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starry-bi-sky · 1 month

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Childhood Friends Danny and Jason: Ch2 Remastered

-------------------------------------------------------------- late at night when the stars don't look quite right -------------------------------------------------------------- there's something burning in the empty room inside of my head fill it up with doubt let it in, let it spread

Jason nearly falls flat on his face when he sees the photo of Danny. He’s in a warehouse, finishing up with a gang selling drugs on his turf. The guys he’s got tied up are cursing up a storm at him, throwing every insult under the sun his way that he’s all heard before. His eyes drag over to them, and silently Jason adjusts his jacket to reveal the guns strapped to his thighs, his hand hovering over the handle of one.

They all fall silent, and Jason moves his hand away. His phone in his other hand, texting Oracle to alert the police. Jason hates that he has to; these guys will be out of their cells in a matter of months, and nothing will change.

But he’ll play nice.

And then his phone buzzes, and when Jason looks down he sees a banner from Tim. A message he planned on ignoring, but his eyes skim over the text on instinct, and suddenly the air is stolen right from his lungs, and his thumb is hitting the screen before he can really think it through.

[Hey Jason, your best friend just appeared in Gotham for the first time since your funeral.]

Impossible. He thinks, yanking his phone close to his nose, as if that will make it any less real or fake. Danny hasn’t been in Gotham in years, Jason checked. But then the image loads, and then he’s staring Danny Fenton in the face. And then he’s greedily tracing every minute, new detail he can find. The gang left half-forgotten in his mind.

Danny’s got an undercut, it looks self-done. It looks good. He looks taller. He’s got piercings in his ears, gold and jewels lining up the sides like a magpie’s find. He’s got an eyebrow piercing.

Something old, something new; Danny is smiling and it still looks just as Jason remembers it. Crooked, lopsided, warm like the sun and belying the mischief underneath it. He remembers to breathe in that moment, and the sound comes in sharp. Danny’s eyes are as blue as they’ve ever been.

(“I don’ get why books talk so much about peoples’ eyes.” Danny complains to him one day when he’s visiting the manor, his legs thrown over Jason’s back like an anchor tied to its ship. They’re sunk into the mattress of Jason’s bed, sunlight peering through the windows. “They’re just eyes! I don’t need t’know that they’re ‘as blue as the sky,’ or- or the ocean, or whatever blue thing in the world there is.”)

(Jason’s smile comes to him like breathing, and he twists around to lay on his back. His arms trap Danny’s legs to his stomach. “Pretty sure it’s jus’ for emphasis on how much they’re noticing the person’s face.”)

(Danny’s face scrunches up, and Jason’s smile splits into a grin, heart swelling three sizes on instinct. “I think it’s stupid, s’just some fuckin’ eyes.”)

(“Eyes are windows to the soul, Dan.” Jason retorts, barking out a laugh when Danny gives him a deadpan look. His hands creep for a pillow, one of the soft downy ones wrapped in silk, and he throws it at Danny’s face. “And besides, speak for yourself! Your eyes are the bluest thing I’ve ever seen.”)

But most importantly, Danny looks tired.

Hiding is something that comes free with the purchase of living in Gotham, and Danny’s good at hiding things, he always has, but Jason knows him like the palm of his hands. He looks tired, and Jason wants to reach through the screen and ask him why. There’s an age-worn look there, catching in the flint of his iris, where his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Jason gets the ETA from Oracle, then leaves as fast as his legs can carry him and his grappling hook can zip through the air. He needs to see Danny with his own eyes, to confirm himself that Danny was here, and that it wasn’t his mind playing tricks on him. Or that it was Tim playing a cruel joke on him — and if it was, he’ll have to rethink his whole killing thing.

Gotham’s air is warm and suffocating, but her winds bite at him as he soars through it.

It’s second nature for him to find the west end balcony, and Jason finds himself with his feet locked in place on the building beside it. Grappling hook in hand, and a balloon in his lungs, all swelled up and squishing the air out of him.

It’s just his luck —with whatever he has left— that Danny is there as well. In the same spot he’s always been, with a cigarette caught between his teeth. He’s stuck halfway, head tilting, eyes closed, with the shadows of Gotham on his back and the light of the gala at his front.

For a moment, for a fleeting, terrifying moment, Jason thinks Danny’s going to tilt himself back off the side.The thought has him blindly tilting himself forward with his heart in his throat. Hands reaching for his grappling hook, swinging down to drop down beside him.

Danny is staring at him before his feet even hit the ground, face nigh unreadable beyond the small, wary furrow of his brows. Danny’s never looked at him like that before, it feels like stumbling on the last step of the stairs.

Then, like fire to black powder something flashes and ignites in Danny’s eyes. Mouth curling, eyes burning, for a moment, just a moment, they’re kids again, getting into fights and turning soft hands punch-rough. Danny looks at Jason like he’s going to tear him to shreds.

Jason’s mouth runs dry like a desert in the summer, but his blood chills in fear cold in his veins. Why are you looking at me like that? His mouth opens, but his tongue is leaden in his throat, and no sound comes out. It’s me. Don’t you recognize me?

Danny yanks the cigarette from his mouth like it burns him, his free hand gripping onto the railing like it’s the tether to a leash, nails threatening to turn into talons. “Red Hood.” He says, voice low and timbre, smoke dripping from his lips like dragon’s breath.

Oh.

That’s right. Jason suffocates on his heart as it sinks and soars with relief. Danny doesn’t know it’s him. In his tunnel vision, he forgot that simple, easy fact. It’s not because it’s Jason that he’s angry. It still doesn’t explain, though, why Danny looks at him like he ought to sink his teeth into his throat and rip him open.

He’s half-distracted by that, and then distracted by the need to drink in the sight of Danny again. A photo is one thing; the real person is another, and with his fear subsiding, Jason rakes his eyes over his best friend and swallows him whole. His eyes are bluer in person, his memory and Tim’s photo doesn’t do them justice, and Danny inherited his dad’s height. He’s gotten so tall. They both have. They both used to be such scrawny kids.

So distracted is he, that he forgets to respond to Danny, to say anything. Not until Danny tries to dismiss himself, and Jason kickstarts into gear. White hot panic fills in his lungs, burning him up like magma. No, no, no, he’s moving without thinking, always when he’s with him, and he nearly latches onto Danny. Nearly wraps his hands around his arm to hold him in place. Don’t leave. You’re finally here; don’t go.

Danny stays, but he stares at Jason’s reaching hands like he’ll bite them off, stares at Jason with his eyes burning, watchful. Jason’s excuse is lousy and he knows it, but he wants, wants, wants to stay and figure out every new thing about Danny.

And he feels like he’s losing something. Time bleeds together beside him and Jason feels trapped behind a glass wall of his own making. Something old, something new. The distance of which Danny keeps him at is foreign to him. He hates it.

Tell me everything, he thinks, because he can’t find the words to say it. He hands Danny a cigarette instead, and hopes that it’s enough. Tell me everything and more, tell me what I’ve missed.

In the end, he still feels like he’s losing something, but he also feels like he’s missing something. Answers that are water, and that water is slipping through his fingers. Danny leaves him with more questions than answers; something that’s never happened before, and Jason watches him walk back inside with a spinning mind.

What do you mean you spoke to my ghost?

I told you that the Joker killed me?

Have I told you anything else? Have I already told you everything I’ve wanted to?

What happened while I was gone?

Is that why you’re scarred?

Because Jason isn’t blind, he’s never been. Not in Crime Alley, not as Robin, not now. And not when it comes to his best friend. He sees the silver lightning scars ripped jagged up Danny’s arm, sees that they disappear under his sleeves. He saw, faded as they were, invisible until the light hit right, as they spread like tree roots up his throat and across the side of his face.

Scars that Danny’s never had before. Scars he didn’t have when Jason was alive the first time. Scars he didn’t have the last time Jason saw him. Or — what he remembers to be the last time he saw him, because apparently he saw him as a ghost. He sees the curve of his ears and how they point more than a human’s should, he saw the glint of his canines, sharper than they should be; sharper than he remembers. Metaphorical fangs turned real.

Jason should’ve asked where he got them from, should’ve taken Danny by the front of his collar and stopped him from leaving. Who did this to you? He should have said, a fire burning in his chest and wrapping around his throat, pulling his voice into a snarl. He should have said, his guns weighing heavy on his sides; Who did it. I’ll take care of it. Just tell me who. Tell me everything.

Instead, something crawled into his mouth and died, and his tongue is glued to the roof of it. And he doesn’t say anything, because saying something means telling his best friend who he is. It means having to take off his helmet and mask. It means telling his best friend that he’s alive, that he has been. That despite being two halves of a whole, Jason spent five years letting him think he was dead.

He can’t tell him, not when he’s in too deep already. Not when Jason is so unrecognizable to who he used to be that if he told him, Danny would hate him.

And Danny is still grieving him. So plain as day mourning, still angry over his death. Angry enough that he wants the Joker dead, angry enough that he wants to hang the noose and kick the chair out himself.

Jason wishes he told him that he looks tired.

Instead he’s standing alone on the balcony, trying to get his thoughts in order as music blares muffled through the gold-light door. He’s left staring at the crushed cigarette laying on the ground, Gotham’s ambience at his back and a poem hanging in the air that he has no words for. It’s already there. Like stars on a painted ceiling.

And there are so many questions he needs answers for.

Like his ghost. His ghost.

What did Danny mean by his ghost?

Does he really want to kill the Joker himself? Was it just the grief talking? Jason knows — or thinks he knows — Danny like the palm of his hands. He’s been through everything with him, he’s seen him say something and then immediately follow through with it. He knows when he’s being serious, he knows when he’s not.

Danny wants to kill the Joker. Stealing is one thing; murder is another. And Danny wore a look on his face that looked like he meant it when he told Red Hood that he wanted to kill Joker. But saying and doing are two different things. Jason doesn’t know what to think.

Something old, something new. Danny is still the same, and yet he’s changed so much.

What did Danny mean by his ghost?

Jason doesn’t ever remember being a ghost. But Danny knows the Joker killed him. He knows how he killed him. Danny’s parents are ghost scientists, and Jason remembers the letter he got one day telling him about the portal they were building in the basement.

He remembers thinking about telling Bruce — this was something beyond the glowing green samples stored in the fridge, giving life to the food inside. This was beyond the weapons, the inventions they made that only saw the light of day when the Drs. Fenton brought them up to showcase them.

And he didn’t, because if he hadn’t told Bruce about everything before, he wasn’t going to start. He admits, it was part fear that Bruce might intervene and prevent him from seeing Danny that he didn’t.

Neither of them had expected it to work — but it sounds like it did.

(Jason has avoided Amity Park for a reason. He knows he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from going there if he didn’t. But now, he just might have to look into it. He’s missed too much.)

And Danny wants to kill the Joker, and Jason isn’t sure if he means it or not. Because the look on his face when he said it is oh-so familiar. It’s the one he wore when he needed Jason to distract the clerk while he snuck behind the counter to steal cigarettes from the shelves. It was the one he wore when an older kid cornered them near one of Gotham’s many alleys, threatening them over something Jason can no longer remember clearly.

(He remembers puffing himself up, rearing for a fight. Danny, with glass in his teeth and blood between his fingers, lands a square kick to the spot between the kid’s legs. His knees hit the ground, and Danny’s hand found Jason’s to drag them both out of there.)

It’s the look of a boy, Gotham-touched grime in his soul, soft fingers turned calloused and scarred, about to do something he’s not going to regret. It’s the look of a boy that has set his mind to something and is going to do it. Some might call it the eyes of a cornered animal, but Danny’s never been cornered, not when Jason’s been with him.

(But Jason hasn’t been with him. Not for the last five years. So can he really say it wasn’t the eyes of a cornered animal?...Yes.)

Jason gets off the balcony before he can be seen, and he shouldn’t, but he loiters. He should get back to patrol, the night is never over. Not in Gotham. But he stays, hidden atop the roof nearby.

—---------------

An hour later, Danny walks out the doors with a man Jason recognizes as Vlad Masters — another new mystery for him to uncover. The paparazzi have long since left. Gotham’s nights are dangerous and everyone knows that, not even the vultures would stick around for a scoop, not unless there was something worth seeing.

A black limousine pulls up beside them, and Masters walks around the back to reach the other side. He’s bristled like an angry cat. “I thought I told you not to embarrass me.” He hisses, eyes snake-narrowed.

Danny, for the most part, just looks unbothered, his hands shoved into his pockets without a care. But he narrows his eyes right back, an expression made of stone. “You have a pretty low bar for what you think is embarrassing.”

Masters just scowls, “I don’t understand you, I would have thought you’d spend the whole time mingling with the Waynes, badger.” He says. Danny ruffles at the nickname, lips curling into a snarl. Jason finds himself unconsciously mimicking him. “And yet, I find you sequestered away in the corner like a little fly on the wall. Were they not up to your standards?”

‘Sequestered’ Danny mouths mockingly, eyes burning like he was going to claw his hand down Masters’ face. Instead, his hands dig into his arms. “I did talk to them, that’s more than I can say for you. You couldn’t even keep Mister Wayne’s attention for more than a minute.”

Jason frowns, and Masters scoffs, puffing up like an owl with its ego bruised. “Regardless, I am not the one losing here. Or did you forget what you promised me?”

Jason’s frown deepens. Danny doesn’t promise anything. At least, he doesn’t promise with just anyone. He deals; he repays; he indebts. But he does not promise. Promises were power, with only one side benefiting. It was trust to promise someone something. Danny doesn’t trust easily, neither of them do.

Something that hasn’t changed. Danny rears up angrily, mouth twisting, teeth baring, snarling out a fury sound. A wire cut live and sparking. He grabs the door handle and yanks it open harshly. “I didn’t promise you anything, Vlad.” He hisses, Jason strains to hear him. “I offered and you agreed. Do not fucking twist my words.”

There it is. Jason should’ve known better, guilt string-plucking in his chest for his doubt. Danny doesn’t promise things; not to people like this Masters guy, at least.

Danny grabs something from the car and throws himself back. “Don’t wait up.” He snarls, a wild thing just as Jason is, and yanks on a red hoodie over his arms. It zips up, and hangs off him, smothering the vest and button-up beneath. “I’ll meet you back at the hotel.”

Then he slams the door shut, shoulders hunched and with a scowl carved into his face. They’re both made of broken glass; independence — disobedience — and rebellion cut into them from every broken beer bottle shattered on the streets.

(Jason makes a mental note to look into Vlad Masters — Danny’s never told him about him, so they must have met after he died. The man leaves a rot in Jason’s mouth, and there is a greed festering inside him that Jason knows has left him in decay.)

(He doesn’t like how close Masters acts with him, doesn’t like the affiliations between them both. Masters reminds him of Luthor and every other rich socialite with their hands in something dirty. He hates even more that Danny is making deals with him. What has he missed?)

Jason follows after Danny, partially concerned that Danny is wandering Gotham alone. Regardless of what he can do, Gotham is still dangerous. It is bone-rotting, lung-choking and unforgiving. Danny knows this, Jason knows he does. He’s partially curious to know just where he’s going, and whether or not it was important enough to visit in the dead of Gotham’s bloody nights.

Danny surprises him — slipping between alleyways, sticking close to the shadows. Someone taught him how to be stealthy — or, at least, refined what stealth Danny already had. More new things that Jason needs to learn. More things he will never get to know.

Who taught you that?

Just what, exactly, have I missed?

I want to know everything.

Five years is a long, long time to be away from someone. If a caterpillar can become a butterfly in two weeks, then what can five years do to a human? It’s a long time to change, to become something else entirely. Jason’s become someone new, and he thinks, so has Danny.

Dread pools in his ribs, into his lungs, and weighs heavy on his heartstrings. The urge to drop down in front of Danny, to grab him by the arms and ask him to tell him everything, returns with a vengeance. This is why he avoided Amity Park.

Will I still know you like I used to? Jason trails behind Danny from the rooftops, like a ghost. Do you still love the stars? Do you still take tea over coffee? Will you tell me, if I ask?

And if he doesn’t? If he doesn’t ask, like he isn’t right now?

If he doesn’t ask about his ghost — something that still boggles his mind, because it means the Fentons were right and that portal might have worked, and Danny found Jason’s ghost? If he doesn’t ask what his ghost told him, if he told him anything else? Did his ghost tell you that he was Robin, like he always wanted to?

He will just have to keep his questions to himself. He will just have to tuck them into a folder in his mind, and file it under all of his other regrets.

He feels like he’s Robin again; keeping secrets and hiding things from his best friend because it simply wasn’t safe enough for him to know. It’s maddening.

Why has nothing changed since he died? Why has nothing changed, now that he was alive?

—---------------

Danny leads him to the Gotham Cemetery. Jason freezes outside the gates. Oh, he thinks.

Oh.

He thinks back to what he thought earlier.

What could possibly be so important that he’d go to it in the dead of Gotham’s night? The cemetery. Of course. Something old, something new, something bittersweet sets over his tongue that he swallows down.

Jason forces himself to follow.

“Hey.” Danny says as Jason settles behind a tree, voice gentle in foreign familiarity. He’s standing at Jason’s grave, his hands shoved into his pockets. The light is low but it doesn’t stop Jason from seeing the starlight-soft look in Danny’s eyes and his half-tilted smile, the smile that Jason is more familiar with than the wary scowls. “Sorry I’m late.”

Guiltish misery wraps its hands around Jason’s lungs. Pin-prickingly, stabbing at his heartstrings, Jason’s mouth moves on its own; “It’s okay.” but no sound comes out. Danny doesn’t hear him, and neither does Jason himself.

Danny sits down before Jason’s tombstone, groaning low and tiredly as his legs fold beneath him. He’s older than Jason, and immediately his mind switches over to all the jokes he used to lob him with.

(“Need help crossing the street, old man?” Jason, eight years old, asks with a grin so wide and painful across his face; giggles in his chest. He hooks his elbow with Danny, and keeps him tight against his ribs. “You’ll need all the help you can get in your ancient age.”)

(“I’m not that old.” Danny says, glaring at him before they scurry across the street with the light still green. Traffic laws are a joke in Crime Alley, it’s like a game of frogger as the sound of honking horns and screeching tires follows their heels. “We’re six months apart!”)

(“Six months and four days, actually.” Jason corrects when they reach the other side, snickering as they race down the sidewalk. Drivers lean out their windows and curse them out as they get away, Danny dodges an empty soda can thrown at his head. “Can’t forget the four days.”)

“I would’ve come sooner.” Danny tells him, pulling him from child-fuzzy memories and back into reality. Jason peers around the tree to see him running a hand through his hair, head ducked down. His palm splaying against his neck. “Sorry I didn’t. I got scared.”

Scared? Jason blinks, he leans against the bark and bumps his helmet against the wood. The thunk is loud in his ears, but Danny makes no indication that he heard. Of what?

But Danny doesn’t say what, he drops his hand and glances off to the side. He sits like a man who isn’t quite sure what to do, his mouth pressed into a thin line, his eyes scrunched. Grief carves into the lines of his face like a sculptor carving into marble.

“I was gonna get you flowers on my way here.” Danny continues. His voice cracks, begins to wobble, and Jason sees Danny’s jaw tighten and his eyes close for a moment. When they open, there’s a wobbling sheen on his bottom lashes; tears threatening to bleed.

Danny flicks at the tears with the nail of his thumb, it does nothing. It just makes his breath hitch. “Um, but they- uh, didn’t have any open on the way here.” He says, giving Jason’s grave a tremulous smile. “Sorry, I’ll make sure to pick some up on my next visit.”

Next visit. Jason’s heart squeezes uncomfortably, before he reels at the words. Danny’s going to be visiting again, after five years of being out of Gotham? Next visit, why are you visiting again? Was this the reason he came to Bruce’s little charity ball with Vlad Masters? So that he could come visit Jason’s grave?

It couldn’t have been. There are other ways to get to Gotham that don’t require making deals with shady rich men. Danny’s smart, smarter than Danny himself gives him credit for. He’s brilliant. Why did he need Masters’ help to get him to Gotham?

There had to be another reason why.

God, there were so many questions that Jason wants the answers to. He’ll find them, one way or another.

But, he focuses in again. Danny is only here for the night. One night, and he doesn’t know when he’ll be back again. Jason wants to commit every detail of his best friend to memory before he leaves.

“You like zinnias, right?” Danny pets the grass at his side absently, and yes. Yes, Jason does, and Danny remembers. Even five years from his death, he remembers. Of course he does.

“Yeah, you do. You used to pick the petals up off the sidewalk from those uh, fuck — the vendors. The Victorian flower language too, I think. Got a book on that somewhere. I’ll get you red an’ yellow ones.”

Grief traps in Jason’s chest, and he barely tamps down the bitter laugh forcing itself out of the chokehold of his throat. You fucking sap, you big fuckin’ sap.

Red zinnias. Steadfast beating of the heart. The irony. It’s got double the meaning now, now that he’s alive. But Danny doesn’t know that, so the heart that’s beating could only belong to him. But even with Jason alive, he’s hiding. Between the both of them, the only one here with a beating heart is Danny.

(Between the two of them, the only heart here is one that's made between the two of them.)

Yellow zinnias. Daily remembrance. Of course. That doesn’t need any explanation, the writing is right there on the wall. Raised, so that even the blind may read it. It doesn’t need to be said what that means, Jason can hear it on the wind, in the grass, in the trees. His heart crumpling like a rag being twisted out to drain the dirty water soaking in it.

I miss you.

I’m right here. Is what Jason wants to say. It’s what he should say. He should step out from behind the tree; should speak up and say something. To announce his presence. To do something to let Danny know that he’s speaking to someone who is more than a ghost (who feels like one anyways) and a corpse in the ground.

Here I am. Here I am. HERE I AM.

His feet are gravebound to the dirt, his tongue cut out of his mouth and shoved into a jar. He feels, in some way, like he’s clawing out of his own grave again, but the dirt keeps falling and his arms are burning. His lungs are filled with more soil than air. He’s not getting out.

Shame burns cigarette smoke in the back of his throat, shriveling up what little remains of his tar-filled heart. It should be his lungs, and it’s got that too. His feet are grave-bound to the floor.

Danny’s begun to cry, much to Jason’s horror. It should be more incentive for Jason to step out. He doesn’t. His best friend sniffles and scrubs at his face, soaking tears into his hoodie’s sleeve. “I’m sorry for not visitin’ sooner,” he says, voice spiraling with grief, “I don’t have an excuse. I should’ve come sooner. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Don’t be, Jason thinks. Finds himself surprised by the truth of it. He should be upset. Five years and not a single visit. He abandoned him like everyone else. Except he didn’t.

He’s not upset, he can’t be. Not when Danny’s finally here. Not when he’s still crying over him five years after the fact. Not when he’s going to put flowers on his grave that means he thinks of him daily. Not when Danny knows who killed him and wants him dead.

Jason isn’t sure of what to think of that still. He wants Bruce to kill the Joker. More importantly he wants change in Gotham. He wants something to be done. He doesn’t know if Danny is being honest or not — and honesty doesn’t mean anything if someone doesn’t act on it.

Danny continues talking to his grave, his voice full with sorrow. He talks about the gala, about running into Bruce and talking to him again.

Jason listens in dutiful silence, soaking in Danny’s voice like a sponge. This is what he was expecting on the balcony; this easy conversation. Except it’s not a conversation, Danny is talking and not expecting a response. Jason feels like a stranger imposing on his own grave.He should slink away, let Danny have his peace on his own.

He refuses to move. He can’t bring himself to.

If he closes his eyes, he can pretend that he's sitting in front of him. He can pretend he’s thirteen again, with him and Danny crawled under the bed at the manor and trading all the stories they couldn’t fit in their letters. Danny tells him about another fight he had with Dash Baxter, eyes rolling but smug teeth flashing in a stifled smile. Then he tells him about something Sam and Tucker did; about one of Sam’s protests she led against the biology lab, and Tucker coding his PDA to play Doom. Easy, stupid middle schooler shit.

They’d sneak out to the balcony for their vices, Danny clutching a carton of cheap cigarettes in hand. Alfred always finds the ones Jason hides, so they usually share whenever Danny comes to visit. Jason tells him about Gotham Academy, about the people there and the classes. Prep school is another beast entirely, he likes seeing Danny’s reactions to the politics that goes on inside.

Or, further back, they’re eight again, climbing a rickety fire escape to the rooftop and hanging their feet over the edge to find Batman and Robin. Danny was in the lead before he left for Amity Park. Jason remembers it clearly; they’d spent all night outside on that rooftop.

Jason doesn’t close his eyes.

Jazz decided to change career goals; psychology’s become more of a hobby for her, and she’s going to go to med school instead. She’s thinking of doing an internship in Metropolis. Danny says he’s glad that it’s not Gotham, and when he told Jazz this, she laughed at him and told him that she was going to save that for later.

She’s Gotham-touched too, she knows it’s blood just as much as Danny does. She wants to help the people there, but knows what Gotham’s like. She knows what she can and cannot do. Determination doesn’t equate skill, it just means the willingness to learn.

Sam is staying in Amity Park and doing online classes for college, but Tucker got a full ride scholarship in software engineering. Danny’s thick with pride as he tells Jason’s headstone. Jason’s happy for him — they weren’t close, not like he and Danny were, but they were still friends.

Jason soaks it all in; tell him more. He wants to know everything.

"I don't know what I want to do." Danny says when he’s finally done talking about everyone else, his chin laying on his knees. “S’not like I can be an astronaut anymore, but there’s not anything I can see myself doing.”

The corner of his mouth coils, sardonic. “I’ve had five years to come up with somethin’ new, and I’ve come up with nothin’ at all.” He huffs. It’s a rough, bitter sound. Gotham has been steadily seeping back into his voice since he arrived in the graveyard, and now it comes out thick, like it never left.

Danny’s face falls slack, like a puppet losing its strings, and he sinks into himself. “I guess I…” He exhales slow. “I’ve just been distracted.” A faraway glaze eclipses his eyes, and before they close, tears begin to bleed onto his eyelids. Again, grief mars the lines of his skin, settling into the curve of his mouth and threading between his brows like second nature.

Fuck, it’d be so easy for Jason to just step out. Move. His best friend is grieving. He could save him the pain of it and tell him now. Move, move, move.

He doesn’t move.

For a while, there’s nothing but silence, just Jason hiding in his shame; a rat on the street would be bolder than him. Danny’s eyes don’t open. Eventually, his head tilts and slumps into his knees, Jason almost thinks, somehow, that he’s fallen asleep — but Danny’s hand threads into the hair on the back of his head, his finger beginning to tap an invisible beat into his skull.

It’s the perfect opportunity for him to slip away. Danny’s distracted; lost in his thoughts. He won’t notice if Jason slinks off now. He could go and hide away on a roof nearby, ensuring that Danny gets his rightful privacy without leaving him to the teeth of the streets.

Jason still doesn’t move.

Danny begins to hum. It’s a low, breathy sound, and it shakes unevenly. There’s no discernible melody, but a breeze picks it up and travels it through the air anyway, rooting Jason to his spot. His throat swells, and his back sinks into the bark behind him.

For a full minute, maybe two, Danny just hums. It’s a simple tune, but it fills the graveyard with the sound. When it goes up, he sharpens, when he goes down again, it flats, and sometimes it wobbles.

When he lifts his head, when he finally opens his eyes, he’s still humming. Soon it dies down, and the next time Danny exhales, it comes out tumultuous and slow. His hand slips heavy from his head and drops into the grass.

“Where’d you go, Jay?” Danny mutters, and despite his voice coming flat, he still sounds so tired. Danny’s eyes flick up, lifting off the grass to burn into the headstone. He’s not even looking at him, and yet Jason still freezes up, he still feels pinned under the weight of his stare. “I know you’re still out there, somewhere. I know it.”

Jason breathes in shakily, a sting deep in the back of his throat. He gives no answer; guilt is an animal with claws, and it burrows deep into Jason’s heart to make itself a home between the tendons. He’s right here.

Silence falls over them again, and this time it’s only the sound of the city around them that bleeds into the air. Danny stares at Jason’s grave, staring like he’s expecting an answer. He doesn’t get one.

Danny sighs out low, and stands. His knees tremble slightly, and he rubs his sleeve into his eyes, catching the stray tears falling from his lashes. Like breaking a spell, Jason jolts from the fog of sorrow hanging in the air.

“I’ll see you later, an’ I’ll make sure to bring you those flowers you like.” He tells him, and miraculously, a shadow of a smile flits over Danny’s mouth. “Y’better be here when I get back, alright? I’ll kick y’fucking ass if you’re not.”

Jason bites back a huff, his mouth upturning in a wobble. I will, he thinks, and watches Danny trail out of the graveyard with his hands in his pockets. He waits until he’s disappeared behind the gate before following.

Guilt is a thing with claws, and Jason leaves the cemetery with it eating his tongue. But he makes sure Danny gets back to his hotel safe before he slinks back to Crime Alley; he might not be a ghost anymore, but he can still trail behind Danny like he is.

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ayy i finally got chapter 2 of CFAU/TMWS edited/redone! It had to get rewritten because a lot of stuff became obsolete in the wake of the new chapter 1. and also it just kinda. fucking sucked imo lmao

(you can also read it here on my ao3!)

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #cw swearing #dpxdc crossover #childhood friends au #cfau #dead on main #dp x dc fanfic #dpxdc fanfic #dpdc #banshee danny fenton #got to let jason be Slightly More Unhinged about Danny in this version which i had fun with. i love writing unhealthy attachments it just #adds a little spice ✨ im like an evil scientist marveling over their unethical creation. someone call me olivia octavia #fun fact that i learned recently: jazz also wanted to be also be an accountant or a brain surgeon! so she's getting a little break from #being the Therapist Friend. :]#jason @ danny: whose hurt you. tell me i'll kill them. talk to me tell me everything. don't leave my side please.#danny would be pr similar if he knew red hood was jason :P. uhh. after the initial shock wore off.

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bored-platypus · 2 months

Text

the moon will sing (time traveling tim)

so. i saw this super awesome post by @puppetwoman17 about time traveling tim drake and got obsessed, so here's a small ficlet i wrote about it!

The thing is, Tim expects it. He’s faintly aware of the blood seeping from his stomach, staining his hands red— hands which are uselessly putting pressure on his wound. If he survives this, he doesn’t even want to think of all the weeks of pure agony and fever, brought on by the wonderful lack of his spleen and the fact that healing from wounds sucked, period.

Death isn’t surprising— he really didn’t think he would live past, what, twenty-five? Thirty? To live until beyond 50 with his lifestyle was, well. It sounded painful, anyways. And you would need to be a deeply paranoid neurotic. Like Bruce. Because as much as he respected his father and looked up to him, if Tim turned out anything like Batman, he’d probably find a bullet through his brain sooner or later.

Half because Tim was reckless and his plans were so convoluted and insane that nobody really knew what was going on either, just to confuse his opponent. The other half was, well. You can guess.

So. He’s bleeding out, the night is uncomfortably cold and the wind bites into his skin, sand grating against his back, and all Tim can think about is how much he hopes Ra’s al-Ghul doesn’t show up like a damned wraith and drag him kicking and screaming to the nearest surgery table and take out his kidneys or something.

Tim’s also thinking about his family. And the probable inconveniences that come with his death. Like arranging his funeral and all his assets and his Nest and the fact that Tim is a very integral part of the family and Dick will probably fall apart and Bruce will mourn and brood, and, and damn it. Tim should probably revoke his thinking process or something.

—

Tim is twenty three years old when he bleeds to death alone, and nobody finds his body until three weeks later when his family has scoured the Earth and his distress signal rings, rings, but nobody sees it. His predictions about his family come true.

But that isn’t quite relevant, because Tim isn’t aware of such a thing.

Instead, Tim closes his eyes and falls and jerks up on his bed, clutching his chest as years of memories flood his brain, too much for a mere eleven year old. It feels like his head has been cracked open and molten lava had been poured through, scorching his veins and circulation. It feels like agony of the highest level and Tim is faintly aware of the darkness creeping in, his mind too overwhelmed and overstimulated from years of memories flooding into his brain.

And so for the second time in a few minutes and a lifetime, Tim welcomes unconsciousness with open arms.

The next few hours are spent in pure agony, his body being too weak to move and his limbs too short for him to coordinate. He’s pretty sure that there’s a pool of dried blood underneath him from a nosebleed, but he’s too tired to turn around, so he just uncomfortably shifts away from it. Not for the first time, he thanks his lucky stars that his parents are neglectful, because he doesn’t even know how he would explain all of this.

Two days later, he musters the strength to stumble out of bed, gulp down the bitter, carbon dioxide-filled water next to him and get to the kitchen. It’s April 1st, twelve years ago, Tim is eleven years old, and his family doesn’t know him yet.

Half of the terrible things that have happened to Dick haven’t happened yet. Jason hasn’t died yet. Duke is still a kid and his parents are healthy. Babs hasn’t been put into a wheelchair by the Joker.

Steph is still living with her father. Damian and Cass are being trained as assassins.

Mrs. Mac is due to come in a few hours. Tim looks at the blood-crusted covers of his bed and his crumpled clothes.

Oh, shoot.

So instead of researching or training, Tim spends the next hour trying to get the bedsheets off with his tiny, noodle arms, half stumbling on his feet because he’s way too damn short, and making his way to the bathroom so he can take a shower and get some of the blood off so it doesn’t stain too badly.

It’s probably a lost cause. Not that his parents will notice or care about a missing bedsheet, but it feels wasteful to just throw it away to hide evidence of his unintentional time travel.

Two and a half hours later, Tim stumbles out of the laundry room, his bedsheets and pillow finally in the washer. He collapses on the nearest chair and scans the room for his father’s computer.

He lets out a shaky breath. His family is generally unscarred. Jason is Robin again. Jason. The boy who Tim had held with a certain degree of, well, disdain. Thinking about it kind of makes him want to punch is past self in the face, or cringe in the way that you can only do when you think of something embarrassing you used to do. Like victim-blaming your older brother for getting beat to death while trying to find his mother.

It wasn’t the only way he looked at Jason, but he had always thought of him as too reckless. Maybe he really did deserve the beating. Well, not that he believed that young teenagers should be beat up by young adults in Robin cosplay, but at least Tim wasn’t exactly traumatized by the experience. Better him than some other poor civilian kid Bruce could’ve adopted.

And Tim did get his revenge. By getting Jason on his private parts. But whatever. Revenge was revenge, and Tim was better than the whole crime lord setup his older brother had. In practice, anyways.

Chewing on the ballpoint pen, he writes down the first thing on his list (in code, of course) since coming back in time.

prevent jason’s death

Well. Now that he had a comprehensive list, Tim was down and ready to plan.

—

A hour later, Mrs. Mac appears, none the wiser to what happened to him. Tim greets her as she walks in, and she smiles and greets him back, putting lunch in the fridge. She notices nothing wrong about how he stays sitting on the chair in the living room, and Tim says nothing about it. When she leaves, he pulls the piece of paper out of his book and the pen from his hair, scratching down some extra points.

Hmm. Maybe the Court of Owls should go early. Or perhaps that would create too much change?

Dick would have a better time in the future if they were gone, though. Tim frowns, dragging his pen back and forth in a short line on the table.

He still needed to factor in the fact that he was an unknown to the family. The thing is, Tim loves their dysfunctional, broken family and he knows Bruce and Dick loved him back. But to be honest, it would be easier to change events if he wasn’t being scrutinized by Bruce every day. And it wasn’t like Tim had any shortage of money, with his parents still alive and his family fortune enough to cover whole lifetimes, so he wasn’t worried about his own safety.

It would be nice to go to college too. Maybe Stanford. He was smart enough to make it, and the location was close to the vigiliante community that if he so wanted to, he could probably join and watch his family from the outskirts. Last time around, Tim just couldn’t leave Gotham. Being a vigiliante was his life— he couldn’t even justify it as a temporary thing anymore. Their family had gone through so much tragedy and Gotham was still filled with crime and Tim had an obligation to keep her safe. It just… he couldn’t escape his mantle because he loved it, and Tim had a difficult time letting things go once he loved them.

But if Tim could change things from the start, he didn’t need to be pulled back into the life. (He couldn’t have it, even if he loved it, because it was never his in the first place.) He could start anew, be a vigiliante when he was in college and far away from the family he hopefully would’ve fixed by then.

Well then. First things first, he needed to remove a factor from Jason’s death so he wouldn’t die in the first place.

—

Mrs. Mac comes by and cooks him lunch, and they eat in silence. Typically, Tim would fill the silence with chattering, glad to have someone to talk to in the empty manor. But Tim’s mind is whirring, drawing up and discarding plans. By the time Mrs. Mac stands up and tells him she’s going to leave now, Tim has thought of three contingencies and twelve more future events he needs to address.

He mhms when Mrs. Mac prompts him to, and eventually she leaves out the front door, leaving him alone with his thoughts. It’s spring break and Tim doesn’t actually have anything to do because he’s in middle school now, so he mulls over the Jason problem for a few more hours.

It comes to him when he’s microwaving the leftovers from lunch, and Tim is pretty sure he’s a genius, or something. Sheila Haywood worked at a refugee camp in Ethiopia handling medical supplies, but she was embezzling funds from the organization she was working for. It wouldn’t be difficult for Tim to trace it and report her. By the time Jason began tracking her down, she would most likely be in prison, just for a few years and everything would hopefully blow over and the Joker wouldn’t blackmail her because she had no use to him in prison.

It was cold, perhaps. But her life wouldn’t be over with a few years in prison, and Jason would be alive. Nothing more than they deserved.

Jason, alive. Then Damian, Cass, and Steph. He would see to his family, whole and happy. Then perhaps, in the future, when he was older and safely out of Bruce’s adoption zone, Tim could perhaps work with them. Laugh about how he never expected the Wayne family to be vigilantes, just to throw them off his trail.

Tim allows himself this one selfish thought, because he has nothing else but the shattered remains of a future that will never come to be, and a family he left behind but still exists.

a/n:

i wrote this in two hours under an inspired haze of time travel and tim, two of my favorite things

tim is a super unreliable narrator if you haven't already noticed lmao

also if i get any characterization wrong feel free to leave some discourse or ping me on the head

but like please be gentle cause y'know constructive crit, not bashing

thanks for reading! :D

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haveihitanerve · 3 months

Text

i apologize in advance.

Dick stared at the suit. The suit stared back. But no eyes filled the white holes. No straight lipped smile greeted him. The suit was empty. Its ears seemed wilted, though Dick knew that was just his imagination. He swallowed. “Y'know, it wont magically wrap itself around you.” Drawled a voice. “You have to actually put it on.” Dick turned to face his younger brother, Jason. But even with the cocky words and aloof demeanor, Dick could see it hurt Jason, hurt him deeply, perhaps not as deeply as it hit Dick, but he felt the empty suit just the same. Dick gave a shallow nod, not bothering the remarks with words. Jason swallowed. “Its what he would have wanted.” He offered quietly. Dick turned away. He didn't bother to contradict him. To tell him that despite what the others might believe, Bruce, his father, had never intended for any of them to don his suit. Although he had planned on them burying him. Not the other way around as had happened too many times. The soft padding of feet was the only sound of Jason’s departure. It was uncommon, nowadays, for the second Wayne child to leave without words of goodbye. But today… Dick understood today. He swallowed, and with shaking hands, opened the glass case.

The Batcave was silent. Not unusual, but it was unusual with all of the kids in it. The Batcave was never silent if the kids were present. It was something Bruce had always claimed he hated, but he had always smiled so fondly, so none had taken him seriously. But today it was. Steph was leaned against the desk, Tim in the Batchair next to her, his eyes on the Batcomputer, though he wasn't typing. For once, he was completely still. Cass, on the other hand, was pacing, her usually silent footfalls now making little scuffing sounds on the floor. Amplified by the lack of sound from the other kids, it echoed around them, almost as a steady heartbeat. The kids swallowed back their bile. Jason was propped on his motorbike, helmet held loosely in his hands. His guns were nowhere in sight. Damian sat at his feet, fidgeting. Duke, for once, was awake this late, and was twiddling his thumbs, gnawing on his bottom lip as he leaned against the far wall of the Batcave. Babs sat in her wheelchair next to where Cass was pacing, her laptop opened in front of her, but the screen was dark. Had fallen dark long ago. Selina stood, watchful, at the edge, watching all of them with keen eyes, but did not say a word. Could not find any. Alfred was in bed. He had not left it since… since the funeral. Finally, Cass’s pacing slowed, and she turned to the door, hearing things the other kids could not. All at once, the atmosphere changed, became even more charged, and they turned to the door. Steph, Jason, and Damian stood, and Duke pushed off the wall. They formed a small half circle facing the door, linking hands. As though they needed each other to get through this. Finally, the sound of walking alerted the others to what Cass had heard so much earlier. The steps were smaller, almost sluggish, but as they neared the door they picked up, almost as if forcing cheer and pep into their step. The sounds slowed and finally stopped just before the door. “Ready?” he called quietly. They locked eyes, and slowly nodded. Batman stepped into the Batcave, and promptly keeled over, vomiting.

Selina rushed to Dick’s side in an instant, but the other kids couldn't move, frozen in place. Even Selina hesitated as she neared, slowing to a shuffle. Before she reached him he had straightened, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He raised himself to his full height and made eye contact. Damian started shaking. Jason fainted. Tim looked green. Babs spun her wheels, turning away. Steph had her hands curled under her chin and silent tears streamed down her cheeks. Cass’s head was shaking side to side, ever so slightly. Duke swallowed. Selina took a step back. Staggered back. Catwoman staggered. A smile, so fake it almost looked like it hurt, blossomed across Batmans face, but it did the trick. Now Dick looked more like himself. The smile faltered, but then returned full force, still straining with its lack of conviction. “Oh Dickie.” Selina whispered. But even with all the compassion and heartache in her voice, she did not take another step towards him. Did not dare step near that suit. The door to the Batcave opened and everyone tensed, then relaxed slightly as Wonder Woman and Superman walked in, quietly. Clarks eyes roved over all of them, before landing on Dick. An expression they had never seen before crossed his face, emotions spasming, before the alien had Dick pinned against the wall by the throat, snarling in his face. “Take it off!” he growled. Dick stared at him, unflinching. “Before he was your friend,” the oldest Wayne child said lowly. “He was my father.” The alien dropped him to the floor, taking a staggered step back. Dick flinched. Everyone staggered back from him. From the suit. From him in the suit. “Are you prepared?” Selina asked him softly. Dick stood taller, not bothering with the forced smile this time. The expression nearly took her breath away. Dick and the other children could deny it all they liked, but they resembled their father whether they wanted to or not. And had it not been for the fact that Selina had seen him die, knew he was taller, knew his face better than she knew her own, she could not tell the difference, in that moment. Between the boy, the man, that stood before her now, and the man who she had fallen in love with. “Come.” she bade him softly, turning away so she did not have to look, did not have to look at that face that was him and yet not. Dick built steel into his spine, into his step. Did not stop to think about how his line was drawn in the same grim line he had so often seen his father make. Did not focus on his siblings who all shrank away from him like he had the plague, tears and pleas and threats in their eyes. Instead he followed Selina, his steps steady. She stepped aside quickly, eyes averted, as though looking at him physically hurt her, and Dick took a deep breath, stepping in front of the mirror. Then he promptly turned, and threw up.

#batman #batfam #batkids #selina kyle #no bruce wayne #this is... after bruce's death #and dick has to put on the suit #in case that wasnt clear #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #duke thomas #barbara gordon

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the-alice-of-hearts · 11 months

Text

DickTim Week Day 1 Soulmates

Told myself weeks ago that I was only gonna write for day 6... I lied! Here is my entry for day one posted on time for @dicktimweek

Rated T, 1329 words, no archive warnings would apply, it's more of an outline than a fully fleshed-out fic though. Hope y'all like it!

There was a time when soulmates were rare when people might never meet their other half. Then the internet came around, and finding the person in the world who wore the same mark as you was much easier.

Dick grew up knowing that his chances of finding his soulmate were above average since he was a performer, but still, it wasn’t like he needed his soulmate. He had loving parents and they weren’t soulmates, they were just in love. Then fate played her nasty little trick on him and he wound up flying through the air in a completely different fashion.

Dick knew that there was a slim chance that his soulmate was within the hero community, and he couldn’t afford to bring someone into the life just because fate decreed them tied to his unlucky self. So Dick made a decision sitting on the top of Titans Tower three days after Jason’s funeral, whoever his soulmate was, he wouldn’t seek them out, he’d hide his mark, and no matter if he ever found them, he’d keep silent and let them live out their life safely.

---

Tim was lucky, one of the luckiest kids in the entire freaking world. He knew who his soulmate was since he was six years old. He sat on the knee of ten-year-old Dick Grayson of the Flying Graysons and saw the little bird on his inner elbow. Tim stared at the little matching bird on his shoulder again and gave a soft smile. His soulmate was gonna need a friend, and maybe, just maybe, if Tim went to school then he would get to see that nice boy who had the perfect smile and was so very nice. So he had to keep being good, and he had to keep learning and getting better at school so he could be a big kid.

Then he found out the best secret. The wonderful amazing secret of Robin! His Robin, his soulmate. So Tim watched and waited and kept an eye on Robin, and by extension Batman. Once he knew though he realized there was one flaw to his plan. It wouldn’t matter how good at school he was, and it wouldn’t matter how much he worked on getting better if he couldn’t keep up with Dick. So he enrolled himself in gymnastics and martial arts classes, learned more languages, and tried his hardest to be worthy of Dick Grayson.

Then Dick left. And Tim was heartbroken. He just got the hang of actual parkour, and Dick just left and another kid showed up in Bruce’s life and then he was Robin! As though he had a claim on the name, as though he had any right to wear the yellow cape!

Tim waited and he watched, the way he always did. And then Jason died, and Bruce went off the rails, and Tim assigned himself as a grown-ass man’s emotional support fifteen-year-old… This at least had the benefit of getting to see his soulmate, yay! Unfortunately, this also meant he was subject to a very drunk Dick explaining how he hoped that his soulmate never joined the life because fate owed him that at least…

Tim cried himself to sleep that night. He had been trying each time Dick visited to find a natural way to broach the subject of their matching soulmarks, but after that night Tim vowed to keep his mark hidden. Dick would be forbidden.

Tim watches as Dick keeps himself sober because he needs to be a “Good Big Brother™” and god doesn’t that hurt even more.

---

Dick started to hate himself, he was a goddamn nineteen-year-old and he was crushing on the fifteen-year-old who for some god known reason came into their lives and was gluing the family back together. So he threw himself into alcohol first, if he could blame the feelings on being drunk then he wasn’t really hurting anyone. But after a night where he almost confessed his feelings and instead went on his rant about soulmates, he realized that wasn’t working. So he stayed sober, and he went all in on being Tim’s brother. If he just kept saying it it would eventually be true. Who cares that Tim has living parents, and that he wasn’t getting adopted by Bruce? Who cares that Dick only wants to press his lips against his skin and see him blush. Fuck all of that, he can be responsible, and he can be good, and he can stop himself from being an idiot.

Then Jason comes back, and Tim almost bleeds out in the Tower, a sacred place, a place that Dick should have been in to protect him. Tim is bleeding and Dick is carrying him to the med bay and he presses a kiss to the sixteen-year-old's temple and promises himself, if Tim lives then he’ll tell him his feelings.

---

Tim wakes up from blood loss in the Cave and realizes two things right away. One, Dick isn’t there, two, he’s not wearing a shirt… He knows that it was Dick’s voice he heard when they transported him from the Tower to the Cave and all he can think is how mad is Dick…

He waits three days before Alfred and Bruce will let him move upstairs, another two before he braves looking at his phone. It’s two weeks later before he hears from Dick. Hope you feel better soon. A five word text that feels so impersonal compared to their earlier texts. Five words to confirm for Tim that Dick has seen his soulmark, and to know what it means.

Tim heals, and he gets back out there, but Nightwing doesn’t call him to have Robin join him on patrol. Dick doesn’t send him the memes that he sees and thinks of Tim. There are no brotherly messages about needing more sleep or if he wants to grab ice cream after patrol because Dick happens to be in town. He isn’t even invited to the Tower until a month and a half after the attack, and that’s by Raven and Kon. Tim knows that Dick is icing him out, but he doesn’t know how to fix this one. He should have told Dick years ago, but he just wanted to fix the family.

His parents die, Jason is rehabilitated, for the most part, Damian shows up and Dick still isn’t close to Tim anymore. Then Bruce disappears. Tim is seventeen and he’s lost everyone, and then his soulmate tells him he can’t wear the Robin colors anymore. He sets out on Brucequest.

---

Dick fucked up! He iced Tim out after seeing the little bird on his shoulder. He took so long to come to terms with the fact that the universe took his soulmate and turned him into a weapon then broke him. Jason came back and went insane, and Dick did his fucking best okay! It’s not easy okay! He pushed his fucking soulmate away for so long and he was in his grasp finally and he pushed him away again!

Tim disappeared and Dick was blaming himself. He kept his ear out for any news and had people keeping watch. Every night he would trace the little bird on his inner elbow and make deals with the universe. Bring him back and I’ll never let him forget how much he means to me.

Tim comes back and literally falls into Dick’s arms after being kicked out of a window.

Dick: How did you know I’d be there to save you? Tim: You’re my soulmate, Dick. You’ll always be there for me.

Dick doesn’t even care that he’s lying. He pulls Tim into a searing kiss. Needing to finally feel his lips against Tim’s and know that he’s alive and okay. They’ll have a proper conversation later, for now though? Dick is holding his soulmate and he couldn’t be more content.

#dicktimweek #dicktimweek2023 #DickTim #my writing #alice writes

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h-pelessly · 1 year

Text

June 4, 2023

I forgot to write an entry for the month of May, but let me sum it up really quick.

On May 12th was Alex’s memorial. Up until then, I’ve just been thinking of the whole situation and was really sad. I hate how empathetic I am-- I don’t know if it’s empathy or depression or both, but I kept thinking about it being me. The thought has crossed my mind multiple times, but I never realized how hard it was for everyone around. We arrived late and since the service was done indoors, I didn’t want to go in. It’s one thing to disturb something when it’s already in motion, but it’s another thing to disturb when people are already sad as is. So we just listened from outside which was really nice because they did have speakers so we can hear the service from outside, but also, I was able to talk and be comforted by Tim. After the service, it turns out that she was cremated so they turned the service outside so they can bless the box. Everyone was inside, but since we were outside, we were able to watch the whole thing. It was incredibly upsetting seeing everyone in her family so torn over it. As they should be, but it just impacted me deeply. After that, everyone walked away to eat in celebration of her, which was very terrifying to me seeing everyone. I know it wasn’t about me, but the social anxiety was just plummeting through me. Bre saw us first and I asked her how she was as if we just didn’t attend a funeral. I mean I feel as if it was justified as to ask how everything was going in her life beside this because I haven’t seen her in years, but it doesn’t matter. Then we saw Vanessa and Jamie from ACT and we stayed around with them for awhile before they left. We saw Cindy, Alex’s mom, and hugged her. I realized that I should’ve said something like “sorry for your loss” or something, but I don’t think that would’ve helped. I was also surprised how put together her mom was, but Vanessa said that she probably had no tears left or is staying strong for the service. That is absolutely fair, but I just felt that anything could’ve triggered her so I don’t know if saying anything would be beneficial. We left along with them and the weight was lifted off my chest. I think of Alex’s passing daily, but I think I was very disturbed by the social anxiety part more.

On May 29, Tim and I went to Vegas for our 8th year anniversary. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I was so excited for the getaway and to relax for a little bit. The day we left was very stressful because Tim’s family wanted him to do stuff for them, and it was frustrating because they knew he was busy, but whatever. When we left, we went to the Barstow outlets. I don’t know what I was expecting, but we didn’t buy anything. We just walked around for a bit then got coffee and left. When we arrived at Rio, the check in/out line was insane. We stood in line for at least half an hour before realizing there was the express lane that uses technology, our specialty. Tim went to sign in and they said our room was not yet ready, which was complete bullshit because our check in time was 3 PM and it was 6 PM. Annoyed, we went outside to pass the time. We went to get food, walk around a little bit, which was cool because people were leaving so it wasn’t as jam-packed. When we got back at 9 PM because I was incredibly impatient, our room was finally ready. We went to our room, which was just the basic honestly-- we will not be staying at Rio because not only was it off strip, we couldn’t walk anywhere because it was over the highway, but it didn’t really offer anything great. Why are we paying the same resort fee as other hotels if there are all these cons? We knocked out then too without going out anymore. The next day, our anniversary, we planned on doing a lot, but didn’t do them. I woke up early because I couldn’t sleep so we started our day at around 10 AM. We got some food then went walking. We wanted to try the around the world Coca-Cola world so we went towards that on the other side of the strip from where we parked, but it turns out they were closed that day-- so frustrating. Exploring the strip and hotel was what we mostly did that day until we got back at 6 PM to relax before grabbing dinner. I wanted to go to the pool, but it turns out that they closed at 6 so that was great. I took a little nap before we went to Shabu, which was good, but it wasn’t anything to die for. Not only was the wait super duper long, the waitress that took over for the main waitress forgot everything like our utensils so we had to sit around and wait for those when the limit was 1:20 eating. After the mediocre food, we went home to watch movies and chill before sleeping. The last day, we accidentally slept in until 10 AM when our check out time was 11 AM. However, since we already kind of packed yesterday, it was fine for us to get ready quickly and check out (via express ofc. F human contact.) Once we did that, we went to the car so I could get ready. We then went to Wynn for a bit, which we got lost in (long story short, delusion is key.) We came out and decided to get a drink for the drive home. As going to get the drink, we decided to check out the Coca-Cola world, which was freaking open, but the line was inconsiderably long and not moving, so I was a brat and begged to leave. Tim didn’t want to, but I left and he followed, hehe. We got a Shake Shack drink, which the cashier asked if I was cold, mentioning my shaking, which was very rude in my opinion because he could simply just mind his business, but I made the conversation short and walked away. After we got our drink, we rushed to leave. I was very surprised because the whole trip, we weren’t asked for IDs even in the casino which made me very confused if I look of age-- amazing.

June 3rd, I hung out with Andrew from college for the first time in 3 years and it was really cool. It made me super soft that he told me he thinks of me and hopes that I’m doing well even though we literally haven’t spoken in three years. It makes me so soft and good that I’ve made such an impact in someone’s life like I thought I just exist, but apparently not. He wanted to hang out with me and Tim at a climbing place, but since Tim’s working, he took me out for brunch. The place he chose, I have looked up, but it wasn’t the best. I didn’t say anything opposing, but he didn’t like the food too much anyway. So he told me that I can pick next time, which also makes me super soft because he goes to med school in Nevada, and when he has time, which I don’t think is often, he goes to I assume Riverside, and drives all the way to Santa Ana for me. Platonically, that makes me super giggly like SOMEONE LIKES ME IN THEIR LIVE LIKE THAT. Also knowing that I’m in a relationship with Tim-- makes me super soft. Anyway, he wanted to go climbing and so I agreed to join him and watch, which I guess, is more time spent talking and catching up, so I agreed. It was cool, kind of boring, but I was kind of busy observing everything and everyone so that was kind of fun. When I took a video of him climbing from behind, I realized how much like Tim he looks from behind. Then I realized that he has his weird and annoying quirks so he’s just like Tim in a different font-- I found another Tim because I like him that much. Anyways. He complimented me on my ability to judge like the trail which in my head, I was like this is just like Sims fr like giving them directions. Also, I made him do the “easier” levels which he didn’t want to do, but he did, which made me hehhehhehhe. After he dropped me off, later at night, we had another hang out or social event. I forgot to add that I did tell Andrew about the hangout and what time and he went out of his way at 6 to tell me to have fun. He’s just baby eyes bro I feel so LOVED. It was to Kevipoo’s and they were having a party for his brother’s graduation. We drank, smoked, and played games. I ate a 10 mg edible which Fermin told me would hit soon, but I was okay the entire time. I took a few sips of Topo Chico so I guess I was a little giggly from that. No idea but I was waiting for the za, as Fermin calls it, to hit me, but it didn’t. It was weird at first because to be completely honest, I’ve always thought his brother, Tony, was obnoxious, but Tim liked him and he was Kevin’s brother so I guess I had to do something to not seem like I “hated” him. I also saw Jimmy which was really cool-- I haven’t seen him since high school though we didn’t really catch up, but we played games and stuff. We played Smash, a little of Mario Kart, and Pico Park. Smash was more fun last time, but everyone kept asking how I was still alive a lot of the times but it was because I stayed at the top out of their reaches. Then they played Mario Kart which wasn’t my forte because of the small screens. Because Jesus smoked and drank a lil more than we were comfortable with, we stayed back with him past midnight to play Pico Park. At first, most of them didn’t want to play, but somehow, we convinced everyone to play which was really fun and a bonding moment. Then we all left and it was a pretty fun time overall. Bro, then the edible hit me but it was actually pretty fucking good like I just wanted to sleep and I did. Incredible.

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thefallennightmare · 4 years

Text

Vows [2/2]

Pairings: Sebastian Stan x Reader

Warnings: Angst, mention of death/suicide, alcoholism, and some swearing.

Summary: Could a weekend away be just what Sebastian and Y/N need or could it finally push them away for good?

A/N: Here’s the long awaited second part! I’m not too sure how to feel about it but here it is!

My heels clicked against the tiled floor of the hotel as I approached the check in desk, giving the lady behind it a small smile.

“Hi. Reservation under Mr. Stan?”

Nails typed away on the computer and my heart dropped when I saw a look of slight fear appear on her face. “I’m sorry. Do you have a relation to Mr. Stan?”

“Yes, he’s my husband.”

The word felt so foreign on my lips, not uttering it for months.

“Can I see some ID please?” The lady hesitated.

I cursed under my breath while reaching for my ID but groaned when I noticed it was missing.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I-uh-seemed to have forgotten it.”

Running a hand through my hair, I tried to think of ways to prove who I was but suddenly, felt a presence behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I tried to stop the increase in heart beat as a small smile peaked through his beard.

“She’s with me.”

“Welcome Mr. and Mrs. Stan. How many key cards would you two like?” The lady questioned, her attitude changing once she realized that I was in fact with Seb.

“Um, there should be two rooms under that reservation?” Sebastian informed her.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir. I see a reservation for our honeymoon suite.”

I scoffed while looking towards Sebastian. “Honeymoon?!”

“Yes, ma’am. It comes with a king bed, Jacuzzi tub, and fireplace.”

“You planned this, didn’t you? A way to torture me?” I seethed.

Sebastian raised his hands up, saying that his assistant made the reservation for him.

“Can we book another room?” We both asked at the same time.

She shook her head once more. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stan. We’re all booked up. But if you don’t mind me asking, why do you two need separate rooms? You’re married.”

I wasn't too comfortable with the flirtatious eyes she was sending Seb’s way. I snatched up the key card before pulling him along, muttering a quick thank you to the lady.

“I cannot believe you booked the honeymoon suite,” I exasperated while we waited for the elevator.

“I cannot believe you were jealous of Susan,” Seb chuckled.

My eyes squinted in confusion and he nodded towards the front desk.

“Oh.”

We fell in silence as we rode the elevator up to the 6th floor where our honeymoon suite awaited us. I felt my anxiety start to take over when the thought of Sebastian and I sharing a bed clouded my mind.

We haven’t shared a bed in so long that I forgot how he was a human heater in the way his arms would wrap around me, engulfing me. Or the way sometimes in the night, his lips would brush against my forehead in a soft kiss.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?” I snapped from my thoughts and looked at Seb.

He was standing outside our room with the door open. “You coming?”

I nodded and followed him inside. If the situation was under different circumstances, I would have been floored with the room that he booked.

The king bed was in the middle of the room covered with those pillows that you just knew felt like sleeping on a cloud. The balcony doors were opened, a soft California breeze flowing throughout the room. The smell of the ocean filled my senses and I made a mental note to take a walk on the beach later tonight.

I took a quick peak in the bathroom and nearly gasped at the sight. The shower was double the size of the one in our brownstone, the tub could fit three people and was in front of a window that faced the ocean.

“Okay, this room is amazing!” I gawked back to Seb. “Are you sure your assistant didn’t do this on purpose?”

“I promise,” Seb smiled while crossing his heart. “She made this reservation so long ago she probably thought that we would appreciate this.”

I mirrored my own smile and started going through my suitcases. “So the rehearsal dinner is at six right?”

Sebastian nodded. “Yeah. Tim said we don’t have to go but we’re invited. Free food and booze.”

My nose scrunched up. “I think I’ll pass on the booze.”

For the next little while, we both unpacked our stuff deciding not to say a word. Things were still awkward between us and honestly, I wasn’t sure what to say. I could ask him how he’s been but was afraid of finding out the answer.

“No fucking way.”

Seb cursed while coming out of the bathroom, phone in hand. “Guess what?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “What?”

“Tim called off the wedding.”

My mouth fell agape, surprised that our best friends had called off the wedding. We were friends with them for years, both traveling and spending time together when Seb and I were first married. Tim and Brianna would always say that they hoped they would be half as happy as Seb and I were.

“What happened?” I sat on the edge of the bed.

Seb ran a hand over his face and hesitated for a moment before answering. “He caught her in bed with someone else.”

“Oh Tim,” I muttered, knowing the pain he was going through. “What do we do now?”

Seb’s mouth opened to speak but a soft knock on the door interrupted his thought. I marveled in the way his back muscles tensed as he opened the door. Susan stood on the other side of the door and I couldn’t help the jealousy that ran through me when her eyes lit up when she noticed Sebastian opened the door.

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Stan, but I wanted to let you know that your and Mrs. Stan’s dinner reservations for 7 pm are all set.” Her voice was professional but I could tell it was bitter to come off her lips.

“I’m sorry,” I interrupted while standing next to Sebastian. “Dinner reservations?”

Susan nodded. “Yes ma’am. These reservations were made when the hotel reservation was booked. It’s a private table right on the beach.”

Bless Seb’s assistant's heart. She probably thought that she was doing this romantic thing for us at the time.

“Can we cancel?” Sebastian asked. “Our friends called off their wedding so we’re probably going to head back home.”

Susan shook her head. “I’m sorry Mr. Stan. Since it’s within two hours of your reservation you will have to pay a fee for canceling.”

Seb ran a hand through his hair before nodding a thanks to Susan and shut the door.

“What do you say? Dinner before we head home?” Seb suggested.

“I don’t know, Sebastian. Isn’t this whole thing awkward and weird for you?” I played with my fingers while sitting on the edge of the bed again.

He leaned against the dresser in the room that was directly in front of me and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s only weird if we make it.”

“We’re getting divorced and you want us to have dinner like we’re still a couple?” I tried to make sense of this whole situation.

“As friends,” he stated. “We used to be best friends before we got married, why can’t we go back to that?”

“What would Alessandra think?” I wondered.

“I’ll give you sometime to get ready and I’ll meet you on the beach at seven, okay?” Seb said, completely ignoring my question.

Before I could protest even more, he left the room leaving me alone to my thoughts.

How could we go to this romantic dinner and pretend that everything is normal when it wasn't? Sebastian made it clear months ago that he didn’t love me anymore and it took all this time to get used to it and understand that he and I would never be where we used to be.

I fought with my inner self wondering if I had enough time to find a plane ride back home before Seb even noticed I was late to this dinner.

My phone buzzed in my pocket and the text message on the screen made the decision final.

Please do this with me. It will be our final dinner together before we say goodbye-Seb

My toes brushed through the sand as I made my way down towards the ocean side where I could see a table with candles surrounding it. My skirt blew in the wind and the sun setting warmed my bare arms as I opted in wearing my gold silk halter top that I knew Sebastian liked at one point.

I halted when I noticed that even though I was a few moments later, Seb wasn’t here yet. Doubt clouded my mind, wondering if he decided against this whole thing and he had gone home.

“Y/N.”

Turning at the soft voice, I could help the small smile that played at my lips.

Sebastian stood in front of me, dressed in a blue suit, and my heart soared at that vision. He knew how much I loved the way he looked in this baby blue suit.

He pulled out my chair for me and after giving him a small smile of thanks, we were sitting across from one another.

“I hope you don't mind but I already told the chef what we wanted,” Seb said sheepishly.

I shook my head. “No, not at all. You were always good at knowing what I liked.”

Someone had come up to the table, ready to pour some wine into my glass and before I could speak up, Seb was already pulling away the glass. “Could we actually get some water?”

The young man nodded before placing two cups of water in front of us and quietly walked away.

“You can have a glass of wine, Seb. It’s fine,” I informed him.

“I’m perfectly fine with the water. How is sobriety going?”

“Really good,” I admitted with a small smile. “I haven't had a drink since the night of my brother's funeral. It’s been hard sometimes but I found a way to deal with the urge.”

“How?” Seb questioned.

“I actually started keeping a journal. It has some poems and my thoughts of how I’m feeling. It’s kind of stupid,” I muttered.

Sebastian immediately shook his head. “No it’s not, Y/N. Whatever helps you with the urge to drink is not stupid.”

We fell into silence after that, our food being placed in front of us, and we ate quietly. The sound of the waves meshing together with the sound of our forks scraping along the plates.

“You know,” Seb spoke softly, “I never asked how your family is doing. After everything.”

I could tell he didn’t want to utter the words ‘brothers death’ so I nodded. “They’re doing okay. My dad took it really hard. You should have seen him at the funeral, Seb. I thought he was going to have a heart attack.”

“I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there,” Sebastian apologized.

A shaky breath fell from my lips. “I’ve tried too hard not to blame myself for not being there for him. Maybe if I tried to talk to him more, to figure out what was wrong with him. All he needed was someone to talk to, to listen to him, but we weren’t there; I wasn’t there.”

Seb’s hand reached across the table and gently grabbed mine. “None of this is your fault, Y/N. Your brother was dealing with so many demons.”

I shook my head. “But I could have been there for him more. I was so wrapped up in our divorce and dealing with being alone that I didn’t even think of reaching out to my family because I was afraid of what they would say.”

Hastily wiping a tear away with my free hand, my sad eyes looked at our tangled fingers and Sebastian hesitated before pulling away.

Just the small touch of our hands together brought so much warmth. I had no idea how much I missed his touch until I felt it again.

The sun was setting even lower and the golden rays brushed softly across his features, showering him in such a glow that made me want to climb into him, crashing our lips together.

“I promised your mom I wouldn’t tell you this but she called me a few weeks ago,” Seb admitted.

“She did?” My eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

He nodded. “She was wondering how you were doing and made me promise to look after you.”

“Sorry, I haven’t told her about us. She still thinks we’re married.”

“I promised her that I would make sure you were safe and happy. I wouldn’t let those same demons that your brother dealt with bring you down.”

I let out a soft sob and averted my gaze from Sebastian, not wanting him to see how broken I actually was.

It had been months since my brother's death and getting the divorce papers. No matter how hard I tried to bury away those memories and feelings of heartbreak, it still chipped away at my heart. I wasn’t happy anymore, the bright light behind my eyes was long gone.

Sebastian was off with his girlfriend, happier than he ever was with me. He was living in the home we had built together, metaphorically, and I was the last thing on his mind.

I refused to show him that every night I cry myself to sleep, longing for the feeling of his arms around me, helping me deal with everything. I needed him so much but I couldn’t have him. He wasn’t mine anymore and it was so hard to accept.

I wasn’t the same person I was when we met. Back then I was confident in myself and knew that I was enough for him. I trusted him when he would be gone for months at a time and knew that he would always come back to me. A few years into our marriage, however, everything changed.

My self esteem dropped every time I saw Sebastian with his female co-stars. The thoughts of if I was pretty enough or if I was pleasing him enough flooded my thoughts constantly. Our shared moments of bliss started to disappear and after that one night, it had dissipated to nothing.

‘Please Seb, don’t go.” I cried while reaching for his hand.

He yanked his arm away from me before the look of hate pierced my soul. “Why should I stay, Y/N?! You clearly don’t need me third wheeling.”

His stare landed on the man that stood frozen on our steps of the brownstone.

“It’s not what you think,” I pleaded with a slight slur. “Please listen.”

“Isn’t it?!” Sebastian's anger vibrated off the walls. “I thought I would surprise you by coming home early but end up finding you with some other guy in our home!”

“If you would just listen to me,” I begged. “We weren’t doing anything. He was only making sure I made it home from the bar okay.”

Seb scoffed. “Really? Then why were you half naked in front of him when I found you?”

“Just let me explain, please.”

I stumbled over my feet as I tried to follow him outside of our home. The alcohol was incredibly strong, making it difficult to see straight.

“I’m done, Y/N. We’re through.”

“Y/N?”

Snapping back from my thoughts, I noticed that Seb was looking at me with a concerned face.

“Are you alright?”

The words stumbled from my lips before I could stop myself. “I never cheated, Seb. That night was a huge misunderstanding.”

His body immediately tensed, being caught off guard by my words.

“I’m not talking about this, Y/N. It’s done. It happened and that's it.”

“Nothing happened!” I suddenly snapped. “I swear to God, you think you know what happened but you don’t!”

“What is there to explain, Y/N?! I find you in your underwear with another guy!” Seb’s voice was now raised to match my own.

“I thought he was you!” I admitted. “I got so drunk that I thought this nice guy that offered to walk me home was you! I know getting drunk was no excuse but I was so lonely that I drank that night away in a bar. You told me you weren’t coming back for another two weeks and I thought that guy was you. Turns out he was gay and was actually trying to get me into bed to sleep.”

“Oh.”

I scoffed. “Oh? That’s all you have to say?”

“What else do you want me to say, Y/N?” Seb retorted back.

“How about I’m sorry for assuming that you had an affair?”

When he stayed silent, I shook my head with a look of disbelief. “This is why I didn’t want to have this stupid dinner. We can’t be together for more than an hour before screaming at each other!”

I stood from the table but froze when Seb did the same. “Then why haven’t you signed the damn divorce papers?! You keep trying to keep me around and it’s selfish, Y/N. How can I move on if you won’t sign those papers?!”

“Because I still love you! I’m not ready to let you go. It’s not fair that Alessandra gets to spend time with you on those vacations and gets to see you so happy. It’s not fair that she gets to share the same bed with you, our bed. It’s not fucking fair that she gets your love when I don’t! So call me selfish, I don’t care. But if you want those papers signed so damn bad then I will sign them when I get back home.”

I went to storm away, back to the hotel room, however the great feeling of finally being able to tell Sebastian my true feelings kept surging through me.

“I’m not done yet,” I spoke while facing him again.

He was standing a few feet away from me with his hands deep into his pockets. His eyes held confusion, trying to let the words ‘i still love you’ process in his mind.

“In our wedding vows, you promised me that we would work through whatever issues we had. You would listen before assuming the worst. What changed?”

Sebastian let out a deep breath. “Honestly, I knew we were growing apart and I was looking for an easy out.”

Those words stung but I nodded, accepting it. “I know that I haven't signed the papers but you haven't either. Why?”

“I’m afraid,” Seb admitted.

“Of what?”

“Starting over, I guess. What we had was all I had ever known. A part of me knows that we were so in love and we had some amazing times together. We were passionate about everything together, our dreams were in sync and hell, even in the bedroom we were in sync.”

My cheeks flushed at the thoughts of us in bed together but let Sebastian continue.

“I think the reason why we grew apart was that we never had time to grow on our own. Y/N, I was the only guy you had ever been with and it put a lot of pressure on me to make sure you weren’t missing anything.”

“You’re the only one I ever wanted, Seb.” I let the tears fall this time. “I had so much pressure on myself to keep you interested and happy. You knew all these beautiful girls and were around them all the time. Drinking was the only way I could deal with the jealousy. In the end, it only pushed you away.”

“You were the only one I was thinking about when I was gone.” Sebastian coughed, trying to cover a sob. “I loved you so much, Y/N. I never wanted to be with anyone else.”

“What about now?,” I wondered. “How do you feel about me now? Do I still make your heart skip a beat when I walk into the room or does your stomach do those flips whenever I laugh?”

I could tell that he was in deep thought, truly wondering what he felt for me.

“Please be honest. I need to know the truth to move on.” I sobbed. “If you tell me that you never want to see me again and want me out of your life, then I will walk away from you right now. I’ll go back home tomorrow and deliver the divorce papers to your lawyer, signed. But if there is even a slight chance you want me, then please let me know.”

For the first time in a very long time, I saw Seb break down and cry. His soft sobs broke me and I fought the urge to run into his arms.

“I don’t know. I should have stayed away from you the moment I sent you the divorce papers but I couldn’t. I found myself making excuses to come see you, to be with you. I tried to move on, hoping being with someone else would make it easier to forget about you but it only made it worse.”

“Then why didn’t you stay with me?” I choked.

“I was afraid,” Sebastian admitted.

“Afraid of what?” I pressed on with the questions.

However I noticed that Seb’s body tensed up, the topic suddenly coming to an immediate halt.

“We should head back, it's getting dark.” He motioned towards our hotel room behind me.

“Not until you answer the question. What were you afraid of?” I stood tall, arms crossed.

Sebastian shook his head, the same sour scowl appeared on his face that I had become all too familiar with.

“I need some space,” was all he said before leaving me alone.

Yet again.

My body thrashed against the bed sheets, tossing and turning, trying to let sleep take me. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore did nothing to calm my tired brain. Darkness engulfed the room, the only light casting on the wall opposite of my back from the moon outside.

The throbbing knocking of a headache kept pressing against my skull and now matter what I could do, I couldn’t stop the tears from staining the pillow case.

I had returned to the hotel room, alone, and after crying in the shower for over an hour, I mustered all of my strength to throw a tshirt and a pair of underwear on before crawling into bed. Seb hadn’t returned yet and the only thing that let me know he was still in town was that his bags were still neatly placed on the other side of the room, next to the mini bar.

The mini bar that had called to me so many times since returning. I fought the urge, ignoring the temptation and only thinking of one thing that mattered to me anymore.

My sobriety.

Letting out a deep sigh, I clutched the pillow closer to me and as I heard the door click open behind me, my body tensed.

Thinking I was asleep, Sebastian quietly undressed himself before softly climbing into bed not wanting to wake me. Our backs were to one another and the space between us was cold and alone.

The space between us was a representation of how far away we had felt from one another, emotionally.

It was made clear by me that I still selfishly loved him and refused to sign the papers because I had hope that we would work through this like we worked through all of our other problems.

Sebastian made it clear that he was afraid of letting me go, he was comfortable with me and he wasn’t sure if love was the right word to express his feelings for me. He was afraid of telling me why.

As the tears returned, I buried my face into my pillow to silence my cries, not wanting to let Sebastian know I was awake.

There was a sudden shift in the bed, the mattress dipping low as Seb’s body rolled over towards me. Suddenly, I felt all the bad melt away as his arm wrapped around my stomach, pulling me into his bare chest.

“Please stop crying. I can’t take it anymore knowing I’m the reason why,” he breathed into my hair.

The familiar feeling of his chest against my back seemed to calm my sobs for a moment.

“I know I need to move on and let you go but I can’t. I love you, Seb.” I cried.

“I know sweetheart, I know.” Seb hushed my cries by pulling me closer to him.

Turning to my side, I buried my face into him. The small hairs of his chest tickling my cheeks. My hands clutched his hips, afraid this was all a dream and that he would vanish at any second. His soft lips brushed against my forehead before I felt him take a deep breath.

“I was afraid of not living up to the husband I vowed to be. I loved you so much, Y/N and I wanted to give you everything you deserved. That’s why I took as many jobs as I could, so I could provide for you and our future.”

“I was afraid that you’d wake up one day and realize that I wasn’t worth fighting for. I thought that being away from you and causing you all this pain would make it easier for you to leave me but in the end it only brought us closer I think.”

Pulling away from him, I looked into his eyes. “How so?”

His soft fingers gently brush a stand of hair from my eyes. “We both needed time to grow and realize what we truly wanted.”

Licking my lips, my gaze bounced from his plump lips towards the soft glow of love oozing from his eyes.

“And what is it that you want?” I gulped.

Our eyes locked and no words were spoken as Seb leaned down, his lips meeting mine for the first time in over a year. All the time apart meant nothing, both remembering the way our lips would move together in sync. His hand cupped my cheek, afraid that I would pull away, while my arms snaked around his neck, deepening the kiss.

Unfortunately, we both needed to come up for air and reluctantly pulled away. Seb’s thumb brushed my cheek bone and I closed my eyes at the familiar touch.

“What about-?”

Sebastian hushed the name from my lips with a soft kiss. “It’s been over for months. I tried to move on but nobody is you.”

“I vow to remain sober and whenever I have issues with myself or I’m feeling myself pulling away from you, that I will talk to you about it. I vow that I will be the woman you fell in love with all those years ago. Just please don’t leave me. I need you so much more than you know.” I pressed my lips to his again, loving the way they tasted.

Sebastian brushed his lips against my hairline, breathing in my scent. “I want you, all of you, now and for the rest of my life. This I vow to you.”

“I love you, Sebastian Stan.” I breathed.

“I love you too, Y/N Stan. More than you will ever know,” Sebastian mused.

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan and reader #bucky barns fanfiction #sebastian stan fanfiction #reader insert #james buchanan barnes

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voiceless-terror · 4 years

Text

Smile and Nod (The Magnus Archives)

Whumptober 2020 Day Six: “Stop, please”

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Characters: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Sasha James, Tim Stoker, Elias Bouchard, Original Character

CW: Harassment, Unwanted Advances

Summary:

“He said to let go of him.” The voice startles them both and Jon turns to see Martin, a placid smile on his face. He is tall, so tall- was Martin always this tall?

Jon runs into trouble at the Institute’s annual donor party and has an unlikely rescuer.

The Institute hosted a party for its most illustrious donors every spring. Jon had never been expected to go to it until his promotion to Head Archivist and even then he tried to get it out of it, to no avail.

“I’m afraid it’s part of your duties now as Head Archivist,” Elias had said. “We need to have a face for every department and I’m sure quite a few of our donors are anxious to meet Gertrude’s replacement. You understand, of course.” Jon nodded. “I trust you’ll be on your best behavior.” He hadn’t forgotten his promise to ‘be more lovely’ after the incident with Naomi Herne.

“Yes, yes,” Jon sighed. He wasn’t looking forward to the event- sticking close to Elias’s side didn’t seem very appealing, but being left to the wolves was even worse. Elias seemed to notice his hesitation and paused, waiting for Jon to continue. Perhaps he didn’t have to go alone. It’s worth a try, isn’t it?

“W-Would it,” he began, cursing his stutter. “That is, I would like to- if you don’t mind, I think it would be valuable to have my assistants attend, as well?” He hated the uptick in his voice that made it sound more like a question. “I-I just think it would be a good experience for them to ah, meet the donors as well. Since they do a lot of the research.” Another reminder that he had no idea what he was doing; Elias hadn’t said anything about his methods in the Archives, so he only hoped that indicated a tacit agreement about the way things should be run.

Jon watched several emotions flit across the man’s face, irritation and disappointment giving way to resignation. He tried to ignore the first two and focus on the last. “Alright,” Elias agreed with a sigh. “Please stress the formality of this event, particularly to Mr. Blackwood. You’ll be representing the Institute, and as such you will be expected to interact with our donors. See that you don’t use your assistants as a social crutch.” Damn. There goes his plan. At least I’ll have some support.

So here he was, standing in the hallway with his assistants in an ill-fitting suit he last wore to the funeral of a distant cousin. It didn’t fit then, either. He hoped he didn’t look too much like a child in his father’s clothes, but the snickers from Tim and Sasha dashed any hope of that. They looked wonderful, of course, as they always did. Martin was in the same boat as Jon, fidgeting in a blazer and non-matching pants.

“Well boss, looks like it’s time to schmooze!” Tim clapped a hand on his shoulder and steered him through the door. Elias liked to have his parties in the main library- it was the most beautiful part of the Institute, aside from the entrance hall. The tables and desks that normally populated the center of the room had been cleared away to reveal a rather spacious area for guests to mingle and talk over the sound of a tasteful string quartet. The whole event was incredibly elegant and Jon felt like he very much did not belong.

“Ah, there he is!” He heard Elias call from the right-hand corner of the room, where he was surrounded by several well-to-do donors dressed to the nines. He gestured him over with a magnanimous hand and Jon instantly flushed. Tim squeezed his shoulder and pushed him in their general direction. “This is our new Head Archivist, Jonathan Sims. He’s been doing fine work thus far.”

After a moment Tim’s hand is replaced by Elias’s, firm and weighty on his shoulder. He’s exchanging pleasantries with people whose names he forgets almost instantly- their hands are cold and their voices distant, they talk over him as if he were a child they judged and found wanting. Elias’s hand did not move and he was anchored in place, even as they made no move to include him in their conversation.

He saw Martin give him a look of pity from the corner that he was currently occupying with Sasha and Tim. They had their hands full of hors d'oeuvres and drinks and Jon wished desperately for a glass of water, anything to keep his hands occupied. He turned to realize the conversation had stopped and his companions were staring at him expectantly. “I’m sorry?” he hazarded, wondering if he’d been addressed.

“Our son George,” the woman over-enunciated, her tone condescending. Jon remembered vaguely that she had some connection to the Fairchilds, though her name wasn’t familiar. “-is over by the bar. I think you’ll find his company a bit more interesting, hm?” The group tittered and Jon felt shame rise in his throat as his boss’s hand tightened on his shoulder.

“Yes Jon, why don’t you introduce yourself?” Elias said genially enough, though Jon can tell he had disappointed him once again. Jon nodded, excusing himself to go to the corner to get a much-needed drink and to embarrass himself further. There was a man roughly his age fiddling around on his phone with a bored expression. He was tall and handsome but in the soft way of the rich, cruel and cherubic in equal measure. It unnerved Jon and he summoned up a smile that felt more like a grimace.

“G-George?” he asked, willing his voice to steady. The man looked up, expression unchanged as his eyes bored into Jon’s. “I’m Jonathan Sims, the new Head Archivist-”

“Parents send you over?” he smirked and Jon felt the tension in his shoulders ease just a bit. “Sorry you had to deal with them. This your first time at one of these? Median age here is usually around seventy five, give or take.” He laughed and Jon smiled, the man’s candor a bit charming even to him.

“Y-Yes, I’m not really sure I should be here,” he admitted as George slid a drink into his hand. He took a grateful sip and closed his eyes at it’s smooth burn- this was expensive liquor and Jon was going to savor every last bit.

“That makes two of us,” the man nudged him with his elbow and Jon started to think the night might not be as bad as he thought. He glanced quickly over to the other side of the room- Tim winked and gave him a thumbs-up (which he ignored) and Martin’s face was carefully blank. Jon did not know what to make of that.

George, it seemed, was not all that bad. He listened patiently when Jon went off on a rant about book-binding, nodding and smiling at all the right parts. In return, Jon let him talk about finance for longer than was polite (and God was it boring). They’ve now had two drinks and Jon is feeling much, much looser. The smiles are genuine and unforced. He watches Elias nod in approval out of the corner of his eye and feels his chest warm with pride. Not a complete disappointment, am I?

But George is getting closer. It was fine when they were awkwardly perched on opposite ends of the bar and needed to hear one another, but this was getting too cozy for Jon’s tastes. He tries to take a casual step backwards but stumbles. George’s hand goes to his elbow to help steady him and stays there.

“I-I think I need to-” he starts to mumble an excuse but the man is not having it.

“What do you say we get out of here?” He whispers, coming in closer. Jon’s nerves reach a fever-pitch but he does not want to show it, doesn’t want to make a scene so he keeps the smile pasted on his face. “My apartment’s not that far-”

“O-Oh, I’m f-fine, thanks,” he says, trying to dislodge the man’s arm but it is no use- he is much stronger than he looks and has at least half a foot on him. “I actually have plans-”

“With who?” George asks pityingly as Jon tries desperately to meet anyone’s eyes, even Elias’s. He tries to convey his plea without making it obvious to any other bystanders but his boss’s eyes slide right over him. He knows he saw, he knows-

“That’s why they sent you over, right?” George continues, his mouth dangerously close to Jon’s neck as he leans into whisper in his ear. “Pretty thing like you, get me to open the cheque book-”

“Good Lord no, let me go-” at this Jon scoffs, horrified as he tries to yank his arm away.

“Don’t make a scene,” the man says in a low and calming voice, though the leer on his face is clear to see. Jon feels terribly small. “You don’t want to disappoint the boss, do you?”

“Please,” he begs, all out of words. “Stop, please-”

“He said to let go of him.” The voice startles them both and Jon turns to see Martin, a placid smile on his face. He is tall, so tall- was Martin always this tall?

“I’m sorry?” George replies with a sneer, his voice raising in both pitch and volume and Jon is sure if people weren’t looking before, they’re looking now. “I’ll thank you to stay out of this, we were just leaving-”

“No,” Martin replies in that preternaturally calm voice, still smiling. “You weren’t. Now let him go, and we can forget this all happened, hm?” He puts a hand on the arm that’s holding Jon and there’s real strength behind it. George tries to wrench his arm away but Martin’s got it in a solid grip and he barely manages a wiggle.

“Let go of me now, or I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Martin sounds bored. It is mystifying and Jon can do nothing but gape at the man. “You don’t want a scene, do you? Not in front of the family. Not again. So smile, and walk away.” There is a moment where Jon thinks they will come to blows but it passes. George manages to turn his scowl into a neutral expression, saving some dignity though he throws one last glare Jon’s way. “Not even worth it,” he mutters as he walks away. Jon leans against the bar, releasing a breath he did not realize he’d been holding.

“A-Are you alright, Jon?” Martin has a hand on his elbow but it’s okay now because it’s Martin and it feels right. His face has that same look he gets when he asks Jon whether he wants a cup of tea, or how he’s feeling or if he’s eaten that day. Worried, gentle.

“W-What was that?” is all Jon manages to get out, his voice in an embarrassingly high-pitch. Tim and Sasha are now making their way over with schooled expressions, though Jon can see the worry in their eyes. “Did you know that man? I-I mean, what the hell?” Jon realizes he’s sputtering and tries to get a handle on his swirling emotions. “N-Not that I’m not grateful, but good lord. ‘Not again?’”

Martin laughs, suddenly bashful. “I just guessed with that one, honestly. He looks like the type that’s thrown a fit or two, doesn’t he?” Tim and Sasha reach them and Martin is himself again, hunched over like he’s taking up too much space. This is the Martin that tiptoes around the archives, that’s always smiling and chattering about his day. Jon has never contemplated the man in much detail, but he is finding it hard to reconcile this new side of him. It’s not necessarily unwelcome.

“Alright there, boss?” Tim inquires, good-natured but anxious. “Was going to come over, pretend to be your boyfriend and all but Martin said that would be ‘demeaning’ or whatever.” Tim rolls his eyes at this.

“I don’t know, Martin seemed to diffuse the situation pretty well,” Sasha eyes him curiously. “What did you say?”

“N-Nothing, really-”

“He asked him to leave,” Jon says, finding his voice and unable to take his eyes off Martin. “And he left.”

“Damn, okay,” Tim gives an appreciative whistle before knocking back the rest of his drink. “Working that Mart-o magic, I guess. This party blows, let’s hit the bars. Night’s still young!”

Sasha cheers and Martin looks at him questioningly- he surprises himself by nodding in agreement. “Yeah, let’s go.” He studiously ignores Elias breaking off from his group of sycophants and heading their way. He watches as Martin straightens himself minutely, blocking Jon with his body as Tim ushers them out the door before they can get stopped by the man. Jon knows he will get a tongue-lashing out of this but he doesn’t care right now. He feels small in Martin’s shadow but it is a safe small, like a blanket wrapped around him on a chilly night.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Martin asks as Tim and Sasha chatter ahead of them, arguing over their destination. “We don’t have to go out if you don’t want to. I can take you home.”

I can take you home.

“I’m fine,” he says though he knows the situation hasn’t quite set in yet. “I’d rather not be alone, I-I think.” Martin nods and gives him a smile. It is almost charming, and Jon returns it. He doesn’t really want another drink but he needs a distraction, any distraction.

The night is cold and Martin is close, big and safe and warm. And if Jon leans into his side when they finally agree on a bar, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26856373

#my writing #tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jon/martin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #timothy stoker #elias bouchard #sasha james #whumptober2020 #no.6 #stop please #fic #harassment cw #unwanted advances cw

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catxsnow · 4 years

Text

OLD WOUNDS D.G.

Summary: Maybe seeing Dick Grayson after all these years wasn’t for the best

Warning: Angstttttt, mentions of death (the one and only Jason Todd)

A/N: I was really trying to take this completely differently but you know I’m still pretty happy how it turned out so

GIF is not mine

part two

Word Count: 2.3k

You had been fighting crime alongside Dick Grayson since you were kids. The two of you met not long after he became Robin, and became friends when you were both on the Young Justice team. You never really had a mentor, just going from hero to hero for whoever was willing to accept you at the time.

As much as you hated moving around so much, it also made you the jack-of-all-trades. You could shoot a bow with pin point accuracy, fight silently and skilled, and even picked up a magic trick or two. That was why, you could be on whatever team was needed and always be ready for anything.

You carried those skills throughout your life, gaining more knowledge and power as your grew. The team loved you and all the younger ones looked up to you for any questions they had. It didn't take long for you to out grow your place on Young Justice and rather, became an important member in the Justice League.

You became more independent. Fighting on your own without the help of your team and doing missions without backup. It was dangerous, you knew it, but after losing too many of your friends, you didn't want to have those ties to hold you down.

That was, until you got hurt, bad. It was supposed to be an easy mission. A little bit of recon, in and out with no one knowing that you were there. Things didn't go as planned. One of the guards caught you jumping through the rafters and you were trapped inside the building with no escape. You made it out by a hairline. Unfortunately, some members of the Justice League heard about your incident.

Bruce, who didn't quite trust you enough completely alone, gave you an emergency beacon, only to be used when necessary. You didn't think you would need it that night, you had gotten out of worse before. However, when a bullet pierced through your suit and into your skin, you knew that there was no way you were making it out on your own.

Dozens of armed men awaited your downfall and you weren’t willing to give it to them, even if that meant making a call that you never wished to make.

So, for the first time, you had pressed the button. You tried to fight them off for as long as you could. Your punches were getting weaker and everything was starting to become dizzy. Guards began to surround you just as blackness covered your vision.

Dick and Tim arrived just in time. They had saved you before you were captured - or worse. While Tim fought off the rest of the guards, Dick got you the hell out of there and back to the Batcave. He knew that if you were using the signal then something had to be really bad.

They brought you back to the cave, Alfred stitched you up and assured everyone that you were going to be just fine. The bullet didn't hit anything important and thanks to your suit, it didn't go that deep either. Dick waited for you when you woke up, reminisceful of all the time that you had together as kids.

When you joined the team, he saw you as someone to compete with. Someone that would push him to his limits and learn from - and that was the case. A lot of free time the two of you would spar, try to out do each other with tricks, and even show each other computer skills that you learned.

You and Dick worked great together. He pushed you to be better and you did the same, and when you finally gave each other your real names, it was like your friendship reached a whole new level. Things were great, you finally were happy again after all the loss you had seen in your life.

Dick made you happier than you could ever imagine. It suddenly didn’t matter that you didn’t have a permanent home, or a family to come home to every night because you had him. After long missions, you knew that you would always have him.

And then you lost Jason.

Jason Todd was a good friend of yours and losing him broke you. You became distant to everyone. Dick was the first to see it. He saw you less and less throughout the days. Training with the team was a rare occasion and you never left the comfort of your home to hang out with the others.

Only Dick was allowed into your room. He was the only one that seemed to be able to brighten your day just a little bit. You had cut yourself off from most of the others, worried that you feel this kind of pain again if you lost someone else you were close with. It was the kind of heartbreak that ruined your life because it reminded you that no one was invincible.

Losing Wally proved that.

Wally West was the light of the team. He was often the reason that you were able to smile after coming back from a hard mission. The moment that he saw a frown on your face he made sure to change that. You, Wally, and Dick were unbreakable. The three of you were the building blocks of the team.

Losing him broke that bond. Dick didn't just lose Wally that day, he lost you too. It became too much for you. Your friends, your family, the people that you relied on and relied on you were gone. You couldn't help but feel like you failed everyone, even though there was nothing that you could have done.

And then you left, for good this time. You lost all contact with anyone on the Justice League, or your old team. You fell off the face of the planet because it was easier to feel nothing than to feel pain.

Seeing your face again reminded Dick of all the good that the two of you had done together. It had been years since he had seen - or heard from you. He didn't know where you were or what you were doing. For all he knew, you were out of the hero game for good.

You had tried to quit. It was an addiction that wouldn't leave you alone. You had gone months without putting the suit on but the moment you saw some poor girl tried to get taken advantage of you, you felt inclined to put it back on again. You picked up on an old mission that you hoped to leave behind but all it did was lead you to Gotham.

Right back to your home.

By the time that you woke up, Dick was half asleep on the chair beside you. You were in his old room, blankets tucked up to just below you wound. You knew where you were instantly. As a kid, you spent many hours in that room, and as a young adult, many nights in that bed.

Dick's mop of black hair was cushioned by a pillow right by your hand. He looked so young when he was sleeping, it was like no years had passed. Stress didn't overwhelm his face and the burdens of his past didn't weigh him down. He looked free, something you had always wanted for him.

On instinct, you dragged your fingers through his hair, half a smile on your face until you tried to sit up. The pain in your side overwhelmed you and you let out a groan loud enough to wake him. Instantly, he aged from the young boy that he once knew. It was his eyes that you could see the most pain in.

"(Y/N)," Dick's voice was hoarse from sleep. God did you miss that voice. So many mornings did you wake up to hearing him say 'I love you' in that voice. So many mornings that you woke up to his hair tickling your neck as he snuggled in closer.

So many mornings did you wake up alone in your bed, knowing that you broke his heart all those years ago.

"Dick," You retracted your hand from his hair as he sat up. He instantly missed the feeling of your touch. It had been too long since he felt it. Too long since he had seen you. He knew that he shouldn't have, but he missed you more than he ever though possible. "Thank you, for saving me."

"I was worried," he told you. "You never used the signal before." There was a reason for that. You never wanted to feel like you were in debt to someone saving you. You also were too scared to ever face Dick again, not after leaving him without an explanation and barely a goodbye.

You and Dick weren't just friends. When the two of you got older, you realized that maybe you weren't meant for a friendship, maybe you were meant for more. With Wally dating Artemis, the two of you wondered if you could do the same. The couple someone meddled enough to get you guys together.

It was great while it lasted. The two of you seemed to fight even better on missions together, training became longer and more extensive, and the improvement of the team skyrocketed. The sex was great and you quickly found yourself falling in love with him.

While it didn't last long, the heart break that Dick felt after your departure never seemed to go away.

"I never sent a text either," you tried to joke. You didn't think that you would ever be there again. The Wayne Manor and under his intensive stare. You hoped to never see him, or your friends again. It was easier that way.

"It's been years, (Y/N)," Dick sighed. "I thought the next time I was going to see you was at your own funeral."

"I'm sorry," you felt ashamed. After all this time you were trying to protect your own feelings, you didn't realize how hard it must have been for everyone else. They didn't know where you were or even if you were still alive. Batman was the only one to keep tabs on you and he didn't tell anyone about it.

It wasn't just Dick that missed you, it was the whole team, both teams. The younger kids that looked up to you felt lost when they could no longer approach you, the adults wondering who on Earth would ever replace you.

"You should be," Dick suddenly felt angry. He thought that these feelings welling up in his chest was the love that he felt for you until realizing that it was something different. He was furious at you for leaving. "You don't think that losing Wally was hard on all of us?! He was my best friend!" Dick raised hi voice.

He stood up from his chair and paced around the bed you laid in. All you could do was tilt your head in shame as he expressed these pent up feelings that he contained for so many years.

"You left us! You left the team because you couldn't be strong enough to fight through the pain. You knew what you signed up for when you joined, you knew that losing people was inevitable. Yet as soon as things got hard you ran away, ran from your problems like you always have. We didn't just lose Wally that day, we lost you too. I lost you."

"I know."

"Then why don't you sound sorry about it?" Dick snapped. His blue eyes that were boring into your skin turned away as if you couldn't stand the sight of you anymore.

"Of course I'm sorry, Dick," You tried your best to keep your voice calm. "Of course I feel bad for leaving everyone. I did what I thought was best for myself at the time and by the time that I realized that I had made a mistake, it was too late. Everyone was moved on, the team didn't need me anymore."

"You think that I moved on?" Dick finally looked back at you. "You were my best friend for half my life, my first love. I tried to move on, god knows I tried - Kori, Babs, but they weren't you. No one ever filled the void that you left in my life. You built me up just to tear me down like I was nothing but sandcastle."

You didn't realize that he felt that way. Leaving the team, leaving him, you knew it was going to hurt for a little while but you never believed yourself to be special enough that you would be missed that much. You didn't realize how much any of them suffered with your loss.

"You were the only person that I thought I could count on with Wally gone, turns out I was wrong," Dick muttered. He wanted to be mad at you, he wanted to yell at you for how ridiculous you were to leave the team. He wanted to scream in frustration but the longer that he stood there, the longer he realized that you weren't worth the effort, not anymore.

"Dick, I-"

His hard glare cut you off. It was rare to ever see that kind of hate in his eyes, and never once had it been directed at you. Never once did you think that you would have to be on the other side of his angered stare, but sitting there in his old room, you realized that you deserved it. You opened up his old wound and poured a whole bag of salt onto it by pressing that beacon.

Maybe Dick was right, maybe it would have been easier for him if the next time that he saw you was at your funeral. At least that way he would only remember the good times, and not your abandonment to him.

Dick scoffed to himself, wondering why he was even telling you all of this. He stormed over to his closed door, pausing with his door on the handle. He turned back to you and for that split moment you hoped that he changed his mind and was going to stay with you. You hoped that the years you were gone would be forgotten.

"You know the way out, don't come back."

#dickgrayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson oneshot #dick grayson imagine #young justice #young justice imagine #angst #dc #batfam #rip jason todd

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anjuschiffer · 4 years

Text

Amira Wayne - Chapter 11

A/N: Something I want to address - Updates will be coming slowly because not only am I writing this fic as I go, I have other irl issues that need my full attention. Just wanted to let you guys know incase you see inconsistent updates in the future.Thank you for reading and understanding! <3

Day 11 of @biodad-bruce-month event!

Chapter 11: The “Talk”

P.Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life @toodaloo-kangaroo @elijahcrevan

Tag: @vixen-uchiha @we-want-mini-mini @ramos123 @bluesimani @redscarlet95 @greatcatblaze @promiswords @fantasiame @corabeth11 @anonymously-odd @alexandriamw @officiallydarkgeek

MASTERLIST | FIRST | PREV | AO3

The weekend ended up uneventful (in terms of akuma attacks), allowing Amira to catch up with Dick and Wally.

The three went to the arcade the following day, Dick smiling the entire time as he watched Amira enjoy herself.

He watched as she went from arcade machine to arcade machine, pulling Wally along. He watched as she cursed out claw machines but shouted in victory at the pinball machines.

He watched as Wally showed her how the ring toss worked, Amira easily nailing it after watching Wally miss his second and fourth shot.

Dick watched as the two ventured around the arcade, Amira racking up the tickets as time went on. In the end, she was able to get herself the most expensive prize there.

“Did you seriously just spend all day trying to get that?” Wally asked her, earning a huff. “And wait, where’s the other one?”

Wally looked as Amira swung around the lit up dagger, watching as she twirled it around with ease. The soft lavender glow came to a halt when Amira placed it on her holster that would usually carry an actual dagger.

“I can protect myself with just one.” Amira tried to brush off, only to confess when she saw Dick raise a brow. “I gave my other one to the girl that was beside me at the prize area. Every girl deserves to have a weapon.” That caused the two boys to laugh, causing Amira to pout.

“Whatever you say, Mimi.”

“Shouldn’t we start heading back home? Looks like it's about to rain.” Wally pointed out.

Looking at the darkening skies, the trio agreed to call it a day.

Amira had a bounce to her step as she entered the apartment, bouncing onto the sofa and grabbing the remote to see what was on the news.

Much to her disappointment, it was some news coverage about Batgirl’s latest appearance.

“-amateur footage of the vigilante taking down-”

Amira quickly flipped to another channel, a frown now on her face.

“If you keep doing that, you’re going to end up with scowl lines for life.” Dick commented, taking out some ingredients to cook.

“Did you know about Drake replacing Jason?” Amira asked out of the blue, causing Dick to almost drop the cabbage in his hands. “Or what about Barbara being Batgirl?

“I...I didn’t know about Tim being the new Robin.” Dick stuttered, placing down carrots and potatoes on the table. He didn’t want this day to come. But he knew he was going to have to eventually tell Amira the truth. “I recently found out about it when I went to the Cave to retrieve some data. As for Barbara being Batgirl…”

He could feel Amira’s eyes on him, analyzing his every move. Taking a deep breath, Dick continued. “I was the one who gave her the mantle.”

Amira dropped the remote in her hands, staring at Dick with wide eyes.

“You?” Amira whispered. “You asked her to become Batgirl?” Amira felt her chest begin to twist.

“Amira, Bruce needed-“

“Why did you drag Babs-”

“I didn’t- she, ugh.” Dick ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t drag her into this. She already knew about us.” Dick defended. “I simply-“

“Then why did you let her! Why did you encourage her?” Amira screamed. “She didn’t need to be roped into our messed up family-”

“Gotham needed him back.” Dick cut off. “Gotham needed Batman back. And we both knew that. We understood that. With his head still in the gutter-”

“Then why didn’t you stay there with him?” Amira cried, hating that she was having trouble breathing. “Why didn’t you-”

“Because I couldn’t forgive him with what he did to you!” Dick shouted, Amira watching him look down at his feet despite his head being held up high. “He shouldn’t have sent you to Paris when we were all mourning Jason! He should’ve let you go to the funeral, to visit him one last time before forcing you out of the country! He didn’t have to push you away just because he was mourning!” Duck didn’t care if his shoulder shook or if his voice warbled a bit.

This was Amira. He could trust her. She was his sister.

Amira watched as Dick walked up to the couch and plopped next to her. “We both know he’s still in mourning, hell all of us are. But that doesn’t excuse him for doing the shit he did!” Dick growled out before letting out a deep sigh. “Did you know he almost sent me to Germany?”

“Germany?”

“Alfred told me after I fled here.” Dick threw himself back, looking up at the ceiling fan. “To think he would try to pull that on me as well.”

“I...I didn’t know.” Amira said, pulling her legs to her chest and resting her forehead on her knees. All this time, she was venting towards Dick and she never asked how he was dealing with all this. He had to deal with all of his emotions on his own, storing them inside while he played peacekeeper.

How selfish she was. How stupid and blind did she have to be to not notice her brother’s suffering?

“Where are you going?” Dick asked her as she got up and started to storm towards the window. She whispered ‘Spots On’, watching as a soft red glow engulfed her. “Amira!” She heard Dick yell, but she didn’t turn back.

The sun was beginning to set, but she didn’t care. She was Ladybird. She can handle a few Gothamite thugs. With that in mind, Amira got on the railing before dropping from it and swinging herself towards Gotham.

If there was one thing any villain in Gotham hated, it was newbies waltzing into their terf.

As for Selina, the moment she noticed this newbie, she knew something was up. After all, no one survived longer than ten minutes while on enemy turf.

“I’ve never seen you around here before.” Selina looked at the girl from top to bottom, critiquing the girl’s choice of red and black. “New to the game, aren’t you?” She asked, noticing a dagger hidden within the shadows cast by her skirt. “Tell me, what brings you to these parts of Gotham?”

Selina watched as the cloaked girl continued to analyze her, trying to circle around her.

“Okay then, would you like to tell me your name, kitten?”

“Marienkäfer.” The girl spoke, glaring at her with an ever so familiar glare through her red domino mask.

So she spoke German. Great. To be honest, she wished the kid spoke Mandarin just like- “Wie heißt du?“ The girl asked her, or at least Selina judged from the way her brows furrowed a bit. She huffed, knowing this is going to go nowhere without help.

Pressing her comm, Selina awaited for the other end to pick up.

“Hey. Got a kid here who only speaks German. No, she doesn’t seem- yea. Yes she’s wearing- wait hold on. What do you mean-“ a frustrated sigh left Selina.

What did he mean by he knew her?

Selina kept watching over the girl, deciding to watch her as the girl started to make her way towards her.

Her hooded cape flew back from the autumn breeze, exposing the girl’s midnight hair.

Selina watched as the girl stood mere feet away from her, her green eyes holding a curious twinkle in them. She saw how the girl approached her before quickly falling back, her hand hovering over something at her side. Was that a yo-yo?

“Is this the girl you were talking about?” Bruce’s voice trickled down Selina’s back.

“Why do you always have the need to do that?” Selina hissed, but Bruce remained silent. “Anyways, how do you know her?” She frowned when he ignored her.

“Amira.” Bruce called out, Selina watching as the girl didn’t budge. “Amira, what-”

“She smells like you.” The girl -no- Amira said, Selina watching her scowl. So she knew English, so why did she act as if she didn’t know it?

Or did she do it on purpose? Was it just a ploy?

“What-“

“Your cologne...it’s all over her...the cologne I gave you for your birthday two years ago.” Amira growled. “That could only mean one thing. When were you going to introduce us to each other, Father?”

Selina looked at Amira and then at Bruce for some type of explanation. She was his daughter? Why is she learning about this now? As far as she knew, he only had Dick and Jason...and currently Tim.

“Bats, explain.” Selina demanded, Bruce feeling a headache starting to form.

“Fine. But not here.”

Selina felt as Amira continued to glare at her, Selina starting to hate the attention from the younger Wayne.

They finally arrived at the manor, currently walking towards Bruce’s study. Of course, Amira didn’t change out of her costume yet, walking in the red and black suit.

“So Amira, how come I haven’t heard about you?” Selina decided to ask.

“I wonder.” Amira spat with venom, causing a brow to raise. “It couldn’t possibly have anything to do with my father-”

“Amira.” Bruce cut off, prompting Amira to frown. “I meant to say this earlier, but welcome back home.”

“Home?” Amira let out a dry laugh. “Last I recall, the apartment back in Paris is my home. Not this place despite having been raised here for 13 years.”

“Amira.”

“I didn’t come back here to see you. I didn’t even plan on seeing you, yet you always seem to find a way to find me.”

“Amira, you said you used to live here for 13 years. So tell me, how old are you?” Selina asked, hoping to ease the suffocating tension.

“Turning 14 in July. And you don’t have to worry about having to see me for the rest of the year. I’m going back to Paris in a few hours. After that, I won’t be back in Gotham for another half year or year.” Amira looked at Selina, her eyes dull and void of the anger from earlier. “Father’s never let me attend any gala or any event that requires showing my face, so coming back to Gotham would be pointless for me.”

Selina stopped herself from coming to a halt, absorbing Amira’s words.

She was 14, living in Paris by herself while her family lived in Gotham...not only that, but she seemed so distant to Bruce despite loving -no- adoring Gotham...

“Bruce, did you really send her to Paris...by herself?”

“What if I did?” Selina let out a scoff.

“Are you being serious right now? Bruce, she’s 14!”

“She’s still a child.”

“And yet you still thought of doing the same thing to Dick and he was 17 at the time, turning 18.” Amira interjected. “

She didn’t know what overcame her, she really didn’t.

“I’m going to Paris with Amira.” She never saw Bruce turn around so quickly before, noticing Amira had the same reaction as him when she said that.

“Selina. You-”

“I’m only going to be there for a week, make sure Amira is doing well and from there, I’ll come back.” Selina walked up to Bruce, sinking her nails into his arm. “After that, you and I are going to have a talk.” She whispered, letting go of Bruce. “So Amira, where are your things?”

Selina waited for a few minutes before getting a response from the girl.

“A-At Dick’s. I didn’t think I was going to be here for that long. I just wanted to talk to my father before heading back, although it seems like there will be a change of plans.”

“You wanted to speak to me?” Bruce asked, wondering what exactly Amira wanted.

“Yes. But of course, in your office.”

Selina had gone to pick up Amira’s things from Dick’s apartment, leaving father and daughter by themselves.

“So, what was it you wanted to talk about?”

“Is it true you wanted to send Dick to Germany?” Amira threw out the first thing in her mind, watching as her father tensed. “You could’ve just sent him to France with me. The two of us would’ve kept each other company, be safe with each other. But no. You thought it was best to separate us, to keep us isolated from each other because-”

“I...I didn’t actually want to send him to Germany.” Bruce confessed. “I...I also didn’t want to send you to Paris either, but I knew that if I didn’t, the two of you ran the risk-”

“But isn’t that why you fight? Wasn’t becoming Batman the solution to your worries?”

“I can only do so much. I can only guide the villains towards redemption, I can’t force them to-“

“Then why? Why didn’t you simply kill them off?” Amira asked. “Why don't you just get rid of them...or rather, him? Of Joker? Of the bastard clown that took Jason away from us! Why didn’t you-”

“You don’t understand, Amira. Getting rid of Joker isn’t the solution nor is getting rid of anyone for that matter. Killing isn’t-“

“Don’t you realize it? He’s the main problem. He’s the one racking up the deaths in Gotham. The reason why we have to keep constructing new cemeteries. The madman behind the cruelest tortures. The one who-“

“Killing Joker won’t do anything!” Bruce yelled. “It won’t bring Jason back and it definitely-”

“I never said it would bring Jason back. I said it because if you did kill him, it would bring you peace of mind. It would make Gotham safer for me...and countless other children.”

“Amira, I don’t think you understand. I don’t think you nor Jason understood.” Jason had told Bruce this before? “Killing only brings out the worst of people.” Amira watched as Bruce walked up to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “If I were to kill anyone, I won’t be able to get back from there. My hands will no longer withhold the justice I claim to uphold...I also don’t want my children to have a murderer for a father.”

Amira watched as her father shook, but she didn’t care.

“You always said you wanted to be someone we could be proud of. A father whom we adored...but in your mission to become that, you’ve become a stranger to me.” Amira said, pushing Bruce off her. “I claim you my father, but...I don’t know much about you.

I have a stranger for a father instead of a respected man.

I found out about your girlfriend-no...fiance around a day ago, only to find out you’ve known her for longer. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice the inconsistencies in her files?” Amira brought up.

“You looked at her files? When? Why?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Despite not being in Gotham, I like being up to date with the news. As for how, I was downloading information from the computer to take back with me to Paris. Got bored and started to look at the criminal files you had there. That’s how I landed on Selina’s file.

To think you’re engaged, nonetheless to a thieve.” Amira glared at her father. “Then again, why am I surprised at you for hiding things from me? You’ve always hid me away from anyone else. Just like how you hid Barbara and Drake from me.”

“I never hid that from-” Amira raised her hand and shook her head.

“I don’t care about that. I don’t care about what the hell you do anymore. But just know this. I will never forgive that bastard from taking Jason away from us. Now, I better get going. I have a plane to catch.”

#maribat #bio!dadbrucewaynemonth2020 #bio!dad bruce wayne month 2020 #b!dbwm2020 #amira wayne

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choco-glow · 3 years

Text

Fall Like Rain On Sunday, Pt. 10

Jason woke up around five am, bleary and in a tangle of blankets again from yet another nightmare…Sweat-soaked, he peeled himself out of his bed with a grimace and stripped first himself, then the bed, tossing everything into his washing machine before turning on the shower and stepping inside. Lukewarm woke him up a little better than hot right now, and felt better on his scarred skin; he leaned heavily against the tile, head tipped back as his waterfall nozzle rained down on him. The familiar sound of the washer going was a comfort, and piece by piece, he brought himself back to the present, breathing slowly, evenly, just as Bruce had taught him all those years ago…

“…Fuck.” He sighed out, and started washing up, glad for the indie shop he supported down the street that made its own soaps, shampoos, and conditioners. They were bar form, of course, but the natural scents helped ground him…anything heavily chemically scented was too triggering, too much like the factory he’d died in. A lot of things triggered that…tannerite, for one, which was why in all his varied explosions, he’d only ever used C4. Iron…He unconsciously touched the cheekbone that Talia had had her surgeons rebuild, for even the Pit couldn’t do everything. Not on a body that had been so badly brutalized that it’d been a closed casket funeral…

“Knock it off, Todd.” He growled out to himself, scrubbing furiously now. Fuckin’ don’t go down that path again, Jason…you know where it leads. Besides, you promised you’d make waffles this morning. Can’t leave a lady waiting. Steph’s smile filled his mind, and Jason relaxed, as he had for months now around his Batgirl…and he felt a tiny smile tug at his lips. He didn’t have a waffle iron; he rarely did more than griddle cakes, eggs, and bacon for himself, and that’s when he felt like cooking, so it was a good thing he’d woken up before his alarm; he had time to run to the nearest Lux-Mart. He finished his shower, relaxed now, and other than rescuing his book from the floor and setting it on his nightstand, left his bed to airdry for a while; he’d learned that lesson the hard way.

Dark jeans, boxer-briefs, a soft tee shirt, socks, his boots, and a hoodie, and he was ready to brave the pre-dawn crowds. He twirled his keys on one finger as he made his way down the stairs to his garage, and side-stepped the engine for Roy’s Corvette, unlocking the truck and opening the door with a flick of a button. It was dark still; small wonder, it was just barely five forty-five, and the sun wouldn’t be up for another hour or so…the garage door slid closed behind him with a whisper, and Jason set out for the Lux-Mart, following the main roads this morning, since they weren’t clogged yet by the early morning commuters. A few early birds passed him, and he waved at the Batmobile as they both continued on out of the city, since the nearest of Lux Luthor’s monster all-in-one stores was in the suburbs on the mainland.

Jason’s phone buzzed, and he answered it on the dash with a grin, glad for his blue-tooth dashboard connection.

“Hey Pops.”

“I thought that was you, Jason…what has you out so early?” Bruce’s voice was warm, exhausted, but for once, actually pretty damned friendly, and Jason hummed a little, smirking to see the ‘mobile keeping pace with him.

“Well, I promised I’d bring Steph waffles this morning as incentive to get her homework done…and then I realized I didn’t have a waffle iron.” Bruce laughed at that, low and surprisingly genuine, while he heard a squawk from Tim. Now, he didn’t…completely hate his replacement in the Robin line-up; certainly, he adored Steph and Damian. But Tim was…well, everything that Jason hadn’t ever been, and Jason was still too aware of how similar Tim and Bruce really were. Dick had commented on it, last time he’d come up from Bludhaven, and if Dick could see it…well. Jason still felt like he’d been the downgrade from Dick, and that Tim was the super upgrade.

It wasn’t true…but emotions could be ugly, ugly things.

And Tim had stolen his ex-girlfriend’s waffles.

“Well then, that makes complete sense…do you two need anything from us? We had a busy night dealing with Boyle again.” Jason winced; Ferris Boyle had been a problem since Bruce’s early days, even before Dick, and Jason hated the man almost as much as he hated Joker. Totally aside from how he’d fucked up Victor Fries, his actions regarding Nora had been absolutely appalling. He wanted custody of her so that he could experiment on her…and since Victor is now a supervillain…goddamn, I’m glad Bruce was able to win custody of her.

“Bastard…was he after Nora again?”

“And Victor. We convinced Fries to come back to Wayne Inc. and talk to us about Nora’s future; we’ve made some serious progress towards a cure, and with his research, we might just have what we need. And I’ve been working on something to help him as well…But we can talk about it later.” A yawn broke his sentence, and Jason smiled fondly.

“Go home, Pops; Steph and I will take patrol tonight. You two take the night off.”

“…Thank you, Jason. I really appreciate it; Damian and Tim do too.”

“Yes, thank you, akhi.” Damian’s voice was softer over the phone, tired, and Jason smiled, though he grit his teeth when Tim spoke up.

“Sure, thanks Hood. Hope you two actually get some patrolling done, and don’t just make out on a roof.”

“…Well, Timmy, I’m quite certain we’ll keep our professionalism at the fore. After all, we wouldn’t want to attract undue attention…like Kon did the other night.” Jason responded, voice sickeningly sweet as Tim choked over the phone call, and Bruce made an inquisitive noise.

“We were going over tactical plans!”

“Tim, I’m sure it’s fine.” Bruce’s voice was gentle, but curious, and Jason felt his grin stretch to maniacal proportions.

“Oh, of course you were! Silly ol’ me, ‘tactical plans’, of course! Must’ve been wall plans!” Jason replied sweetly, and Tim choked again, a strangled noise coming over the line. Bruce snorted suddenly, clearly understanding now, and Damian just sighed; Jason could almost hear his eyes rolling.

“Drake, do not give Todd grief for kissing; we all know you regularly have intercourse with Kon-El.” Tim’s voice was pitched even higher now, babbling as Bruce snorted again, clearly holding back laughter, and Jason snickered.

“Damian, Lil D, I want you to know how much I love you right now.”

“As I love and cherish you, akhi. Please do tell Grayson this.”

“DO NOT TELL DICK ANYTHING, JASON, I SWEAR TO GOD.”

“Then don’t steal Stephie’s waffles again, and I won’t~” He purred, and Tim let out a heavy sigh.

“…I apologize to her later.”

“So good to work with you, Tim, it’s just such a pleasure!”

“God, I hate you sometimes.” Bruce was laughing now, deep and highly amused, and Jason gave the ‘mobile a salute as he turned off towards the Lux-Mart, still snickering.

“Love you too, Timmy; good night, you three, I’m off to waffle-maker hunt.”

“Love you too, Jay; good luck! And tell Steph we love her too for me, will you?” Bruce asked, over the other twos’ groaning, and Jason chuckled.

“Of course, Pops. See ya.”

“See you.” The call winked out, and Jason pulled into the Lux-Mart, still grinning. He grabbed up his phone, double checked his wallet, and headed into the store, grabbing a cart. He didn’t want to buy a ton of stuff…but he knew he’d need more room than a basket. Appliances first; he grabbed a waffle-maker, one with interchangeable plates, and from the small selection, picked a Millennium Falcon and an Eevee (both for Steph), since they’d traded favorite Pokémon a few weeks ago, then favorite films. He was always looking for Pride and Prejudice/Sense and Sensibility stuff, or even just basic literary things, but hey, he liked Eevee too (even if his favorite was still Rapidash), and Star Wars was a familiar favorite from his childhood.

From there, he grabbed utensils that he knew he didn’t have, then a few things from pharmacy to cover his personal stores for the week. Bandages, wraps, gauze, alcohol…all the usual stuff, and then he made his way to the grocery area, where things were getting a little bit busier. Two boxes of waffle/pancake mix, maple syrup, and a carton of eggs; a package of bacon made the cut too, as did a gallon of milk, a bottle of his favorite fancy protein juice smoothie, and as he made his way into the produce section, a bag each of blackberries, raspberries, and blueberries. He also got a couple apples, good for a snack as well as baking into the batter, and a pair of pomegranates. Bananas too, just as small bunch, and a small tub of butter.

On a whim, he also grabbed sugary snacks for later, mostly Hostess cakes and some Little Debbie stuff, and a big bag of Chex Mix; not healthy, no, but they held up to patrols well, and he’d gone hungry too many nights to ever feel good about not having food around. Besides…his stay in the Lazarus Pit hadn’t just accelerated his healing factor…it’d forced his metabolism onto a higher level, and now he could almost match Kon pound for pound with food. He also grabbed some pizzas; just in case, he liked to have them. Checking his watch, Jason bit off a swear; it was seven am already, and it was easily a half-hour drive back into Gotham.

He got through self checkout with ease, and hauled his finds out of the store, leaving the cart at the entrance and legging it to his truck. To his surprise, clouds that hadn’t been visible in the darkness were rolling over the whole of Gotham City, heavy thunder rumbling out on the ocean, and in the low light from the rising sun, he made a few quick calculations. He had just enough time to get back to the city before the rain really started; he loaded up his backseat and tore ass out of the parking lot, hopping on the freeway in record time. He glanced around, confused at the lack of cars…then laughed to himself.

Of course it was empty; it was Sunday. I think I’m getting to love Sundays now…Jason thought to himself as he gunned it back to Steph’s place, settling back for the drive with a sigh. Just then, the familiar strains of ‘Home’ came onto the radio, and Jason grinned, then started singing along.

“I’m goin’ home…to the place where I belong…”

#JaySteph #jason todd #bruce wayne #tim drake #damian wayne #waffles in progress #batfam #batkids #batman #bantering #timkon #gothambysunlight #solarpunkgotham

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oh-for-fic-sake · 4 years

Text

The Final Wayne's

Masterlist

Warnings:mentions of sex?, swearing mostly fluffy

A/n:Im really happy with this one wasn’t sure how to go about it but i think its pretty sweet. Hope you enjoy xx

You meet the final two wanye’s when they all storm the cafe.

The Final Wayne's

You hummed along with the radio as you when out the front of the cafe closing a bit earlier as you hadn't had any customers in for nearly 2 hours. You spun the sign round and locked the door you were going to use the extra time to tidy the cafe properly instead of the rushed quick sweep that's normally done. Turning to volume up louder you danced around clearing the last few cups popping them in the sink coming back out with a mop bucket and broom and began to stack the chairs against one wall getting ready for a proper sweep. you nearly jumped out of your skin when someone tried to come bounding threw the door bouncing off it with a loud bang. you ran across the cafe hearing laughter.

"Why the fuck is it closed?!" Ah. Damien, you heard him before you saw him which made sense as he was currently sprawled out on the floor as Jack and Tim laughed at him joined by two older boys , well boys, one looked a few years younger then you... so technically he was an adult . you stuttered clicking who these other two probably were. Unlocking the door you squatted down to Damien.

"Shit are you ok? you didn't hit your head? did you?" you said reaching for him grabbing his face tilting it down trying to see the back of his head. He growled slapping you away

"I'm fine... does your boss know you've shut early? could have been a customer that'd have been a lawsuit ..stupid woman" you stood up crossing your arms at him.

"well I'm lucky it was just your skinny little ass then aren't I?" you deadpanned causing the another wave of laughter as Damien pulled him self up

"come on in" you lead them all in the older boys pulled themselves chairs around a table directly in front of the counter. turned looking for the others as jack wandered out of the kitchen with a fresh brownie Damien following with a blueberry marzipan muffin.

"Oo are those fresh?" Tim said walking past you into the kitchen to get himself one. you raised your hands exasperated.

"By all means help yourselves" you said shaking your head as they gave you cheeky grins before sitting down next to the others.

"Did you make these?" Damien asked you nodded

"Yep made em all today" he gave you a contemplating look

"You are forgiven for the door....if you give this recipe to Alfred" you rolled you eyes

"Oh yippee here I thought I'd have to beg for the young masters forgiveness" Jack snorted into his brownie.

"Y/n this is Dick and Jason our older brothers" Tim finally introduced with half a mouthful of muffin.

"Tim don't speak with your mouthful" you scolded before turning to Dick and Jason, you were nervous about meeting them, you knew that Dick was 20 and Jason was 17 not that much younger than you. Dick smiled brightly Jason followed

"Its nice to meet you both, but I thought Bruce wanted to introduce us at dinner next Monday?" Dick opened his mouth to reply but Damien beat him to it

"They were sulking cos me and Tim have already met you, and they couldn't wait so me Tim and Jack found them wandering about looking for the cafe completely lost." Dick looked embarrassed and Jason looked just about ready to beat Damien to a pulp.

"W-we did not we just decided to explore this part of Gotham.. we haven't been down this way before and heard good things." you giggled a little. feeling a little better now that they were talking.

"Can I have a go on the coffee machine?" Tim asked having finished his muffin you thought about it for a second then nodded, he jumped up following you round to it

"Anyone else want one?" Dick and Jason nodded Damien and Jack pulled a face. No.

You showed Tim how to load the espresso and turn it on trying to hold back laughter as he jumped back when he activated the steamer wand you caught the jug of milk just in time leaning over him you showed him the easiest way to froth the milk putting his hand on the knob controlling the steamer telling him when to turn it ,pointing out on the thermometer where he should let it go to he did it. Managing not to burn the milk then you demonstrated how to pour for certain coffees. He beamed when he got it right proud of himself then quickly controlled his face putting on a smug 'yeah of course I did it' face handing his brothers their coffees before going to sit down

"Oi! get back here you haven't cleaned up, you gotta wipe the wand and let some steam through to clear it." he come back hesitantly taking the folded cloth from you

"Wont it burn me?" you shook your head

"Just wipe it quick, then use the rubber bit to push it to the tray and give it a quick blast" he did as instructed and smiled bright going back to his coffee. Dick and Jason had been watching quietly as you taught their younger brother how to use the machine, yanking Tim away tilting your self in front of him when you though he could get hurt as the steam spat the milk when he hadn't held it high enough. Feeling more relaxed with you they saw how you patiently taught Tim how to do it. They had their doubts ,they had been a bit worried about their father dating someone so young. Imagining a typical younger woman trying to worm her way into their house for money or fame. They were caught off guard when their dad had first told them about you. Normally he didn't bother the women were never serious and gobsmacked when Damien threatened them to be kind, it was then they then decided they would catch you off guard, worried about how you could have possibly influenced Tim and Damien. But watching you interact with them they saw that you were very genuine. When it had come out earlier that day that you were Jacks sister, they felt slightly better knowing a bit of the story. How instead of abandoning him to the system to continue your studies, you'd pulled out that same day, moving back home planning and arranging your parents funeral and staying, giving up on your own prospects to become his guardian and raise him finding a job to support you both and pushing him to apply for the scholarship helping him get in. Thank god you did since Jack had become Damien's saving grace, he had calmed down and was almost a completely normal 13 year old boy...until he put on his suit then all bets were off. They found it fascinating seeing you swing from the playful sister to patient parent and back as you had grabbed Jack in a head lock poking at him tickling him for teasing you. They shared a look. Yes you would fit in fine.

"hahahah no-nooo st-stop it hahaa!fuck off y/n" he cried between laughs squirming then the fun and games stopped as ha accidentally headbutted your nose

"OH FUCK!" you shouted grabbing your nose eyes watering he gasped apologizing as damien panicked grabbing napkins in case of a nose bleed. He tried pulling your hand away.

"ssshhiit oh im fine- im good its ok-- fuck sake why is your head so hard?" he looked sheepish asking if you were ok you nodded to him waving a hand.

"I was going to get so much done here tonight but now I cant be asked" rubbing your nose again sniffing checking your hands for blood. None good. Huffing you leaning forward onto the table you looked across that table to Dick and Jason. You'd felt there eyes on you all this time.

"You know your both just like Bruce. He just sat there staring when he met me to." you offered chuckling nervously trying to break what you thought was tension not knowing that they had already approved of you.

"They are trying to suss you out. They are worried about you being after money or something." Tim added sipping the last of his coffee leaning back as everyone shouted at him.

"TIM!" You swallowed collecting yourself taking a deep breath, here it comes then. You looked at them smileing sadly nodding pulling back into yourself. You knew it they didn't like you. Obviously they wouldn't, fuck sake you were 5 years older than one and 8 years older then the other. You knew it.

"I-I don't want anything like that..I know its weird because we are about the same age.. if you feel uncomfortable with your dad and I just say the word and it will end I'm not going to be a home wrecker- fuck I new this would happen" you looked away trying to hide your tears. That was that then. Already planing to phone Bruce. Jason jumped interrupting your thoughts rushing forward grabbing your hands that rested on the table in front of you making you look at him as he saw you start breaking down, ready to run again. They'd heard bits and pieces about what happened for Tim. Jack growled angrily going to push Jason off of you before he started speaking.

"NO! no its not like that- we did- I mean at first, when dad first mentioned you and then when Tim and Damien gushed about you. We were worried I mean he's our dad but we didn't know who you were then,no one told us that you were Jacks y/n and we see now that's not the case. Your genuine and we don't have a problem with your age."

Dick continued for him as Jason looked panicked and lost for words.

"Yes we saw today your miles of years ahead of us in maturity we- well we just wanted to meet you without dad there. And like Jason said he is our dad we just don't want to see him hurt again." he added you looked between them still unconvinced fears you had still taunting you.

"I.. I'd never hurt him I love him." you admitted quietly.

"You- You love him?" Jack questioned you nodded smiling Dick smiled softly at you seeing the honesty in your words. He knew then that you weren't going anywhere he'd make sure of it.

"Then Don't leave him... We haven't seen him like this in...Ever really we just wanted to meet the woman who had made him happy that's all. Were sorry about the way we went about it. And want you to know that not just for dad, but we want to get to know you. Maybe not treat you like a mum but more like an older sister?" Dick said trying to pull you away form your dark thoughts. Feeling bad that they might have just fucked up the best thing to happen to their dad. Your eyes twinkled as you looked at the hopefully

"You-you really mean that?" they nodded you smiled wide at them wiping your eyes.

"Yeah then that way you can let loose a little you know act your age a bit?" he added laughing you scoffed clearing the last tears that had gathered away with a napkin handed to you from Damien.

"As if I remember how to do that, thank you both of you I was terrified of meeting you both , if you ever have a problem with me please come and talk to me about it"

"If they ever have a problem with you they can fuck off and take it with them" Damien growled kicking the table leg, knocking it with a force the boy should not posses thoroughly pissed off at his oldest brothers a cold shiver ran down your spin as you saw the terrifying glare he had on his face. If looks could kill... well your rather not tempt fate as in that moment Damien looked like he was defiantly considering it. you didnt notice the three wayne boys sharing a look holding their breath waiting for him to continue. if you only knew.

"Damien enough, you were worse when i met you and you know it" he snapped out of what ever was going on in his head smirking at you

"I was wasnt I?"

the others relaxed and you were all caught of guard as a presence in the corner made them selves known.

"See Master Wayne I told you if you left them to it they d all sort it out." Alferd stated standing up form the table in the front corner before chiding you.

"Miss y/n you really should pay more attention you left the door wide open after you let the boys in." You all gaped at the men Dick and Jason froze feeling Bruce's piercing gaze on their backs. Looking like a couple of boys who'd been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

"yes Alfred I suppose your right but I do remember telling them to leave her alone until Monday so I could explain exactly how we met." he said disaproval echoing through his words. you stood up huffing.

"Bruce stop it.. they were just trying to look out for their family which I can appriciate.. leave them be it all sorted now and I didnt have to put on stupid heals for it"

"but i what if i wanted to see you in heels?"

"then you could have asked, anyway how the bloody hell did you to sneak in so quietly are you some sort of ninja or something? Jesus" you asked the group who laughed .if only you knew.

"Any way I don't know about you lot but I spend to much time in this bloody cafe as it is and would like to leave." You finished collecting the crumpled cake papers and cups leaving them in the kitchen before ditching your apron and turning everything off grabbing your bag and coat on the way out.

"What about the cleaning?" Jack asked you shrugged.

"That's Hugh's problem now, he can do some work for a change." you snickered ushering them all out arming the alarm and locking the door.

"He still fucking around?" jack asked you nodded

"Yep boneing his girlfriend is more important then doing his shift's"

"I can fully understand that" Bruce said smirking as the group groaned you rolled your eyes ignoring him

"The others got pissed off so he gets to be here bright and early opening tomorrow cos the rest of us are 'busy'" you chuckled. Bruce slid up beside you pulling you into him

"well you will be." he muttered kissing your lips you blushed as a chorus of ewws and gagging noises carried across the small crowd you stuck out your tongue at them.

"Oh will I now?"

"Yes a very important appointment with me that may run into the afternoon" he said seductivly running his hands across your waist pulling you closer you linked your hands behind his neck.

"Hmm I don't remember arranging that Mr Wayne I might have other plans"

"well I'm sure you could squeeze me in" Jason as grossed out as he was, couldn't help but laugh at that one even Tim snorted you blushed.

"And what makes you say that?" he pulled away slightly

"Because you love me" you froze in his arms shyly looking down he pulled you back up to face him.

"And I love you to" he pulled you towards him kissing you passionately taking your breath away you moaned as the boys created a big fuss.

"OH MY GOD STOP!" Jack cried covering his eyes as Bruce grabbed handfuls of your rear making you squeal and begin laughing.

"Come on Jack you were the one who set us up to have sex remember? take it like a man"

"NOO! SHUT UP EWW I DIDN'T NEED THAT IMAGE!!" you laugh loudly walking past them all ,wrapped up in Bruce's arms leading you towards the Rolls Royce that he had arrived in with Alfred.

"H-hey how are we getting home?"

"The way you came, you don't want to ride with us." Bruce called over his shoulder kissing your neck.

"Bruce not in the car"

"Why not?"

"THAT IS MY SISTER!" Dick laughed out loud watching his little brothers yell about 'being scar'd for life' and 'never getting in the Rolls Royce ever again' yes you were both going to fit right into this mad house. He ushered them all the other way to his car there wasn't enough room really but he'd make them fit.

"Who want to go get Chinese?" he asked distracting them still chuckling to him self. You had turned his dad into a teenager again.

#bruce wayne imagine #batman x y/n #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne fic #batmom imagines

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dickgraysonisnothereforthis · 4 years

Text

I Didn’t Mistake Your Finger for the Moon, I Just Chose to Look at You Instead

Tim Drake x Reader Oneshot

The title comes from zen buddhism (maybe chinese? i’m sorry I don’t know), the idea is I am pointing my finger at the moon to show you the moon don’t look at my pointed finger, look where I’m pointing.

Heavily inspired by the play Frankie and Johnnie in the Claire de Lune

***

You can’t believe it’s only 8:30pm, just two hours into the night and you’re already bored out of your skull. Around you, the huge ballroom swirls with sparkling socialites keeping themselves busy by incessantly talking shit and guzzling Bruce Wayne’s alcohol. Everybody has their lips to someone’s ear and a glass in their hand, except for you, which is quite stupid on your part. But that’s why you’re at the bar.

Behind you, the positively charming laughs of the Wayne Gala’s guests dot the conversations that spill out through the room in concentric circles, rippling over each other in waves that ebb and flow right up until they reach you. Then they stop short, leaving you alone and trying to order a drink from a bartender who seems to be too busy to chat you up out of pity.

Not that you’d do anything with her, obviously. But still. Some attention would be nice.

Christ, you were so shit at knowing what to do with yourself at these parties. You’d think you’d have them figured out by now, but no such luck. Your funeral.

“Hey, have you seen Tim?”

You turn to face the speaker and your eyes fall on Dick Grayson, dressed gorgeous in a sharp suit complete with a dark blue bow tie. He looks incredible, but then again, he usually does. And miracle of miracles, the folks around you are now eyeing you up, trying to figure out if it’s worth skydiving into your conversation to get in a word with Bruce Wayne’s heir. Dick does that to people, has the sort of happy, positive demeanor that makes folks want desperately to talk to him, to be part of his group. You’ll probably never get used to it. Or to how beautiful he is.

“Yeah.” Yeah, you know where Tim is. You resist the urge to point across the ballroom, motioning with your chin instead. “He’s over there, schmoozing with some LexCorp folks.”

“Schmoozing? With LexCorp?” Dick’s face takes on a slightly disgusted hue in the light of the chandeliers.

You shrug. “Schmoozing, making thinly veiled threats, planting the seeds for some light corporate espionage, but not the sort anyone can prove. You know Tim.”

Dick chuckles at that. “I guess I do.” He takes a step away from you, then doubles back. “Are you all right, over here? You look a bit...”

“You can say lonely, Dick, it’s okay,” you say with a bit of bite, too many teeth in your voice, but he’s not wrong. “I’m fine, you don’t need to babysit me.”

His eyebrows raise. “Jeez, y/n, I didn’t mean--”

You cut him off. “No, it’s fine Dick, I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry.” You press a hand to the bridge of your nose and try to take deep breaths. Starting a fight with your boyfriend’s oldest brother is not exactly on your to-do list for the evening. “I am a bit lonely, but it’s cool, I get Tim back in...” you check your watch, a cheap analogue that clashes something awful with your cheesed-up attire. “Eight in a half minutes. Then he’s mine for at least an hour.”

Dick quirks his lips in a half-smile. “You guys time how long he spends doing W.E. business at these galas? That’s--”

“Adorable? Or just anal?” Try as you might, you can’t keep the cynicism from spreading thick over your tone.

“I was actually going to say very Tim,” he says back warmly. You grin at him, bad mood abandoning you for the moment. “It was his idea. Wouldn’t be much of a date if we didn’t spend any time together.”

Dick laughs again. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t.” Across the room, Tim turns away from the circle of business harpies and shoots you an apologetic smile. Dick must’ve clocked it as well. “Maybe Tim’ll turn knight-in-shining-armor and rescue you,” he suggests.

You wrinkle your nose. “I doubt it. As much as I don’t like it, the business stuff needs to get done.”

Dick eyes Tim’s back. “Yeah, something tells me you’d be the one doing the rescuing.” He clears his throat. “Well, I hate to be rude, but I gotta skip out on you.” Dick’s down-to-earth manner of speaking always surprises you, especially because he manages to get away with it at these swanky events. When you do it everyone seems to look at you sideways. “Need to go find Damian,” Dick explains further. “If he’s not antagonizing your boyfriend, he may be up to something worse.”

You nod in agreement. “Go get ‘em, Tiger.”

He sighs. “Yeah, wish me luck.” And then Dick makes his exit, leaving you with seven and a half minutes to wallow before Tim comes back.

You chide yourself a bit, picking up the Gin and Tonic that the bartender had just placed in front of you. Were you seriously going to wallow in self pity at a gala half of Gotham would kill to attend? With Tim Drake as your date? Hundreds of girls and quite a few boys probably daydream about being in your place, especially after he made the Forbes Thirty under Thirty list last month. Still, his spot on the list doesn’t change the fact that exactly no one at this party, striking Dick and the bartender, has said a single word to you.

You stifle a sigh. It isn’t your fault Gotham’s socialites always prove to be uninterested in Timothy Drake’s thoroughly middle-class girlfriend. They had found you just fascinating when the relationship was new and Tim’s move of dating so far below his class had actually made headlines. But, six months later, your novelty had worn clean off. God, you wished you had someone to talk to. You were feeling so small.

Swallowing a sip of G&T, you think back to your first gala at the Manor. The glitter and glamour of the evening had left you breathless, whereas now it’s making you sick. Some parts of the evening never seem to go stale, though. You still love playing dress up in gorgeous clothes and parading around with your boyfriend, who was also dressed up in gorgeous clothes. Tim usually bought your dresses for these events, since there was no way on the planet you could afford them. You’d gotten used to Tim being stupid rich early in your relationship, and it doesn’t bother you that you can never match him in the money department.

Occasionally, Tim likes to spoil you, although neither of you are too keen on outrageous gifts that are ultimately useless. He tends to avoid getting you things that are overpriced and unnecessary. (Cheap and unnecessary is where you operate. The two of you are currently having a competition over who could get the other the smallest, most useless gift for under two dollars. Your last gift to him had been a yellow plastic shovel that fits in the palm of your hand)

Tim doesn’t like buying expensive, frivolous things on principle, and you don’t like receiving them, also on principle. But if you’re going to attend these galas, you need an expensive dress point-blank, otherwise you’ll stick out like a sore thumb. And you want to attend, you want to be Tim’s girlfriend, public appearances and all. So Tim just has to buy you the dresses, which you secretly love because they’re gorgeous, and you have to accept them, because you can’t attend the gala without them. It’s a neat way for Tim to give you something expensive and make sure you’ll have a need for it. Plus, you know he loves seeing you wear the clothes he’s bought you.

Tonight, however, you’re not wearing one of Tim’s Vera Wang’s or Alexander McQueen’s. You’ve opted instead on something you’d bought yourself, a bridesmaid’s dress you’d worn to a friend’s wedding earlier this year. It just about fits in with everyone else’s attire, and besides, the dress was expensive. You wanted to wear it at least twice. A great plan, except it isn’t as beautiful as some of the other dresses in the room tonight. You’ve recognized more than one from a runway fashion account you follow on Instagram. Nice as your dress may be, it can’t compare with any of those, and every time you see an exceptionally beautiful gown you wonder what you were thinking, wearing a dress like this.

The negative buzzing in your ears dissipates as you catch Tim’s eye again. He’s got the same stupid look on his face he’d worn when he picked you up this evening. Like he’d been punched but he didn’t exactly mind.

“Are you sure you’re my date for tonight?” he’d whispered, after doing a cartoonish double-take at the door of your apartment, because he really is a good boyfriend. “I’m not sure other people will believe it.”

“Of course they will,” you’d scoffed, cheeks glowing at the compliment. “We look good together. You’re pretty stunning yourself.”

He’d look down at his own clothes with a worried expression. “Really?” Following your advice and urging, Tim had stepped out of his comfort zone tonight and was sporting a patterned tux. It’s a dark blue checked with thin black stripes, waistcoat and bow-tie to match. “I think I look like Al Capone.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you look very dapper.” You had taken his hand, then, smiling up at him and leading him out of your apartment. “Charming, even.”

“If Jason’s there he’ll make fun of me. Damian definitely will.”

“They were going to do that anyway. And besides, who cares? I think you look great.”

“I guess you’re the only one that matters.”

“Damn straight.”

He really does look incredible tonight, you think to yourself as you check him out from your position at the bar. Nothing short of beautiful, with the long lines of the tux sitting pretty on his sinuous, willowy limbs and gorgeous frame. His shoulders are holding strong under the fine material of his jacket, and presiding over everything are his sharp cheekbones and even sharper eyes. Which, you note in satisfaction, are now fixed on you as Tim extricates himself from the suits and makes his way to the bar.

“Is this seat taken?” he asks, plopping down next to you and casually hooking a foot around your ankle.

“Nope,” you smile happily, thrilled to be spending time with him again. “I was saving it for you, and as you can see, I had to really fight to keep it free.” You motion around yourself to the people ignoring you.

Tim winces. “I’m sorry, y/n, if I could do anything--”

“Stop, stop,” you wave him silent. “Don’t worry about it. You’re here now, it’s okay,” you reassure him.

“I don’t like that you end up spending so much time alone at these things,” he says, wrapping an arm around you. “If you even think I’m going to let you come to this thing by yourself,” you say, shaking your head. “Some of the other ones, maybe, but if I don’t make an appearance at The Wayne Gala, capital T, W, and G, the public will think I’m out of the picture.”

“Defending your territory, huh?” Tim grins sidelong at you. “Keeping the society pages off my back, more like.” You shift in your seat, sensing an opportunity. “But maybe I am defending my territory, hmm?” You give him an obvious once over, let lust show in your gaze. “Maybe you’re too pretty to let out of my sight.”

He flushes, color overrunning his cheeks and spilling down his neck and making him look even more edible. You let out a breath. “God, Tim, I could just...” you lean over, easily catching his lips with yours. Holding him there for a just a second, you run your tongue quick over his bottom lip and then pull back, spending a few moments just looking at him, with him looking back.

You wait for some of the sparkling energy to fade before you speak again. “It’s important to me that you know I’m here to support you as acting CEO.”

He laughs at that, spell broken. “I know sweetheart.” He turns from you to order a drink. “I’m very proud of you,” you say to his back. He rolls his eyes at you over his shoulder.

The bartender makes the drink inside of twenty seconds, because Tim Drake asked for it, and then your boyfriend spends a few more moments staring at you, taking the glass in his hand and eyeing you over the rim.

You meet his gaze. “What are you thinking?” He presses a finger to his ear. “Going off comms,” he murmurs, then surreptitiously fishes the device out of his ear and stows it in his pocket. If you hadn’t known what to look for you would swear he was just running his fingers through his hair and then brushing some lint off of his suit.

“If I’m honest, I’ve spent the last twenty minutes fantasizing about eating you out.”

...what?

It takes a moment for his words to connect to your brain. Then--

“Tim!” you squawk, eyes darting around to make sure no one had overheard you. “You can’t just say that to me in public!”

His eyes meet yours, he looks unimpressed. Tim never has any patience for your prudishness whenever he brings up sex with other people around. “What can I say? The LexCorp people were boring,” and now he’s the one looking you over, eyes slowly working up and down your form. You shiver under his attention. “That’s a very pretty dress you’re wearing, y/n, I think it would look great bunched up around your hips.”

God, confidence is such an irresistible look on him. Despite your better judgment, you decide to play along. Leaning closer, you let one hand ghost over his crotch, cupping him for half a moment as you say “and how do you think the dress will look on your bedroom floor?”

He gasps when you touch him, then smiles brilliantly, eyes shining. You really, really shouldn’t be encouraging him, but you can’t help it. You love him like this, you love the unrelenting force of his desire. You love how much he wants you.

With Tim, you’ve found that once the idea of sex gets into his head and he sees that you’re game, he’s like a dog with a bone, gnawing and gnawing at you. There’s no stopping him in pursuit to get you into his bed, or car, or the nearest supply closet. And you always find yourself indulging him, because the sex is usually good, but the man himself is even better. You delight in seeing Tim aroused, because as soon as that switch is flipped, the self-control that Tim rigidly keeps in place disappears, and he becomes hypnotically impulsive with his emotions. It took some time for him to get the barriers down, for him to let loose around you, but now he allows himself to be everything all at once. An aroused Tim is playful, awkward, confident, shy, ridiculous, and enthusiastic. You never know what you’re going to get with him, and sometimes he flits from one affect to the other between moments, leaving you breathless.

And you’re more than happy to provide an arena for Tim to let loose, because the only time your boyfriend allows himself to be anything less than perfect is when he’s in your arms. Control rules Tim’s life in the form of some probably unhealthy idolatrous god. As he’s explained to you several times, yes, he actually does need to be this tightly wound, because if he makes a mistake he’ll lose clout at WE. Or he’ll be too slow at night. People will die (he will die.) Insert answer here.

Which is all true, but it doesn’t mean Tim can’t take a fucking break once in a while. And that’s where you come in. Your boyfriend spends his whole life striving for perfection and punishing himself when he doesn’t reach it, but when he’s with you, he can be anything he wants.

And one of the wonderful things about sleeping with Tim is so often you get to see everything he wants. Once he’s finally lost control, once you’ve convinced him to put the walls down, he’s like a kid in a candy store. He can do anything, and so he usually does everything.

“Christ,” he breathes in your ear, head still in your fleeting touch, one arm coming to rest on your back. “I think you’ve given me a semi.”

“That,” you say in a sing-song voice, absolutely delighted, “sounds like a ‘you’ problem.” You turn and pretend to walk away, but Tim catches hold of your arm, reeling you back towards him. “You can’t leave now, y/n,” he pleads, eyes dancing. “People are going to look at my crotch and see I’ve got a hard-on, and I can’t endure Cass making fun of me again. C’mon, y/n,” he pouts at you. “I’m your damsel in distress. Save me from the bullies. Dance with me so no one will see.”

You roll your eyes, but come to stand in front of him nonetheless, letting him lead you to the center for the room with his hands on your waist. This isn’t the first time a gala has bored Tim to sexual frustration. “People will still be able to see your crotch,” you argue. “We’ll just dance really, really close together.” As if to prove his point, he suddenly jerks your hips to his, and you all but fall against him. “The song is too fast for this kind of slow-dancing,” you say into his neck, false protests muffled by his suit.

He leans back to make eye contact with you as the two of you start swaying. “That doesn’t matter. We’re young lovers, y/n,” he reminds you seriously. “They’ll forgive us.”

“Young lovers, hmm?” You’re struck again by his confidence tonight, how alluring it is. It’s rare that he’s this sure of himself, but he wears it so well when he is.

“That’s right.” The two of you are silent for a moment, and you contemplate leaning your head against his chest. “You really do look beautiful in that dress, y/n,” Tim says quietly, all joking gone from his tone.

Your cheeks heat at the compliment. “Thank you.” And then, because you’re immature, too, and because Tim isn’t the only one who can flash his sex drive in public, you impulsively say “I bet you can’t guess what I’m wearing underneath.”

This is probably a mistake, but what the hell. You want your boyfriend just as much as he wants you, maybe more.

Tim doesn’t even wait two full seconds before responding. “See, I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I bet I can.” You weren’t expecting him to be so quick on the uptake, your mistake for thinking his boredom hadn’t already driven him to tackle this particular problem.

“It’s warm enough out that you’re not wearing any tights or pantyhose, so the suspender sets are out.”

“The suspender sets are out,” you repeat solemnly, already excited by this new game you’re playing. “Well, hang on, maybe I just wore a set without the suspenders.”

Tim is quick to shake his head. “No, you hate doing that, you’d rather just wear separate set altogether. It’s a set without the suspenders.”

You let out a low whistle. “Got me pegged there, detective.” You see an opportunity, and waggle your eyebrows. “Maybe I’ll have you pegged, later.”

He falters in the slow waltz he’s leading you through. “Really not helping with the semi here, y/n” he complains, and he’s right, you can feel it pressing lightly against you. You roll your eyes. “Fine, let’s go back to you guessing what lingerie I’m wearing.”

He nods, only half joking. Tim loves a puzzle. “Thank you. So none of the suspenders.”

“So none of the suspenders,” you repeat again, and offer him a winning smile when he glares at you over it.

Explanatory monologue in full swing, he says “You normally like to match your dress, but this one’s black, which isn’t very helpful.” All of a sudden his attention shifts and comes to rest on your face. “Are you going to tell me if I get it right, or will I just have to wait and see?”

“What would make it better for you, baby?” you ask, voice sultry as you slide your hips against his.

“I have absolutely no idea. Is it the red one?”

“Nope!”

“Damn. I love the red one.”

“I know you do, sweetheart.”

He pouts at you, but quickly perks up again. “Here, hang on, I’m going to risk exposing my erection so I can get a better view of your back,” and suddenly you’re spinning, once, twice, three times, before Tim pulls you back to his chest and dips you as the song ends. You’re panting a bit in surprise, and from your position suspended in his strong arms, you can feel one of his hands pawing around at your hip, smoothing over the fabric of your dress.

He pulls you upright as another song begins, a grimace on his handsome face. You reach up to brush some of his hair out of his eyes. “That was inconclusive,” he mutters.

You glance over his shoulder. “I think Bruce definitely got a good look at what’s going on down south.” Your boyfriend’s father is looking rather pointedly at the ground, a pained look on his face.

“I could barely see the lines of the set through your dress,” Tim complains, and then adds “Bruce’ll get over it. Or he won’t. Whatever,” he says dismissively. “Last week I walked in on Selina blowing him under his desk, so now we’re even. What’s way more important is that I couldn’t see anything, why couldn’t I see anything?”

“Aww, poor baby,” you tease.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, before brightening a bit. “I mean, it wasn’t a total loss. I did get a great view of your ass. It still looks fantastic, by the way.”

“Thanks for the update.”

He keeps going. “I didn’t see the lines, but I did get a good feel of your underwear at your hip.” He plants his tongue between his teeth, eyes closed in concentration as you sway delicately to the new song. “I didn’t feel a strap, so I can rule out some of the thongs.” You hum in agreement, arms coming up to wrap securely around his torso in an extended embrace. “It isn’t either of the black ones, or the nice blue one, is it?”

“No, sweetheart, it’s not.”

“Hn.” He shifts his arms, and you feel his slight hand flitting about at your hip again. He soon gives up, discouraged. “The material of your dress is too thick, I can’t feel anything through it.”

You decide to throw him a bone. “I’ll give you a hint: I’m actually wearing another color besides black, and the set matches it.”

Tim frowns, stepping back from you for a moment to look down at your feet. “Your shoes are black too, what are you talking about?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you want me to ruin it for you?”

“No, let me think,” Tim says, and goes silent, eyes shut. You study him as the actual detective comes out to play. His eyes snap open again, and you clock his gaze going for your throat and ears. No necklace, but you are wearing gold earrings. Tim ignores them and takes your hand in his, examining your rings. He knows you too well to ask whether the set is gold or silver, that isn’t your style. He’s getting much closer with the rings though, and then his sharp exhale is ghosting through your fingers and his eyes are meeting yours again. You give him a proud smile.

“Good solve, Timmy.” He kisses the pad of your index finger. “Nail polish, y/n?”

“Nail polish,” you confirm.

“Why?”

You pretend to think it over, letting your eyes go wide. “Well, I just thought it would look nice, you know? My hand right over the panties, maybe even inside them, if you wanted me to do any of the work on my own.”

His eyes just about bug out of his head at that, and then he shakes his smile back and forth, impressed. Your answering grin is knife sharp. “You’ve got me right where you want me, don’t you, y/n? What am I going to do with you?”

“Anything you want,” you whisper, winding your arms around his neck. “That’s sort of the point. We can get out of here right now.”

“You know I would love, love, to do that,” Tim says, running his hands down your back, “but there’s supposedly a deal going down at 9:30 that I kind of need to be there for.”

“Well, then,” you murmur, “you’ll just have to suffer for another twenty minutes.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” he says drily. The two of you sway in silence for a few minutes before he speaks again. “Hold on, y/n, something just occurred to me.”

“Yes, Tim?”

“Your nail polish is purple, but you don’t own any sets that color. What gives?”

You raise your eyebrows at him. He looks at you for a few moments before his face smooths out again. “You really have it in for me tonight, don’t you? It’s a new set?”

“It’s a new set,” you confirm.

“And I bet you look just stellar in purple,” he says to himself, a desperate edge to his voice.

“You know very well I look good in everything.” You glance downwards. “How are you doing there, Timmy?”

“Fuck off,” he says happily. “Is it lace?”

“Tim, sweetheart, of course it’s lace.”

Your boyfriend groans, then freezes in place. You look at him questioningly. “I’m running a cost/benefit analysis on me skipping out on this deal.”

“Give it to Tam,” you suggest.

“Give it to Tam,” he agrees. “Yeah, alright, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

You let out a delighted laugh, following him in the direction of his old bedroom in the manor. Behind you, you dimly hear the orchestra finish their song. There are a few moments of silence while you make your way to the exit, and then you hear a few forlorn notes on the piano that have you turning around and calling out “Tim!”

“Whoa, y/n, where are you--”

“Tim! Tim it’s Claire de Lune, they’re playing Claire de Lune, we have to stay!” You drag him back to the dance floor.

“But,” he tries to argue, “but y/n, we were going to--”

“Tim.” You stand your ground. “It’s Claire de Lune. Please?”

He mumbles under his breath but takes you back into his arms regardless, like the good boyfriend that he is. You adore the Claire de Lune, and he’s probably reasoned to himself that no amount of arguing or pleading could tear you from the melody spinning lazily through the room.

He’s still going to complain about it, though. “Claire de Lune, huh? I can’t believe I lived to see Twilight cock-blocking me again.”

You poke him in the side. “Some of us first heard Debussy at the Gotham Philharmonic and some of us read about him in Stephanie Meyers’ blockbuster paranormal romance and googled Claire de Lune on the family computer in their Dad’s office, okay? The important thing is we’re both here, and we can both appreciate it, so shut up.”

Tim shuts up. You smile at him, and let your eyes fall closed. The slow melody envelops you like mist and settles on your skin, resting easy in your inner ear. A small part of you anticipates the notes before the pianist actually plays them, and you find yourself nodding when they finally escape from her fingers. Her performance is perfect, she isn’t messing around trying to improve Debussy’s masterwork, just picking her way through it, measure by measure. You take deep, even breaths as a sense of calm permeates your system. Eyes still closed, you let the music relax you, content to wade dreamily in its cool comfort.

After about a minute, Tim clears his throat. “Y/n,” he says gently, “look.” You open your eyes and follow Tim’s pointed finger to one of the floor-length windows, gasping out loud when you see the stunning full moon. It sits in an overcast sky, fog and smog and clouds pressing against it like an embrace. The thin ropey clouds that drift across its slouched figure are reflecting its yellow light and giving it a warm, pearly corona, a halo. You stare at it openly for a few seconds, admiring the bone moon in its sky armchair.

Your attention drifts back to Tim’s finger, arm still hanging loosely in front of you, and then to the man himself. The ballroom lights are low enough that you can imagine the moonlight reflecting off of Tim, too, that he too is catching some of its cotton shine on his face. You’re awfully lucky to be with someone who takes the time to point out a particular moon among of a string of nights with particular moons, and you tell him so. Tim’s smile is quiet, but he presses his forehead to yours, where it stays for the rest of the song.

When it ends Tim leans back to smile at you again. You smile back, feeling filled up with the moon and the music and him. Catching his hand in your own, you start in the direction of the grand staircase that leads up to his old bedroom. Tim stops you by pulling on your arm lightly, before turning and walking towards the doors that will take you outside.

You look at him quizzically. “Can we go to your apartment?” he murmurs. “We’ve been in my world this whole night, now I want to be in yours.”

You smile softly before leaning up to kiss him, quick and light. He squeezes your hand as he leads you through the room, and then suddenly you’re outside, breathing cool, almost autumn air while you wait for Tim to get a car sorted out. You turn your eyes upward to meet the moon again, the ghost of Claire de Lune still drifting through your head.

Tim breaks your reverie by calling your name, and you follow him into the back of a car. After directing the driver to your apartment, Tim hands you an earbud. You put it in your left ear while Tim puts the other in his right, and together you listen to Claire de Lune again as the car makes it’s way through a Gotham that’s soft and shiny with moonlight. Three repetitions of Debussy later you’re standing in front of your apartment, Tim wrapping his arms around you as you fiddle with your keys, unlock your door, and lead him to your bedroom.

Later, after you’re spent twice over and Tim has made good on his fantasy of opening you up with his mouth, Tim shifts in the bed and slides himself around you, lips at your ear.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

You sigh happily. “Mmm.”

“I asked the orchestra to play Clair de Lune.”

You raise yourself up on your elbows at that, leaning over him with a meaningful look into his starry eyes. You’re sure there are stars in yours, too.

“Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

You lie back down. “Thank you.”

His hand comes up to stroke your hair. “Mmm.”

#tim drake x reader #batboy imagines #tim drake imagine #dc imagine #batboy x reader #kira writes #tim drake

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

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Chapter 17: Jon

Jon knows he should probably feel bad about this, but he’s too shaken to feel anything else. Part of him feels guilty for bolting and leaving the others behind. God knows they must be upset by what they just heard too. It isn’t just his fate Martin Prime laid out in a series of framed pictures.

But he needs space, he needs air. He needs a chance to think about what he heard before he does or says something utterly stupid, even for him. He needs to regulate his breathing and he needs something to soothe his nerves.

He taps a cigarette out of the pack he keeps in his glove compartment and puts the rest in his pocket, then lights it up and leans against the corner of the garage. The first shaking drag nearly makes him choke, as always, but he holds it for a moment before slowly expelling it in a puff of air.

“Those things will kill you, you know,” a too-familiar voice says from behind him.

Jon doesn’t look up. “Obviously not, if you’re still here.”

Jon Prime comes over and leans against the wall next to Jon, arms folded across his chest. He doesn’t say anything, merely stands there and watches the smoke curl up in paisley spirals.

“Want one?” Jon finally asks, more as a way to break the silence than anything.

Jon Prime shakes his head. “No, I quit ages ago.”

“So did I,” Jon says dryly.

“Yes, but I stopped even keeping a pack on hand ‘just in case’ or ‘for emergencies’. Martin doesn’t like it. Never said anything, but…with everything else trying to kill me, the last thing I wanted was him worrying that I’d manage to do it to myself. I haven’t touched a cigarette since…before we lost Tim.”

Jon glances at his counterpart out of the corner of his eye. He sounds…haunted, for lack of a better term. Not that Jon can blame him. Bad enough to have to listen to all that as it was, but Jon Prime had to live through it, and then have it served up like an art gallery. And to hear it come out of Martin Prime’s mouth…

He thinks about that, thinks about the sinking panic in his stomach when he thought about his—their—Martin having to go through half of what Martin Prime must have endured, thinks about the way the Primes clung to each other when they were first reunited and the way they’ve maintained some degree of physical contact almost constantly since. It all combines to make him ask, “When did you figure out what he meant to you?”

“Almost too late,” Jon Prime murmurs. He gives Jon the same sideways glance Jon just gave him. “It sort of…crept up on me gradually? I wish I could tell you that it came to me in a grand realization, some big, theatrical, dramatic moment, but…no, it was—” He pauses and lets out a soft sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “It was really such a small, stupid thing, but…no. The moment I realized…”

He returns to staring across the backyard, but Jon isn’t sure that’s what he’s actually looking at. “I was…trying to retrace Gertrude’s footsteps. Trying to piece together what she’d learned, what she’d been working on. At one point, she was at the Pu Songling Research Center in Beijing—it’s something of a sister organization to the Institute—and went from there to Chicago. I had a bit of time before the next flight out, so I thought—I was dying for a cup of tea. Hadn’t had a decent one in ages. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d been able to finish one. And here I was in the middle of one of the most well-known places for tea in the world. I decided to go to a nice teahouse and get the full experience. So I did.” He snorts softly and shakes his head. “I couldn’t finish it.”

Jon makes an interrogative noise. He isn’t really sure what to say to that, or how it connects to anything they’ve been talking about, but he’s willing to wait it out.

“Silly, isn’t it?” Jon Prime muses. “I—I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with it. It wasn’t the quality of the tea, that was perfect. It was made exactly the way I like it. Hell, I even watched them make it, so it wasn’t fear of them accidentally poisoning it or whatever—so what could it be?” He sighs heavily. “And that’s when it hit me. I watched the woman make it. The woman. I realized, sitting in the middle of a crowded shop in one of the most populated cities in the world, that I could come up with as many excuses as I wanted, but the simple truth was that I hadn’t finished a cup of tea in two years that Martin hadn’t made for me.” He looks back at Jon, and his eyes are tight with self-reproach. “That was the moment I knew. And then, like a coward, I didn’t say anything for more than a year.”

Jon wants to say something, anything, but before he can, Jon Prime looks away from him again. “Oh, I told myself there were good reasons. I-I was away, I wasn’t going to say something like that over the phone, I had to wait until I saw him in person again. And then when I did get back to the Institute, we were in the middle of—we had work to do to save the world, we didn’t have a lot of down time, we had to—to plan, to prepare. A-and then, the, the night before we left for our mission…I told myself that wasn’t the time. I was going and Martin was staying behind—he had a plan of his own to carry out, and someone had to stay back, just in case the rest of us didn’t make it, and…I didn’t say anything, but I needed it to be him. I needed to know he was safe, even if the rest of us weren’t. But I convinced myself it wouldn’t be fair to burden him with that, to tell him how I felt and then just leave, because if God forbid I didn’t come back I didn’t want him to live the rest of his life knowing we never had the chance to—to explore what that meant.”

“And then?” Jon ventures.

Jon Prime closes his eyes. “The ninth picture.”

“You—we—” Damn, it’s hard to know how to say it. “A coma?”

“Six months. Nothing functioning except my brain. I—I had to make my choice. I chose to come back. But when I did…everything was different. Martin had—he’d taken another job in the Institute, to protect everyone in the Archives. To protect me. He had…he was working on a plan of his own, but…” Jon Prime sighs heavily. “I don’t know…”

“It’s not likely to happen now, is it?” Jon asks. “Whatever this is? You’re—we’re going to stop all this from happening, so what’s the harm in telling me?”

Jon Prime swallows. “Because it still hurts to think about. But…all right. Martin had managed to gather enough evidence to have Elias arrested—this was before we knew…the full extent of things, so we thought he was just a moderately clairvoyant, malicious ass—but Elias had anticipated…something of that nature, and laid plans ahead of time. He’d chosen Peter Lukas as a temporary successor. Actually there was a bet involved, but…I really don’t want to discuss that, and we didn’t find out until later anyway. But Peter Lukas was running the Institute. There were…attacks, and Martin finally made a deal with Lukas that he’d work directly for him if he would protect the others left behind in the Archives. Most of what he did was to protect us—to protect me, because he thought if he kept Lukas’ attention on him, it would keep the rest of us safe. And for the most part, he wasn’t wrong.”

“Lukas…as in, the Institute donors?” Jon thinks back to the statement of the young woman he’d rather brusquely dismissed. “The woman who—the funeral—wait a minute.” He compares the statement to the list of entities and ventures, “The Lonely?”

“It almost got him.” Jon Prime exhales shakily. “The Lukas family is…very wrapped up in the Lonely. Oddly, for such a large family, but…yes. He worked on Martin for months, and I—for a moment, I thought he was going to go over. But in the end, he didn’t. He stood up to him and chose not to. But as part of what he was doing to Martin—and what Martin was doing to protect me—we didn’t interact. Couldn’t.” He gives a small, humorless laugh. “The loneliness of distance.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s…the Keeper’s domain, actually. A mixture of the Lonely and the Spiral. That peculiar feeling when you’re separated from someone you love, and it—it should be so simple to cross that barrier, but you can’t. Maybe you’re physically separated, maybe an emotional gulf…maybe by necessity. But it’s coupled with the—the fear that if you do try to reach out…”

“They won’t reach back,” Jon says softly.

Jon Prime nods. “And it hurts. I-I mean, both of us wanted to close that gap, but…we were afraid to. Me because I was afraid I’d well and truly botched it and he didn’t want me to, him because it was the only way he could think of to keep me safe. Relatively, anyway.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “We got lucky. We got that second chance.”

“So how do you feel about him?” Jon asks. It’s probably a stupidly obvious question, but honestly, his own emotions are still so mixed up that he genuinely doesn’t know how he feels, and knowing how Jon Prime feels…

Jon Prime unfolds his arms, straightens up, and looks Jon square in the face. “I love him,” he says, quietly but firmly. “He’s my anchor, my compass, the one thing keeping me human. He is the one person I trusted when I was at my lowest and the one person I wanted there when I was at my highest. He was the first one I told when I found out how to quit the Institute and the one who found a way to bring me out of the Buried when my own stupidity nearly trapped me there. He’s the reason I’ve made it this far and the only reason I have to continue. He is the most important thing in my life and I will do whatever it takes to keep him there.” He pauses. “And before you ask, yes, he does know all this. Now.”

That was, in fact, Jon’s next question. “And he…?”

“He feels the same.”

For just a moment, Jon feels dizzy. Could Martin…? But he’s not even sure if love is what he feels for his—their—Martin, not yet anyway. Could it be love? Maybe. Someday. But all hearing about his future self’s feelings has done is make him more confused. Still, he keeps pushing. “You haven’t…said anything, o-or done anything, since…” Even the way they clung to each other when they first were reunited could be construed as two friends, two people who’ve lost everything else, finding something familiar once again.

“And believe me, it’s killing us both.” Jon Prime reaches up like he wants to run his hands through his hair, then checks, evidently remembering the braid, and rubs his face instead. “I didn’t realize how comfortable I’ve become with being able to show that affection—to take comfort from him—until we were here and I couldn’t. God, when he was done giving his statement, I—I wanted to—” He gives a ragged sigh. “And don’t think for a moment I couldn’t tell how much effort it took to restrain himself to what little he did when I overdid things. We’re just…we got accustomed to being allowed to do that, I suppose. It never occurred to either one of us we’d be somewhere we couldn’t.”

“Well, why can’t you?”

“I don’t know if you realize just how bad Martin’s self-esteem is at times,” Jon Prime says quietly. “God knows we haven’t done him any favors. We worried that if you saw us together, then got together yourselves, your Martin would always harbor that little bit of suspicion that you’re only with him because you think you have to be.”

Jon swallows, but he cant really refute that assessment of Martin, mostly because he doesn’t know him as well as he’d like. It still rings true. “I—you know I wouldn’t—”

“I know. And my Martin knows that, too. He’s…as horrible as the next two years were for us, they definitely helped him forge his sense of self-worth. But yours still thinks you hate him.”

“I don’t—I never hated him. I—”

“Was projecting, yes. He called me on that and I copped to it. But it doesn’t change the fact that that’s what he thinks now. My Martin and I don’t want to risk damaging what you two could have by making either of you think it’s forced.” Jon Prime returns to lounging against the side of the building.

They fall into another long silence, Jon Prime sliding his hands into his pockets and watching the sky cloud over and Jon returning to smoking. There’s always a small amount of guilt when he sneaks a cigarette—which he really does far too often to claim he’s actually quit—but it’s worse than usual today. Or maybe it’s just that what he’s just sat through is too intense to be soothed with nicotine and menthol. He watches the smoke curl on the wind and thinks about the paintings.

Finally, he asks, “They all happened, then?”

“Yes.” Jon Prime’s voice is barely audible. “All of them. Including, thank God, the last one.” He pauses, then adds, “I’m—I know it’s selfish to say it, but if he had to be blinded, I’m glad that’s the last thing he saw.”

Jon understands that. “Anything would be better than the gallery of horrors. And…the last painting, the one he didn’t turn around to see. Do you…?”

“It was probably the moment I ended the world.”

“You ended—” Jon’s cigarette slips from his fingers. Stupidly, he grabs at it as it falls and manages to sear his hand. He curses softly and shakes out his hand, inspecting the cigarette. Somehow, it’s still lit. Wonders will never cease.

“Graceful,” Jon Prime says dryly. He starts to fiddle with the cuffs of his sweater, then tucks his hands firmly into his armpits, evidently to stop himself. “And yes. It wasn’t…exactly my fault, I suppose, but I was more or less the catalyst, at least.” He seems to debate with himself for a moment, then sighs. “We’ll explain a bit more when we’re back with everyone else—I don’t want to have to relive this more than once—but, broadly, the entities all have rituals, designed to bring them fully into the world and recreate it in their image, so to speak. The ritual for the Eye is called the Watcher’s Crown, and the Archivist is the keystone. Jonah spent three years preparing me, and then—well, he disguised the incantation to finish the ritual as a statement, and I didn’t discover it until I’d already started reading it.”

“You didn’t stop?”

“I—I tried. God knows I tried. But I physically couldn’t. Even from the beginning, I found it hard to stop recording a statement once it was begun, unless I was interrupted. I convinced myself for far too long that it was just work ethic or some such nonsense.” Jon Prime sounds bitterly amused. “I don’t know that I could have stopped myself without intervention. If—if I hadn’t been alone, if I’d asked Martin to stay in the room…he might have been able to snatch it away from me before I got to the second page. I don’t know. I can’t Know hypotheticals or the future or anything like that, but I-I’m terribly afraid that if he’d tried to interfere, especially once I got to the actual ritual, that I might have hurt him.” He closes his eyes tightly. “I-I wouldn’t have survived that.”

Jon presses his lips together for a moment, then takes another drag on the cigarette. He tries not to think about the possibility of hurting any of his assistants, let alone Martin. Even now, the very idea makes him flinch away in horror. How much worse would it be if he’d sorted through the tangle of emotions inside him?

“You didn’t—Tim and Sasha. That wasn’t you, right?” he asks, and could swallow his tongue. He almost does swallow the cigarette and holds it well away from himself to keep from doing something even stupider. “I-I mean—”

“It’s all right. It’s a valid question,” Jon Prime says quietly. He opens his eyes. Somehow, Jon isn’t surprised to see that they’re wet with unshed tears. “No, I never laid a hand on either of them. Sasha was—she was killed by the thing from Amy Patel’s statement, the one that was not her friend Graham. Tim died trying to stop one of the rituals. He—I didn’t want him to go. I definitely didn’t want him to do what he did, but…God, he was so angry. I-I think he needed to do it, but it hurt when I woke up and found out he was gone.”

Jon notes that whatever killed Tim—likely an explosion, since Martin Prime mentioned a detonator—also put Jon Prime in his coma, but he decides not to bring that up. Not now. He doesn’t want to think about losing any of his assistants. He can’t. “Please tell me you’re going to help me keep that from happening.”

“That’s our goal,” Jon Prime promises. “Well, our secondary goal at least. Obviously our main goal is to stop—”

“The world from ending. I know. Your Martin told us that.”

Jon Prime smiles, just a little bit. It takes Jon a second to realize that it’s the words your Martin that made him soften like that—that even though Jon meant it to distinguish Martin Prime from the Martin who could have died last night if the CO2 system had been a hair slower to trigger, a thought that’s going to haunt him for a while, he heard it as a possessive statement. Your Martin in the same sense as your partner, your reason, your love. There’s another uncomfortable flutter in Jon’s chest that he tries his hardest to ignore.

“But our other goal is to protect everyone we care about,” Jon Prime continues. “I—I am sorry that your Martin got hurt so badly. I am. I know what he’s going through, physically at least. We really were hoping to avoid any of you having to go through that. But if we can at least stop him—stop all of you—from going through the hell we went through…we’ll run whatever risk we have to.”

“Short of letting…Elias win,” Jon says. It seems safer to call him that for now.

Jon Prime hesitates, which surprises Jon. “I…I’d like to say yes. That stopping Jonah is more important than keeping you all from getting hurt. And certainly you’ll all suffer a great deal if he does win, but…God, I don’t know. If the cost is anyone’s life…I don’t know that I can pay it. Not again.” He takes a deep breath. “We have a good chance, though. Jonah doesn’t know we’re here, and as long as we can keep him ignorant, we should be able to catch him off-guard. And I know what to prepare for better now.”

“Wait, you’re following through the same plan you had post-apocalypse?”

“More or less.”

“Even though it obviously didn’t work?” Jon wonders what happens to him that he would consider trying something he knows is doomed to failure.

“It would have worked,” Jon Prime says. “I didn’t know for sure before we tried—like I said, I can’t Know the future—but what Jonah did made it clear that what we were going to do would have worked, and that he found the only method possible of stopping it.”

Jon knows he shouldn’t ask, but he can’t help himself. He wonders if it’s the power of the Eye or just his own natural curiosity, or maybe both. “What—what did he do?”

“He hurt Martin.” Jon Prime’s voice is quiet but raw. “Badly. I—I knew I could save him, but I also knew that going to Martin first would give Jonah enough time to get away, and we’d never get another chance to catch him unaware. And I knew that if I took Jonah down, even in the relatively short amount of time it would take to do that…Martin would be beyond help by the time I was done. I only had seconds to decide.” He looks up, and the pain in his eyes is evident. “Not a thing in me said to do other than what I did.”

The memory of Martin being wheeled out of the Archives on a stretcher hits Jon almost like a physical force. The panic, the desperate need to get to him, the sense of guilt, return as if he’s feeling them fresh. And that was with trained medical professionals on the scene. What Jon Prime is describing is infinitely worse. Jon Prime had to watch Martin Prime hurt, by someone he once at least marginally trusted, and know that he was the only one who could save him…but at the cost of the rest of the world.

And, honestly, Jon can’t condemn him. He doesn’t know what he’d do if faced with that situation himself. Truthfully, there’s a part of him that’s afraid he would hesitate for too long and lose both opportunities. He knows, with utter certainty, that he’d never forgive himself if he did. At least Jon Prime made a decision. At least he saved the man he loved.

“I—I think you did the right thing,” he manages.

Jon Prime huffs a soft laugh and folds his arms over his chest again, banging his head lightly back against the wall of the garage. “Martin didn’t think so. At first, anyway. He fussed at me for not stopping Jonah when I could, but…when I told him how little time he had, and pointed out I wasn’t even sure I’d get anything out of taking down Jonah but revenge, he let it go. Still don’t think he agrees it was the right choice, but he does at least understand it was the only choice I could have made.”

Jon doesn’t answer. He’s thinking about what that must feel like—to be the only ones left standing at the end of the world, to make a pact together to turn it back, to go through what must have been literal hell together, to see your happy ending on the horizon, and then to nearly have everything destroyed in an instant. If the chasm that opened up before him at the idea of losing Martin had been deep and vast, how unfathomable must it have been to Jon Prime? Especially knowing how close he must have come to losing Martin before that?

“What would he have done?” he finally asks. “If your positions had been reversed. If you’d been the one hurt. Would Martin have saved you and let…” He trails off. He still can’t bring himself to call his boss Jonah. That’s honestly the only thing he’s having trouble believing. That Elias Bouchard is in the service of an eldritch fear god, that he might want to end the world as long as he can be in charge of it, that he’s using Jon as a cat’s-paw to do so? Certainly. But that he might actually be Jonah Magnus, or at least possessed by him? No, Jon can’t quite buy that one yet.

Jon Prime looks unhappy. “I don’t know. Our plan relied—relies—on an ability Martin simply doesn’t have. So the likelihood of him being able to do anything to Jonah…I don’t know if he would have tried or not. He might have. Martin’s got a lot more pent-up rage in him than you might expect, and most of it is directed at Jonah. He’s hurt us both over the years, repeatedly, and I know Martin wanted revenge. I did, too, but…the difference is that I knew how precious little time there was before the damage done to him was irreversible. Martin wouldn’t have known that. He—he might have thought he could at least get one good stab in and then save me. You’ll have to ask him, but honestly, I don’t think even he knows.”

Actually, the thought that Martin—stammering, unassuming, inoffensive Martin—would attack a being that’s essentially a demigod with a knife to pay it back for hurting them is strangely comforting. The idea that Jon might have died as a result, less so. “So—why attack Martin and not you? What if you’d chosen differently?”

“I think he knew damn well I wouldn’t. And I think he knew there was a good possibility Martin would, which also tells me it would have worked, too. That Martin could have killed him. Then, too, there’s a chance that he couldn’t have actually killed me. The Eye may have liked me better than it liked Jonah. Certainly it seemed keen to keep me alive and functioning.” Jon Prime pauses, then adds on a small sigh, “But mostly, I think he attacked Martin because when he started picking at my confidence, started me doubting myself—again—Martin stood between us and refused to move.”

Jon coughs. “Wait, what?”

Jon Prime nods without looking at him. He folds his arms tightly over his chest, rolling the fabric of the sweater between his thumbs and forefingers. It’s a nervous tic Jon himself isn’t familiar with, and in a distant way, he wonders when it started. “It wasn’t—I won’t pretend it was like you might imagine in the movies. He was scared, I could taste how scared he was, and I know he was trying not to cry. But he stood in front of me anyway. He looked Jonah square in the eye and told him to fuck off. Told him he wouldn’t let him hurt me anymore and—” He breaks off and closes his eyes, pressing his lips into a flat line for a moment. “He wouldn’t budge. He didn’t take his eyes off Jonah when he told me that he’d stand in front of me as long as I needed him to, as long as it took for me to remember who I was, and that it wasn’t what Jonah had tried to make me.”

Jon can’t fathom what kind of courage that must have taken. “And that…what, angered Jonah so much that he wanted to hurt Martin?”

“Oh, no, he didn’t sound angry at all,” Jon Prime says bitterly. “He was perfectly calm as he told me that I ‘might want to reconsider my course of action’ as ‘time can be a precious resource, after all’.”

“And then?”

“And then he shot Martin.” Jon Prime slowly turns his head to look Jon square in the eye. “Three times. In the chest.”

Jon freezes. Everything seems to still down to a molecular level—heart, lungs, even his brain. Nothing exists beyond the words Jon Prime has just spoken and what they imply. At first, it’s focusing on the thought that Elias Bouchard shot Martin—that his boss, the man theoretically responsible for them and their well-being, leveled a gun at one of his assistants and fired it. Then the details catch up to him, and Jon somehow manages to forget how to breathe, despite the fact that he isn’t breathing to begin with. Not only did he shoot Martin, he shot him the same way Gertrude Robinson was shot, if Tim is to be believed. Spots begin forming at the edges of his vision.

He feels pressure on his shoulders and hears a voice that seems to crackle with static. “Breathe, Jon.”

Jon complies without realizing it. He inhales—exhales. Again. Again. The creeping darkness recedes, and Jon sees his counterpart standing before him, his eyes wet and anxious behind his glasses, matching his breathing to Jon’s. He has his hands on Jon’s shoulders—that’s the pressure he felt—and he’s shaking faintly.

“My God,” Jon whispers. “He—dear God.”

Jon Prime nods, infinitesimally. “Yes. He was—making a point. As much as—” He breaks off and closes his eyes again, but Jon sees a tear trickle out of the corner of his eye.

Jon swallows hard. “He killed Gertrude Robinson.”

“Yes.” Jon Prime takes a deep breath and opens his eyes again, looking a bit calmer but still shaken. “That…was not how I wanted to tell you that. But yes.” He pauses, then adds, “If you want more on that, you’ll have to wait until we can talk to everyone. They probably deserve to know.”

Jon isn’t sure he does want to know more about that. Or if there’s really that much more to be known. Still, he understands not wanting to talk about that more right now.

He reaches over and wipes the tear off of Jon Prime’s cheek. “He’s all right, though. I-I mean, you saved him. He’s alive. He’s…alive.”

“He’s alive, yes.” Jon Prime slowly releases Jon’s shoulders and takes a step back, giving them both a bit of space. “I—I was able to stabilize him. The Keeper appeared and offered us a relatively safe place to rest, and we were able to stay until Martin was well again, but…he’ll always have those scars, I think. They’re a bit worse than they would have been had he been given real medical attention, but I-I did the best I could. And…at least he’s alive. At least I still have him.”

Jon exhales and leans back against the wall. In light of everything he’s just learned…he can’t imagine how difficult the last week has been for Jon Prime. Being separated from the last person you knew from your previous life is bad enough, but to be separated from the person you love…especially so soon after a near-death experience…and then to not have any way of contacting him, of knowing how he was…it must have been absolute hell.

After a moment, Jon Prime says with a small, humorless laugh, “You know, I came out here to make sure you were all right, and I think I successfully made things infinitely worse.”

Jon thinks about that for a moment, then says, somewhat surprised, “Actually, I think you may have helped.”

“Really,” Jon Prime says, sounding skeptical.

“I-I mean—it’s bad. It’s very bad, what happened, and I—yes, all right, I definitely panicked a bit there. But…” Jon tries to figure out how to phrase it, then gives up and decides to just talk and see what comes out. “I didn’t even know why I came out here. Why I needed space. But talking to you, I—I think I figured it out. Listening to what you said…it wasn’t what you—we—went through that upset me. It wasn’t even hearing it spoken about. It was hearing Martin—well, your Martin—talk about it. I was more upset that Martin Prime had to go through that than I was that you did. And…” He sighs. “I still don’t know exactly how I feel, but…at least things make a little more sense now.” He looks over at Jon Prime. “I’m all right. Or as all right as I can be.”

“That’s…going to define the rest of your life, I’m afraid. ‘As all right as you can be.’” Jon Prime sighs. “Go ahead and finish that cigarette and we’ll go back inside.”

Jon Prime stares at the half-smoked cigarette in his hand for a long moment. He started smoking in university, more as a way of avoiding conversation than anything, and found it helped his anxiety. All his rather messy break-up with Georgie had done was cause him to switch brands, and all his grandmother’s nagging and disapproval had done was cause him to stop smoking indoors. He’d tried to quit after her funeral, but even though he rarely smoked more than one or two out of the packs he bought before he had to throw them out because they went stale, he never managed to actually stop. Truthfully, there were no external factors more powerful than the soothing nature of the nicotine.

But now…

Slowly, he raises his foot to his knee and grinds out the end of the cigarette on his heel. He pulls out the pack, tucks the cigarette into it, turns around, and drops the whole pack into the bin at the corner. Judging by the state of the bin, it’s almost trash day, so he hopefully won’t be tempted to dig around and rescue the pack later.

He turns back to see Jon Prime watching him with a genuine smile on his face. He doesn’t say anything, merely reaches over and gives Jon a hug. Jon is momentarily surprised, then relaxes into the hug and returns it. It’s a bit—there’s no other word for it—weird to be hugging himself, but at the same time, he needs physical contact more than he lets on and he hasn’t really had all that much in the last few years. The stress doesn’t go away, but it does ease back, a hell of a lot better than the cigarette managed.

After a moment, they separate. Jon Prime claps him wordlessly on the shoulder, and they turn to head back inside. To face whatever is coming next.

#leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#ollie writes fanfic #tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #smoking tw #gun violence tw (mentioned)#we have officially diverted from canon y'all #like this is compliant up to the last two minutes of today's episode #but after that we're forging our own path baby #elias bouchard is a rat bastard #like that's news

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watchtower-feed · 4 years

Text

Mortal Sanity

SSA Request ✧ Joker ✧ Mortality Link @lady-of-fandoms: Aging indicator with the Joker? He found out who his soulmate was, and to gain immortality, had her captured and locked away. Batman and co. find out, and go to save her, but theres a complication, and the Joker sees the reader and starts aging. You can take it from there! Notes: Some graphic gore. I’m so sorry, lady! I changed your request quite a bit. I tried using this request to write a different kind of Y/N. Words: 2,514

When you live in a world full of superheroes, there are worst things than meta human villains, invading aliens, and psychotic clowns. One of them is having a soulmate.

Some say it’s better because your other half is easier to find, but they’re not the one who has a hero or a villain for a soulmate. You do.

You’re old. You’ve been alive since before Gotham. Your family was one of its first British settlers in the late 1600s. You are one of its original founders. You built this city and continue to care for it better than your own family.

Because they kept dying. One by one mortality catches up with them and each funeral strips away part of you, the side of you that grieves and fears death.

Whenever your spouses lay on their deathbed, you only feel disappointed that they weren’t the one. There was no way of knowing until you’ve spent time with them and seen the wrinkles on their skin next to your suppleness.

No one knew much about soulmates at all. Not until one of the three Fate Sisters visited Gotham in the late 19th century. You came across her by chance but to her, it was no accident.

“Your soulmate has not been born yet, child.”

You asked how much longer you had to wait but the Fates only give so little of their time. She didn’t answer and other people had crowded her. It took two world wars before another Fate passed through the city.

“Why are you so eager to meet them? There is still so much to do before your soulmate will be born.”

She was gesturing to the streets of Gotham, littered with people slumped over the gutters, children crying and holding their bellies, and mothers with babes sucking on their tits while they begged for money.

The war never passed through Gotham but its devastation has clawed deep into its foundations and stripped the people of their livelihood. Your eyes and your heart couldn’t take it.

You were the one who held the first meeting of the Court of Owls. You gathered every wealthy Gothamite, from old money to new business owners. The politicians were only later invited as a courtesy.

With the Court at your disposal, you built Gotham from the ground up, quickly turning it into the business capital of the country for anyone hoping to live the American dream.

But as the city’s population grew beyond your control, you had to cut your losses, divide the city into districts, and protect the wealthy. But unbeknownst to you, this was what set off Gotham’s descent into madness and the very creation of your soulmate.

The first sign of everything going wrong was the man dressed as a Bat. But his actions were in alignment with the Court’s will over Gotham and so you let him be. When villains in similar attire started to sprout all over the city, the Bat kept them in check. And so the Court did nothing.

And then the Clown entered the picture, causing devastations all over the city like you’ve never seen before. You watched buildings burn with children still screaming inside them, towers fell on people running amok in the streets, and the horrendous gas that left its stench at every street corner in Gotham.

The Clown is a plague and the Court has decided that he has to go.

After a meeting, you’re met with the final Fate sister. She has been waiting for you.

“Child, you’ve done well. You’ve loved and fostered this city like no other and I am truly misfortuned to be the one to tell you of your soulmate. Fate has been unkind to you.”

Your soulmate is the Joker.

Your knees suddenly go weak and your chest feels tight. Phantom claws are constricting around your heart. What you’ve waited for centuries is finally here and you don’t want it. Take it back.

The Fate sister holds your shoulders, “Stay strong, child. The worst is yet to come. I must tell you about your link.

“For years, you have not only eluded aging but also death. So long as you’re not in your soulmate’s arms, you will never die.”

Immortality is no stranger to you. Mortality even less. But the sudden prospect of knowing that the Clown himself is as immortal as you-- the image that Gotham would be plagued by his madness for eternity-- it terrifies you.

“I need your help.”

You’re standing in one of the meeting rooms of Wayne tower, interrupting a conference between Bruce Wayne and his major shareholders.

“Miss L/N,” Bruce treats you with respect despite your actions. He knows who you are. Knows what you are. “It’s lovely to see you but we are in the middle of something important here. You can make an appointment--”

“I need to talk to your friend,” you stare at Bruce and watch the subtle recognition dawn on his face. “It’s urgent, Bruce.”

You’ve always called him by his last name like you did his Thomas Wayne. It’s how you show your respect for his work and successfully making his father’s company his own. You only ever call him Bruce when you want to remind him that you’re older, much wiser, and more powerful.

Bruce clenches his teeth and shuffles the papers in his hand. He turns to his shareholders and gives them his signature playboy smile. “I apologize. We’re going to have to reschedule. It seems the Queen of Gotham needs me.”

Bruce loosens his tie as he walks around the table of perplexed and annoyed millionaires. He places his hand on your lower back, standing shoulder to shoulder, as he escorts you out of the room and into his office.

With the doors closed and his blazer off, Bruce’s demeanor changes. His eyebrows are no longer arched upwards but slanting down and his smile has been replaced by a deep scowl. His eyes pierce into yours when he turns to you.

“Start talking.”

You cross your arms and narrow your eyes at Bruce but quickly unfold them and relax. You didn’t come to fight. “I’m not here on behalf of the Court, Bruce. I’m here as myself.”

Bruce doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t exactly know who you are. He only knows exactly what you want him to know, and what little you allow is only necessary for him to realize that you have Gotham eating from the palm of your hands.

But you’re extending your palm now as you finally reveal to him everything that you are, who you have been, and what you’ve been waiting for. Even Bruce Wayne couldn’t hide the reaction on his face. He’s visibly horrified.

“You’re not immortal, Bruce. But if the Clown kills me, he will be.”

“What’s your plan?”

You grimace at the man behind the Bat. “Why do you think I need your help?”

Being the Queen of Gotham and the leader of the Court of Owls has distanced you from the city. You’ve been watching it from your highrise and no longer know where the streets bend and what the people look like.

You’re ashamed to be asking for help from someone so inferior. But Batman is the best weapon you’ve got against the Clown. He and his little band of eager boys.

“Does the Joker know about your link?”

You turn to Richard Grayson, a child always on the outskirts of the city with no Gotham blood flowing through his veins. “Yes. The Fates has an obligation to humor everyone with links.”

“I’m surprised the Joker didn’t kill her,” Jason Todd snorts. A real child bred and raised by Gotham herself. Through the good and the ugly.

“He tried. But the Fates aren’t human.”

“Really? What are they?” Timothy Drake. Another Gotham child. Middle class with the potential to join the Court. Potential lost to the Bat.

You raise an eyebrow. “None of you have links?”

“Only mindless individuals would believe in such nonsense.”

Damian Wayne.

You can feel each of your muscles tense as you turn to him. Definitely not a Gothamite. “Sounds like something an ignorant person would say.”

“This is enough,” Bruce interrupts.

You brought them to one of the secret bunkers of the Court. Years ago, you had constructed a facility for the truly dire patients of Arkham. Under Bruce’s instructions, you had reinforcements built into it to hold the Joker for eternity.

The boys purse their lips at Bruce’s word and follow him out of the cell. But you’re not one of his wards.

You touch Tim’s shoulder on the way out, “The Fates are ancient beings, as old as the soulmate links. They’re immortal but they’re not gods.”

Tim is still processing the information when Bruce interjects.

“Do you remember the plan?”

You roll your eyes, “Stay in my penthouse with the mini Bat watching over me until you find the Clown. It’s not exactly a science.”

Bruce holds out his hand to help you climb up the ladder out of the bunker but you reject him and climb on your own. When you arrive at your penthouse you won’t have to deal with him any longer. His son, on the other hand, is a different story.

“How does it feel to be told your soulmate is a psychotic maniac?” he asks as he looks down at Gotham through your large windows.

You suddenly feel the urge to hurl his tiny body down the side of the building. You probably don’t have the strength to do it but you won’t die trying.

“I thought only mindless individuals believed in soulmates.”

“I don’t believe in it. But I want to know the kind of mental state of someone who believes they're destined to live the rest of their life with the Joker.”

You roll your eyes at his arrogant smirk reflecting off of the window. You’re holding a glass of wine in your hand and you lift it up to cover Damian’s silhouette with the red liquid, wondering if the rest of Gotham’s children are as bratty. Absolutely no appreciation for things that are ancient and sacred.

It took another week before they caught the Joker. He proved to be a hard man to find when he’s not ready for showtime. The Bat had found him while setting up his next attack on the city. Bruce himself dragged him to the cell and made sure the reinforcements were still in place.

You’re surprised Bruce even trusted you at all. You think that maybe he knew exactly what you were planning in the first place. That he felt he had no choice and it was better to play the ignorant fool and let you and the Court do the dirty work.

The Clown is awake when you enter the cell with a gun in your hand. The moment his eyes land on you, you pull the trigger and shoot him in the head.

His body slams against the side of the table and his head tips back but slowly he reels it back up again. His eyes go twice as wide as the bullet hole on his forehead. His pale bony fingers tap on his head and one makes its way into the hole. The Clown laughs hysterically as he flicks the bullet out.

“The Fate sister was being literal,” you grumble, “We have to be in each other’s arms to age and die.”

The Clown suddenly stops laughing and stares at you curiously. You watch his eyebrows move up and down. “You mean that oooold hag was telling the truth?” He takes a step closer to you with excitement pouring out of every muscle in his body. “If I kill you, I’ll live forever?”

You glare straight into the madman’s eyes and he looks back. His pupils are dilated and roaming every muscle on your face. Looking for the lies. You’re ready to touch him, hold him and then pull the trigger again, when suddenly, he lowers his face and looks at you with bored eyes.

“No, thanks, lady.”

Your grip on the gun loosens but you quickly hold it still. The Clown turns around with his hands behind his back and starts looking at the interior of the cell like an invited guest.

“Now, why would I want something as booooring as immortality?” He looks back at you with an angry expression. His lips upturned in distaste. “Where’s the punchline? Nobody likes a joke that takes too long.”

“You… you want to die?”

The Clown turns his whole body back to you with his arms spread out wide. The hole in his head is completely gone. “Of course! My greatest gig depends on it!” He starts hunching over the table and his hands act like they’re directing miniature pieces on a stage. “Me and the Bat under the moonlight, all of his so called ‘partners’ dead around him. And then finally he’ll kill me--” he turns to you, glaring, suddenly realizing that your link is an inconvenience. Then he rolls his eyes. “I suppose a third wheel could add some impact to the scene.”

You stare at him dumbly. Unsure of what to think. You’ve lived all these years building up a city but to what end? To meet this psycho lunatic in front of you who is more infatuated with the Bat than anything else? This is your soulmate?

No one knows anything about the Clown. Except you know he’s 18. He has been for years and has probably gone crazy because of it. He doesn’t know about the links, never knew that he should’ve been waiting for you. That there’s a future already planned for him.

The Clown has taken steps toward you, eyeing the way you’ve held down your gun and are now staring mindlessly into his face.

“So. Soulmate.” He peers down at you, so close that you can feel his breath on your skin. “How about a teeny tiny winsy favor? You know, for love’s sake.”

✧ ✧ ✧

“You let him go.”

Bruce, dressed as the Bat blocks your path back to your town car after a meeting. You cross your arms over your chest. “The Court doesn’t want him prisoner.”

“The Court? Or you?”

You narrow your eyes at Bruce. You think he bugged the cell and heard every bit of your conversation with the Clown. You should have expected him to do so. But it’s not like it matters now. You turn away from him and check your cuticles.

“It’s your game, Bruce. Yours and the Clown’s. I’m merely a spectator.”

“I thought you cared about Gotham.”

A vein along your neck twitches as you clench your teeth. After everything you’ve done for the city. After all the hours you’ve dedicated to its development, and all the hope you’ve handed out freely to its people, what has it given you? Madmen.

“Gotham is my child,” you say sternly. “And just like any parent I need to let it learn to fend for itself.”

Bruce gives you a long look and narrows his eyes. “You’re sick. You deserve each other,” he says before walking back into the shadows.

No, Bruce, you’re the one who’s sick. Sick and dying every day. Always striving to make every minute count, when they’re all just meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Meaningless because everything is already written.

Unlike the Clown who’s writing his own destiny.

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧

#joker #dc #gotham villains #gotham #ssa #dc imagine #superhero soulmate au #dc imagines #joker imagine #dc fanfiction #dc reader insert #joker fanfiction #joker x reader #watchtower-feed

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hoardcloneheadcanons · 3 years

Text

The Season 1 Villain: Mr. Blackwood Part 2

Summary:[After Bullying Martin and Jon into getting together Mr. Blackwood takes down Elias Bouchard with the aid of allies from the sketchiest of places]

A loose structure of ides for an AU of the fanfic Yesterday is Here by CirrusGrey

-Mr. Blackwood tries to wait for Mr. Sims, he really does. He’s done this before. When Jon was in a coma and he thought he was gone for good Blackwood threw himself in the Lonely and an alliance with Peter Lukas. He’s trying not to assume that Jon is dead. He’s trying not to make drastic decisions without him again.

-But Elias is noticing that Mr. Blackwood is preventing his archivist from reading statements. Elias proceeds to try and get rid of Mr. Blackwood, and influence the archive staff to not trust him.

-At a point where Elias tries to get Blackwood arrested (for either impersonating an employee or for some crime he pins on him) Martin vanishes.

-This is the first the Archive Staff of Mr. Blackwood’s spooky powers, and it doesn’t help the trust.

-Elias uses the opportunity to convince them that the rituals they should be worried about are the one of the Corruption and the Stranger. He also convinces them that Mr. Blackwood is allied with the Lonely and was simply trying to attempt his own ritual behind their backs. He adds that keeping the Archivist powerless was part of that plan, and that the Archivist’s job is to prevent rituals, citing Gertrude Robinson as evidence.

-In this circumstance Blackwood decides to take out Elias on his own. He’s not quite giving up on Mr. Sims coming back, but he’s not relying on him returning either. And he determined to stop the Watcher’s Crown before Elias can kill him.

-Knowing that the Archive Staff no longer trusts him, Blackwood starts using invisibility to grab old Gertrude tapes from the police station and Elias’s office and leave them in convienient places for the staff to find. Instil a healthy suspicion of Elias in them. He’s trying to find the Gertrude Tape for Sasha.

-They don’t suspect him because he’d made it clear to them before that he doesn’t trust the tapes. He hadn’t let Jon record on them.

-He’d actually thrown them out the window only for them to appear in a drawer a few minutes later. An action which helped the archival staff believe the tapes were supernatural. Jon remained skeptical only for Blackwood to repeat the action two more times only for the same effect.

-Meanwhile Blackwood starts transposing his knowledge of what his Mr. Sims couldn’t see to Elias’s blind spots. Assuming that what his Mr.Sims couldn’t see, Elias can’t either.

- He knows his Jon couldn’t see in the tunnels, the dark, or in the doors of the Spiral.

-So he talks to Michael and Leitner to get to the panopticon and puts C-4 in the tower.

-Then he makes a deal with Either Michael to remove Jonathan’s eyes

- Specifically he tells him that at 17:00 (when he’s planning to kill Jonah Magnus) that the Archivists and his assistants will probably start screaming in pain. If they don’t, leave them alone. If they do, stab Jon’s eye’s out. If they look like they’re still dying, stab out the eyes of the archival assistants. They’ll be blind but they’ll be alive, seperated from the beholder.

-Sometime around 14:00 or 15:00 Mr. Sims shows up [SEES ALL] and is confused that he can seem to find his Mr. Blackwood or the present day Archival assistants.(One is in the tunnels, the others are kidnapped by the Spiral) He is concerned.

-Luckily the Archival assistants, due to the machinations of both Elias and Mr. Blackwood are paranoid of everyone that is not eachother. Tim, Sasha, Jon and Martin trust eachother and no one else. Unbeknownst to Elias or Blackwood they raided artifact storage for things that might help them against supernatural threats, researching correlating statements in order to use them. Tim’s research on Smirke told them about places they could use around the city that would hide them from the eye, the tunnels included.

-His connection to the Lonely may be affecting him. He’s fully accepted they’ll hate him. He’ll even let Michael tell them Blackwood sent him.

-They manage to escape the spiral long enough for Mr. Sims to SEE them.

-Sims blackmails a taxi driver to get to their location, saying he’ll reveal his affair unless he gives him a ride.

-Mr. Sims gets to them in time to get Michael to go away. They’ve all escaped his doors by this point. He’s just there to make Michael stop trying to stab their eyes out.

(”You shouldn’t be attacking me here archivist. I’m here to help.”

“I fail to see how trying to kill my younger self and my friends helps me.

“I wasn’t here to kill them, just take their eyes. Your Blackwood was very specific on that point. But if you’re going to cause me this much trouble, I won’t do it. I’m happy as long as the Eye is stopped.”

“Martin?- Oh no.”

“But if you wish for them to die with your archive, go ahead, take them. Your funeral. Your Misfortune”)

- Being saved by an older, scarred version of Jon, with glowing green eyes smattered on his skin and hovering over his head like a crown was a plot twist that the archival staff was not ready for.

-They’re shouting questions at him left and right as he’s trying to drag them toward the Archive to Prevent Blackwood from killing them all.

-Sasha has to pay for the uber. The archival staff are crammed in the back while the scarred scarecrow that is Jonathan Sims tries to answer questions from the passenger seat. The driver stares straight ahead and pretends he doesn’t understand english while hoping these crazy people will get out of his car soon.

-(Sasha: Where should I tell him to go?

Sims: To the Archive, we need to prevent Martin from killing Elias.

Tim: Blackwood. This is Martin.

Sims: Excuse Me?

Martin: So is Elias the good guy? Was he right about the Archivist stopping the apocalypse-s?

Sims: No Elias is decidedly not the good guy, and he’s trying to start the apocalypse using the Archivist. He already did in my timeline, that’s why Martin and I came here. Speaking of which, younger me, you should really avoid recording the statements.

Tim: Blackwood!

Sims: Is this really the time, Tim?

Sasha: So why didn’t Blackwood just kill Jon when he got here?

Sims: Because Martin- Blackwood, wouldn’t enjoy killing a younger version of me, or any of you. That’s why he was trying to have your eyes removed. Removing your eyes would remove your connection to archive allowing him to kill Elias without killing you. Which I will still try to do if we don’t get there in time.

Jon: Why couldn’t he just tell us that?

Sims: I DON’T KNOW! I assume it’s because he thought Elias would find out his plans, which I understand. But after all the lectures he gave me about not being paranoid and trusting people this is rather hypocritical of him.

Sasha: Is it possible that Blackwood is attempting a ritual for the Lonely?

Sims: “What- no. Is he using his powers of the Lonely again? That’s- oh. Oh that explains some things.

Sims proceeds to put his face in his hands.

Tim: So do you really eat people’s trauma?)

-Mr. Blackwood goes to Mr. Bouchard’s office. Just to see the fear on his face. Just to see his reaction to soft little Martin being his killer. It’s an indulgence. Its his revenge for tricking Mr. Sims into the apocalypse.

He also came with a gun, just in case blowing up the panoptican doesn’t kill him.

It takes him a moment for Elias tries to talk him out of it, he even tries to use the image of Blackwood’s Mother against him.

(Mr. Blackwood winced, but it didn’t stop him from looking Elias directly in the eyes.

“I’ve already seen it, Jonah.”)

-It’s then that Elias tries to tell him that the archive staff escaped, that they’ll die. (small price for the survival of the world) That his Jon is back, that he can see them. That you don’t have to do a last desperate act for a man that is still alive. Martin at first thinks that Jonah is lying and is ready to set off the bomb.

-But Mr. Sims does dramatically burst in, archive staff nervously behind him.

-He then proceeds to snog Mr. Blackwood for an obnoxiously long time.

-Sasha is stuck standing there wondering if this is really the time. Elias is at first a combination of grateful and disgusted that ranges into incredulous as they just keep going. Tim is impressed.

-Jon and Martin are shocked that anyone could like Mr. Blackwood so intensely. They then realize they’ve been staring at a version of their future counterparts make out for a very long time and look pointedly at a corner of the wall and the carpet respectively.

-When Elias tries to talk to them, saying that he was glad Blackwood could see sense, Jon proceeds to threaten him using all of his spooky archivist powers, not only getting the company credit card, but also getting the archival staff a good two weeks off to cope with their trauma.

-(”And if you attempt the Watchers Crown again I’ll turn the Eye to look upon you so that you may feel every pain, every terror you ever caused and watch it shrivel you for the inside out. I will drink your fear of the end as you disintegrate into a half-forgotten memory.”)

-Things de-escalate from there. The archive staff attempt to go to their separate homes before they jump at the shadows and slowly congregate. Sasha calls Tim. Martin calls Sasha. Jon calls Martin. They end up congregating at Tim’s, Staying awake watching lifetime movies until they can’t keep their eyes open.

-Sims and Blackwood reorganize the power structure of the archive while the archive staff heals. They also eliminate Jane Prentiss as Blackwood catches Sims up on what happened.

-Sims does find it funny that Blackwood managed to bully their past counterparts into getting together. He also cannot help finding it hilarious that he got to be the Straightforward and trustworthy MR. SIMS while Blackwood was a cryptic bastard.

-It still hurts. Jon didn’t mean to die on Martin again. He didn’t want to hurt him like that ever again.

-When the archival staff return, Sims goes out to lunch with them and slowly builds up trust with them. He eventually takes Blackwood with him to a lunch with Tim and Sasha, where Blackwood apologizes and explain himself. Martin and Jon aren’t ready.

-Tim excitedly checks about 15 points off his list of “accurately guessed anti-Jon” list.

-Sasha insists he can’t include the one-sided relationship one, “I know he’s besotted Tim, but It’s clearly not one sided and that’s barely an anti-Jon trait anymore.”

-Tim also notices, that with Mr. Sims by his side, Blackwood is a lot more relaxed and friendly. He fusses over him and acts, well, a lot like Martin.

-Tim comes back from the meeting declaring to Martin and Jon that, for the safety of everyone, Jon cannot be separated from Martin.

(Sasha points out this is ridiculous.

“It’s classic transitive property Sasha. If Blackwood can become Martin with a Sims, Martin can become a Blackwood without one.

“It’s not just Sims, Tim. They also defeated their big evil, and according to both of them we died in their timeline. It’s more like... if we died and Jon and Martin end up being the only ones left, Jon is not allowed to leave him.

“You heard her Martin, none of us are allowed to leave you for fear of you turning into a scary. dark, evil-mirror version of yourself.”

“We’re not allowed to die or get replaced by evil clones. Speaking of which, I’m going to go put a spooky table in cement with our local apocalypse couple. Want to come with?”

-Things settle, Monsters are killed, trust is rebuilt And the future continues unstopped by an apocalypse.

#The Magnus Archives #Yesterday Is Here #Mr. Blackwood #Martin Comes First AU #Fanfiction #Archive Of Our Own #Fanfic of Yesterday is Here #Mr. Blackwood AU #weaponizing My own writer's block

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