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marsupialmenace · 3 months

Note

dickjay with the prompt “I don’t know how to let myself be loved like this.”

Thank you for the prompt anon! I'm sorry it's taken me a hot minute (like, super duper sorry,) to get to it. I hope you enjoy!

Normal

Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson Pairing: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd Rating: Mature Tags: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Hypervigilance, Jason Todd Has PTSD, Established Relationship, (but only Dick seems to realize that), Implied Sexual Content Word count: 3,033 Summary:

Jason had been trying for the past fifteen minutes, maybe more, to pay attention. But it was the middle of the day, in one of Dick’s low-security Gotham safehouses, and a car backfired a street over, and the hum from the fridge, and the buzz of the oven warming their dinner, was driving Jason crazy. Everything, and every sound, was building. Louder with each passing moment. Jason was waiting for a shoe to drop, for the moment to end, for the tension to snap and leave him ruined. Jason looked over to the window as someone yelled outside before it faded away followed by giggles. Just kids, laughing, playing. Safe.

Jason hasn't ever experienced normality, he's never been safe enough to accept love. His thing with Dick is casual, low commitment, and shouldn't be causing him to panic. He panics anyway.

Available to read on AO3 (it is locked so you will need an account)

Or keep reading below! <3

Jason’s leg jittered, the pleather couch squeaking with every movement. The heel of his foot tapped on the floor, sending jolts up his leg to his knee. His muscles ached as he rolled his ankle, before he pushed up onto his toes to try and bounce silently.

Dick was talking, filling empty air, completely unaware of Jason’s own distraction.

Everything, and every sound, was building. Louder with each passing moment. Jason was waiting for a shoe to drop, for the moment to end, for the tension to snap and leave him ruined.

Jason looked over to the window as someone yelled outside before it faded away followed by giggles. Just kids, laughing, playing.

Safe.

It was safe, in the middle of the day, in Gotham.

He unclenched his hands and placed them flat on his legs. Counted the seconds until the sound of numbers in his mind drowned out the sound of the light fixture overhead.

The couch squeaked, dipped, and Dick was warm against his side.

“-and Babs said…Jay?”

Jason hummed, still looking at the window – a simple latch, the security was dreadful – and blinked. He forced himself to look back at Dick and smiled as honestly as he could manage.

It was more of a smirk, with more teeth than intended. Jason wet his lips before he spoke, “Barbie said my name? Seems like it doesn’t really fit in with the story.”

Dick opened his mouth but made an aborted noise, and when his eyes met Jason’s, he quickly snapped his mouth shut. Dick frowned, his entire face scrunching in concern, big bushy eyebrows meeting at the bridge of his nose.

“Are you okay?” Dick asked, his eyes flickering as he searched Jason’s face.

Jason resisted the urge to bat Dick’s nose, to dissolve the tension, redirect and brush Dick off.

It would make Dick sulk for hours if he did though, all the way to bed – tense silences, half eaten dinner, and a sad jerk in the shower – because Jason had promised to stay the night.

“Let’s do this normally, you and me,” Dick had asked one night, tucking himself back into his Nightwing suit. The moon shone from behind Dick’s head, the flyaway strands of his hair glowing, looking vaguely like a saint.

Ethereal and beautiful, Jason had wanted to giggle and tell Dick so, giddy the with post-sex haze.

That bright feeling in the air had made Jason agree; feeling so soft and vulnerable, he refused to second-guess Dick’s motives. “Sure, ‘Wing. It’s a date.”

Dick had laughed and danced his way across the rooftop. “I’ll hold you to that.”

And Dick had.

No vigilantism, no family, no ‘world-ending pressing engagements.’

Just Jason and Dick, in Dick’s shitty low-security Gotham safehouse, where the noise was the only thing Jason could focus on, and it made him want to scratch his skin off.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Jason said, rolling his shoulders and leaning further back onto the couch. He spread his legs, knocking his knee against Dick’s, and leaned his head back to look up at the light. It flickered as it hummed. “Your light needs a new bulb.”

The weight on the couch shifted. The warmth of Dick’s leg against Jason’s disappeared.

“I see. I’ll get right on that.” Dick didn’t sound happy, and the silence continued as Jason watched the flickering light, trying not to overthink what was to come.

Normally.

Jason sighed. Dug his toes into the rug underfoot and breathed.

The sound of an alarm filled the air, shrill, piercing, and it broke the tension. Jason took a deep breath, feeling his chest ease as he did. Dick appeared over him, a smile back on his face. Fake, but real enough that Jason smiled back.

“Dinner’s done,” Dick said, his hands coming to rest on either side of Jason’s face as he looked down. The light flickered behind his head; his face marred in shadow.

Jason leaned his head into Dick’s hand and tried to still his fluttering – panicking – heart. “I’ll serve up.”

---

“God, Jay, I love you.”

Those words haunted Jason as he lay on his side, staring out the window. Despite being in Gotham, it was silent in the apartment. There were no shots down the street, no people screaming as they ran, and no low hum of traffic. Dick’s shitty low-security safehouse was in a good part of Gotham.

It meant there was nothing to drown out Dick’s words, repeating in his mind.

“Jay, I love you.”

Dick looked beautiful as he said it, holding Jason close in his embrace, eyes shiny with tears. His face and chest sleek with sweat, as he fucked Jason, took him apart slowly with adoration and worship.

Whispering how good Jason was, how perfect he was, how Jason was his and only his.

Jason had trembled, and cried, and screamed, and came so hard on Dick’s cock he’d nearly passed out. Only soothed by soft kisses and the slow drag over his prostate. Until finally, as Jason shuddered and went boneless, Dick left trails of kisses up Jason’s neck and said, “God, Jay, I love you.”

Jason bit into his hand to stop himself from screaming.

Dick was asleep at his back, curled around Jason protectively, having talked himself to sleep. Jason lay awake, eyes closed. He repeated those words over and over, feeling Dick's breath against him, holding him, trusting him.

Jason’s chest felt tight.

He dug his fingers into his palms to resist the need to move, to force himself to accept the embrace and not squirm.

Dick’s arms around him felt like a cage, the lips at his neck a searing brand, and Jason could barely bite down the panicked gasp as Dick shifted. One of his legs hooked over Jason’s thighs, pulling him closer to him.

It should be relaxing.

It was anything but.

“I love you.”

Jason had only ever heard those words from people who hurt him. His mom, his dad, Bruce.

The shadows danced, threatening; each cloud that covered the moon looked like a Bat in the night.

Fuck, Jason needed out.

He shuddered, taking in silent gasping breaths, the pain in his chest nearly overwhelming.

Dick kissed his back, and Jason resisted the knee-jerk reaction to punch him.

“Are you okay?” Dick’s sleep-husky voice filled the air, one hand trailing down Jason’s chest, tickling against his skin.

“Let me up,” Jason said. His voice sounded wrecked, like he’d been crying, thick with mucus, and cracking straight down the middle. Dick was quick to move, alert immediately in a way only a vigilante could manage, pulling his leg off and his arms back into his space.

Then, all Dick’s warmth was gone.

Jason jumped out of bed, shaking off the blanket as he did, ignoring the shiver that went through his body. He backed into the corner of the room, eyes on Dick, the window, and the door, and slid down to the floor.

Jason curled his arms around his knees, watching Dick as he slowly sat up in the bed, watching Jason like he was a frightened animal.

By the way his chest was aching, and his heart was thumping; maybe he was.

“What’s going on?” Dick asked. He spoke slowly, eyes drifting between Jason, the window, and then back to Jason. “Did something happen?”

Jason shook his head.

Dick went to move, but Jason kicked out, his leg slapping loudly on the wooden floor. Dick fell back onto the bed, crossed legs, and tilted his head to the side. Watching.

A few moments passed as Jason breathed, the cold of the room and the feeling of a wall at his back reminding him of the quick rooftop fucks he was used to with Nightwing.

“What do you need me to do?”

Jason slammed his head back against the wall; the sound of Dick’s voice, so soft and caring, made him ache with need almost as much as it made him panic. “Just talk,” Jason demanded. “What did Barbie say earlier? In that story you were telling before dinner.”

Dick spoke, his new words drowning out the old. Jason couldn’t focus, catching the odd word, but it made the room brighter, louder, easier.

Jason watched as Dick added hand movements, animated on the bed but not moving closer. He moved on from the story about Barbara, to a story about Tim, to a story about the Titans, until the light in the room grew as the sun rose, and Dick’s voice was hoarse.

Jason hid his face in his arms, resting against his knees.

God, they were such a mess.

And Dick was still trying to act as if this was normal. As if the quiet electric hum of an apartment instead of neighbors screaming was normal, as if cooked dinner at seven instead of fast food chucked back mid-patrol was normal, as if lovemaking instead of a quick fuck in a dark alleyway was normal.

As if they could be normal.

Jason was the mess.

Jason groaned, clenching his toes and curling his feet up, trying to will some warmth back into them. Jason looked up to watch Dick staring up at the ceiling as he regaled some new story. Dick’s throat had to be hurting, yet he was still going.

It made something settle, uncomfortably, at the back of Jason’s mind.

“You love me, Dick,” Jason said, awed and quiet, in the middle of Dick complaining about Bruce. “You said it, you showed it, you mean it.”

Dick jolted; his mouth snapping shut audibly as if he hadn’t expected Jason to speak. He looked down at Jason and, instead of speaking, hummed. It was husky and low but an invitation to keep going, nonetheless.

“I-” Jason felt frustration well up inside him because it wasn’t fair that other people got to be normal, and have normal, and feel normal. “How do you do it?”

Dick opened his mouth, but Jason suddenly felt terrified of the answer.

“Don’t- don’t actually,” Jason said, rushed with one breath. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Jason.”

“Dick,” Jason snapped back, his nerves fraying at the ends. He’d stayed the night; he’d fulfilled his promise. Now, he could clear out of Dick’s shitty apartment, go back to the safety of Gotham City proper and forget all about this.

“Jay.” Dick was closer now, sitting with his legs off the bed, leaning down to look at Jason. Jason tried not to shrink away, tried to take up space, but Dick’s face was too open. Concern, empathy, and understanding was written all over it. “Come up here.”

Jason shook his head. His ass hurt from sitting on the cold wood, his back ached from being curled up, and he was shivering every few seconds, but despite that, he still said, “I’m good, thanks.”

Dick rolled his eyes. “Stubborn asshole,” he muttered.

Jason almost said, but you love me anyway. It was an easy quip, something Jason always said when they would banter, but he couldn’t force the words past his lips. Instead, wide-eyed, he stared at Dick.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Dick said with a sigh when it became clear Jason was tongue-tied.

Jason stretched his legs out, letting them drop flat on the floor. “I don’t want you to say anything, forget it.”

Dick raised his eyebrows, “Forget you having a panic attack on the bedroom floor as well?”

Jason flinched, dipping his eyes away from looking at Dick. He hated those words, ‘panic attack,’ being so overwhelmed by feelings that he lost control of his reactions. “Especially forget that,” he said, clearing his throat.

Time passed in silence. Jason stared at the floor, memorizing the pattern of the wood, counting the rings around knots. He put his hands on his thighs, digging his fingers in. His skin jumped from the cold feeling, and he grit his teeth. He didn’t want to break the silence.

“Is it the L-word?” Dick asked, finally, and so quietly Jason almost missed it. Jason snapped up to look at him, Dick’s eyes were wide and confused. “Because you don’t have to say it back, Jay.”

Jason shook his head. “No.”

“Is it something else? I thought, well, we aren’t exactly casual, so I thought-”

Not casual, Jason didn’t really know how to parse that, and he wasn’t sure it was even true. Dick certainly looked like he believed it.

Jason coughed, and scrunched his toes again, digging his nails into his thighs to stop himself from curling up again. “No, it’s not. It’s-” Jason cut off as his chest tightened again, vision dimming, and he looked away from Dick’s stupidly earnest face to stare at the ceiling instead. “Everything else. The domestic, the date, the living room. It’s your shitty fucking security, but somehow you still feeling safe. It’s the normal.”

Jason bit his lip and looked down his nose to watch for Dick’s reaction.

Dick’s face went blank in one smooth motion. “You’re scared of normal.”

Jason growled in frustration, hating how judgmental Dick managed to sound in just four words, and of course Dick wouldn’t get it, when this was all his fault anyway. “I’m not used to normal, asshole,” Jason grunted. The thought of his childhood, of his death, of his supposed family, was heavy in his mind. “Normal isn’t safe,” Jason added. The unspoken, for me, hung in the air.

Jason’s pulse thundered in his ears, waiting for everything to click. Dick seemed to take this in, and his blank face turned into one of sympathy and understanding.

Jason hated that as much as he’d hated the judgment.

“It could be,” Dick said gently, back to soothing a frightened animal. “Normal and-” Dick paused to wet his lips, “love.”

Jason scoffed, letting his head fall back against the wall, and he stared at Dick in disbelief. “Love is normal, apparently.” Jason could feel himself getting agitated, his body pulling in air too quickly and blinking too rapidly, but it was distant and unimportant. “Love has been the reason I’ve bled, and died, and bled again. Love is explosions, and pain, and betrayal,” Jason spat, his voice getting louder. “Normal is-” Jason cut himself off with a gasping breath, his eyes were wet and his sight blurry. Everything ached, and hurt, and he-

He really wanted a hug. From Dick.

Fucking hell.

“I don’t know how to let myself be loved like this.”

The confession hurt and punched all the breath out of his chest. An admission that he was broken in this way, that he could never have normal, spoken aloud, when it should have been obvious.

Jason held his breath and forced himself to hold Dick’s gaze. Dick was hard to read, somehow managing to hide his true emotions despite appearing like an open book. Dick’s lips pressed into a tight line.

“I see.”

An alarm went off, shrill and piercing. And just like twelve hours prior, Jason tensed every muscle so as not to jump too high or give himself away. Dick jumped to grab his phone, swiping the alarm off, and held it up for Jason to see.

“Wakey wakey,” Dick said with a tired laugh.

Guilt swirled in the back of Jason’s mind, smothering little specks of panic with anger, because Dick sounded exhausted. A tight smile and bags under his eyes, and his voice too scratchy for early morning.

Jason had caused that with his ‘issues’ when he should have just left.

Dick sighed. “I don’t know how to make you accept love, Jason.”

Jason swallowed, ready for the inevitable. Rejection. Or worse, a suggestion to fix Jason.

Dick dropped down to the floor, landing between Jason’s legs. Hesitantly, and holding Jason’s gaze, he put a hand on Jason’s ankle. The warmth from just his fingers spread up Jason’s leg and made him shiver. Dick’s loose grip, and the feeling of skin against skin, didn’t make Jason feel trapped like earlier.

Jason bit his tongue to stop himself from saying something stupid and forced himself to stay back against the wall, to stop himself from jumping forward to pull Dick into what would probably be the last hug he’d get before Dick kicked him out.

“But,” Dick started, and squeezed Jason’s ankle, “we can start making a new normal.” Dick ran his hands up Jason’s calves, and back down again. The motion soothed the spike of panic in Jason’s mind, helped his body ease. “One that doesn’t have you panicking in a corner, watching the door for three hours straight just from me telling you that I love you.”

Dick’s eyes bore into Jason’s and Jason shuddered under the intensity. The words sounded so genuine, and it sent a confusing rush of heat and panic through Jason. Dick patted Jason’s calf and reached out to take one of Jason’s hands in his own. Jason let his fingers go lax as Dick pulled his fingers from his skin.

“And I do, you know,” Dick added, lacing their fingers together, “love you, Jason.”

Jason knew that Dick could be bluffing. So many people had made that same promise. Of love, and normality, while tearing him apart in all the worst ways. Yet, when Dick said it, Jason wanted it to be true.

Maybe Jason would regret it, and maybe Dick would end up cold and distant and back to alley-way fucks within a week, but Jason wanted. To at least see what Dick’s version of normal could be in his – honestly, Dick, you’re a millionaire – incredibly shitty low-security Gotham safehouse.

Dick squeezed his hand again, a soft questioning hum at the back of his throat.

Jason coughed, turning his head away from Dick to hide the blush, his face burning. He dug his toe into Dick’s bare thigh and squeezed his hand in return.

“Yeah, you too,” Jason replied.

#dickjay #jaydick #dick grayson #jason todd #my writing #my ao3 fics #tumblr prompt

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yourbustedkneecaps · 10 months

Text

here’s another piece of shit for your entertainment (ft: my favorite dickwad) and no i don’t go through these for formatting, that’s ao3 exclusive lmao

*do not repost*

fuck, i’m lonely

After being thrown through the portal with the kids, Philip (now a partial amnesiac) has to navigate his new life in the Human Realm. With his arm severely hurt and his memories a mess, he tries his best.

In return for not causing trouble upon coming back, God gives him a gift.

Thick red coiled around his arm as it bubbled from the fresh wound, tracing tears down to his elbow. His hand was caught on something above him, and if it weren’t for the fact his head was rolling and mind drowning, he would’ve looked up to fix the problem. Instead, he slumped, twitching so often as his nerves insisted he was still very much alive.

He gasped hotly, breath fogging in front of him. That… probably wasn’t natural, given the current warm season. His chest shuddered with every unmeasured intake and expel of air. He wondered why his brain was telling him he was dying when this was mediocre compared to everything else his 400 years of life had offered.

Someone threw themselves at him, knees crashing next to his own as they grabbed his face and patted his cheek, trying to wake him up. He grunted, failing to brace his head against the wall and hear their words.

Another pair of hands and another body and another— People who wouldn’t leave him alone no matter what noise he tried to make to get them to stop crowding him. He couldn’t tell if it was spittle or blood making it’s way down his chin, but part of him couldn’t really care.

He fell forward, into their arms, and listed to the side. He thought he heard a scream.

———

The children didn’t look so good. After being thrown through the portal door and a few nights of rest, they were finally beginning to fall into a routine of sorts when someone decided to show their face.

Philip was slammed roughly through a quickly collapsing portal of his own, going backwards into the house instead of out the door. The children rushed to see what was happening at the forests edge, stupefied at the flash of a a gone portal and the strangled cry from inside the house. They almost didn’t help him.

That said, Mrs Noceda was called and pulled out of work immediately, and the man’s wounds were cared for.

Watching him wake up was almost comical.

He was out for over a day, comatose on the couch until further notice and guarded by——at the very least——one child and two palismen at a time. Accessories and layers thrown aside, and his boots at the door, he was thoroughly patched up and set aside. So, head pinned to his pillow with nails, limbs to the couch, and right arm sling across his stomach in nothing but ointment swaddled in bandages, Philip woke up feeling like God himself sentenced him to death.

A cat, a bee the size of a tiny dog, and a very angry looking teen girl stared him down as he blinked crust from his eyes and turned his head from looking at the ceiling. His neck felt like a bucket of partially dried paint, still sticky on the wall it was put on. The girl——purple hair, fair skin, and a glare that would cower most others her age——raised an eyebrow, arms tightening in their folded state.

Philip blinked once, scrunched his face in throbbing pain, and tried to say something. The initial “Hello?” drowned in his chalky, closed throat, and died on his tongue as a garbled choke.

She didn’t look pleased.

“Keep an eye on him while I em get the others,” she murmured to the animals, turning on her heel and stalking out of his sight.

Others? Where on God’s green earth was he?

She came back quite quickly with two others, a reptile, and a bird. They, too, stood tall and intimidating over him.

“We don’t want any funny business from you, Belos,” the bespectacled girl spoke first. “You’re lucky we were willing to patch you up, but don’t expect anything more hospitable than that.”

His face betrayed his beating heart, stopping and squeezing at the name. He opened his mouth, coughed and cleared his throat, then spoke. “Who the hell…?” He blinked, squeezing his eyes shut with a sharp breath. “Who are you children?”

They shifted, the shortest of them locking eyes with the purple haired girl.

“No games, Belos!” Spectacles snapped. “Stay down, and stay away from Hunter and Vee, or else. Don’t move from the couch until Mrs Noceda gets back. We’ll be watching you.” She glanced at her companions and nodded.

Purple Hair nodded back. “I’ll take first watch until Luz gets back.”

The short one held up a dark hand. “I’ll call Mrs Noceda!” He ran off.

With that settled (whatever it was) they split alongside their animals to do whatever it was they offered to. Purple Hair and her cat stayed, alongside the bee. The cardinal, and reptile left with the other two.

Philip clenched his left hand, breathing steady and gazing back up at the ceiling. Whatever was going on, he was in no way able to deal with it yet. Not until he could think straight and sit up to speak. For now, his best course of action, apart from keeping himself from breaking down into an anxious episode, was to rest and listen for anything valuable. Anything that could help him understand the situation better.

For now, he relaxed into the cushions, counting his inhales and exhales, falling asleep. He didn’t catch the lights flicking off or the curious expression on the girl’s face as she watched him struggle to calm, but that wasn’t pertinent…

———

He coughed himself awake, choking through a gasp as he jolted forward and collapsed back.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t think you would wake up!”

He winced, finding a woman kneeling next to him, cleaning his cut arm. Round stature with an intense stare, she smiled, softening her eyes, and Philip shuddered back into the cushions.

“I’m just re-bandaging your arm so it doesn’t get infected,” she explained. She set aside the papery washcloth for a roll of fresh bandages and began to wrap his wound.

It… It wasn’t good.

From wrist to mid-forearm there was pink, torn flesh stitched up with clear, red crusted string. Dark blue and green bruises trailed from palm to elbow, like clotting sludge. His fingers shook and for but a second he couldn’t breathe.

A hand touched his elbow.

He looked up.

The woman——Mrs Noceda, he remembered——searched his face, waiting before taking the back of his hand. She lead his arm back to her, bandage left on the floor. “It will be okay, Belos. You will heal.”

He was sure he heard her, but after that he couldn’t quite focus. He stared listlessly as she wrapped his arm, tucking in the cloth her and there, and cleaned up quietly.

“I’ll be right back with some pain medication, alright?” She said over her shoulder. “I’ll be right back…”

What was he doing? What was happening? The last thing he really remembered— The most recent thing he remembered outside of his stay in this house was being thrown aside and… getting a concussion, probably. He pushed himself up from his half-laying position across the entire couch into something more presentable.

As promised, Mrs Noceda entered with a cup and a handful of pills. “You’ve been out for a while, so I’m sure you’re hungry,” she said, handing over the drink——a cup of milk——and the pills. “Drink this and swallow these. It’s for the pain. Would you… Can I get you anything to eat?”

He stared at the pills, then slowly came back to and looked at her. “I… No, thank you. Perhaps later when I am…”

“More awake?” She supplied.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Eventually the throbbing, piercing of his arm died down, and he fell back asleep without knowing. The sun had long since set when he was roused to lay down for the remainder of the evening, and he couldn’t help but think he’d possibly, maybe, be okay.

———

They settled into an awkward, strained routine. Philip would wake up, clean his bedding from the couch, and take a moment in the bathroom before most others awoke themselves. While he made himself food (often leftovers from nights prior) the other residents would be roused and go from bathroom to bedroom to kitchen, giving him time to finish eating alone and find something to do.

Perhaps read a book, or experiment with the new technology around this almost futuristic house, or maybe even do some daily chores. Whatever it was he did, he made sure to keep away from the children as they wandered the house or left and returned to the property.

Lunch was often the same way, where he’d either eat before or after them, waiting for their group to disperse before he made himself a small something to ingest alone. It was only dinners that were different. Mrs Noceda always had something homemade when she could (though with extra people in the house she had to take some extra working hours to provide) and made sure everyone got a seat at the table. The first time this had happened, it was at the request of Hunter and Vee.

Philip——after a few weeks of regaining some personal memories back——was in no mood to strain the already tense relationships around the house with his presence. Especially not over what should be the most relaxing times a family should have together. He was already struggling by himself, stressed out of his mind trying to figure out who he was prior to his fuzzy amnesia and constantly stepping on eggshells around the children who obviously didn’t like him, so why would he consent to sitting at the same table with the kids who wanted him killed? Not to mention his lack of self defense and the roiling, angry spirits beneath his skin. He’d rather eat his fill outside and sleep in the mud, thank you.

Mrs Noceda was having none of that, though.

It had been decided he was much more harmless than before, and it could be a good way to grill him for villainous intentions or nefarious plans. An easy way to keep tabs on him and remind him of who was in charge in the house.

Definitely not him, by any margin.

He soon relented, assisting Mrs Noceda and her charges in setting the table or preparing the food, keeping out of the way of those cooking. He wasn’t allowed to make meals for anyone but himself, though he could clean dishes or hand out tools, he found.

“You need to eat more,” Mrs Noceda told him one evening, filling his plate. His right arm was still out of commission, though beginning to heal. “You look like you could fall over at any moment!”

“Mama!” Luz, the strange, excitable young human of the group, complained. She was vehemently against Philip regaining any strength beyond what he needed to heal his wounds.

Mrs Noceda ignored her.

“I assure you I’m fine, ma’am,” Philip tried, holding up a placating hand. “It’s enough you’ve let me stay in your home, you needn’t—“

“I am aware of what I am doing for you,” she said, putting down the serving bowl. “You eat what you can and we will put the leftovers in the fridge for tomorrow. Do you need a drink?” She was up grabbing his cup in an instant.

“I’m— Thank you…” He gave up, accepting her help and dropping the matter. She wasn’t going to stop, it seemed, and he was too tired to argue. He’d eat, clean up, and leave for bed. He just had to show a little face first.

———

Mrs Noceda have him money to buy clothes and necessities. He was… not particularly looking forward to leaving the house. The children offered to take him on a weekend, during which she would be working a little overtime to get some extra cash to cushion their new needs in a very full house.

As of recent, Philip had been given a small box of clothes from who knows where to use until he could get some of his own. They were on the older side and smelt a little musty, like they hadn’t been worn in a few years, let alone washed, but he didn’t mind. He had been living off the land most of his life, anyway. What was a little discomfort now compared to the blurry, painful past he could only recall in his deepest dreams?

The day out was far from exhilarating, but the kids made sure to keep everything interesting. They dragged him to a department store or two, looking for base clothes, toiletries, and small accessories. Philip changed into something more modern looking and much easier to move in, before they left the department store. After that they stopped by a shop for a quick early lunch before heading to a place called “The Mall”. It was a very large place compared to the neighborhood where the Noceda house was, and much more active as well. It was reminiscent of… a workplace he used to frequent. Before he came home from the place. The realm under this one, whatever it was called.

He didn’t dislike it. Instead it was strangely nice to blend in with the crowd, milling from place to place as nothing but another person— Another stranger none needed to care for.

Willow, the ridiculously strong girl with glasses, offered to cut his hair back at the house——“Just a trim! Y’know, since the ends have grown out a bit.”——but he refused. They group shoved him into a salon, taking his bags away and speaking with one of the hairdressers without him able to intervene. Payback, he supposed.

The feminine hairdresser was very cheerful and over-talkative, prattling on about their social life and family and their newest romance and a one night stand they wished would come back (he didn’t ask about that last one) as they prepared his hair. Brushed, washed, and brushed again, they moved him from stool to sink and brought out their tools.

“Just a trim, right? Unless—! I’ve been wanting to try this new haircut and I think it would look great on you! Like, your face shape—” They moved his hair this way and that, scrunching and pulling and parting here and there to show him the new look without actually doing anything. It was apparently a trend with the younger generation and those very interested in cosmetics to get one’s hair styled that way.

“Just a trim, please,” Philip said as cordially as possible. He was trying to keep himself from falling into rude behaviors, but they were pretty persistent.

“Are you sure? I mean, your hair has very split ends and it’s cut unevenly…” They said, lifting and gesturing to locks of his hair. “I’m sure I could try and blend it, but I’m going to have to take off a couple inches to get rid of the yucky ends, y’know?”

He did not, in fact, know.

His eyebrow twitched dangerously. “Just cut it, please! Do whatever it is you have to go make it look…” He waved his hand. “Better!”

They stiffened, then relaxed, snatching up a comb and some scissors. “If you say so,” they shrugged.

They put up his hair in clips and some hair, the pulled some down and put the rest up and did it again and again, until they were framing his face and tilting his head to get the best look they could. As soon as they were done he thanked them and left to join the kids, Luz at the front and already paying.

Hunter moved up beside him, chatting with the dark skinned, small one. Gus, was it? His hair was trimmed as well, though much shorter than it was when Philip first saw him in the household. He bumped his shoulder, startled, and shrank away. “S—sorry…”

Philip rolled his shoulders, watching him out through his peripheral. “It’s fine. Your hair… it looks good.”

The child’s face scrunched, confused.

Philip walked out of the store, trailing Luz and Amity as they held hands, talking softly.

———

By the time they started to head home, Philip was done. The kids dragged him around the mall, curiously causing havoc wherever they went as they explored the building together, each a handful in their own right. He had to admit, he shared some of the same wondrous sentiment they did in this new, strange realm, but he was also an adult. And, unfortunately, that meant acting like one.

He wrangled them like a shepherd with cats, keeping them in eyesight and earshot as they wandered here and there, pulling each other around. He called them back to the food court for snacks when a duo wouldn’t stop walking, and kept his bags in check as he did so. Nothing was stolen, no one was hurt, and everyone was soon ready to leave.

Luz took them to a cafe in the town square before they went home, introducing them all to the wonders of hot and cold caffeinated drinks, pastries both sweet and savory, and the magic of people watching while they ate outside. It was very… domestic. Quite nice, even, if he disregarded the awkward situation that was ordering at the desk.

Who he could only assume was a waiter (though Luz explained they don’t have any here) came over with two cardboard drink holders with everyone’s beverages. They all already had their pastries, and were currently sitting at two tables, chatting up a storm. Philip helped the worker set down and hand out the drinks.

“We don’t normally have staff waiting customers,” they explained, passing Gus his drink. “But it’s almost closing time and you looked like you needed a little help.” They smiled and winked at Philip, setting his cup in front of him.

“Oh. Thank you,” he said. A bit taken aback at the obvious calm kindness they gave, he gently took his beverage, unsure of what else to do. It warmed his hand quickly, and he wondered why they made the drinks so hot in the first place.

They grinned, ready to step away. “If it’s alright, may I have your number?”

“My what…?” Philip asked. “My—my address?”

They blinked stupidly. “Oh, yeah sure.” Their facade melted into something joking but sweet. “Do you not have a phone?”

“Uhm… no. I’m afraid I don’t.” Oh, by the Holy Spirit, what was he doing? Why weren’t they going back inside?

They hummed, taking out a napkin and pen from their apron. “I’ve never had a pen pal before…!”

The glee in which they managed to put into that single sentence had him forgetting all past thoughts, grabbing the pen and napkin, trying desperately to remember the address of Luz’s home. It was Gus who saved him from looking like a fool.

“I remember our address! Here, let me help you write it!” He jumped up, holding on hand on the napkin to keep it from moving and began to recite it. Part way through, however, Willow hopped in to correct a mistake.

“Perfect,” the worker smiled as the two beamed back, proud. They took the proffered tools back with a look of curious pride at Philip. “Looks like you have some keepers here, hm?” They joked.

Philip, stupid with the feeling of speaking to another adult human, and such a kind one at that, barely registered their words. “Yes, they are…”

They smirked and walked backward, waving. “I’ll write you!”

Philip waved back. One glance up, and he raised an eyebrow at the sniggering children. “What?”

“Nothing,” they harmonized.

#my ao3 #my ao3 fics #the owl house #emperor belos #philip wittebane #the owl house belos #toh kids #camilla noceda

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