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riftfic · 8 months

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14. Human

Who will save you now?

Warnings: strong language, referenced suicide, violence

Featured Characters: Sans, Chara/Frisk (Reader), Flowey/Asriel, Wingdings Gaster, Asgore Dreemurr

Note: If you haven't read the previous chapters recently (maybe even if you have outside the past few days), I recommend giving it another read. It's definitely not a requirement, but I added some extra details throughout the story and a few more scenes, most notably in Chapters 3 & 9, that should help the ending feel even more satisfying.

Several years later . . . here's the next chapter.

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From a single strip at the Underground’s heart, Waterfall tunneled away into a boneyard mess of caves. In one direction, the passage to Hotland sprawled in mushroom-light mazes and a boulder choke disguising Tem Village. In the other, a quiet bubble harbored a simple mouse, neck deep in plans to retrieve a wedge of crystallized cheese. Between them, from a silver door that had only been there sometimes, Sans stepped out into a flood of bioluminescence.

Though a door latched shut behind him, dark, damp stone replaced the surface he reclined against now. Its cold, unyielding texture met his fingertips, a reminder that there would be no second visit.

He clutched the spindly metal bars of that unnaturally gray birdcage. He tucked his chin over the iron rung at its peak, hardly dousing the light of the small monster soul trapped inside.

The task set before him was unconscionable. Even if he managed to survive . . .

“i can’t do that,” he had resisted. “i can’t kill Frisk!”

“They shouldn’t even be alive,” said Wingdings.

The words took Sans by surprise. He set his heels despite the encroaching void and a minute hand nearing his final stroke of midnight.

“oh, but ya want me to take this soul all the way back to asriel, huh?” he said. “make sure he survives? double standard, if y’ask me.”

"I didn't say it was fair,” Wingdings hardly breathed. His eyes gained urgency. “The human . . . might survive, if they're determined enough. But after you pull the lever . . .”

At that, Sans’ anger siphoned away, leaving behind a fear much broader than the fate of one human child. Their mistake had set so many events into motion. Lives had been built and destroyed, paths forged and buried. The machine could rewrite the course of everything as easily as it could leave the butterfly effect intact. They could remain here in the present or be sucked back to the day it all began. With a phenomenon this unpredictable, just about anything could happen . . . but whatever world they left behind, at least it might survive.

“if i do use their soul to run the machine,” Sans said more calmly, “what’ll happen to asriel, then? to me? to the underground? heck, what’ll happen to you?”

It was clear to Sans by the frown on Wingdings’ face that his brother had already considered this question. Despite his ingenuity, the once royal scientist only shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said, “but I do know what’ll happen if you don’t.”

In the present, Sans beat his fist against the rock behind him. Why did it have to be so fucking twisted? Why his Frisk? And why did he have to be the one to do it? Maybe it didn’t have to work out like this. Maybe there was more time than Dings thought. Maybe he could find another way.

His phone buzzed rhythmically at his waist. He pulled it from his coat pocket and looked at the screen. The image of Papyrus illuminated those shadowy cavern walls below several missed call notifications. Sans took a deep, shaking breath, then another, and answered.

“pup . . .”

“SANS!” Papyrus shouted. “I’VE BEEN TRYING TO REACH YOU FOR HOURS!”

“oh.”

“I’M NEARLY TO NEW HOME. A FRIEND HAS INFORMED ME THAT THE HUMAN IS IN TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE DANGER! IS THAT TRUE?!”

Sans nearly broke down then and there. Though seeing Wingdings again had restored many of the deeper cracks in his soul, it still felt fragile, even more when considering the path ahead of him.

“more than true,” he whispered.

A patch of silence followed. Sans dropped his cheek to rest on birdcage bars.

“tell me it’s gonna be all right,” he murmured into the receiver.

“Sans . . . where are you?” Papyrus asked, more gently than was typical.

“just tell me, please.”

“It’s . . .” Papyrus sighed. “It is going to be all right. Now, WHERE ARE YOU?”

Hearing the words in his brother’s voice quelled Sans’ fear, enough to return strength to his limbs. He lingered on the phone a moment longer, as if the connection truly placed him at Papyrus’ side.

“meet you there,” he said.

You followed in Asgore’s shadow, watching the folds of his cape sway and collide like cattails in the wind. His silhouette consumed yours. He could hold all of you in one hand, let alone the tiny red soul he sought to claim.

Past the end of that long hallway mirror of the Ruins, the barrier undulated with powerful magic. Its waves of golden white licked the crackled stone as if in search of escapees. It contoured Asgore’s silhouette in a crisp white line as he turned to face you.

That all-too-familiar smile prickled the fur along his muzzle. Looking up into his apologetic eyes, you remembered his hands on your shoulders, his all-encompassing embrace that threatened to lose you in his fur. The macaroni pictures, the crayon drawings, the sweaters . . . the buttercup pie. You shuddered.

“Human,” said the king of all monsters. His powerful voice trembled, and the earth trembled with it. “It was nice meeting you. . . . Goodbye.”

He held his trident firmly in both hands and lowered his head . . . but a stoplight glow kept his chin from falling too far. There you stood, hands outstretched, red soul hovering above your palms.

“I’m the last one,” you said.

Asgore stared at the heart-shaped spirit as if entranced. Its warmth illuminated your fingers with ruby firelight. It was in the crimson glint of your eyes, however, that he became lost, captured in the clutch of a ghost from years long gone.

“Do I . . . know you?” he asked, bewildered both by the situation and the question itself.

“Please, take it,” you said. Tears fell down your face. “It’s no good for anything else.”

Asgore’s eyes widened with recognition. “Chara . . . ?”

Intense heat flared in the hallway behind you. Before Asgore could say anything more, a brilliant ball of flame had launched him into the cavern wall. Flecks of gray stone spat out among a field of clouds.

You swung to face the spellcaster. Toriel stood framed in the doorway, her face scrunched in a scowl like a snarling lion. One smoking arm remained outstretched, clenched in a fist.

“What a miserable creature,” she growled, “torturing such a poor, innocent youth.”

You hadn’t known what path the timeline had taken or whether your friends would convene . . . yet Toriel had arrived, exactly the same as before. Though you may have jokingly called her “mom,” the name now rang through your head with the purity of a windchime in the breeze.

Undyne, Alphys, and Papyrus appeared after her, along with a swath of others you had met along the way. You wanted to tell them to turn back, that you did not deserve them, that if they had known the demon you truly were, they never would have wanted to be your friend.

Your color drained. As they approached, a web of vines crawled after them along the dark ceiling and cavern floors.

You ran to Asgore, who sat slumped amid rubble and a brand new hallway door in the shape of his back. He grumbled in discomfort. A layer of dust coated his royal robes and golden mane, which he shook like a dog. You slid to your knees beside him.

“Hurry, please!” you blubbered to the stunned monster king. You proffered your soul as if it were on fire. “There isn’t a lot of time . . . !”

Toriel snatched you back by the shoulders.

“What has come over you, my child?” she demanded. “Do you not know what he means to do with it?”

“Mom, I . . .”

“Frisk.” Her eyes had begun scanning the room in fright. “Where is Sans?”

The path to the barrier gave Sans more difficulty than expected. The last time he had attempted these roads with fewer than two shortcuts, he had been a century younger and taking his time, mushroom hunting with young Papyrus. His limbs lagged behind his will. His breath rattled in his chest. Though his fingers slipped against that birdcage no one remembered, he refused to release its colorless patina bars. Everything depended on this.

He took what natural shortcuts he could—river ferries and elevators—but even then, the trip cost more time than he had bargained. At long last, he had reached the innards of Asgore’s home in the capital. He ran, huffing and puffing, down the golden tiles of the Last Hallway.

Even as he sped past, his heart ached to remember your meeting here. The flare of sunlight on your head, the even brighter smile on your face, the secret passwords on your tongue. . . . The memory of that pure soul compared to the corrupted one he had read beside the rift overwhelmed him, and he paused. He touched a hand to the white pillar that once occluded him.

Who were you now? Frisk? Chara? Both? If Chara truly were your forgotten name, if everything he knew about the tragedy of Asgore’s children had happened to you, such terrible memories weighed down on your tiny shoulders. It did not surprise him, then, that your violence had escalated to remember those horrors. Ferocious thorns had been hiding in the soft petal corona of your soul, and neither of you had known it.

Clinging tightly to the forgotten prison in his hands, he buried his sentiments and tore through vine-swathed hallways into a dark passage. He skidded to a halt just past the silvery stone archway to the barrier, where his bones clattered with shock.

The cavern pulsed in radiant waves like the steady spin of a lighthouse beacon. Twisting, thorny roots filled the cavern like a briar patch, and their position changed with every flash of light. Among the vicious mess of chloroplast, monster figures had been tangled, their souls nearly devoured.

The dimming pinpoints of Sans’ eyes could not peel away from your small form, crumpled on the floor before a yellow flower. Your red soul snapped among his vines, barely shimmering in a ruby remnant before splitting apart into nothing.

Sans could not stifle the horror that clawed its way out his mouth. He nearly dropped the cage.

Flowey turned to grin at him. “Trash day already?” he asked, spinning his head in a full circle.

Sans shook. No. This couldn’t have happened. You couldn’t have fallen to that little heathen daisy so quickly. You couldn’t have lost your determination. If only he hadn’t lingered in the hallway. If only he had kept running . . . !

You blinked at the human soul still hovering in your outstretched hands. It glowed red, though not as brightly as it once did. Still alive. Still yours to give. Not torn to bits by a nihilistic plant.

Only moments ago, you had fallen to a flower, the same flower weaving his way into this chamber of darkness and light. Toriel’s hands rested heavily on your shoulders. Papyrus chattered away, as Asgore pleaded with Toriel to give him a second chance. While they were distracted, Flowey dug his way out of the earth, grinning deviously, ready to spring all over again.

Confusion waltzed with your mind, spinning you gently. You had experienced this rush backward a thousand times before. Just a short step in reverse to let you continue after falling or if you disliked the outcome . . . but you did not have the determination to do it now. You had intended to die. You had meant for one of two creatures to take your power and be done with it.

It hadn’t been you.

The world shifted. Time rushed away like the tide, back into the ocean depths. Darkness bled away into golden sunlit tiles and stained glass windows. Birds chirped among a distant rustle of leaves. The air danced with prisms for a fleeting moment before the world reappeared as it had only moments before.

Sans realized suddenly that he stood in the Last Hallway all over again. A glittering pocket of magic danced like a handheld star beside him, where he had touched the pillar and remembered you. It had not been there before.

Air filled his ribcage in jagged gasps. His soul burned as it usually did when you reset time, though somewhat gentler. His hands shook around the bars of that monochrome birdcage with fear, confusion, and exhilaration.

He had just turned back time. He could feel it. And if that were the case . . .

He ran. He sprinted faster than ever to reach you, but you lay still on the floor again. Though uncertain how, and though it hurt him, he turned back the clock a second time. Then a third. Then a fourth. Every time, the flower tore apart your soul like a horror movie on repeat, until finally, Sans arrived one split second earlier. Your soul spun a circle above you as if hanging from a string, and a ring of white pellets had only begun readying itself to deliver the killing blow.

Before Sans knew what he was doing, he was charging Flowey through a rough shortcut, foot extended to drop-kick the weed down into his roots. That cursed dandelion’s shriek had never sounded so satisfying. Sans’ dragon skulls had already manifested over his shoulders, jaws aflame—but when they blasted blue-hot magic out their mouths, Flowey had already disappeared into the earth.

A whip of green struck the ground where Sans had stood. He skipped out of the way in the nick of time, then again, and again, and again. He punched his free hand to the ground, and a wave of long, white magic bones crashed down through the air like meteorites. They speared into the cave floor with enough force to run cracks through the ceiling. Clouds of rock sprinkled down onto his shoulders. Flowey’s grip on his friends and family slackened just an inch.

Flowey surfaced again, undamaged beyond a few frayed petals.

Sans panted, his adrenaline quickly plunging. His bones began aching again, though his raging soul burned brightly through its seams. Sweat slipped down his skull into the neck of his shirt. He didn’t know if he could withstand this much longer. He did not know if his soul could survive another time jump.

“Ha,” chirped the little flower. “Looking pretty rough, there, old pal." His eyes glinted red within the skull-like hollows of his face. "Poor, flimsy little monster souls. Why bother trying? Even Chara was no match for me, and they were a million times stronger than you’ll ever be!”

Sans knew he was right. He did not have the full resilience of a purebred human. Even you had to try several times before making it past this bitter herb. Who in their right mind would bet on him: half blind, right arm nearly useless, only one HP? Just like every moment in his life, he would find a way to fuck this up. Just like every other time before, he would be useless to help.

His hope dwindled down, as did the fire in his soul. He could not find the strength to evade the string of bullets shooting toward him, but they were serendipitously blocked by a fence of small white bones.

“DON’T LISTEN TO HIM, SANS!” said Papyrus through clenched teeth. “YOU. CAN. WIN!”

“We are here to help you,” said Toriel. “No matter what happens.”

“Statistically it’s impossible,” said Alphys, “b-but you’ve beaten the odds before! I know you can do it!”

“Fuck you, Sans,” said Undyne.

Everyone looked at her. She shrugged.

“Sans,” said Asgore. “Listen to me.”

Sans clung to the bars of the birdcage more tightly, eyes glued to the smirking flower afar.

“You are not just your father’s son,” said the king of the Underground. “You have more than magic running through your veins. Remember that . . . and stay determined!”

Sans’ white pupils snapped to Asgore’s blue and brown at once. The statement had struck him somewhere deep beyond the monster white shell of his soul, and still more words passed between them unspoken. Sans then dragged his gaze across all his friends, who looked back with steadfast confidence, even Undyne.

Flowey coiled down on himself, pretending to be scared. “Urgh, no!” he whimpered. “Unbelievable! This can’t be happening! I can’t possibly withstand all of you . . . you . . . !” His face contorted into his evilest grin. “Idiots.”

His vines snapped taut around every monster, and yet another thorny coil snatched Sans from the ground as well. Through ropes of green and brown, Sans watched your red soul go down the flower’s throat, sealed behind hungry white fangs within a golden crown. Then, everything became lost in a flash of white.

Clang.

Sans moaned. Between that blitz of light and now, he had dropped to his hands and knees. His palms felt scorched—and dreadfully empty. Ahead of him, the last withering wisp of gray silver bars dissipated into the air as if made of smoke. Seeing it clawed the magic away from his bones with every mounting breath. His eyes became hollow.

The cage was gone—really, truly gone. Not even a step backward in time could bring it back, and with it, Asriel’s soul. Sans felt the world bottom out. Had he really failed, after everything?

A voice cackled overhead. “Finally,” it said. “I was so tired of being a flower.”

Sans looked upward and blanched. Aside from a few drawings you had scribbled out as a child, he had never witnessed this ungodly creature of countless souls. Sans had only been consumed by him, a coal block among many to fuel his hate. Now, Asriel Dreemurr hovered overhead in all his glory, raging with deathly power in a kaleidoscope of energy. No wonder you had nightmares.

Past the wreckage of their earlier fight, your body still lay heaped on the floor among stone and dead vines, seemingly asleep. As Sans crawled close, tears threatened to form.

He bit them back. No. He needed to hope. He needed to dream. He needed to be determined that he could call you out from the darkness, just as you had done for him a hundred times. It was his turn, now. Everyone would make it to the other side . . . including Asriel.

“Huh?” Asriel grunted as he caught wind of Sans below. “What are you still doing here? I ate your soul, you dirty lawn bag!”

“grass not,” said Sans as he stood, dusting the dirt from his jacket with his left hand.

“Ugh.” Asriel pinched his muzzle exasperatedly. “So annoying. How many times have you died now? Thirty-five? Thirty-six?” He thrust a rocket’s flare at Sans with a wicked smile. “Thirty-seven?!”

Sans gathered your body into his arms and stepped into a last-minute shortcut, safely away from that raw magical surge. After hiding your figure inside an Asgore-shaped wall hole, he flitted through the blue light of a portal once again. He reappeared in the air, directly in Hyperdeath’s path, only inches from his head.

“bone apétit, fucker,” he said and threw a handful of small bones at Asriel’s face. Though they caused no significant damage, they certainly got his attention.

Sans landed on all fours and scrambled. Bullets, fireballs, shooting stars, and lightning strikes raged after him. They left craters in the ground and drove deeper cracks into the ceiling overhead. Stalactites fell and shattered. Sans dodged every one of them. His body thoughtlessly followed the part of him that knew how to survive but had no time to ask permission, so begged forgiveness instead.

As Asriel Dreemurr took a moment to lift his hands, Sans struggled to catch his breath. His hood smelled of smoldering keratin. Holes had been burned through his sleeves. His body felt slick and ashen against his jacket’s cotton interior. The bones he had tossed like a scoop of dog biscuits into Asriel’s face had been the last magic he could muster. Whatever great power the prince of the Underground gathered now, Sans doubted he could survive it.

The world darkened. Sans could no longer see Asriel or the barrier, not even his hands if he raised them. Everything had become silent except the paddle of his own breath.

A skull three times his size suddenly materialized from the shadow. In appearance, it reminded him of those he and his siblings had mastered, though its horns and features mirrored Asriel instead. It laughed in his face—a grim, bone-chilling sound like grating rocks—but Sans stood firm. Brilliant red rage and determination surfaced among the cracks of his soul. How dare Asriel steal from Papyrus? How dare he turn Sans’ own family magic against him?

Waves of light drew into the open bowels of its snakelike gullet. Debris ran past his ankles, recalling images of a lab in shambles, a brother consumed by a beast of timeless indifference. He braced himself, ready to dive into the darkness as he did then and save the ones that mattered most.

A flash of brightness burst over him once more. This time, it ripped the soul from inside him and shattered it into pieces.

His mind floated through an abyss, bursting with the fireworks of everything at stake. He thought of Papyrus, never seeing sunrise; Toriel, never knowing the love of a new family; Alphys, never seeing the true greatness inside herself; Undyne, never free to explore the world; Asgore, failing his people. He thought of you, swallowed in the belly of the very thing you had sought to save. He thought of the entire world, destroyed by the god of hyperdeath, eaten alive by a hungry rift in time. The pieces of his soul quivered in a glow of crimson, ready to disperse.

*But it refused.

The shards sewed back together. A burst of bright red coursed through him like a new flame that had waited a lifetime to be struck. He had to live. He needed to live. He wanted to live! The darkness faded away, and soon the pulsing light of the barrier greeted his eyes once again.

He gaped at his shaking hands, eye sockets wide with confusion and amazement and, more than anything, determination. His soul felt aflame with a ruby-red blaze that forged the bleeding cracks of every pain, every hardship, and every sorrow into an armor stronger than the thickest alloy.

Asriel’s final form hovered ahead of him. Giant wings had sprouted from his back, flaring with blues, reds, greens, and purples. His teeth bared in needle points to rival Undyne’s, seething with fury and frustration.

“YOU . . . GARBAGE BIN SKELETAL FREAK!” he screamed. “WHY? WHY CAN’T YOU DIE?!”

Sans realized very suddenly he couldn’t move. Asriel’s true power had run rampant through the air, cocooning him in a chrysalis of magic he could not escape. He struggled with no result. With no way to resist, Asriel’s attacks barreled into him again, and again, and again. Every time his brightly burning soul rebuilt itself, a little was lost along the way.

“I can feel it,” Asriel growled with relish. “Every time you die, your grip on this world slips away. Every time you die, your friends forget you a little more. Your life will end here, in a world where no one remembers you.”

Sans thought of Windings, lost in a hell of the same description. He recalled how determined his brother had been to hold that same world together in one piece, forgotten or not. Sans could not fail him again, not here, not now, not after how hard Dings had tried, not when all his hopes were so invested in his success. His brother’s words rang through Sans' head, the last he would speak before the ghost of a gray door had separated them.

“I want you to know,” Wingdings had said, “I believe in you more than I believe in anyone else.”

“heh, yer jus’ tuggin’ my tibia . . .”

“For Tesla’s sake, Sans,” Dings snipped. “Can you just, for a second, let me spoon-feed your imperceptibly minuscule single-cell petri dish of a trait you call your self-esteem?” He took a deep breath and steadied. “I know it might seem like you’re my only option,” he said, “but you’re the best option I could have ever hoped for. My big brother. The one who sticks it out through thick and thin. The one I could always rely on to come through for me. You can do this. You can save everyone. I know you can. So, please . . .

“. . . don’t give up.”

Sans closed his eyes and reached his heart out to Asriel’s amalgamation of souls. His friends and family were there somewhere. He could save them. They believed in him. Dings believed in him. His determination to save everyone bled through the confines of Asriel’s magic, and deep inside that monstrosity, something began to stir.

Darkness closed in and images of his friends materialized, though their faces could not be seen behind swimming, fragmented blurs of pitch. Toriel, Papyrus, Asgore, Alphys, and Undyne stood like statues in a ring around him. Under their breaths, they mumbled their deepest wounds aloud: loss, rejection, loneliness, guilt, and captivity.

Sans stared up at his little brother’s towering silhouette, shaken to see him so reduced.

“hey, puppy . . .” he began. He inched nearer. “‘member me?”

Papyrus did not acknowledge him beyond summoning a few bones, which promptly flew in his direction. They were nothing compared to what Asriel had been punting his way. Sans stood perfectly still to allow a large blue femur to pass harmlessly through his forehead, then teleported behind him. He wrapped his arms around his waist until his face lay cradled in the lower curve of his spine, as if it were fashioned to hold his head.

“is that any way to treat your big bro?” he asked quietly. He searched his head for his worst possible joke and turned to the remaining souls. “uh . . . w-whatcha all starin’ at?” He whipped out a finger gun as nonchalantly as possible. “never metacarpal of skeletons before?”

A long, silent moment passed. Then, Papyrus groaned. So did Undyne. Toriel giggled alongside Alphys with a snort. Asgore only sighed.

Sans beamed, then dodged what he saw as a well-deserved barrage of attacks from all five of his monster friends.

“hey, undies,” he said to Undyne past the quick flash of a blue spear. “i liked the tuna your piano. think you can teach me some scales?”

A similar response. Another wave of dangerous magic.

“knock, knock,” Sans said to Toriel. A hand of fire tried and failed to snatch him off the ground. He brushed off the heat. “i’ll take that as a ‘who’s there’. it’s yer local sentry, sans gaster!”

Toriel mumbled incoherently, but her last words sounded clear: “. . . Sans Gaster who?”

“yeesh,” Sans said, tugging at the neck of his shirt. “and i thought we were friends!”

Toriel laughed, then, revealing her face in a glorious burst of joy. Papyrus groaned more loudly than ever into existence.

“THAT’S ENOUGH BOONDOGGLING, SANS!” he shouted.

“i think you mean bone-doggling.”

“I DO NOT!” Papyrus stomped his foot.

With that, the rest of his friends returned to themselves, holding their stomachs or their heads in laughter. Sans wiped a joyful tear from his eye. By then, Papyrus had swept him off his feet into the tightest hug he could muster, which might have broken a rib were they more than specters. The remaining crew piled in: Toriel, Alphys, Asgore, even Undyne. In that one gesture, Sans’ soul swelled with hopes and dreams and burned brighter than ever.

“You’re d-d-doing great!”

“We’ve got your back, punk.”

“We believe in you.”

“heh . . . i’m rootin’ for me too, i guess,” Sans agreed bashfully.

“THAT’S THE SPIRIT,” Papyrus said, then lifted his eyes over Sans’ shoulder. “ONLY ONE MORE TO GO.”

As he said it, their images dissipated. Sans turned to follow Papyrus’ gaze. Another figure stepped from the shadow, eyes burning red through a shifting black cloud. A blood-red knife glinted in your hand. Your ruby soul quivered in the pit of your chest, a beacon through the dark.

“kiddo,” Sans breathed.

You shambled forward and blindly slashed for his neck. He side-stepped the sloppy cut. Your blade lodged into the unseen ground, so deeply it took a few tries to pry it out. Like a marionette, you lolled about to face him.

“It’s all my fault,” you murmured. “All my fault.”

“that ain’t true,” said Sans. He grimaced and ducked another swing. “you’re a good kid. you’ve always been a good kid.”

“I'm sorry,” you mumbled.

“why?” he asked. “you saved us. you saved me. you gave up your resets for it!”

Your razor-edged swipes and stabs began to falter. “My fault . . .”

“the only thing you’re at fault for is trying too bleedin’ hard.”

Though shaking, you continued to jab and swing your dagger with reckless abandon, and he continued to evade its path with infuriating precision. Whipping air and shuffling feet echoed through the dark as if you fought in an empty chapel.

“c’mon, bud!” Sans panted. Sweat had begun to gather on his forehead. “it’s me, sans!”

“Sans?” you replied in a fog. “Sans is dead. I killed him. It’s my fault.”

“i’m not dead. i’m right here.”

He came close, a breath away. Your knife grazed his cheekbone, revealing a stripe of red that trickled down into his shirt collar. As your arm passed his shoulder, he caught you around the chest and held on tight. He buried his face into your neck.

“i’m right here.”

At this, you froze. You held your knife shakily over his head, prepared to strike down into his back—but you didn’t. Though the black, jagged strokes of paint shifting about your head did not cease, the red of your eyes had dimmed.

“frisk. chara.”

He cradled your hiding face between his hands and looked into your eyes a long, long time. You could feel him reaching through your soul, judging you, reading you from cover to cover like an unlocked diary.

“it’s not your fault.”

As the words sank in, tears sprinkled down from that stormcloud between you, raining over your shoes and his. That dreadful, bloody knife clattered to the ground, and soon you followed. You sat seiza at his feet and clung to his coat, your face no longer shrouded. You sobbed into his t-shirt, broken, yet overjoyed to see him alive.

He hesitated, then slipped his fingers down into the deep brown thatches of your hair.

“You’re really here,” you said, looking up into his face.

Sans crouched down to your level and shrugged. “think so.”

“Am I dead?”

“uh.” He scratched the back of his skull and winced. “ya ain’t in yer body, that much is for sure. hopin’ you might join me on the way back, though . . . if you’d do me the honor.”

You hugged him again, even more tightly than before. Conflicted by memories old and new, shame hooked onto your soul with claws sharper than the dagger at his feet. His hand in your hair was all that kept you solid.

“I’m sorry.” Your tears fell faster as you considered the road leading you here. “I made you fall into the rift . . .”

“that one’s on me,” Sans said. “i knew what i might find down there.”

Your face sombered. “Did you find . . . him?”

Newfound brightness ignited his eyesockets. “he’s . . . alive,” he said quietly. He could scarcely believe the words. “trapped between time and space. it’s just like i thought.”

You were never more relieved to be proven wrong. Still, questions encircled your head like stars. Where was his brother, now? If Sans had gone to that place, how had he returned? How had he survived the rift, and Flowey no less? Was he the one turning back the clock? That should have been impossible.

As you extended a hand to smear the streak of red you had carved into his face, a terrifying thought occurred to you.

“Determination,” you breathed. “Sans, you didn’t—!”

“no,” he said.

“Monsters don’t bleed,” you said firmly in an attempt to call out his bullshit.

“not full-blooded monsters, no,” he agreed.

Several moments passed in which you digested these words, and what they implied.

His smile slowly fell into a grimace, a mix of regret and weary sadness. He sat down in the darkness across you. Here, the two of you were truly alone. He breathed in, breathed out.

“skeletons are kinda hard to come by,” he began hesitantly, “if ya hadn’t noticed. we’re only born under certain circumstances . . . with . . . certain parents.”

He lifted his head to the darkness above as if he might see the sky. A piece of him drifted away into nostalgia on Noctis wings. Bittersweet was the only word you could surface for his expression now.

“hardly look nothing like dad,” he began with a half-hearted shrug. “he was like . . . a dragon made of blue stars, a constellation in a nebula. huge, bigger than asgore. gast clan always was, compared to the dreems. i see him in my magic, though, sometimes. his face in my blasters, even if just the skull.”

You couldn’t find words. Surely he didn’t mean what you thought.

“don’ hardly look like mom, neither,” he said with a partial smile, “but we got her bones. we got her structure. i got some of her determination.”

“You’re half human.”

“i’m all me, thanks,” Sans snipped. Talking about it seemed to crawl over his bones like a spider bake sale.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, genuinely hurt.

He paused and picked at the healing cut on his cheek. He rubbed the red fluid pensively between his thumb and forefingers. “everyone down here knows what it means to be a skeleton,” he said quietly. “i thought you knew too, at first. we all did. a lot of folks thought it was why you shacked up with us instead of tori.”

Your shoulders relaxed.

“by the time i realized it . . . honestly, i didn’t know how to tell ya, kid. it's a sensitive subject.” He drew his coat around himself more tightly. “we’re the only ones left, y’know; me and puppy-dog. and dings. when the war started, humans went for families like ours first. papyrus was a bean, dings was just the right age for it to hit him later, and i . . . i remember everything, as always.”

Your guilt ascended all over again.

“we were just kids," he went on, "but nothin’ scared those purist humans more than a fuckin’ mule.”

“i’m sorry,” you said.

“don’t be,” he murmured. “not your fault.”

“But it is,” you insisted. Your tears began rising again. "I’m human. I’m responsible. After everything humans have done—after everything I’ve done—I don’t deserve any of you. I don’t deserve to be here. You shouldn’t have saved me . . .”

Sans gently wiped your face with his sleeve. “lemme finish, kid,” he said quietly. He heaved a long, drawn-out sigh, as if releasing a toxin trapped inside his ribcage. “i got a reason to hate humans, sure. they drove us down here. they blocked us in. hell, even monsters gave us a hard time for that half of us. papyrus was so bent on catching a human just to prove what side he was on. thought people might like him more.”

You felt sick.

“but,” Sans said, forcing you to meet his eyes, “my human parent sacrificed everything to save us. she stayed behind so we could get away. so many of us are alive because of her. you wanna tell me that was wrong? you wanna tell me she was responsible for everything that happened to us, just for being human?”

Your tears continued to fall.

“you can’t help where ya came from,” said Sans, “but you can choose where ya go. and boy have you gone to some good places.”

“Like the dump,” you quipped with a faint smile.

“heh, yeah,” he said. “like the dump.” He hung an arm over your shoulder. “so maybe you’ve made some big mistakes . . . but your heart was never in the wrong place. you want to make up for it. you want to be good. that’s what really matters, right?”

You sniffled and nodded. You had said the same to Alphys. Were you really beneath your own advice?

He gathered you into his arms again. After a long time kneeling there, faces in shoulders, he helped you back to your feet.

“gonna need you to step in from here on out,” said Sans. “the chances hyperdoofus listens to me are about a million to negative one.” He smirked. “think you can handle it?”

You took his hand and squeezed.

“Only if you stand there with me,” you said.

His heart swelled in his chest. “i can do that."

Holding onto one another tightly, you stepped out from the darkness into a rainbow of light.

Notes:

And thus we have arrived at my third and final head-cannon: skeletons are what happen when a monster loves a human. I think my nervousness about dropping that bomb contributed to the delay in a latent sense, haha. Sorry for that again.

The idea of skeleton monsters always puzzled me, because in most folklore and fantasy contexts they have a direct tie to humans. Undead, more specifically. But in the context of the Undertale universe, undead didn't sit right with me. Skeleton monsters that conveniently mimic human anatomy didn't either. Then I had this thought. It explained several things for me: the blood from Sans' cut in the no mercy run, the reason he's so powerful, that "fourth wall" breaking tendency he and Papyrus both share... I massaged things some for the narrative here, but yeah.

I had been building to this a little bit as a possible reveal, then considered sidestepping it, but then as I really hammered out my ending it became an essential fact. I added more scenes and details in earlier chapters to get a little more traction on it, hence why I recommended rereading. :) Either way, I hope you find it at least interesting.

Thank you again to everyone who held on until now. Only three chapters left!

Next Up! Chapter 15: Determination.

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paynomindtotheinsanity · 2 months

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Chapter 14: What Lies Below

#invader zim #invader zim fanart #invader zim au #vampire dib #dib #invader zim fanfiction #zadr #invader zim zadr #your eyes are red #doodle #chapter 14 #posting early today because I have an extra work shift #yay capitalism #zim is big mad

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mustardyellowsunshine · 1 year

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Need more Baby!Yasha.

#Inuyasha #犬夜叉 #manga cap #chapter 14

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damn-stark · 10 months

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Chapter 14 No time to die

Chapter 14 of Moonlight

A/N- Aemond’s trying to be like Daemon, but we all know who’s really like her uncle/step-dad.

Warning- Swearing, angst, some fluff, blood, death and violence, SPOILERS for future events of HOTD.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode- After 1x09, events based off of Fire and Blood

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

Control your wife Aemond. That’s what they’re telling him now.

What she did is not lady like. It’s like living with a bunch of Septa’s now, everyone tells you how you should act, that you aren’t ladylike. But you are! Can’t ladies like being a part of battles and also like gowns and being kept all pretty all at the same? Your great great grandmother Queen Visenya was like that.

They want you to treat Astraea like some pet, rather than what she is, a dragon! They want you to be seated by a fire as if you’re not a warrior from both sides of your family!

Fuck them! Fuck their allies, you’ll end them all.

“How’s he doing?” You ask Vanessa as you lay your head back on the tub.

“Drunk on milk of the poppy,” she responds. “His face is getting puffier because of it…or so they say.” She walks to the tub and pours a sweet scented oil in the water so that sweat and blood smell washes off your body.

“Gods are cruel to keep him alive,” you grumble and sink further in the hot water. “I wish I could see him. See what karma has been doing to him.” But no, only a selected few can go see Aegon; his mother, Aemond, some maesters, and his mothers servants. Everyone else is forbidden from entering. And the only way you get information is because Vanessa is friends with one of the servants.

“Not enough,” Vanessa responds and walks away from the tub.

You giggle and close your eyes to try and find some peace while Aemond is getting his ear talked off about what happened earlier.

“Hey, I thought about it, I want to get rid of my braids,” you let Vanessa know. “Let my hair be loose. Perhaps it’s not the best with the babies coming in a few months, but I want to change my look.”

“That sounds good, I’ll undo your braids on the morrow,” Vanessa of course agrees with you. “I’ll go buy hair accessories so we can put it in your hair.”

You smile softly. “That will be marvelous. Before you go, remember to tell the girls to let the birds sing. It might not be affective, but words are words.”

Vanessa hums in agreement seconds before the door opens.

“Control your wife,” Aemond interjects exactly what you knew they’d say. “That’s what they’re telling me. They’re threatening to chain Astraea in the dragonpit.”

You slowly open your eyes and push yourself to sit up, noticing Vanessa slip away to leave Aemond and you alone.

“They can try, she won’t let them. And when they can't, do they want to lock me up too?” You ask him as he takes his long coat off. “Whip me for going against them? They attacked Astraea. I defended myself after almost getting killed.”

Aemond sighs and takes all his tops off to just be in his pants. When he takes his shoes off he finally makes his way to you. “They won’t hurt you,” he assures you as he sits by the tub. “They won’t touch you. I told them what happened. They deny it.”

Of course they deny that they demanded you get killed. No one would be stupid enough to admit that, nor are you pointing fingers. You’re simply complaining out of anger. You still need to be close to tear them down after all.

“Perhaps this gives you a reason to stay here?” He says as he takes his leather hair tie off, letting his long blond-sliver hair fall over his shoulders.

You want to smile, but due to his question you hold it back and lean towards him to scoff against him. “Uh, no. I have dragon blood, I’ll ride. And if I meet a dragonriders death then I know I have fought well.”

Aemond exhales in annoyance, but you see his little smile. “Has the maester come to check on you?” He asks as he grabs your hand and gently caresses it, not caring if he’s getting wet.

You offer him a sweet smile as you shake your head. “No, but I feel fine.”

“Y/N.”

“Aemond,” you cut him off. “I’m fine. I don’t feel any pain. No cramps, besides this bath is really helping. I’m okay. I’ll go get checked tomorrow if you’re really worried.”

Aemond holds your gaze for a moment as he thinks, but he soon sighs and gives in to your offer.

“Now,” you say sweetly. “Why don’t you come in with me?” You smirk at him. “You must be tired. I can give you a nice head massage. Relieve your stress.” You talk sweetly.

Aemond reaches for your cheek and caresses it. “How about I treat you tonight? You treated me well this morning.”

You don’t argue, you pull back and wait for him. Once he’s in the water he climbs behind you and pulls you back to rest against him. You don’t say anything for a while, you let him take care of you, and you most of all enjoy the silence because it lets you think.

“I’ve been thinking,” you interject as you fiddle with his fingers that he keeps on your knee. “With…Jacaerys gone,” you swallow thickly and try your best to avoid falling into your grief at this instant. “We should strike Daemon next. He doesn’t seem to be moving, nor has he asked for more support of the new dragonriders. With their forces split, and with only one dragon we can hit him hard and take him out of the board. He’s the Black's most important piece.”

Aemond sighs. “I thought you were supposed to be relaxing.”

You are, you’re just planting your seeds and keeping promises.

“I am,” you answer quietly and tilt your head to his shoulder to look up at his face. “This is mindless talk. I’m just sharing my thoughts. Unless you want to talk about how handsome you look right now, or how my seamstress is making the best gowns to prepare for when I get bigger.”

Aemond smirks as he brushes his fingers on your jaw and down your neck. “You’ll talk to me about them eventually. You always have.”

You grin. “Yeah well, my cousins were always far. Helaena never found much interest in that. And all the other highborn ladies my age never liked being my friend. You listened so I talked.”

Aemond hums. “Tell me then,” he says.

You smirk at the ceiling. “Well,” you go on and let him caress your body with his long and warm fingers. “Since winter is coming we’ve added long sleeves, but you know I find them very constricting so we’ve made some sheer, others have slits so they fall off my arms. Or we've added cloaks to go over the thinner dresses. I’ve decided that I want to wear more Velaryon colors, so those dresses are adorned with pearls and silver. The purple dresses also have silver, oh! And she’s embroidering dragons on them too!”

Without any complaints, without nodding to sleep, Aemond listens to every word, just like he would when you were kids. Sometimes, in some moments your relationship feels like it was before Lucerys death, and it’s nice and beautiful. Albeit that fact always lingers in the back of your head, never letting you forget.

“There’s this one dress that is two pieces, a darker sleeveless cloak over the lighter and silk lilac dress,” you continue. “And it’ll have dragonscales that sort of cascade down the skirt. It’s truly beautiful. And of course she’s made red gowns with gold. But oh! She made me this beautiful purple night gown.”

Out of excitement you get out of the water and rush to the rack to grab the nightgown and throw it on even if your body is still wet. “Look!” You exclaim and run back to him to show off the beautiful nightgown designed for you.

Aemond gets out of the bath and wraps the towel around his torso but his eyes never leave you. He smiles and his eyes soften. “You’re beautiful.”

The night gown was constructed of a light lilac silk that had slits that showed your bare legs. A shear cover connected to the top but as it flowed down it worked as a second skirt, a cover. Since you can’t sleep with any accessories on, there’s flame designs on the skirt.

“Can you imagine when I get bigger?” You ask and approach him. “Two babies. I probably won’t be able to walk.” You giggle and when you reach him you wrap your arms around his neck. “You’ll be with me though, right? I don’t want to do it alone. It’s two,” you whisper with concern.

Aemond holds your arms and gently caresses them. “I will,” he assures you. “Wherever I go, you’ll go. I won’t leave you alone. And nothing will happen to you. I’ll make sure of it.”

You offer him a nervous smile before you lay your head on his chest. Aemond embraces you tightly and makes sure to caresses the back of your head.

“You’ll make it. I swear,” he adds. “You’re strong. And that won’t take you away from me.”

You sigh and now grow worried about that too, it’s not just one babe, it’s two. There’s double the risk that you’ll meet your end that day, and that thought terrifies you. You don’t want to die that way.

If only you could have your mother with you when the twins come…

——

*A FEW MONTHS LATER*

Dear Jacaerys

Hm, last time I wrote a letter was for Lucerys, to manage my grief in the only way I could while I lived with the people who are guilty. Now I write to you…how tragic is that?

I wonder if mother ever thinks all this is worth it? I sometimes think it’s not, I mean we lost you already. We lost Viserys too that same day. We lost Visenya, Lucerys. Grandmother. That Iron Throne isn’t worth it.

But, then I grow angry. And when I'm angry I know that it has to be worth it. All the loss has to be worth something. That’s what keeps me fighting. That’s what keeps me trying to accomplish my promise to you, little brother.

Anyway, you must want to know what’s going on, well I’ll tell you. Daeron has joined the war. I forget he exists sometimes. Regardless, he’s helping the Hightower army and winning, so he hasn’t come to King's Landing. Other battles rage on but that’s not really important now.

What is important is the fact that what once was a seed, is now a blooming lively flower. Aemond took my idea, we march to Harrenhal tonight.

The council was against his plan—or mine that he took as his own. But he ignored them all, now he, me and Ser Criston are marching the entire army of four thousand strong to Harrenhal. I of course warned our mother a fortnight ago. Here’s what I wrote,

“Aemond, Ser Criston, and I will march with the entire army to Harrenhal in two weeks' time, on the day of the full moon. Warn your husband. And I ask one thing, please take care of Aerion, he will remain at King’s Landing with my handmaiden Vanessa, please take them under your care.

Other than that, come take your throne. And I hope you keep my ring safe, I will return to you to get it back.”

You know how much I dislike Daemon, but he’s mothers greatest asset, her happiness after losing so much. I can’t deny her what little she has of it. So I’m putting my grudge aside for now for her.

Will he heed my warning? Who knows, mother sent back dragon glass to tell me that she received my message, so let’s hope they do.

Anyway, yes, I am 8 months along, so what am I doing flying to a potential battle? Aemond doesn’t want to leave me behind, nor do I actually want to be apart from him. It’d be a mistake and I’m too scared with the babies coming so soon. Then again…if they’re Cregan’s perhaps I have made a grave mistake by going with Aemond….

It’s a good thing the Hightowers have dark hair, and I do have some Baratheon blood in me from our grandmother Rhaenys, so if they come out with dark hair that’s my best excuse…Fuck. Let’s hope they both come out silver-haired.

I miss you, I love you.

Your sister, y/n.

It’s been 19 days since that letter was written, it’s been 19 days of flying over a long trail of soldiers frightened of a battle that might await them at Harrenhal. It’s been even longer since you wrote your mother that warning. No one has said anything about her taking King’s Landing since you all started your journey, so your nerves have been eating away at you.

If she has though you’ll know sooner rather than later considering you’re approaching the castle at Harrenhal, and Daemon hasn’t come out to give Aemond a ferocious meeting. In fact it’s quiet in the fact that metal doesn’t sing as it hits against each other, horse hooves don’t stomp on the ground like thunder in the sky, and cries don’t erupt from the ground.

Still Aemond is cautious, he lands first while he has you wait upon Astraea in the sky. He returns to you not so much longer and gives you the all clear with a nod.

So your mother heeded your warning?

Astraea lands outside the castle walls beside Vhagar, and 19 days of going up and down rope ladders with a huge fucking belly doesn’t get any easier.

Maybe staying home wasn’t such a terrible idea. Soaking in a bath sounds nice at this very moment…

Regardless, since you’re slow to dismount your dragon, Aemond is already waiting for you on the ground, he watches you carefully since he can’t reach you. And when you are in his arms length, he quickly grabs you and helps you down. He did the same thing for 19 days. If he could, he would climb all the way up and carry you down, but he can’t do such a thing.

“Come on, I’ll arrange our chambers so you can rest,” he whispers in your ear as he takes the helm off your head.

You grab his arm and wait a moment there to catch your breath. “Yes, just let me…” you trial off and exhale as you also grab onto your huge swollen belly.

Aemond’s gaze stays on your face, you can feel his stare as watches for any sort of discomfort you’ll express.

Besides your usual discomfort that you’ve felt since the twins grew bigger though, you’re fine.

“Okay,” you breathe out. “I'm better. It just doesn’t get easier. Especially with that stupid helm on my head,” you whine and stand up straight. “I can barely breathe as it is with the twins, and now that. I swear.”

Aemond scoffs. “It’s for your own good. People want to use you to spite me, or your mother. The Battle at the Gullet proved that. I don’t want to run any risks.” He hangs your metal helmet on his side and hooks your arm around his. “Come, it seems we’re celebrating tonight.”

Yes. We are.

Aemond leads you towards the entrance that now has Aegon’s green banners on the side of the grand gates. It stands out amongst all the scorched grass and black haunting walls. Once you’re past the gates, rather than being received by a devious man, you’re welcomed by The Hand, Ser Criston Cole, and some of his soldiers.

“My Prince,” Ser Criston Cole greets with a bow. “Princess. Welcome to Harrenhal.”

The others welcome Aemond and you, their Prince and Princess Regent with silence. Daemon and his soldiers aren’t here anymore, besides the people that lived here already the castle is left deserted.

He heeded your warning. Good.

How will Aemond react to this though? He came expecting a battle, now all that welcomes him is disappointment. So you watch him, you see him study the castle and all the soldiers that watch him for a sign of anger; because his anger is a fearsome thing, ever since he became Prince Regent you’ve seen him display an anger that’s strange to you. It’s kind of frightening.

“It seems Daemon and his River Scum,” Aemond breaks the silence and catches you off guard by how calm he is by this fact. “Rather flee than face my wrath!” He proclaims.

Sure. That’s what it is.

“Let it be known that Daemon Targaryen is a craven!” Aemond exclaims proudly, bringing excitement to the men who had done nothing but walk and be scared for 19 days.

“We celebrate tonight and tomorrow we plan,” he finishes and then surprises you by pressing a kiss on the side of your head.

The men’s clamoring grows louder, and as it does Aemond looks around the courtyard. “Wench!” He shouts and pulls you towards an older woman with brown and grey hair. “Bring out three of your best handmaidens, and have them come meet your princess. Have our chambers prepared and a warm bath ready for the Princess.”

The lady bows her head and quickly scurries off to do what she was told, leaving you alone with him by an entrance to the castle while the others gathered towards the center of the courtyard.

“<Aemond,” you interject in High Valyrian. “You seriously aren’t going to leave me alone. Let me come with you, I know you’ll meet with Ser Cristion and the others for a short discussion.>”

Aemond cups your cheeks since your arms are covered with black gleaming armor, and leans in. “<I won’t be gone long. I’ll go have dinner with you in our chambers. But you are to rest for tonight. You can join me tomorrow.>”

You widen your eyes to plead, but he just presses a soft kiss on your lips and then caresses your belly safely guarded under chain mail.

“<Go take that armor off its too heavy.>”

You scoff. “That’s not the only thing. I wish they’d come out already,” you whine.

Aemond snickers and presses his forehead against yours. “We’re close to meeting them.”

You can’t help your smile even though they’re currently a pain. However, you then grow sad over the child you left behind. He’s one now, he can walk, and he got all sad when you said goodbye. He had the saddest blue eyes that gleamed with tears. It broke your heart.

But hopefully he’ll feel better with your mother there with him. He did adore her before.

“And we’ll return home soon,” Aemond assures you without needing to be told what had made you so upset. “Now, go. They’re waiting.”

You look back at the door and see three women, they all have dark hair; one is short and plump with kind brown eyes and a nervous smile you know she’s just putting on out of courtesy. Another was average height and curvy, she didn’t smile, she didn't meet your gaze, she kept her head ducked. And the third woman is tall and slim, you can’t tell if she’s young or old, her dark green eyes meet yours without shame and with a certain confident determination; she isn’t beautiful, but she is charming in a sense. She’s kind of frightening too.

“Aemond,” you plead again and face him.

Said man brushes the loose strands of hair out of your face and again just comforts you. “I’ll be there soon, my love.”

You exhale and nod. He gives you another kiss but you don’t return it this time because you get upset that he’s leaving you with a bunch of strangers that were just loyal to Daemon, not so long ago—And neither of them know that you’re secretly supporting your mother so what if they try to poison you?

Aemond scoffs in response to your refusal, but not out of anger he finds it amusing. “Be careful,” he tells you.

You roll your eyes to the side. “I hope you find me dead in the tub,” you grumble and then turn on your heels and walk to the door. Of course four guards follow behind you, and the girls that came out to greet you also follow you inside in between the guards and you.

It’s a silent walk for the most part as one of them guides you to your chambers through the twisted halls, but you hate it, especially if they might think of you as an enemy. So you do the best thing you can and at least try to befriend them. Just so at least if they had it planned, now they won’t kill you.

“I don’t know how long I’ll stay but, the three of you will still help with plenty in my current state, so is it okay if I know your names?” You ask them.

The nice looking lady guiding you looks back and smiles as she introduces herself. “My name is Riven, Princess. I’m at your service.”

You offer her a kind smile. “Nice to meet you, Riven.”

“I am Lys,” the serious woman introduces herself. “My Princess.”

You smile at her and then glance at the third girl—lady?

“I am Alys Rivers, Princess,” she says and bows her head.

“Well It’s nice to meet you all, and I’m sorry in advance for my attitude, it’s been all over lately,” you giggle.

Alys shakes her head. “Not to worry, we understand. You must be extremely tired. I don’t know how you’re traveling with how far along you seem to be. It’s brave”

You tap your belly and shake your head. “Thank you, and I truly don’t know either. Love for my husband perhaps, or a sense of anger for the prince that once resided here.” You say and look ahead.

“Anger is the best motivation, revenge is even better,” Alys interjects.

You glance at her over your shoulder and slowly smile wider. “I couldn’t have said it better. Nice.”

The corner of her thin lips pull to a smile, and she follows by bowing her head as a thanks.

Now, once they take you to the chambers you’ll be staying at, they're quick to prepare a bath and take your armor off. They help as gently as they can, and once you’re in that bath it feels like heaven, it doesn’t fail to lull you to sleep after a long day. So by the time you’ve changed into your evening gown and dinner approaches, you can’t even stay awake that long.

The slumber that took you captive was so deep that you didn’t even wake when Aemond walked in just at the time he said he would join you. He finds you laid back on the bed, snoring quietly, and your belly pointed at the ceiling.

He thought you looked too precious to wake so he just quietly admires you with a soft awe-struck smile, and then very gently, with the softest touch, caresses your cheek.

He meant what he said those many months ago, he didn’t want to be parted from you. Ever. It was a selfish desire, but it’s one he’s been loyal to since he was a timid boy and you were a rebellious girl always having his back. He can’t even stand the thought of losing you, so the safest place for you is at his side. And if it comes to it, if it comes to choosing, he’d choose you over the twins on that birthing bed, he’d choose you over even Aerion. The world could burn before he lost you.

Nevertheless, you slept through the night without waking up. When you did it was dawn, or it seems like it, it’s raining outside so it’s difficult to know. It just isn’t very dark outside anymore. But most importantly Aemond is sleeping beside you.

He looks peaceful. Beautiful under the soft light. It’s still so bizarre how much love you still possess for him—or really a man you know is still in there, buried for only you to see. There’s a good side to him, a sweet and caring side to him that he’s carried ever since he was a freckled faced boy who kept to himself. It’s said he lost it now that he’s a grown man, but you see it everyday, of course it is different now, but it’s still there, and it’s that sweet side, that protective, caring, and gentle side of him that you’re attached to, that you love deeply and can’t come to hate.

You want to. You wanted to, but…your heart and soul can’t muster up those emotions.

Is it cruel of you? Maybe. It probably makes you a terrible person, but you can’t help from what your heart wants. Perhaps if you hadn’t grown up together you would be able to hate him.

And maybe you still find him attractive, and beautifully majestic. Maybe you cling onto the hope that he’ll change for the better. And…you also hate the thought of him being with someone else regardless of what you did, so you stay with him so he’ll only love you.

However, there is one thing that you know now even with all the love you still harbor for Aemond, if Cregan had asked you now to stay with him, to be his wife over Aemond’s, you’d accept his proposal. Perhaps then you could have avoided disappointment, betrayal, you could have saved your brothers and kept your heart. Perhaps then it would be easier to hate Aemond.

But life isn’t different, you’re here with Aemond, next to him and admiring him as he sleeps—and also working behind his back to secretly destroy his family and the side he’s loyal to.

Life has turned out to be a queer thing...

Oh Aemond, why couldn’t our lives have been easier?

You caress his cheek as he remains asleep, and still can’t help but smile softly at him before you press a kiss on his nose, and then get up. Or you struggle to anyway. And since he stays asleep you try to do what you need quietly, while your mind is loud with many different thoughts.

Like the one most important thing, is it selfish to love both Aemond and Cregan?

It’s not like you haven’t tried letting Cregan go, you’ve tried, but it doesn’t work. No matter what, he’s always with you. He’s still the very breath you need to stay alive…

Gods.

If only you could talk to your mother, she’d know what to say.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Aemond’s voice startles you.

You stop what you’re doing and look back, catching him still laid down with his gaze on you.

“You looked too precious,” you say sweetly. “And you need sleep, Aemond. You’ve been going to sleep late, and waking up early. You can’t manage an army with your mind all exhausted.” You smile and continue to braid your hair.

Aemond hums and keeps his gaze on you. “You missed dinner,” he points out.

You sigh deeply. “I know,” you groan. “Forgive me. I got so tired when I was in the bath. I just wanted to close my eyes for a moment, but I just never woke up. I didn’t even feel when you came in. Sorry.”

He shakes his head and sits up. “Don’t worry. You should forgive me. I’ve been the one dragging you around camp after camp. It probably isn’t easy.”

You laugh softly. “No. So it felt nice sleeping on a bed.”

He hums in agreement and gets out of bed to walk towards you to give you a gentle peck on the lips, before he then walks off to use the chamberpot.

“So what now? What was decided last night?” You ask him loudly so he can hear you.

“We were just discussing shifts, guard posts. And nothing worthwhile. We’ll have a meeting later today about what to do,” he responds.

You slowly shift around and watch him return to the room.

“We’ll go after we break fast,” he adds. “I’ll have it sent here. And after that we'll talk with the maester.”

“Aemond.”

“Y/N,” he counters and faces you as he picks up his clothes. “With you so close to going to labor we'll stay here until after the twins are born.”

You blink and stop braiding your hair to slowly narrow your gaze. “What?” You quip. “But what of Aerion? Aemond I can't possibly stay here. We can’t.”

Aemond puts his stuff down and approaches you, he kneels down in front of you and takes your hands in his. “My love, you can’t possibly keep traveling anywhere else. I doubt we’ll make it back to King's Landing. We’re staying until after the twins are born. And as for Aerion, he’s safe there. No one will harm him.”

You pout. “Perhaps, but I’ll miss him. And my cat.”

Aemond laughs softly as he cups your chin and leans in. “I’m sure you’ll have your hands full with twins soon. Your heartache will hurt less.”

That was no comfort whatsoever.

You sigh nonetheless and continue on. “You’ll join the fights happening around in the Riverlands then?” You ask sadly. “I mean unless we want to flee like Daemon the Craven?”

He was no craven, you can admit that, but it’s what Aemond wants to hear.

“No,” Aemond deadpans and gets up to continue to change. “I’ll fight. Our army will. We aren’t cowards. We’ll show them who the real warriors are.”

You hum softly and once you finish your braid you begin to smile. “Okay Aemond,” you call out and push yourself off the chair.

“Why don’t you ever ask for help,” Aemond grumbles.

You flick your wrist down and brush him off. “I don’t need it right now. Anyway!” You exclaim and waddle towards the vanity to pick up glimmering headpieces. “One of the girls, Alys, helped me pick them out, but I can’t decide between the two.” You turn and show him a silver headpiece that has a silver majestic seahorse from your Velaryon sigil. The headpiece is pretty simple, nothing else decorates the band since the Velaryon seahorse made of tiny shards of sea glass is the main design.

“Or! This one,” you offer him a different option, another silver option, but this time this silver band is made of dragons that wrap around your head and meet at the middle with their heads just slightly pointed upward. This headpiece also has thin chains dangling down the sides.

“Which one will look better with that dark red gown?” You ask as you point to the gown hanging over the long mirror. “Hm? Alys said this one,” you say and raise the dragon one. “But I want your opinion.”

Aemond pulls his shirt on and then looks between both options. He takes a moment before he points to the seahorse one. Albeit you don’t feel convinced with his choice.

“I think I’ll go with the dragon one,” you declare, earning a confused grumble from aemond. “Thanks!”

“You’re wearing your chest armor,” Aemond commands as you put the headpieces back down. “I don’t want to hear you argue.”

You groan deeply. “It’s heavy, and it’s uncomfortable on my breasts. Can’t I just stick with you all day.” You turn and waddle towards the gown.

“You are, but arrows fly y/n, stuff still happens.”

You frown in discontent. “You’re such a worrywart,” you grumble.

“Yeah well I always have to be when my wife is never careful,” he argues.

You roll your eyes to the corner and catch his pressing stare, it makes you giggle and want to argue back. However, as you part your lips, a knock then raps on the door.

“It’s Ser Criston, My prince,” said man announces himself, catching both Aemond and you by surprise. “It’s urgent. Please meet me and the rest of the council at the main hall.” His footsteps then recede, and Aemond and you share a concerned look.

Since Ser Criston said it was urgent, the handmaidens come and help you dress quickly, but you don’t bother to break fast. Aemond and you immediately make your way to the main hall where the commanders, a maester and Ser Criston already wait with worried looks. As if someone had just died.

“What is it, Ser Criston?” You address the man’s concern as you clasp your hands over your belly.

The knight sighs deeply as he looks at Aemond before sharing the urgent news. “A Raven came in this morning. Princess Rhaenyra, and Prince Daemon have taken the capital.”

You stiffen, and hide your proud smirk by clenching your hands and looking down to try and look upset.

“Prince Aegon and Princess Jaehaera escaped along with a few men, but the Queen Dowager and the Queen were left behind,” he adds, causing Aemond to clench his own fists harder, to the point that his knuckles are growing whiter.

You understand his anger, you don’t wish for things to change, you’re proud and gleeful that your mother successfully took King’s Landing back. But you understand why Aemond would be angry.

“How did they know when to attack?” A commander asks the small group of men. “This march was kept secret for a reason.”

You don’t hide by ducking your head, you keep your face serious and your stance firm. You only move to gently cup Aemond’s hand that was forcefully clenching the pommel of the sword you gifted him.

He feels your touch and meets your gaze. He doesn’t suspect you, even if the others watch you with suspicion, he doesn’t doubt you. Even if you, with the help of Lord Larys, are the reason your mother is sitting on that throne now, and why Daemon isn’t here.

“Well mayhaps we shouldn't have to break our heads. Instead we should look amongst us,” Ser Criston counters with anger as his eyes slowly fall on you, and the other commanders look at you too.

They’re accusing you? Yes it was you. But you won’t tell them that. You still need to play your game, there’s much to do.

“Say it, Ser Criston,” Aemond spats out with a fuming look. “Name who you suspect.”

Ser Criston blinks repeatedly and stiffens, whilst you begin to smirk just to piss them off more.

“Perhaps it’s time the Princess stays out of our affairs,” an old Lord with an uneven beard suggests.

You hum and slowly knit your eyebrows in feigned confusion. “Forgive me, tell me your name again?” You sass him.

The man blinks in disbelief and looks around the table as if looking for aid. When he doesn’t find any, he looks at you again and raises his head. “Ser Mayfist.”

You hum with disinterest and let go of Aemond to lean your head forward. “Give me a reason why I should stop coming and I’ll consider not feeding you to my dragon, or have you meet the sharp end of my arrow.”

Aemond scoffs in amusement.

Ser Mayfist glances at Aemond, he sees the anger that hasn’t faded since he found about the news, and cowers, however, Ser Criston is braver, he answers. Not at you though, he doesn’t talk to you. “Pardon my bluntness, my Prince, but she’s the daughter of the Princess. I can’t say you shouldn’t bring her along, but she shouldn’t be here. Her brothers are dead, she has every reason to betray us. To betray you. She could’ve been the leak.”

You look at Aemond, and he meets your gaze and holds it. Doubt doesn’t pass behind his eye, he just sighs and then caresses your belly before pressing a kiss on the side of your head.

“<You. Or me?>” Aemond asks in High Valyrian.

You slide your gaze to Ser Criston and continue to smirk. This time there's malice behind that gesture though. “Why don’t you get your head out of your ass, Ser Criston,” you counter calmly even if you are annoyed. And the knight looks baffled that you dared to talk to him like that after holding your tongue in front of him for every meeting, for years.

“If I wanted to do that I wouldn’t be here,” you continue to sweet talk all of them, like an enchanting song that takes them all captive. “Or I would have killed you already don’t you think, hm? I’m not your mole. I have no desire to help Daemon or my mother. But I’ll tell you, snakes creep in the corridors of the Red Keep. You’ll probably find your mole hiding in the dark corners of the castle.”

“Speak like that about your Princess Regent again Ser Criston and I will have no hesitation in killing you,” Aemond interjects sharply.

Ser Criston bows his head as an offer of forgiveness, but he doesn’t say the words, you know he still suspects you. He might even hate you more now than already did, for some odd reason.

“What we should be asking ourselves is what we are meant to do now?” You change the subject.

Aemond nods stiffly, and then turns around swiftly to storm towards the fireplace lit with burning flames. He clenches his fist and shakes his head before he uses all his pent up rage to swipe the jug of wine off the small circle table by the fireplace, and manages to throw the wine in the fire, causing it to enrage and blow out.

You swallow thickly out of discomfort to this display of anger, but you then just ignore it and walk over to him to grab his arm and lean over to meet his gaze. You don’t say anything, nor does he. He just grabs your hand and caresses your knuckles. He continues to hold your gaze, and as if he found what he was looking for within your eyes, he turns to face his men, and you turn with him.

“Bring Ser Simon Strong to the Courtyard,” Aemond demands. “Along with every man and boy with the name Strong. Drag every bastard out to the mud. Men and women alike.”

You hold onto Aemond and feel your heart jump at the sound of his threat. Yet you don’t show your discomfort. Not there with all the men watching you. You just keep a straight face painted on and follow your husband out.

——

*LATER*

“Let the gods decide if you speak truly,” Aemond’s threatening but cool voice travels over the sound of the pouring rain. “If you are innocent, the Warrior will give you the strength to defeat me.”

Just like he demanded, Ser Simon Strong was brought out—dragged out of his cell and thrown to the courtyard where he was accused of being a traitor to the crown just because he had yielded the castle to Daemon with so much haste. Ser Simon is a traitor, Aemond said, everyone else echoed his accusation, you just stood under shelter and watched the confrontation. You listened as Ser Simon pleaded for his life, swore that he was Aegon’s ally, after all his kin, Lord Larys is a member of the small council. But that man himself is under fire for one, being brothers to Ser Harwin, the supposed father of Lucerys, Jacaerys and Joffrey. And two, well who would trust Lord Larys?

So that exact plea only worked to anger Aemond more. And even if you wanted to do something, (not like you do honestly), no matter what you can’t step in this. It's a fair trial under the law. Everyone else though, all the older and younger men. The children with a bastard name, or the Strong name were dragged out too. And the women were brought out more harshly. How can you help them? Should you?

You sigh and bite the inside of your cheek while you notice a sword being shoved in Ser Simon’s hands.

The man was old and terrified, the fight won’t last long. Still you walk down the steps with servants trailing behind you holding an umbrella, and approach Aemond with a tiny smile.

“<You won’t need it,” you tell him in Valyrian as you cup his jaw. “But good luck.>” You lean in and give him a sweet kiss. When you pull away, Aemond caresses your bottom lip with his thumb before he carefully rubs your belly.

“<Thank you, my love,>” he says and steals one more kiss from you before he turns and slowly unsheathes his sword while he walks to the clearing people left for both men to fight.

It’s not the old man’s life you fear or desire to save, so you watch the duel, you hear the metal sing as the man tries to block Aemond’s swift swings. And just like you predicted the duel doesn't last long whatsoever, Ser Simon is quickly succumbed by Aemond, not only because of his skill, but his speed, his strength and determination. Honestly it’s so impressive that you can’t help but get excited, after all these kinds of things do excite you.

And as Aemond cuts the man to pieces with swift swings you watch his stance and every single move without batting an eye. When he demands the corpse be fed to Vhagar, you clap at Aemond’s success and run over to stand by his side.

Aemond wraps his arm around your waist and kisses the side of your head before he pulls you with him towards the others; the old and young men, the bastards and the women drenched in rain not knowing what’s going on. After all, in cases like these only the man in charge and those who follow him die, not everyone else.

“Let’s make this quick, my y/n and I need to break fast,” Aemond says without any ounce of remorse. You on the other hand grow stiff and guilty.

There’s nothing you can do to spare the old and young men. One by one they met Aemond’s sword and begin to stain the dirty puddles red. It’s the innocent that you can’t stand behind and watch die though, your heart can’t take it, so you quickly try to step-in in the best way you can and will guarantee mercy.

“Aemond, my love,” you interject and grab his wrist and push down the arm he’s holding his sword with. “Perhaps the children can be used as soldiers, or cup bearers, servants, and stable workers? With such a large army I’m sure our men will appreciate the help.”

Aemond holds your gaze, and you feel his grip loosen around his sword.

“My prince, those same boys will grow and seek revenge for today's actions,” Ser Criston rebuttals, making you clench your jaw and roll your eyes towards him. “We can’t spare a life.”

Aemond takes in every word and glances down to think, so you cut in quickly. “They can try. And if word spreads about some rebellion, they can meet a quick end, they’re no match against our dragons.”

Aemond let’s out a deep sigh and doesn’t respond, he steps past Ser Criston and you, and exhales deeply as he tightens his hold around his sword. “Let it be known,” Aemond announces with his chin up and a scowl on his face. “That your pathetic lives were spared by the goodheart of my y/n. Your Princess. Ser Louis you may use them as you see fit.”

One of the commanders nods and has the children taken away harshly. It wasn’t how you wanted it, but at least they didn’t meet a gruesome end just because Aemond felt like it.

“These wenches though,” Aemond continues and points to the women with the tip of his bloody sword. “Feed them to Astraea and Vhagar.”

Huh?

You snap your eyes to the commoner, lower ranked, and servant women all with the name Rivers or Strong, just sentenced to death. Much like with the children innocent to Aemond’s thirst for blood, you could plead for their lives, but you already pleaded for more than you should have.

Yet there is one woman in the line that catches your eye, Alys Rivers, the woman appointed to be your handmaiden.

She meets your gaze with a pleading look. She’s been nice to you, she’s talked to you more than your other handmaidens have, you can’t just watch her die.

“Aemond,” you cut in one last time. “Please can you spare the life of my handmaiden,” you plead to your husband. “She’s been kind to me. She’s helping me, and will help when the twins come. Shes a wetnurse. I need her. Please.” You glance back at Alys, and Aemond follows your line of gaze, but ends up looking at her with disgust. When he meets your gaze he hesitates, but he can’t resist you though so ends up nodding stiffly.

You sigh with relief and quickly turn around to walk over to offer Alys your hand. She’s hesitant, but she then takes it and bows her head.

“Thank you, Princess,” she says.

You offer her a soft nod and a faint smile before you return to Aemond’s side.

“Come,” he says and pats your hand hooked around his arm. “Let’s go break fast.”

You hum in agreement, but then glance back at the women you couldn’t save and spot Alys watching them all be dragged to the gates that go past the castle walls, and lead towards where the dragons rest. You can’t see her face but you do see her clenched fists. You can’t even imagine her grief; watching everyone you once knew die before your very eyes, and all for what? A whim?

Men are scary sometimes when they seek revenge, but a woman's path of revenge is what everyone should really fear.

Just like yours some are silent, most men are loud with their revenge, their search for some justice, but a woman's? Even if we are loud, people usually doubt women, so when we get revenge it’s unexpected, no one sees it coming, so it’s women everyone should fear. Perhaps we should fear her.

——

*LATER*

What can you say to her after what Aemond did to the people that lived here. People she’s lived with, friends, children she’s probably raised. She’s the only one here too, the other girls haven’t come back since this morning. Aemond is busy discussing matters of war and getting updated on what happened since your mother took King’s Landing.

Perhaps you shouldn’t say a thing, she wouldn’t think it’s genuine, but you feel as if you need to. Besides when Aemond is gone like times like these, without Vanessa here you’ll be rather lonely.

“Uh,” you interject and carefully put a silver ring on your finger. “Where is Riven and Lys?”

Alys turns with your evening gown in hand, and answers. “I don’t know. I tried searching for them but I haven’t been able to find them. I think they left.”

You sigh and glance at the golden ring Aemond gave you. “They’re scared?” You ask.

Alys nods. “They have every right to be. But they’re cowards, standing your ground and fighting back is what makes you truly brave.”

You lift your eyes and look at her approaching you through the mirror. “Yes, that’s right,” you agree in many ways than one.

“Now get up and let me help you,” she says. “You will drive your husband mad with this gown.” She smirks.

You smile softly and use the surface of the vanity to push yourself to your feet. As Alys begins to help you dress you finally express what runs through your mind. “I’m sorry for what happened today. I can’t imagine what you must feel.”

Alys stops what she’s doing and slowly looks at you through the tall mirror. “You tried your best to intervene in today's unjustifiable violence. Your actions will be remembered today.”

She truly has no shame expressing herself. You like it.

So you hum softly in comprehension, and when she continues to help you, you continue more lightheartedly. “I’m glad you were brave enough to stay. I’m grateful.”

“Thank you Princess.”

You smile wider and drift your gaze to your reflection.

“But,” she adds. “I should be grateful to you. You saved me from getting slaughtered. You saved my life.”

You sigh and look at her once again. “We have to save who we can. Just because we’re rulers, doesn’t mean we have the right to be cruel. Just know though, if you betray me or my husband I will have no hesitation in killing you.”

Alys meets your gaze and begins to smirk instead of growing uncomfortable or fearful. “Show me I can respect you and I can be your greatest ally.”

You let out a soft laugh. “You have quite a tongue on you, miss. I admire it.” You grin brightly and nod. “I’ll try my best. Albeit you’ll have to excuse me, I’m growing quite irritable the longer these children stay inside me.”

“I can imagine,” she says and walks behind you to tie the laces. “Twins aren’t easy carrying. But from what I know, they should come out soon.”

You exhale deeply. “I hope. Tell me, have you lived here all your life?”

“Yes, I’ve traveled a bit, but not far and not long. I don’t have much money, so I get to stay here,” she shares. “I can’t say it's been easy, but I’m alive, and that I have fought for.”

“I admire it,” you tell her sweetly.

Alys walks in front of you and meets your gaze. “Does it feel fine?”

You nod quickly since it hasn’t started bothering you right away. “It feels fine.” You walk back to the vanity and reach for the empty plate of oranges. Damn. And you’re still craving more. Considering dinner isn’t until later you won’t be fulfilled just yet. And you can’t really walk around without Aemond, even if you have your guards. Damn.

“Alys,” you call out and turn with the empty plate. “Could you go to the kitchen and get more oranges? Please.”

Said women nods without hesitation and quickly leaves with the plate, leaving you alone.

There’s nothing to do here. Why can’t Aemond come back already?

You blow out air and sit down on the chair because your feet are killing you. “Be nice to me and come out already,” you whine as you pat your overgrown belly. You sit back and glance at the scar on your face. You lift your fingers, and trace the scar with the pad of your fingers.

Those boys you tried to defend that night are now gone…you’ll never see them again—

Thuds suddenly sound outside the door, you grow instantly curious about what it could be, but as you listen for more, nothing fills your ears, not even the rain since it stopped raining. It must’ve been some servant or guard. You drop your hand and pick up the book off the vanity surface, you open it to where you were before, but then the door opens.

Alys just left so she won’t return right away, it must be Aemond!

You look back with a smile, but that quickly dies down as you see a skinny pale man creeping in.

He’s not one of your assigned guards, nor a commander or someone that works under Aemond. He looks terrifying with his deep set eyes and his dark cloak.

“Get out!” You yell out as you quickly get up and face the man. “Get out,” you demand again and look past him to call your guards who let this weird man in. But that’s when you see them bleeding out on the ground. “Get out now!”

Your bow and arrow are at the other side of the room, your dagger is sheathed and hanging over your long mirror.

“I can’t possibly do such a thing,” the man says in a gravelly voice. “I have a message to deliver.”

Fuck. Fuck.

You don’t give away where your weapons are, so you quickly try to bolt to get your dagger, but the man is quicker since your belly is weighing you down, so man catches up to you and quickly, and quite harshly pushes you back. When you come to a stop he proceeds to wrap his fingers around your neck.

“My husband—”

“Stuck in meetings,” he cuts you off. “I saw it. He won’t come. Don’t worry I’ll make sure to leave a part of you behind. I’ll carve out those devils from inside ya so he can keep ‘em.”

You slowly curl your lip to scowl and try to move your leg to kick him, but he catches your attempts before you can do it, and points the tip of the blade against your belly.

At the sudden feeling you freeze now with fear. You’ve never been utterly useless like this, you haven’t been pinned down, unable to defend yourself. You’ve never been threatened so up close like this either. Now that you are, you're horrified.

“Move and I’ll make you watch yourself bleed out.” He sneers by your ear. “When the flames finish engulfing this tower I’ll come back and grab your body to deliver it to your mommy. She can keep your head. And your husband can keep your womb.”

Flames?

Flames are nice to you. You’ve proven that to yourself.

Unless you’re just more high tolerant to fucking heat than you’re fucked!

“Then stop talking and do it!” You snap back in a shaky voice.

The man snickers and slides the blade up. He doesn’t press deep enough to cut you, but when he reaches your neck he drags the blade to the side and presses the blade in to cut just the side.

You grunt and begin to heave. The man then lets you go by pushing you back against the wall. He then runs off to the door and picks something off the ground that was tucked under one of your guards, a torch. You try to move towards your dagger, but he lights the torch swiftly and throws the torch inside.

Before he closes the door though he meets your gaze. And rather than cowering with fear or trying to desperately escape at that moment, you hold his gaze and slowly let a menacing smirk grow on your face.

The man looks at you with disgust and sneers, “crazy bitch.” He then slams the door shut.

After that your smirk fades and panic does set. It’s too high up to jump out, and there’s nothing on the side of the outer walls to use to climb up or down. The door is your only exit, but the fire quickly grows and spreads as if it was feeding something off the ground. The flames block the door.

But! Fire, it doesn’t hurt you like it should, so you quickly run through the fire to get to the door. The fire doesn’t hurt your legs, it tickles your skin, but nothing happens, it’s just the bottom of your gown that begins to get touched by the fiery flames.

However, the door seems to be stuck against something, it doesn’t budge. And the knob is getting hot.

“Someone! Please help!” You cry out in hopes there is someone nearby to help you. You slam your fists against the door and continue to yell out for help, but to no avail, thick smoke fills the room and crawls into your lungs quickly, causing you to begin coughing.

Maybe this fucking tower isn’t so high up. You turn, but stop as you see that the flames now eat away at your bed, they’re growing on your vanity, on every piece of wooden furniture, it combines with the flames from the fireplace. It already blocks the window. There’s no balcony in this damn room, so you can’t run there.

The room is getting engulfed by fire quickly; every curtain, the rugs, the sheets on the bed, leaving you to see only bright furious orange and red flames. They continue to eat away at your gown too, making the red color truly glow red as the fire burns it away. It melts the golden chains that hang down your shoulders, and the silver ring on your hand.

The only thing that the fire doesn’t destroy is you, it doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t eat away at your skin, or the hairs on your arms, or the silver-white hair on your head. You’re untouched, being able to only watch, feeling the fear slowly fade away and turn to anger. Once again someone’s trying to kill you, but they failed again, they only worked to make you angrier, and only worked to fuel your thirst for revenge.

Thus you watch the flames, you watch it all burn away with a cold stare and faint smirk. You can only imagine the commotion outside, the panic, the pride the creepy man might feel. They would have let Aemond know by now, Ser Criston is probably holding him back from barging in—If he actually cares though.

You could use this moment to escape, return home, maybe even go to Cregan…

But there’s still much to do, there’s still people to take down, and promises to keep. Plus you want to see the look on the creepy man’s face when you come out alive.

He’ll shit himself.

So when the wooden door crumbles when the wood doesn’t hold it up right, you walk past the door frame, and past the burnt corpses of the guards. The hall is engulfed in flames too, most likely so no one could have the chance to save you, but you walk through those furious flames and stride through the twisted halls left empty because of the fire that basked every inch of the tower. All to make sure you would die.

Fuck them. It’ll take a lot more to kill you.

Once you approach the tower's doors they’re slowly getting eaten away by the flames, and you can hear the panicked cries of people, the shouts of Ser Criston instructing men to hold Aemond down. When you touch the wooden doors, a deafening prideful song echoes from Astraea, you recognize her right away.

When you push the flaming doors open the commotion is quickly cut off. Everyone freezes and watches you, the figure walking out of the burning tower, untouched by fire. When you walk past the doors you raise your chin and find Aemond getting held back by guards, his eye gleaming with tears, his nose and eyes red, and tears rolling past his eyepatch. When he realizes you’re not an illusion, he pushes away the men and doesn’t fret to rush to you.

You on the other hand look around the crowd, you see people whisper amongst themselves with shock and disbelief, and Ser Criston and the other commanders look horrified. There’s one person, perhaps more but you only notice her, Alys Rivers looking at you with awe. Albeit Aemond then wraps his green cloak around you to cover your exposed body and steals your attention away.

“Y/N,” he says with panic as he faces you and cups your cheeks. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

He was crying.

You blink and lose the anger from your face, and the numbness that took over as you walked through the halls. Fear once again strikes in you as you fully take in what just happened.

“Aemond,” you whisper softly and touch his chest.

Said man lifts your head and spots the blood coming out of the cut the man left on your neck. “Who did this?” He sneers and tilts your head down to meet your watery gaze.

You look at the crowd and see him trying to run through the crowd. He was trying to run out the front gates. He won’t get far though, Astraea is close, you know she’ll be waiting for him.

“A man. He’s trying to run out the gates,” you mutter. “Astraea will catch him though.” You assure him.

Aemond holds your gaze and doesn’t move to catch the man, he looks into your eyes with his glossy eye and tightens his hold on your jaw as relief is all you read off him.

“<My love,>” he whispers, and then presses his forehead against yours to just take in the fact that you’re alive.

“I’m okay,” you assure him softly as you caress his cheeks. “I’m okay. I’m okay.” You press a gentle kiss on his lips, and when you pull back he stares at your lips before he pulls you in for a deeper and more passionate kiss. One he savors, one where he demonstrates all the love he has and fear he had. He doesn’t care that people watch, he kisses you and lets everyone see the love he has for you.

You don’t hold back either and let him take control, you melt into the kiss. You appreciate his love, relish in it proudly, and when he pulls away, you smile at him with glee and relief.

“<Oh my sweet y/n,>” he whispers against your lips before he pulls you in for an embrace. You clutch onto him and dig your head in the crook of his nec. And as he holds you tightly against him you begin to slowly smirk.

Fire doesn’t kill you, but it will kill them. It’s not hard to know that someone from the Green side is the one who wants you dead. They can’t stand the love Aemond has for you, or the control you have over him by simply loving him. But you’ll show them, you’ll burn them all.

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut

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spyxfamilysmol · 11 months

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#spy x family #sxf #sxf smol #yor forger #relatable #chapter 14

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every-ciel-phantomhive · 4 months

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#every ciel #ciel phantomhive #black butler #kuroshitsuji #chapter 14 #elizabeth midford

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manga-meow · 2 months

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#Undead Girl Murder Farce #hair #chapter 14 #seinen #manga #manga cap #my edits #monochrome #mangacap #manga panel #popular

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teachmenari · 1 year

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14 Teach me! - cat lap rules

Tighnari x GN reader

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Teach me!

masterlist - prev - next

tag list: @rollingslumber @whycantscarabereal @aixaingela @toasterinabathtub @hydration-is-for-weenies @crueldinasty @ohmyfinggod @thfloating @swivy123 @loverhole @mikctp @missnella-nova @xiaomainlmao @iamlowkeycrying @lazy-sanns @vanitasbrainrot @hichi842 @shibarinu0000 @faela404 @sakkuur @lovesickfoolpia @spinninginthevoid @itsyourgirlria @chalksdreams @atlaincorrect @duckyyyx @mechanicalbeat1 @certaindreampost @sammybeefangirls @yuyudoesdrugs @xiaossocksniffer @danastiel @detectiveluvr @potabletable @sarahreadsfic @r4yyyyy @kika-a @bluebelony

▪︎Synopsis ➤ You’ve been attending the Akademiya for some time now, but for some reason this year is harder than the others. You’re failing almost everything regarding math and science. Your biology teacher, Ms. Rukkhadevata, offers the help of Tighnari, her TA... Let’s just hope he’s nice.

a/n: still unable to comment back, but I promise I read everything you say under the chapters and in the tags :] it warms my heart and keeps me going

#genshin impact #genshin smau #genshin impact au #genshin au #genshin impact smau #tighnari smau #tighnari x reader #tighnari x y/n #university smau #teach me! smau #chapter 14

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stressghoul · 1 year

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why is salty so adamant in telling Copia his time is almost up??? the clergy rlly aren’t going the surprise route like they did the other papas… why is he reminding copia every chance he gets?? what is his position in all this?

salty is literally allowing Copia to be prepared and that rat man has to be planning something. he is not dumb despite everyone in that fucking car thinking he is- Copia is going to war

#the band ghost #ghost #ghost bc #cardinal copia #copia #papa iv #tobias forge #papa emeritus iv #copia my beloved #copia is my husband #ghost copia #nameless ghouls #papa 4 #chapter 14

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britcision · 1 year

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OKAY FRIENDOS

This chapter fucking fought me, not least because I wasn’t actually sure what exactly Danny wanted out of meeting Waylon… and then I realised that was because Danny wasn’t sure either

I did consider just letting this one run long and posting in two parts when all was said and done, but this was where I’d have had to break the chapter in two for Tumblr anyway, and it’s actually a really good place to end… so one more chapter for Waylon!

And then tumblr mobile decided not to let me fucking paste the chapter in, and I am fucking DYING with the laggy piece of shit that is the mobile website. I crave death. Let me join the boys.

First Chapter and AO3:

Previous Chapter:

——————

A Good Excuse To Be A Bad Influence

Jason wasn’t exactly expecting to roll up to Danny’s dorm to thumping stripper music, and yet as he turned off the bike… that was definitely what was happening.

Flicking the visor up, he soon caught sight of the cause, a visibly frazzled Danny hurrying over. His pocket seemed to be having an independent party that Danny himself was not invited to.

“I have sinned against the almighty Tucker and am being punished for my crimes with an endless loop,” he explained flatly without being asked.

Jason snorted, reaching back to unhook the new helmet from the back of the bike and hand it out.

“Oh? And what did you do to upset his highness?” He teased, a smile tugging across his lips in spite of himself.

In spite of the certain knowledge that Tim would absolutely be latching onto this form of punishment the second he found out.

He’d not really felt like smiling since he got in last night, yet the second he saw Danny his anger eased.

Didn’t hurt that the pit was practically vibrating in smug satisfaction, clearly appeased that he also wouldn’t let them be kept apart. But there was still an open happiness all Jason’s own in watching his new friend suffer.

Danny sighed, pulling out a heavily wrapped sock-sausage that eventually contained his phone, and scrolled to show Jason some messages.

Jason scanned through them quickly, because the music was fucking loud entirely unmuffled, then passed the phone back to be reburied.

“You knew what you were doing,” he told Danny entirely unsympathetically, and Danny snickered.

“Sometimes he needs to be told when he’s being a dramatic bitch. So were you there for the whole,” he waved a hand vaguely, the other stuffing his phone back into his pocket.

Which meant Jason had to think about the cave again. And the phone call he’d gotten an hour after ignoring Bruce’s summons.

:::

Jason was actually on his way to bed on time for once in his life, the early end to patrol and lack of crime lord duties giving him a chance to get a full five hours sleep.

He should have known he wouldn’t get lucky two nights in a row; Constantine wasn’t around to distract Bruce anymore.

He’d contemplated not answering. Contemplated trying not to shoot Bruce in half an hour if the fucker showed up at his window.

The pit growled.

It was the worst thing he’d ever heard. The worst thing he’d ever felt. And he did feel it, vibrating in his very bones.

It sent shivers creeping up and down his spine, muscles tensing as if to run away from something inside him.

He answered the call, hoping it wouldn’t show in his voice.

“What.” Flat, unfriendly. Not encouraging conversation.

“You didn’t come to the cave.” B’s voice was equally flat, but in his case it sounded like a condemnation. An accusation.

Jason gritted his teeth.

“I have shit to do in the morning. Make it quick,” he snapped, giving his bed a glare it definitely didn’t deserve.

His pillows had never done anything to hurt him.

There was a momentary pause before B audibly decided not to push it.

Good.

Jason was in a mood to bite.

“We have intel on the Infinite Realms. I’ve sent the report. You need to stay away from Danny Fenton, for your health,” B said, still cold, still clinical.

Like he didn’t care. Like what Jason wanted didn’t matter.

Jason’s grip tightened and the phone case cracked.

“Yeah, no. Fuck off.” He spat the words, adding “get new phone” to his list of chores for the morning.

He’d been doing so well with this one. Of course B had to ruin it.

At least the old man didn’t seem surprised by his reaction.

“Jason. It… he. His abilities may affect your condition,” he said slowly, sounding tired. Old.

The pit snarled, sensing weakness, and Jason kinda wished he was still lost in its rage. Back when he was, it was easy just to hate those moments.

B showing signs of humanity fucking hurt.

“He is. He’s making it better,” he shot back, brooking no argument.

“We don’t know that, Jason. Please, just… just for a few days. Until we can talk to the League, understand what he’s doing to you.”

Was.

Was that Bruce begging?

It froze something small and soft in Jason’s chest, stuck him in place. And did nothing to stop the flood of icy rage from filling him up.

Filling his chest, crushing his lungs, making it hard to breathe. Because of course, anyone and everyone else’s judgement was worth more to the man than Jason’s.

Begging Jason to listen to him, when he would never, ever, fucking ever listen to Jason. When it didn’t fucking matter if Jason begged.

“And why the fuck would the League know better than a doctor from the Realms?” He finally snapped, ignoring the way his throat tightened.

There was a long silence.

“A doctor?” Bruce asked softly, his voice still so flat and emotionless that only his kids could have read the confusion. Jason rolled his eyes.

“Danny brought me to a doctor. I’m gonna be fine,” he ground out reluctantly, part of him resenting Bruce’s constant insistence on knowing everything.

But… well. If it got the guy off his fucking back.

There was a long silence, one that Jason was fully aware B was likely spending working this new information into his latest paranoid fantasy.

Jason seriously considered just hanging up and going to bed. He was about to do it when Bruce spoke again.

“Would this doctor be willing to speak to the League?” And there it was again, Batman voice, clinical and distant and always, always fucking suspicious.

Jason rolled his eyes harder. With emphasis. Willing to be interrogated by first the Justice League and then separately also goddamn Batman.

Actually, now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure B wouldn’t get anywhere with Frostbite. Frostbite took his work seriously and was, yeah, king of a full realm of yetis.

None of Bruce’s pointed silences, menacing looming, or vague growls would bug the guy who got Danny through Fucked Up Ghost Puberty.

(And would probably be helping Jason through his own Fucked Up Ghost Puberty… joy of joys.)

It might actually be fun to see him try. If just being here wouldn’t put Frostbite in danger, because hell fucking no that wasn’t happening. The guy may not be his king but Jason would still die first.

But of course, in all his paranoid bullshit about the Realms influencing Gotham, B had somehow conveniently missed what America was doing to the Realms.

Like Jason hadn’t even done the full write up.

“Not while the fucking League are required to hand him right to the US government for torture and experimentation. Which, by the way, did you read my report on the Anti Ecto Acts?” Jason asked sarcastically, doing his very worst fake concern.

And again he was met with silence. Fuck, maybe Bruce hadn’t read it. Jason had dropped it in the day before all this gala bullshit had started, and it had been a busy two days since.

Maybe B deadass hadn’t put the pieces together. Might as well hammer it home for him.

“You know, the one that says you, me, Cass, and Damian are all non-sentient because we’ve been exposed to the pits?” Jason added, eyes narrowing.

Which wasn’t technically true, since it was the resulting liminality and ability to process ectoplasm that made them count, but Bruce didn’t need to know that yet.

Finally he spoke again, voice gruff and clipped.

“I’m looking into it. But for now, Jason, please-” he said again, the cover of Batman beginning to slip.

But Jason was done. No fucking chance Bruce was giving him orders when he hadn’t even bothered asking for Jason’s opinion.

He wanted to spout off about dangers of the Infinite Realms after talking to some wet paper bag of a man who hawked his soul like it was a pokemon card. Hard pass.

And even after hearing that Jason knew what was going on a damn sight better than Bruce did, he still wanted to push him around?

Fuck that.

“Sorry B, legally non-sentient, guess I can’t be blamed for my actions,” he drawled, then turned his phone off and dropped into bed.

He had a lot of shit to do before picking Danny up in the morning.

:::

Jason shook his head, partially to clear it but also in answer to Danny’s question.

“Hell no. Tim told me he was being a paranoid old fuck again so I went to bed,” he growled, a little surprised by the sudden rush of anger the memory brought.

It must have been strong enough that Danny noticed it, because he could feel Danny’s worry too.

He sucked in a sharp breath, pushing the anger back down. He still hadn’t turned his phone back on.

Actually it might still be beside the bed in his apartment. It didn’t really matter.

Danny took the new helmet from him, leaning up against Jason’s side in a soft wave of comfort-sorry-amused.

Amused?

Before he could ask, Danny had turned the helmet over to look at the visor.

“So I’m guessing, from what we talked about in the car, what Tucker told me, and what you’re not telling me, that Bruce thinks you should be far, far away from me?” He asked innocently.

The pit fucking growled again, raising the hair all along Jason’s neck, and Danny trilled soothingly to it.

Even knowing what to expect, the sudden and complete lack of rage still made Jason shiver.

“Thanks,” he said before Danny could apologise.

For managing Jason’s unstable emotions for him when Jason couldn’t. Although…

If they actually were the pit’s all along, that’d explain why it had been so hard to push through. It was weird that the idea was actually starting to feel comforting.

Danny gave him a slightly relieved grin, nudging back.

“Yeah, well, not like you recently bound your entire soul and afterlife into keeping me safe. Not like either of us know what the fuck that’s gonna mean,” he said, all flippant and glib, and…

Yeah, he’d almost have a point, except Jason had put himself on the chopping block to keep others safe since he was thirteen years old.

He shook his head, chuckling softly.

“Oh, I didn’t get on with the old man long, long before you came into the picture,” he assured Danny with a dry smile, rolling his eyes.

Danny snickered, spinning the helmet and looking “innocently” up to the sky. Whatever the fuck came out of his mouth next, Jason was ready for it to be a doozy.

“Yeah, well… if I’m the bad influence boyfriend your dad wants you to stay away from…” and that sentence alone almost made Jason choke, without even the kicker, “can I drive your motorcycle?”

At least it stopped Jason from coughing. He shot Danny a sudden suspicious glare.

“Do you even know how to drive a motorcycle?” He asked with a full awareness of what the answer would be.

Danny shrugged, giving Jason his best “innocent” smile.

“Definitely motorcycle adjacent?” He offered sweetly. Jason shook his head firmly.

“Nope.”

“Oh come on!” Danny pouted, tossing both hands into the air, his new helmet held tight despite the dramatic gesture.

Jason shook his head again, in case Danny had missed the point.

“Nnnnnnnope,” he drew the word out, popping the p, and Danny rolled his eyes at him.

“It’s not like a crash would kill either of us anyway,” he huffed, and while he may have that kind of confidence in his ghost powers, Jason’s core hadn’t formed yet.

He wasn’t about to fucking risk it.

“That doesn’t mean it’ll be a fun experience. They’re called “donor-cycles” for a reason,” he told Danny archly, definitely not moving from astride his girl while this was “up for debate”.

Glanced back to find Danny staring at him, clearly holding back a snicker.

“That sounds waaay more like something the Disapproving Dad Who Doesn’t Like His Son’s Hot New Motorcycle Boyfriend would say,” he pointed out, rising on tiptoe to rest his chin on Jason’s shoulder.

Jason licked him. Mostly on the cheek.

It was a stupid impulse, the kind he usually didn’t even get with anyone but Dick, and he might have regretted it immediately if it hadn’t fucking worked.

Danny jumped back, cheeks flushing, and while Jason was pretty sure his own had pinked up, well, behind him Danny couldn’t see that.

But he pulled on his helmet just to be doubly sure.

“Yeah, well, protecting your ass includes not letting you kill us both in a fiery wreck. Or maim us,” he added before Danny could voice the protest Jason could clearly taste.

Silence from behind him, and then Danny sighed and pulled his helmet on, climbing aboard behind Jason again. Who decided to throw him a bone.

“I’ll teach you how to drive it first,” he promised, and Danny cheered loudly, thrusting both fists into the air as they pulled out.

Neither really noticed that Danny’s background music had changed to Radar Love.

When they’d finally dragged themselves to bed, Tim had offered to let Tucker use one of the manor’s nearly infinite guest rooms.

They’d picked one out and everything, changed into pyjamas (Tucker borrowed an old pair of Dick’s), and sat on the bed in Tim’s old room talking about technology until they both fell asleep.

Probably around 8am.

Tucker hadn’t had a proper slumber party since leaving Amity Park, but he was kinda getting used to waking up tucked next to a still-sleeping Wayne adoptee when his phone buzzed around 10am.

Foul treachery from Danny. As usual.

Tucker barely woke up, hand crawling from the pile to rest against the PDA, and that was all he needed. His awareness slipped from the device to his phone, always linked.

From his phone to Danny’s. Into Danny’s music app, where he picked a suitable vengeance even as he slipped back into sleep.

Watched Danny through the phone as if it were a dream, easily filtering out the sounds of his own music as Danny flailed around, trying to turn the music off, trying to turn the music down, failing on all counts, and flailing his way out of the dorm.

Down to meet Jason, his phone now buried in six layers of socks that did nothing to stop the music from being heard, or Tucker from watching.

Tucker cranked the volume a little more anyway. The thought had to count for something.

If Danny wanted to call him petty, well, Tucker Foley could redefine “petty” all on his own.

Providing his friends with a semi-mocking soundtrack really was the least of his abilities; he was literally doing it in his sleep.

Honestly, driving in Gotham wasn’t even all that exciting from Danny’s perspective. After being tossed around the GAV despite the seatbelts, a couple of cranky fellow drivers just didn’t register.

If they hadn’t been going through the city, maybe going highway speeds it might have been different, but he’d kind of worked out how loud he had to be to be heard.

By Jason snickering when he screamed at pedestrians.

If they didn’t want to be screamed at they shouldn’t be trying to loom menacingly.

Of course, that just meant now was the perfect time for him to use his new power for evil. Danny flipped his visor up, straining as high as he could to yell to Jason.

“SO, THAT CONSTANTINE GUY?”

There was a sudden click in his ear and he jumped as Jason’s voice came through, quiet and definitely amused.

“There’s a radio in your helmet, Danny.”

Oh.

News to fucking him, he was pretty sure that wasn’t standard in motorcycle helmets, but not from any lived experience. Johnny 13’s dead experiences were a little out of date.

Poking around the sides of his helmet, Danny soon found a button.

“Sweet. Looks like you finally forgot to mention something,” he teased, and heard Jason snort loud and clear.

Didn’t have to hold the button to talk then. Good times. He’d get Tucker to take a look on the way home after he ecto infused it. For now he flipped the visor back down.

“Looks like,” Jason agreed dryly, swerving them around a cluster of traffic.

He wasn’t exactly sticking to the letter of the law, they were definitely half again over the speed limit, but they hadn’t gone on a sidewalk so it was nothing to a Fenton. There was even an empty slot in the lane he merged into.

“So what about Constantine,” he prompted, and while it broke Danny out of his musings, it also reminded him of the exact thing he’d planned to do to make the trip more interesting.

“Oh, I own his soul. Like, a dozen times over,” Danny chirped perkily, grip tightening just before Jason had to slam on the breaks to keep from hitting the car beside them.

They sped off again before the sudden swerve caused comment, and passed a block or two in silence. Then Jason sighed.

“Of fucking course you do that for everything and not just Mariokart.” He mostly sounded resigned, so Danny allowed himself a snicker.

“What, it’s not like we’re gonna die. You’re even still on the road,” he dismissed easily, waving a hand to show just how unconcerned he was.

Did not expect Jason to huff, reach back and grab his hand, and pull it back around himself.

“I’m reconsidering teaching you to drive,” he told Danny flatly, and Danny pouted but took the hint and held on.

“Oh come on, you can’t say that, you haven’t even seen me try!” Danny protested.

Jason made an unimpressed noise.

“Your town’s weather includes reports of if your parents will be on the road.”

Which, by the way, was totally unfair of him, since he’d never have known that if Danny hadn’t told him. Or Tucker hadn’t told Tim.

Same difference.

“My parents, not me,” Danny argued anyway, shrugging, “and it wasn’t their driving that killed me.”

This time he was close enough, snugged tight to Jason’s back, that he felt the guy’s whole body shiver with a loud and rumbling growl. The same growl he’d heard and soothed earlier.

Something had really riled up Jason’s pit ghost.

Danny hummed another quick soothing trill, stroking his aura gently across Jason and his extra passenger.

Sort of trying to do it unobtrusively; he would actually really prefer that they didn’t fully crash. It kinda worked, in that Jason managed to unlock suddenly solid muscles enough for them to make the next turn.

“Sorry,” Danny said quickly, kind of to both of them, “guess Pitty doesn’t like the death jokes today.”

They passed another few buildings in silence, and Danny had definitely noticed by now that they weren’t heading for the manor. Didn’t matter so long as Jason knew where they were going.

Danny waited him out, long enough that he almost wanted to make another joke and lighten the mood. Again though, Jason broke it first.

“Pitty.” He did not sound impressed. But he didn’t feel mad. More what the fuck just came outta your mouth.

Danny gave him a quick squeeze, and almost felt the pit purr.

It was kinda getting stronger the longer they hung out. Technically that probably meant that both cores were making progress.

“Well, technically you probably get to name it, but until you come up with something I’m calling it Pitty,” Danny explained, and rather felt that Jason should be grateful.

Unlike the rest of his family, Jason had seen the full list of how Jack Fenton named things. Danny preferred to think he took after his aunt.

He coulda called it the Fenton Pit Friend or something. Really, it wasn’t hard to think of anything worse.

From his aura, Jason now seemed to be intentionally ignoring him.

Stewing in indignation-disbelief-confused-confused-confused. Well, that was his call.

Anyway.

“Back to Constantine though, I wasn’t kidding. I do actually own his soul,” Danny said casually, since they’d gotten distracted from his previous attempt to make the drive more interesting.

For a moment he wasn’t sure if Jason would rise to the bait this time either, and then another sigh came over the radio.

“Y’know, somehow, that’s the least surprising thing you’ve said. Man sells his soul so much everyone seems to have a chunk,” Jason grumbled, and Danny snickered.

“Oh, pretty much. He’s the Caterpie of human souls. He never made a deal with me directly though,” he added quickly, without being fully sure why.

He was pretty sure Jason wouldn’t jump straight to “Danny is a soul trader”, but honestly he’d gotten used to getting ahead of wilder trains of thought.

“Oh? How’d you get twelve then?” Jason shot back, clearly warming back up to things.

Mission accomplished. Danny grinned.

“Well, previous Ghost King was in nappy time for a couple thousand years, but he had this whole thing about collecting souls to add to his army of thralls, so basically anyone could sign their soul over for a chunk of power. Real charmer,” Danny snorted, rolling his eyes.

It was so far from the worst thing Pariah Dark had ever done, but so far it was definitely the longest lingering annoyance.

“I got the impression,” Jason agreed in pretty much the same tone, prompting Danny to continue.

Which. Yeah. Was more fun than thinking about the mountain of thrall contracts still awaiting their owner’s deaths, which the Observants were still fussing over.

Nobody wanted more thralls, souls wiped clean of everything that made them, well, souls. Just unliving batteries. Even ghosts found them creepy.

On the other hand, there was nothing the Observants loved more than rules. And the rules said a signed contract had to be honoured.

Really they shoulda expected Danny to ask who the fuck signed for Pariah, since he was (again) in nappy time prison. He hoped nobody else died while they sorted that out.

“Danny?”

Ah. Yup, he did it again. Danny shook his head and sighed, kinda missing the wind in his hair. It kept him more present than the enclosed space of the helmet.

“Sorry. So, John Constantine, clever bitch, wrote himself a contract that signed his soul over to the Ghost King, not Pariah Dark. Got through whatever screening was in place no problem, and now he’s my problem.”

A problem that Clockwork had presented Danny with on his fucking birthday no less.

That had been part one of the soul screening process; who was stuck with Pariah by name, and ho boy that was a depressingly long list… and still growing, though it had slowed recently.

News of Pariah losing his crown was slow to spread, and frankly Danny himself could be doing more to help that, except. Well.

Not taking the damn crown himself until he had to. Not wanting to give the creeps of the world anything to call him.

There were a lot of good reasons, okay? And Clockwork had specially singled out Constantine’s contract and delivered it to Danny himself as a birthday present.

“Well, that explains one,” Jason agreed with a snicker, pulling to a stop in front of the police station, “but what about the other eleven times?”

Danny snorted a laugh, sliding off the bike and stretching. As much fun as hugging Jason at high speeds was, he didn’t like being still for too long.

“Tax season,” he explained cheerfully, pulling off the helmet and looking around, “I guess we’re meeting Harley here?”

Snickering to himself, Jason pulled off his own helmet and tucked it into the storage on the back of his bike. Danny passed it over, noting that Jason had also had to get a second little pod for the other helmet.

He wasn’t gonna ask. Maybe they were in storage?

“Yeah, we’re meeting Harley here. Better not to swing by the manor for a while,” Jason added, his expression souring.

Which did make Danny feel a little bad actually. He didn’t want to cause trouble for Jason with his family…

But before he could say anything Jason ruffled his hair roughly, shaking his head.

“It’s not your fault, Danny. This kinda shit happens every other week, Bruce gets on his bullshit and I steer clear. He’ll calm the fuck down eventually and remember to mind his own business,” he explained dryly, nodding towards the doors.

Danny hesitated before moving to follow. It felt true, he could feel Jason’s sincere-exhausted-familiar-still over it clear as day, it just.

“I’m still sorry I wound him up though,” Danny finally decided, heading after Jason up and in. Jason who rolled his eyes and held the door open.

“Danny. He winds himself up. You could be a literal angel and he would not fucking care. You couldn’t unwind him even if you miraculously found the key. We’ve all tried,” Jason said with a sigh, though at least the anger seemed to have burned off into just…

Tired.

Jason just felt tired.

Probably cuz he was off fucking around with Cass last night, but Danny wasn’t about to call him out on it.

Not when they’d just walked into the police station (ew) and the wild sight of Harley Quinn, hair in pigtails and dressed in her signature red and black, sat on the duty officer’s desk with a bat. Filing her nails.

Total silence filled the room, broken only by the swing of the doors opening as Danny and Jason stepped through.

The whole room was watching her in a kind of terrified awe, like she was a particularly dangerous bomb waiting to go off. Danny’d swear they weren’t even breathing.

She looked up as the door opened, grinning broadly at the sight of them and waving in a large, exuberant gesture.

“Oh, there’s my boys! Hey boys!” She called in obvious delight, and half the room flinched.

Didn’t seem to matter that she hadn’t even been in Gotham for ages, let alone being her former roguish self. She had the kind of presence that left a lasting impression.

No wonder Danny liked her. She coulda fit right in with his ghost friends.

Maybe she’d come join them for fight club.

Pulling himself slowly from sleep just a little past noon, Bruce had to admit he was feeling better. The headache had dulled to a low throb but he felt clearer.

More aware of himself, and after a glass of water, more like he could take on the day.

It was far from his first concussion and he was well used to navigating the symptoms over the next few days. So long as he didn’t get any serious memory loss he wasn’t going to worry about it.

He had far more serious things to worry about, but even they seemed more manageable after almost nine hours of sleep.

Honestly… he wasn’t surprised that Jason hadn’t come to the cave. Hadn’t agreed to stay away from Danny when asked.

It had felt like a reasonable request at the time, like the bare minimum of common sense. But they didn’t have that kind of relationship anymore.

Jason didn’t trust him. Didn’t trust Bruce’s judgement, in how to deal with criminals or anything else.

Jason hadn’t been the boy who’d looked to Bruce with such trust, such wonder and awe, even before he’d died.

Sometimes Bruce wondered where he’d gone wrong.

But there was no use dwelling on the past. Bruce would like to re earn Jason’s trust some day, but he wouldn’t ignore their present relationship.

Jason wouldn’t trust that Danny was a danger to him without proof, so Bruce would find that proof, if it existed. Hopefully before Jason’s condition became proof itself.

The first and most obvious step would be to consult the Justice League Dark at today’s meeting, and then make arrangements for this doctor from the Infinite Realms.

He’d have to look into those laws Jason mentioned ahead of the meeting. Perhaps bring them up to Constantine, see how it might affect matters with the Infinite Realms.

A bitter part of him mused that he wouldn’t be surprised if the magician was completely unaware of most international laws, let alone the ones of the various lands he travelled, but still.

The man had been so adamant that the Infinite Realms were completely beyond their ability to handle. That they should cut and run at any cost.

Bruce could hardly imagine he’d be pleased that the US had apparently declared its inhabitants the targets of its newest genocide.

Of course, changing the laws and having them struck down would take time, but Bruce still hoped that the act of beginning might be enough.

Enough for him to visit Jason’s doctor in the Realms or some other neutral ground, since the doctor couldn’t come here.

Jason had said that he would be fine, not that he was already fine. Bruce wouldn’t have believed him if he had, not really; Jason hadn’t been fine since he’d been dunked in those damn pits.

Their poison had stuck with him far longer than anyone Bruce had ever heard of.

Hells, Bruce had had his own dunking. He could just barely remember the rage that had forced itself down his throat, into his lungs as he was brutally thrust back into the land of the living.

He had controlled it, had mastered it quickly, and now it was nothing more than a faint scrap of memory. Even that was still enough to grant his deepest sympathy to Jason’s struggles.

If the rage had never left him…

But no, he decided, going through his morning routine like he was still the young playboy Brucie who never showed his face before 3pm.

There was no point in indulging those thoughts either. He had mastered the pit’s fury, and it released him. For whatever reason, Jason hadn’t.

And now they all had to deal with the consequences.

Still, Bruce let himself hope for the future instead.

If his children were right, if Jason was right… if Danny or this mysterious doctor from the Infinite Realms could help him with the pit rage…

He might one day see that little boy again. The boy who looked at Bruce like he’d hung the stars, who could fly because Robin made him magic.

There was nothing in this world or any other that Bruce wouldn’t give to see Jason whole again. To see him happy.

The United States government were going to learn (again) what it meant to come between the Batman and the safety of his sons.

The Justice League’s meeting would be in another four hours. He had plenty of time to do some research and amend their presentation.

So long as Jason was right.

And speaking of Jason… there was just one other thing he’d like to do this morning. Heaving a sigh while he had the privacy of his room, Bruce pulled up his phone again.

He didn’t quite indulge himself as far as making a face as he punched in Constantine’s number, because concussed or not he was an adult. And he was going to need the man’s help.

Surely Jason wouldn’t object to a single check in with a trusted practitioner?

As the phone rang, Bruce once again cursed the circumstances that kept Zatanna off world. He was about 75% sure that Jason actually liked her.

But maybe the extent to which Constantine annoyed Bruce would also cheer him up.

The call went through, and Bruce snapped his wandering attention back. Maybe he’d take the rest of the day off after the meeting. Heal up a little more.

Alfred would be proud.

“Constantine. A moment of your time before the meeting?” It even sounded like a question, not a command. Sleep really had done him a world of good.

Part of Jason wished he could say he was surprised that Harley had taken GCPD HQ hostage just by showing up, but he honestly wasn’t.

Part of him wished he didn’t think that was exactly her intention, but… he didn’t particularly like lying to himself. Harley was fun.

And got results, even if she also tended not to end lives. He could respect that.

And promised not to rat him out to Danny, even if she made no promises about Waylon, who definitely also knew both his identities.

That… Jason wasn’t really surprised by that either. They’d never talked about it, but Waylon had definitely known he was the second Robin for some time.

A few of the rogues did, or at least assumed as much from the way the Batman would either obsessively chase or obsessively avoid him in mask.

Jason personally preferred and egged on the side that thought Red Hood was Batman’s evil twin brother. Or clone. Mostly because Bruce hated them.

Knowing civilian identities was a step beyond that Bruce would certainly never admit that more than one or two knew, but Jason had (slightly) less issues.

It was kinda an open secret among the rogues who’d been around since the glory days; Bruce Wayne is Batman. As Danny so rightly said of Dick, the butts matched.

(Jason was considering adding more padding to the body armour in his pants, if only to change the silhouette, because that was a fucked yet accurate identifier apparently.)

Most of the rogues didn’t fucking care, Joker and Two Face especially, but it was something that no one talked about.

And that they all specifically agreed to keep from Riddler for as long as possible.

(It was his punishment for being obnoxious at trivia nights in Arkham; no one bothered to suggest banning him or asking him to behave.)

For rogues like the Gotham City Sirens? Hadn’t been a secret since Bruce took off the mask for Selina.

Killer Croc probably wasn’t technically one of the sirens yet (and wouldn’t that be fun?) but he hung out with Harley, and despite his size he wasn’t stupid.

The only thing Jason was a little worried about was Waylon mentioning his current alter ego in front of Danny, but honestly the fact that they were at a police station would probably keep his lips closed.

All vigilantes were illegal.

Red Hood was illegal and a serial killer.

And probably couldn’t get the silent and terrified reverence Harley currently held over the station even if he walked in with a rocket launcher.

She beamed at them, hopping down off the desk with her bat over her shoulder. A little closer, Jason noted that this bat was also bedazzled, but in a different pattern from the one she’d had last night.

Or the same bat, redone, but he wasn’t putting money on it.

She hopped down off her desk and skipped across the room towards them, and Jason wished for half a second that he could command half as much menace doing something so… well, innocent.

But no, he just put heads in a bag, that wasn’t scary apparently. Fucking Gotham.

He obediently bent down for Harley to kiss his cheek, not wanting to be yanked around in the cop shop (even as a civilian), and still managed to be surprised when Danny also accepted a cheek kiss and then returned it.

Harley squealed in delight and ruffled his hair, then pinched both Danny’s cheeks.

“Awww, ain’t you all cute and cosmopolitan! So, shall we go see my big green bestie!” She declared happily, releasing Danny and turning back to lead the way out of the room.

Didn’t go for the keys. Didn’t address the question to anyone who should have been leading them down. Just got going, the way Harley always did.

No one moved to stop them.

Surprising precisely no one, Harley absolutely knew the way down to the cells at the GCPD. Not from a lotta personal experience, o’ course.

Nah, Harley usually went from crime scene to Arkham back in the day, but she’d known people and busted people out of holding before.

It had taken a couple real big favours to get Waylon kept here instead of shipped back to Arkham, but that was what favours were for. No one liked having a Harley-debt over their heads.

And Brucie’s word was gonna get Waylon released on her recognizance, once she scooped some shivering copper out from under their desk.

He’d have to actually behave this time though. No big bat-centric events, nothin’ above ground.

Honestly… she might ask him ta head home. Being in Gotham wasn’t good for either of them. Too many old patterns and bad habits, and Waylon had been doin’ a real good job keeping his nose clean.

If he wanted ta head back to Coney, they could get ‘im a ride. And if he didn’t, well, she’d have someone to watch the new show with.

Her two baby birds were following her like good little ducklings too, absolutely adorable. Although… she paused for a second, cocking her head.

“Is there a reason we’ve got theme music?” She asked with a delighted giggle as the song clicked.

It was a little muffled, but Styx’s Renegade? Ballsy choice for a trip to the cop shop.

The question seemed to surprise both boys though, and then Danny sighed, reaching back to pat a weirdly bulging pocket.

“Yeah, I upset my techno-god bestie this morning. Apparently my punishment is a soundtrack of my life,” he said dryly.

Jason paused, a slight frown on his face as he listened too.

“Wait, it changed? I thought you were on a loop?” He asked, and that was an interesting development.

Danny just shrugged.

“Yeah, he’s probably keeping an eye on us and changing it up when he thinks it’s funny. I think I know this song,” he added with a slight frown, brows furrowing as he listened.

Jason listened a moment longer, then snickered and shook his head.

“Tuck’s got good taste in music,” he said simply, and yeah, Harley remembered Tucker from dinner. Another lil cutie, all tucked up with Timmy in their own little world half the time.

Damn good at Mariokart and Spiderheck too.

Danny snorted and flipped Jason off.

“Suck up.”

And immediately the music changed, flipping straight to Pink’s Slut Like You, suddenly louder… although that mighta also been the song.

Danny groaned as his pocket loudly declared that he was not a slut, and Jason laughed at him entirely unapologetically.

“And that’s why I’m not the one with the soundtrack,” he declared smugly and Danny sighed, raising both hands in unequivocal surrender.

“Yes, yes, I’m a bad and naughty boy and I’m getting my just punishment. Can we just get going?” He asked almost rhetorically.

The music changed again, sultry twanging of a guitar before Lil Nas X began to sing Montero. It took Harley a moment longer to place it than the boys, both of whom now looked confused.

“I can’t tell if he’s encouraging you or not,” Jason said finally, and Danny sighed.

“Well I’ve pole danced into Hell before, so I’m taking it as a compliment either way,” he decided with a shrug, trying to shove what looked like an overstuffed sock deeper into his pocket. “I swear the volume shouldn’t get this loud.”

“Joys of a touchy tech friend,” Harley opined with a snicker, glancing around to see if there were cameras Tucker could be watching from. She blew both she found a kiss, then spun to continue their quest.

And realized that neither of the boys had followed her, both now watching her warily.

“What?” She asked, frowning and turning to see if she’d stepped in something. Nope, just clean floors.

“Danny’s sin was calling Tucker overdramatic,” Jason explained, and oh. Yeah, that explained the looks.

Harley waved a hand cheerfully, deliberately brushing it off.

“An’ now he’s givin’ ya life a soundtrack, so I dunno that he disagrees,” she said lightly, skipping back towards the stairs, “c’mon!”

And when no new burst of music began to switch out Lil Nas, the boys got to following again, Danny grumbling about unfairness.

Harley liked Danny. He had a refreshing lack of fucks to give, a good sense of humour, and he doted on Jason, who fucking deserved it.

They’d be so good together, and Harley was gonna have the time of her life watchin’ them work that out.

Which, now that she thought of it…

“Hey, by th’ way, ya said ya didn’t wanna meet at the manor?” She prodded, turning to walk backwards down the steps to the cells, frowning at Jason, “what’d Brucie do now?”

And watched the ease in Jason’s face freeze, muscles tightening, and Harley sighed. Yeah, a trip back to the manor was definitely in order.

“Just his usual bullshit,” Jason grumbled, running a hand through his already wild helmet hair. Danny snickered beside him and gave her a broad grin.

“Jason’s officially banned from hanging out with me,” he explained far too smugly, since there wasn’t a chance Jason would have listened to any Bruce-ban.

But, he was beside the tall and handsome stud he had a crush on, so Harley wasn’t gonna argue. She grinned back at him, just as her foot nearly slipped on a step.

Before the fall could fully start, she pushed off harder with the other foot, dodging both startled hands grabbing for her, and turned the fall into a backflip down the rest of the stairs.

Taking gymnastics as a kid really should be a prerequisite for villainy. Especially with the Robins flipping around all over the place.

She landed almost perfectly, stepping onto her back foot and then raising both arms and giving the boys a little bow. Then she sighed, resting her bat over her shoulder and mock pouting, tapping the side of her jaw.

“I guess I’m just gonna have ta go back and give ‘im a lil percussive maintenance… bet he hasn’t been restin’ right since he got that concussion either. Maybe I’ll call Selina ta keep ‘im in bed for a week,” she mused. Jason mock puked.

“I thought you wanted him to rest,” Danny snickered, earning himself a glare from his one true love. A consequence that did not phase him in the least.

Harley laughed and waved a hand lightly, skipping ahead to get the door into the hall that held the actual cells while they descended the rest of the stairs.

“Oh, she’s a big girl, Selina can do the work,” she teased, laughing louder when Jason groaned like his soul was being sucked out.

There was a cop still sat behind the desk just inside the door, an older man whose stocky frame had started softening with age.

He didn’t quite jump out of his seat as she entered, but dark eyes widened and ruddy skin paled when he saw her. Which, yeah, she had that effect on people.

“Why are you here?” He demanded, voice only shaking a little.

Harley gave him a sceptical once over.

Not someone she’d run into personally, though probably on the force when she’d been active. Off the streets now, probably not far from retirement and trying to make it all the way there.

Not a lotta Gotham cops did these days, in spite of the rampant corruption. Being in the Penguin’s pocket did sweet fuck all to protect ya when Scarecrow was having a hissy fit.

This old bugger had probably joined back in the bad ol’ days when they could just ignore mob crimes, hassle the homeless, and look the other way if a situation got violent.

These days between Gordon, the bats, and the increasingly dramatic rogues (among which she still counted herself even if Batsy didn’t, she had a reputation to uphold)?

Lookin’ the other way wasn’t the protection it used ta be, and bein’ conveniently “late” to a crime scene didn’t help much either.

This guy? Probably folded like cheap laundry at the first sign of trouble, but he’d stayed in place. That’d make her job easier anyway.

Smiling sweetly at him, Harley strolled forwards and propped her bat on the floor, both hands on the handle as she leaned forward over it.

“Pickin’ up a friend,” she told him sweetly, nodding to the line of cells down the hall, “Uber for Mr Waylon Jones?”

The guy (Officer Perkins, said the name tag, but he’d not really proved himself memorable yet) swallowed visibly, hands shaking but still visible above the desk.

Not going for a weapon. Not surprising.

No one who’d seen a gun pulled on Harley before tended to try it themselves. Just like the Robins, she was a tough target. You had to be real sure.

“Do you have the appropriate paperwork?” He rasped, a Gothamite accent still prominent despite the quiver.

Harley raised an eyebrow, letting her smile go deadly sweet.

“Would ya stop me if I didn’t?” She cooed, rocking forwards on her toes and grinning when his chair slammed back almost two feet.

The shaking had progressed to a full body shiver, sweat dripping down a blotchy brow as he slammed a ring of keys on the edge of the desk, as close as he was willing to get.

Harley scooped them up and straightened, tipping him a wink as she sauntered past.

“Thanks bud! But yeah, I do actually have the paperwork, Judge Thompson’s gonna fax it all along this afternoon,” she told him brightly, twirling the ring of keys around one finger as she skipped back towards the cells.

The judge’d fax it after she had another lil chat with Brucie. They’d cut things short last night, apparently too short for even their actual chat to finish sinking in.

Gotta fix that.

And remember to mention Waylon.

And maybe see if he had any info on her own little issue. Though she might hit Barbara up for that first, bring some treats down library way.

It was gonna be a busy day for ol’ Harley, but at least she got to spend time with the kids first.

“Was that really necessary?” Jason asked with a raised eyebrow, following her down the hall with barely a glance at their shaking audience.

“Necessary?” Harley asked sweetly, glancing into the first couple cells and skipping on. “No. Fun, yes!”

“See this is why I like her,” Danny decided with a sage nod, and Harley shot him a wink, “she knows how to have a good time.”

“I know how to have a good time,” Jason said immediately, and holy shit that was just sooooooo cute she nearly dropped the keys to go pinch his little cheeks again.

Just all pouty and defensive and they weren’t even talkin’ about him! It was too much, Harley couldn’t stand it!

“Yeah, and I like you too,” Danny replied in what he probably thought was a cool way, but no, that was just fucking adorable too.

Too.

Cute.

Harley was gonna die.

And maybe get herself a cool glowy transformation sequence apparently, which would be kinda cool. She’d always kinda wanted a magical girl moment.

She could be their fairy-ghost-mother!

And, to be fair ta Waylon, she had definitely gotten side tracked again. Almost forgot who she was here for.

But really, it did not mean he had to make a grab for her when she almost walked right past his cell! She coulda done him an injury!

He released her arm before the bat came down though, chuckling in that growly way of his and raising both hands.

“Hey. Didn’t want you goin’ right past,” he said innocently, and Harley sighed fondly and reached her bat through the bars to bonk him gently on the head.

“Hush you, I’m not that distractible,” she scolded him, completely ignoring any disbelieving noises from her two little love birds, “an’ anyway, you gotta be nice to me. I’m bustin’ yer ass out.”

She jangled the keys at Waylon instead, then began swiping through them for the right one.

The big guy obediently stepped back to let her look, his attention shifting past her to Danny and Jason.

“An’ you brought company,” he growled, a wry grin on his face. She had to wonder if he’d noticed how dang adorable they were already at the gala.

She’d missed soooo much! But he’d catch her up, because that’s what besties did. And cuz she’d kick all the kittens out of his room if he didn’t.

Jason shrugged, coming up behind her to lean on the bars.

“I had a passing interest in why you wanted to use me as bait for Two Face. We’re not exactly close,” he explained, the edited down version for their legal listeners in.

“Ya got balls for a rich kid,” Waylon chuckled just as Harley found the key. One quick victory fist pump and she got to work on the lock.

Really, there was a reason modern stations had one key ta open all the cells. Or electric locks. What if there was a fire?

But then, it was Gotham. They’d happily let all their perps burn. An’ probably keep usin’ it as an excuse why they all needed a fat budget increase.

“Victory! An’ he’s my adorable lil nephew, Croccy, so you’re gonna play nice,” she warned Waylon sternly, swinging the door open and wagging a finger at him sternly.

Again, for the benefit of their audience, but also because she enjoyed putting on a little panto. A bit o’ show.

(She’d have to remember to tell him Danny wasn’t in on the whole Hood secret though. She’d slip it in somewhere.)

Waylon grunted in amusement and stepped through the door, stretching to his full height and breadth in the hallway. And stopping.

“Who’s playin’ music?” He asked, head cocked as he tried to trace the muffled sound.

Honestly, Harley’d kinda forgot it was playing until he said it.

Danny sighed again, at his most put upon, and raised a hand.

“I have offended the technogod and am being punished by soundtrack,” he explained in a tone so dry it desiccated. And didn’t exactly help.

Harley patted the now-more-confused Croc on the elbow.

“He’s upset one of his lil nerd friends by callin’ him dramatic, so his friend hacked ‘is phone to make it play music,” she explained much more helpfully for sure.

Again, Jason and Danny took slight steps away from her.

Again, nothing continued to happen.

Harley’s smile grew more smug.

“An’ apparently said friend still can’t get inta mine,” she declared brightly, shooting another glance up at the security camera and tapping her pocket.

Waylon grunted again, clearly not needing to ask further because her explanation was perfect, and gave Danny a nod of recognition.

“An’ is that why you’re here? Mood music?” He asked, heading off down the hall back towards the doors. Which, yeah, they had places to be.

Danny brightened right away, grinning up at Waylon and moving to let the big guy pass.

“Unless you want a rematch? I haven’t been tossed around like that in a while and I could use the exercise,” he snarked, and yeah, this was why Harley liked him.

Waylon clearly did too, snickering and clapping a massive hand on Danny’s head on his way by.

“Mouth like that’s gonna get yer killed one day, kid,” he grumbled, ignoring the still cowering cop as they made for the stairs.

And Danny, bless him, angel of timing, just laughed and followed along, shooting Jason a wicked grin.

“Oh, it’s way too late for that,” he said light as air, making Jason let out a snort of laughter.

Waylon glanced down to Harley again, fully aware he’d missed something. She gave him another pat on the elbow.

“Jason an’ Danny met at Dead Kids Anonymous. Kid’s got himself a ghost transformation an’ everything,” she explained simply, which didn’t have to be completely true to get the point across.

It made Waylon snicker again, even as Danny cackled along behind them.

“Now THAT is what we’re telling everyone else. We might as well have,” he rasped between laughter.

His pocket music seemed to have changed to Thriller. Appropriate.

Jason rolled his eyes, but he was still grinning.

Harley didn’t think she’d seen him smile this much the entire time he was alive again. It was nice; most of the times she’d seen him as Robin they’d been fightin’, but he’d always been havin’ so much fun.

At least he looked like he had. Poor kid deserved to smile a whole lot more too.

Waylon was taking the news of Danny’s lack of mortality pretty well, giving the kid a thoughtful look. They’d made their way mostly out of the station now, their little bubble of terrified silence moving with them.

That’d get old one day, but until then Harley was gonna take advantage.

“Maybe we’ll have another tussle then,” he agreed with a low chuckle, holding the door for the others to leave through. Real southern gent. “Good t’know I won’t break ya.”

Danny bounced through the door as chipper as Harley herself, giving him a beaming smile.

“Hell yeah, we’ll find somewhere nice and out of the way. Oh, we had some questions too though,” he added almost as an afterthought, giving Jason a sheepish look that again: too cute.

Maybe that was how he’d really died. Too cute to live. Though she’d let him make that joke himself.

Jason didn’t seem bothered, though he did look a little more tense. Not sure where they’d be taking this, more’n likely.

“Once we get somewhere private,” Waylon agreed, glancing between Jason and Harley himself.

That probably meant it was on her to pick a destination then. Well, Harley had a place in mind that (while not technically private) wouldn’t involve onlookers.

“Yeah, I know a spot! I’ll send ya the address, Jayjay, an’ we’ll meet ya there. Don’t think we’ll get four on that bike,” she teased, pulling out her phone.

She knew the perfect spot, and it’d give her a chance to loop Waylon in. All good news.

Jason held up a hand quickly.

“Not got mine on me. Text Danny,” he called, and Harley waved her phone over her head in acknowledgement. It might give Tucker a way to jump into her phone, she wouldn’t know.

Tech wasn’t her shtick. Just a good thing they’d all exchanged numbers the night before.

It was a weird feeling to have his body shaken while his consciousness was so far from it.

Feeling his face pull into a frown not quite mirroring what he felt it should be. Tucker could never have explained precisely what part of him entered his devices; just that it was him.

Quintessential, pure essence of Too Fine. Everything he was without the meat he was born in.

But then he did have to slot back into that meat, and trying to do that without matching positions always left him feeling weirdly off kilter the next day. Like he’d put on a shirt but the shoulders were skewed too short.

So despite not being conscious of a face on his extended form, Tucker tried to form it into a frown anyway, sliding back under his own skin like a teen sneaking back through a window after curfew.

Hadn’t those been heady days?

Eyes slowly opening, it took Tucker a moment to remember how to focus them. That they weren’t cameras. But then Tim Drake-Wayne came into focus, and the frown changed to a grin even before he fully “woke up”.

“Morning,” he mumbled, rolling and stretching, getting used to the feeling of a body again. It was a little weirder each time, which he might have worried about if he didn’t see himself as an extension of his PDA anyway.

“You were singing in your sleep,” Tim told him without preamble, returning the smile.

Tucker hesitated for a moment, suddenly embarrassed. If… well. If he’d been singing along, that…

Look he’d picked songs that’d embarrass Danny, he wasn’t gonna give a fuck about it. The only actual question was, did he tell Tim?

Who else would ever understand better just what it meant to interact with tech the way he could? Could get excited with him about how cool it was?

He wasn’t fucking gushing to Technus. No way. Tuck was easily the one winning that ongoing hackathon, but it was the principle of the thing.

To the zone with it. Tim knew about Amity Park, he knew about the ghosts and the liminal tech. And while they hadn’t exactly discussed liminal people, it’d come up.

Tim could have a sneak preview. As a treat.

Decision made, Tucker gave the younger man another broad smile because yeah, bragging about your super powers to a very cool and impressive person? That felt good.

Tim might be a vigilante too, but Tucker was pretty sure Jason was the only souped up Robin. Most of the bats were famously power free.

“Oh, yeah. I was bullying Danny,” he explained with a light chuckle, glancing up to find his beloved PDA, Ida. She was half under a blanket now, so he tugged her back out.

Tim chuckled softly, leaning back and stretching himself.

“Good dream?” He asked and Tucker snickered, stroking gently across the screen.

“Danny wishes it was a dream.” Tucker paused, frowning a little at the confusion on Tim’s face. “So you remember we kinda talked about the whole liminal thing?”

That seemed to jog Tim’s memory, confusion fading into an analytical frown that Tucker was already becoming familiar with. That good ol’ geek face.

“The humans with budding ghost powers,” he agreed, and Tucker had to wonder if maybe he just hadn’t put the right pieces together yet.

He hadn’t exactly said that most of Amity Park were liminal, but it was a little hard to remember he had to. Like, they lived on a portal to Hell.

Maybe he shoulda.

Well, at least it was a cool way to introduce it to him.

Tucker pulled Ida into his lap, flipped her over, and tapped the plain plastic backing to demonstrate.

“Mine’s a low level technopathy at the moment,” he explained as the PDA hummed and then began playing… well, still Montero, so he flicked it again and changed it immediately to Country Roads.

Tim was watching him with a kind of hungry fascination, and Tucker turned the music off with a thought, then passed her to Tim so he could check for secret touchpads.

“It’s not something I can do with anything,” he explained with a modest shrug, grinning with pride as Tim immediately got to scanning the casing.

All simple plastic, not even biometrics; what would be the point? Even touching the PDA was pretty much a formality at this point. She was a part of him.

“Technopathy? So you can control it with your mind? Why not with anything?” Tim asked eagerly, hands stroking over the plastic, eyes darting between it and Tucker.

Like he wasn’t sure which was more interesting, Tuck or tech, and Tucker absolutely took that as a compliment.

“It has to be a device I’ve really gotten into. Like, down to the source code, or something I’ve cracked before a couple times, and then I can just feel how all of it works.”

Tucker wiggled his fingers demonstratively and the PDA beeped to life under Tim’s hands, making the other man gasp. And yeah, totally envy in those cute blue eyes he turned all balefully on Tucker.

“How many of the functions can you use? Anything the PDA can do, or…” Tim trailed off, clearly thinking of everything he’d already seen the PDA do.

The real question would have been what couldn’t Ida do. And honestly? Yeah, Tucker remembered the trial phase.

He gave another shrug.

“Technically? Yeah, anything she can do, but I still prefer hacking the old fashioned way. Most of the network stuff too, cuz I’m only really “in” the PDA. Or Danny or Sam’s phones.”

Tucker hesitated, wondering how best to really explain the difference. Danny had never been any good at it, Tucker’d had no idea what he was talking about from the video game thing right up until he’d been sucked in himself.

Which… was probably gonna be a next-hangout adventure for Tim and the bats. And Oracle, if he could swing it.

For now he gave up, giving Tim a hopeless grin.

“Honestly it’s something you’ve really gotta feel for yourself. Danny’s great at the transition from real world to code, but he always just punches things, y’know? Turns out knowing how code is actually supposed to work doesn’t translate well to being part of it,” he added with a sigh.

Because frankly? It was bullshit unfair. Tucker could code an entire other galaxy around Danny with his eyes closed, but put them in the same metaphysical layer as a firewall and Danny could just.

Punch it.

Which, theme for the week, was also not how firewalls fucking worked. At some point Tuck figured he’d either gain a new level of understanding through liminality, or give up and ask Technus a couple questions.

Technus was currently Tucker’s subject instead of Danny’s anyway. They’d made a bet.

Which meant Technus shoulda told him about their shenanigans in time, which was probably what Tucker would hold over his head for the whole firewall thing.

It was so nice when things just worked themselves out.

Tim looked a little disappointed, but mostly still intrigued. Tucker could see his fingers just itching for his own tablet to take notes.

“Do you think that’ll change?” He asked, blurting it out like he couldn’t hold back now that Tucker stopped talking, “I mean, if you become more liminal? Or just practice your abilities more?”

And see, this was what Tucker loved about Tim Drake-Wayne. They were on the same wavelength. He grinned back.

“Probably. But I mean, it’s kinda cheating too. For now I kinda like that I have to do things the way I always used to first, before any ghostly powers kick in. It’s more me, y’know?” And like hell he’d let anyone think his code skills were just some meta ability.

He’d worked damn hard for those skills, and he was damn good. One of the best, and he was also good enough to know he still wasn’t actually top of the charts.

That was the Oracle, although knowing they still hadn’t cracked his servers felt really good.

Tim was all but vibrating, clearly full of questions, but they were both interrupted by a loud growl from Tucker’s stomach. Immediately echoed by Tim’s, so at least he wasn’t alone.

The two shared sheepish grins, and then Tucker stretched.

“So, breakfast and then Twenty Questions?” He offered cheerfully, and Tim nodded at once, thrusting the PDA back and rolling off the frankly massive bed.

“We can start while we eat, everyone else has probably gone out by now,” he said over one shoulder, stripping out of his clothes from the previous night and hurrying for his closet.

Ah hell, Tucker had only brought the one change of clothes… which Alfred had laundered yesterday after the snowball fight. Which would mean they were.

In a place.

Probably in the manor.

Maybe in the room they’d talked about setting up?

He looked to Tim, and only then noticed that his tech idol was shucking off his boxers in exchange for new ones, entirely unselfconscious.

Tucker frowned back down at his current borrowed shirt instead, waiting til he at least heard both feet on the floor before looking over again. Tim might not care, but in case he did, Tucker could be a gentleman.

And then he could ask the important question.

“Speaking of Alfred… my clothes?” He asked hopefully, and yeah, the way Tim’s mouth dropped open and his brain visibly blue screened?

Just like Danny. They were gonna get along great.

Of all the top secret, private places in Gotham to go and have a villainous chat… Danny never would have expected a milkshake bar. But like he’d said last night, that was kinda what made it perfect.

Who’d expect to find Harley Quinn and Killer Croc, properly Waylon, sat in a pastel pink corner booth in the back of the bar?

Honestly, none of the staff seemed surprised. But they might not have been to see all the bats walk in; it was Gotham. Rogues happened. If no one pulled a weapon, don’t be the reason that changes.

It made him feel right at home, really. Just like Amity Park.

And they made a damn good milkshake. Danny took another deep slurp of his, cookie butter and cheesecake was definitely a combo he’d been sleeping on.

If pressed, he couldn’t really explain what he’d wanted out of this meeting.

Something in what Harley had said last night had struck home in a way he hadn’t expected, but with Waylon in front of him now… well, for one thing he seemed a lot more like just some guy who happened to be green.

And who was just adorably happy with his cotton candy milkshake, complete with little umbrella.

At the gala, he’d been big and menacing and monstrous, all things Danny was very used to and meant “friend” more often than they meant anything else. He’d still take a rematch, but he just…

Well, that was just it, wasn’t it?

Waylon really wasn’t all that monstrous, if you looked the faintest scratch past sharpened teeth and scales. He was polite to the servers, a happy straight-man to Harley’s jokes, and he could have teased Jason more for Danny’s tastes but it was definitely effective.

Jason was much more at ease here with two rogues than he’d been any time his adoptive dad was around. That… well, Danny knew full well he didn’t know much about Jason’s life.

It felt like he’d learned a whole lot more just today already, though again, it’d be hard to explain exactly what.

The conversation had been light, easy, and full of banter so far, and Danny really wasn’t sure how to segue from that to “so you were called a monster all your life”.

Because while for the most part Danny now only had to deal with the GIW calling him a monster (and they’d been quiet for years now, still rebuilding after the whole “bomb the ghost zone” bs)… the things his parents had called him still hurt.

The things people thought he was, ghosts and living alike, he just… he didn’t know what to do with it. These days he could mostly ignore it, and unlike Waylon he could even pass for living.

(Never for a ghost though. He’d never be able to stop any ghost from seeing him and knowing immediately, instinctively, that he was other.)

In some ways it felt like meeting Vlad all over again, but without the crushing disappointment. Well, what it might have been to learn there was another halfa if he hadn’t preceded it by being a massive creep.

It was… complicated. And all tangled up in his feelings around Jason, because Jason actually was like him and really did get it, or would soon.

And Jason clearly liked Waylon, for all he grimaced and bitched about the deadpan teasing. Waylon had a lot of interesting stories about Jason’s cape days, most of which Jason hurried to try to interrupt.

Harley had more, and they’d sat at opposite ends of the table before the boys had arrived, almost certainly so Jason couldn’t shush them both at once.

If he clapped a hand over Harley’s mouth, Waylon would either take up the tale or start one of his own, and vice versa. There was just no way Jason could win.

It reminded Danny of his own rogues, though maybe more Fright Knight than Ember or Johnny. The ones he got along with, but more respectfully than just his friends.

Kinda like watching Harley with the rest of the bat-brood.

Danny was very nobly doing his best not to enjoy it too much; within a week or two it’d be his turn roughhousing with his rogues, and he was hoping Jason would return the favour.

There was no way he could get any kind of ghost fight club going without his usual players, and those were the ones with all the most embarrassing stories of his early days.

Johnny and Kitty especially had blackmail material for days, so as much as Danny was loving the lil baby Robin stories (carefully never actually mentioning the name, since no one was masked)… no, his feeling was kinda more impending doom. It’d be his turn soon.

And Ancients help them if Harley and Waylon met Johnny and Kitty… nope, not thinking about that. Suppressing a shudder, Danny deliberately tuned back in to Waylon’s story about the time he’d kidnapped Bruce Wayne.

At least Jason was having fun with this one.

Of course, it couldn’t have the obvious ending; whether or not Waylon had known at the time that he had Batman, you couldn’t mention the punch line out in public. It’d be rude.

He left the story at the Robin beat down instead, declaring that the big Bat himself hadn’t even bothered to show up. Didn’t quite go full stage wink, but it was pretty much the next best thing.

Danny laughed along with the table and Jason shook his head, settling back into his seat with a low huff.

“Fun as this is, we did have some questions,” he said, voice just a little lower than before.

Danny was a little surprised he’d bring it up in such a public space. Right up until Harley glanced around, nodded, and settled back into her seat.

“Clear too. Any o’ the gawkers ‘ve been seen out,” she agreed with a slight nod.

Danny startled, looking around himself. The milkshake bar was… about half as full as it had been when they arrived. His confusion must have been obvious, because Waylon snickered.

“It ain’t the Iceberg Lounge, kid, but this is one of Dr Freeze’s more self sustaining operations. Can’t all be heisting diamonds,” he added with a slight shrug.

Not noticeably less confused, Danny turned to Jason instead. Jason chuckled softly, shaking his head and giving Danny a grin that was almost proud.

“Shit, you’ve lived in Gotham a year and it’s a fucking miracle how little you know. Iceberg Lounge is the Penguin’s upscale club. This place is run by the guy we talked about last night, freeze rays and diamond heists,” he explained quickly.

Harley snickered, draping her arms over the back of their booth.

“An’ if some o’ his ol’ Arkham buddies come in ta chat, his people know ta clear out anyone tryin’ to listen in too hard,” she added, nodding to one of the servers.

Well.

That tracked.

Danny had also definitely thoroughly demolished his “keeping away from rogues” spree, which kinda sucked. But then, since he’d basically gone from one extreme to the other?

Maybe that’d be fun to tell his classmates about too. It definitely tracked more with Danny’s understanding of his own luck. A whole year, no trouble? More like no chance.

Also meant this had to be a safe place to talk, apparently. What was it about rogues that made them so eager to get on with each other but nobody else?

Well, Danny got on with most of his now. But still.

Jason leaned forward, arms folded on the table.

“So what’s going on with Two Face, Waylon?” He asked quietly, still apparently aware of eavesdroppers.

Waylon glanced around the bar, then shrugged, settling back against the booth.

“Hard to say, with ‘im. Coulda been a coin flip, coulda been somethin’ else, but he wasn’t just gunnin’ for the gala. Somethin’ about you specifically put a bug in his ass, kid,” he added with a frown, nodding towards Jason.

Something in Danny tensed, not liking the idea of anyone targeting Jason. Of course, it must have happened before… when he was Robin.

And he’d died.

Danny hadn’t even noticed he was clenching his fists until Jason nudged his foot under the table.

Safe-worry-you okay? Jason’s aura was getting clearer, and Danny did his best to smile back. Sometimes his Obsession still snuck up on him.

Forcing himself to relax, he grabbed his milkshake instead. It felt warm, which was odd until he realised his hands were icy cold.

Not quite literally, but closer than he’d come in a while.

Neither of the rogues seemed to have notice, Harley playing with her milkshake while she frowned at Waylon.

“An’ you decided the best thing ta do was hit the gala first?” She asked dryly, her tone neatly conveying just what she thought of that idea.

Waylon shrugged.

“Not like I coulda swung an invite to get in nicely. Sounded like he had somethin’ real nasty planned, kid,” he added, shaking his head and leaning back in his seat.

Jason frowned, giving Danny another soft kick on the ankle as he leaned forward. Unnecessarily, for sure, Danny totally had his shit under control now.

“But no one said anything about why? I don’t think I’ve even met him,” Jason asked and yeah, that probably meant as Jason. Maybe even post Robin.

Waylon shrugged again.

“It’s fuckin’ Two Face. Maybe he ran outta matching targets and figured two lives had ta count?” He offered, though it looked like it was still bugging him too.

Harley huffed and shook her head, blonde ponytails bouncing.

“I’ll keep an ear out too. There’s a couple people who’ll prefer talkin’ ta me over you, sugar,” she teased Waylon as he grunted, a tinkling laugh falling from her lips.

Waylon snorted, but a reluctant smile curled his lips.

“More likely to spill to ya,” he agreed in a low grumble, poking his straw around a mostly empty milkshake.

Harley nodded brightly, clapping her hands.

“Exactly! ‘Specially if they don’t want any of their own special lil secrets told,” she agreed with a truly wicked smile. Then she paused, a slight frown curling her brow.

It was still a little weird to be able to see the moments where her brain revved up. Danny had to assume it was having been raised by Jazz; it was clearly easy for people to get lost in the bubbly exterior.

Fingers drumming on the table now, something had clearly jogged her memory.

“Might be somethin’ ta do with Black Mask too,” she said more quietly, gaze unusually serious as she caught Jason’s eyes, “he’s been quieter ‘n I like lately. Keepin’ ‘imself out of trouble.”

Danny might just ask if Jason could get him a rolodex of the Gotham villains to match the server Danny had provided for the Zone.

It did not help that they all had their own wild code names. He was used to dealing with people who had a lot of personality, sure, and theatrics. But ghosts usually just had the one name.

Except apparently for Frighty, or Halloween as Danny would have to start calling him now. It’d take some getting used to.

Jason noticed his desperately pleading puppy eyes and sighed.

“Look, I’ll give you the rundown on everyone tonight. Black Mask is a whole ass problem. Crime boss for the False Face Society, really likes skinning peoples’ faces. Red Hood kicked him out of Crime Alley a couple years ago, he firmed his grip on the rest of Gotham, and him being quiet is never fucking good.”

And as if that didn’t sound bad enough…

“An’ he really doesn’t like Jason,” Waylon growled, shoulders tightening and straining his shirt.

Something in Danny tensed again, and he forced himself to take a long, deep breath. Closed his eyes and took another.

This was why he’d avoided the whole subject. Until now.

He could taste Jason’s concern like a tang in the air as he spoke up.

“There’s fuck all he can do while I’m in the Alley though. Unless something’s really changed he can’t challenge Red Hood,” he explained quietly, leaning in until their shoulders brushed.

Harley heaved a dramatic sigh, raising a hand and waving to one of the servers.

“Yeah, yeah, you jus’ take care of yaself, kid. Roman’s a pain in the ass an’ if ya let him kill ya again he’ll be intolerable,” she grumbled, the tone at odds with the cheery smile she gave the first server to glance over. “Another round!”

“Anything different?” The server, a young man with shaggy blond hair asked.

Danny considered it, since the menu was both extensive and interesting, but really? It’d complicate things, and he didn’t want to think about something else.

Just the idea of some asshole gangster trying to kill Jason was bad enough. But he sucked in another deep breath and reminded himself that this was pretty much all speculative.

Black Mask was quiet, not actively threatening, and Gotham had an army of vigilantes to keep an eye on him even before Harley and Waylon got involved. An army of vigilantes who all seemed to like Jason.

Jason wasn’t worried. Danny wasn’t gonna go all protective mama bear on the guy just because rogues existed.

The one thing he’d always promised himself was that even with a Protection Obsession, he was never gonna be as bad as Jazz at her clingiest.

He loved his sister, she meant well, but he’d hated her constant fussing. Danny had actually died sure, but he’d come right back and she hadn’t noticed for months.

Jason didn’t have a scratch on him. Or any reason to put up with a clingy almost-stranger, Danny reminded himself as he accepted his new milkshake, hiding a smile behind the glass.

Hell, if Jason being Fright Knight meant he’d sense if Danny was in danger, maybe that could work both ways. That’d be worth asking Frostbite about, and they had to see him for Jason’s core checkup soon.

Having survived one Clockwork encounter without a lecture, Danny wasn’t pushing his luck.

And if it turned out that it wouldn’t be that easy… well, there were other ways Danny could know if Jason was hurt, and unless they had a way to change dimensions? No Gotham rogue could take Jason anywhere that Danny couldn’t find him.

The feel of another halfa was still faint for now, barely noticeable unless Jason was in the same room, but it was already stronger.

Or Danny was more used to looking for him. More used to the feel of his energy, the boiling rage of the pit tangled up in everything else that was Jason.

Kinda a lot still angry, but tempered. Mixed in with that wonderful sense of humour, dry sarcasm and death jokes, and determination.

Danny was pretty sure he could find Jason pretty much anywhere on Earth right now if he had to. And it would only get easier.

With the question of Harvey Dent settled as much as it would be (and if a flip of a coin was all he needed, maybe as much as it could be), the conversation turned lighter.

Harley and Waylon stayed off the topic of rogues, probably to minimise the need to keep filling Danny in. They also mostly avoided embarrassing baby Jason stories though.

No, instead they filled Danny and Jason in on what they’d been up to down on Coney Island.

Danny had never expected to enjoy another circus story again, let alone an actual freakshow, but somehow? Hearing Harley tell it, he almost wanted to drop by.

Not see the damn show. Nope. Hard pass.

But hanging out with the performers, Harley’s tenants? That sounded like fun. They were just ordinary people, if a bit to the left.

Roller derby sounded great, even if Danny wouldn’t play it with humans. In the Ghost Zone though? They could probably make a rink. And baseball bats.

Waylon’s stories were way more domestic too; there was just something about a 7’ crocodile man telling you about his efforts to finally hold the skittish little grey kitten upstairs.

It was just… well. Like hanging out with Kitty and Johnny, or Wulf. Maybe the only people who could understand what it was like to be a vigilante were the rogues who fit the other half of the mold.

They all lived lives skewed away from the normal, didn’t fit in. The more they talked and shared stories, the more Danny settled. Relaxed.

Which was when the last piece finally fell into place. He knew what he wanted to ask Waylon now.

Still on edge from the night before, Constantine wasn’t exactly thrilled to bits to be hearing from the Big Bat again so soon.

Honestly, why couldn’t he have a nice, normal emergency? Just the world ending, some arch demon jumping for the throne of Hell, a wayward amateur magician or cursed artefact?

Why did it always have to be Amity fuckin’ Park?

Still, after they’d given the whole League the rundown, John was planning on washing his hands of the whole affair. They’d be up to date, they’d have his recommendation (leave well enough alone), and whatever they did after that?

That could be Zatanna’s problem. Or Shazam’s. Which didn’t really matter.

So of course there was just one more thing that Batman wanted from him first.

“A health check on yer revenant?” He asked skeptically, arms folded as he scowled at an annoyingly refreshed and rejuvenated looking Batman.

Who just nodded patiently like he hadn’t said anything crazy.

“Nothing strenuous. Just a check in, and then we move on to the meeting,” he agreed blandly, watching John from behind the cut outs.

Constantine pinched the bridge of his nose and drew in a heavy breath. Let it out. Decided not to think about all of the things that could go wrong tangling with a fuckin’ revenant.

Bats was still here, hale and healthy, so the kid was clearly used to extreme provocation. How bad could John’s company be?

Way, way worse the little honest part of him supplied, but…

Well. The worst of it all was, no matter how damn annoying the man was, how fucking insistent on poking into shit that’d get ‘em all killed?

Constantine liked him.

Just a bit. The tiniest, littlest bit, that he firmly ground under his heel at every opportunity, and especially when that poking was getting close to end-of-the-world levels.

It was the only reason the League had his number at all, because John Constantine sure as shit was not a hero. He liked the world not ending, yeah, but he coulda had Zatanna call him for those.

He just. Had maybe the very smallest soft spot for how earnest the Big Three all were, deep down. Wonder Woman especially, there was a lady who’d been in the game longer than John himself, and yet it never fuckin’ touched her.

They still looked at the world, at an old shit like John Constantine, and saw something worth saving.

So even when he was tired, stressed, and wondering just how deep he should dare to probe to check the Bat’s explorations in Amity Park hadn’t garnered the wrong kind of attentions…

He huffed another reluctant sigh. It did not help knowing that even if he refused, the Bat would just argue him down until John gave in, or the meeting started.

It was three hours before the meeting was due to start.

Constantine would rather jump straight through the damn Fenton portal.

“Fine,” he growled, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his trench coat. If the revenant got cranky, he could always hide behind the big Bat.

The bastard didn’t even bother thanking him, just nodded like he’d expected John to agree all along, and made for the exit.

Were they fuckin’ going out in full costume? In the middle of the day?

Well heavens forbid Bruce Goddamn Wayne do anything subtly.

Tim’s afternoon was going great. Thanks to Tucker, he’d had a full and hearty brunch, which made Alfred happy.

Tim wasn’t much of a gourmet himself, probably as a result of having to survive on what he could find in the house between his parents’ visits. So long as it went down his throat and kept him alive, he was happy.

He knew Alfred’s cooking was great, it always tasted fantastic, he just… didn’t get excited about food.

Tucker though? Tucker gushed enthusiastically over every bite, moaning loudly as he dug into pancakes, sausages, bacon, and even black pudding.

He enjoyed his food almost as much as Wally, and Tim found himself savouring his own a little more as he watched. Usually he’d swallow half of it whole, just to get back to work.

But he didn’t have a new case today. Sure, there was still work to do on Amity Park (and rewriting all of the Justice League reporting protocols, ugh).

But he had Tucker here to help, and really, today could be about getting to know the guy. He’d more than learned his lesson from the last few days.

It turned out that food tasted a whole lot better if he actually stopped to chew it.

They’d talked while they ate too, Tucker often with his mouth full like he just couldn’t stop and wait to swallow.

It was kinda adorable.

Tim had shared some stories about the missions he’d been on with Young Justice, Tucker had told him more about Technus. There may have been a secret side trip to Amity Park in the works so Tim could meet him.

And introduce Cassie to Pandora.

There may also have been a secret side trip to the Ghost Zone being planned too. That one was gonna have to be extra-double-top-secret though, since Constantine put a bug in B’s ass about the Infinite Realms.

But honestly, how bad could it be if three completely untrained teenagers could just hop in and out on a whim?

Sure, there were risks. Some of the bigger, scarier ghosts that Tucker told him about. And just the air of the realms itself, which wasn’t great for humans in the long term.

That, Tim was a little less sure about. Tucker could say it’d never done him any harm all he liked, but he was kinda half dead now. Dead enough for super powers.

Not that Tim wanted super powers. It’s not like he’d ever needed them to keep up with his super friends. He didn’t need them, not even to interface his brain with his computer…

Nope.

But that was also how they got around to how Tucker would be getting home, because Tim finally twigged.

“Wait… when you say Danny flew you here, you didn’t actually mean what you said about the plane, did you?” He asked cautiously when they’d migrated back to the bat cave (with a plate of cookies and juice. Alfred was totally taking advantage of a chance to feed Tim).

Tucker grinned sheepishly and shrugged.

“Well, I didn’t know Danny was gonna just go off like that right away. But yeah, he just came and grabbed me and we flew through the Ghost Zone.”

He seemed to think Tim might be upset with him, but honestly? This was great news. They might be able to wrangle a little extra time.

“So… needing to go home today was because of Danny?” He asked hopefully.

Tucker caught on at once, like the genius he was, tracking Tim’s grin and beginning to smile in return.

“Well, technically I do also have classes on Monday, but so long as I’m back tonight I can fake it if you have another way to get me home, like… say, a bat plane?” He asked innocently, head cocked to one side.

Tim snatched up his phone, sending a quick text. Of course, there was always the chance Connor wouldn’t answer. Or that he’d be busy. Or that he’d have school.

As if he wouldn’t have dropped pretty much anything when Tim called him. God Tim loved his boyfriend.

“I was actually thinking of something a little more discrete than the bat plane… especially since you have some experience being carried.”

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Next chapter:

#dp x dc #danny fenton dead and loving it #dc x dp #dead on main ship #danny x jason #chapter 14 #a good excuse to be a bad influence #it’s finally heeeeere #despite the world’s best efforts #the musical interlude

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