigen." He could hear the smile in her voice as she teased him, "I'm sure you boys had lots of fun. Just make sure he hasn't been cursed or whatever it's called."

His smile strained. Sure, Mob hadn't been cursed by a spirit, but another kind of heavy presence hung over him. This was something they couldn't just exorcise in a second– something that would follow him around for the foreseeable future.

"I'll have you know, Mrs. Kageyama, I'll be 30 soon. I wouldn't exactly call myself a 'boy' anymore." Reigen joked weakly. It was hard to keep his festering guilt out of his voice.

She hummed sarcastically, "Goodnight, Reigen. Let me know when Shige wakes up." Reigen agreed and quickly hung up. He snapped his phone shut as quietly as possible, letting out a sigh into the remaining silence.

Judging by the time and the heavy weight of Mob's head on his shoulder as the boy slept soundly, Reigen was sure he wouldn't be getting back to Mrs. Kageyama anytime soon. He shot her a text saying just as much.

Gently, Mob's fists were released from the sides of his tracksuit. Reigen tucked him in, slipping off of the squeaky mattress. He nabbed his laptop from where it lay forgotten next to Mob's head, settling onto his couch and resting it on his stomach. The couch was way too small for Reigen to sleep on, but he could handle his ankles dangling off the arm for one night if it meant Mob would sleep peacefully in turn. He reached around under his coffee table, finding a thin fleece blanket with a triumphant smirk he didn't really feel. It also didn't cover his feet.

Reigen fell into a restless sleep, passing out in the early hours of the morning with his clunky laptop pressing into his gut uncomfortably.

The only solace from his endless nightmares, was the soft, steady snores of his student filling the air in his apartment. Everytime he woke, stomach roiling and berating himself over how badly he had failed Mob, he was comforted by that noise.

Part of Reigen knew that it was probably because the boy was exhausted after the day he's had, but a smaller, softer part of him wanted to believe he put the boy's dreams at ease. The thought that Mob felt safe and cared for, at least for now, in his presence warmed his heart– no matter how much he tried to deny it.

Reigen dialled Salt Middle School the next morning, calling his student in sick. He and Mob spent the day walking through parks and eating mochi, instead. They don't talk about their conversation last night, but Mob leans into his space more than usual and Reigen makes sure to smile at his student more; when they part for dinner, Reigen ruffles his hair and Mob huffs out a faint laugh, not bothering to duck away from his hand.

#something something i like when reigen takes care of his kids and listens to their problems #dont tag as anything weird or ill hunt you down. this is platonic i cant believe i have to say that #mob psycho 100 #mp100 #my fic #2 fics in one night? i have way more where that came from baby #i think at this point i have 8? ish? at least 5 are finished and 1 of them has a finished draft that i just need to finish the good copy of #smth you should know about me is that LOVE mogami arc. like love love. im obsessed with it #its just so raw?? compared to the other arcs i think it goes the farthest content wise. like mob gets stabbed lol #only rivaled by the 7th division arc i think. but even then the most violent bits in there are short #i think its so interesting that mob was trapped in another world (that he was 100% convinced was real btw)-#-where he was relentlessly othered and bullied-- esp in the manga! its not just minori- he gets picked on for being bad at sports #-and minori makes it a point to single him out as someone weird and different from the rest of their classmates #its just so. like ik the lesson he learns is that some ppl change and some ppl wont and he has to accept that when faced with conflict-#-but theres no way that other world didnt fuck him up are you kidding me #you just know mob cant look at crows anymore without feeling uneasy. or cant stand the smell of spoiled milk. or gets nervous in class #reigen arataka #shigeo kageyama #mogami arc #mrs kageyama doesnt have a name </3 sorry girl i love you forever tho #mp100 fanfic

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