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jasntodds · 9 months

Text

Petrichor [7]

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader (little bit of fwb)

Words: 14,007

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of scars, mentions of a panic attack, manipulation, canon drug use, comic book science? Titans science? (author's note at the end lol), canon violence, blood, bruises, gore, breaking bones, mentions of nightmares, canon character death (I'm so sorry)

Summary: ❝Pylades: I’ll take care of you. Orestes: It’s rotten work.Pylades: Not to me. Not if it’s you.❞

Gotham is home, not just for Jason but for you, too. And now that you’re both finally back home, together, you’re ready to see where this next chapter brings the two of you. He’s your best friend and you’re his. And you both might want a little something more with being back home, the place you both feel most comfortable. Surely, nothing could possibly go wrong now.

A/N: Happy birthday to Jason Todd!! So, sorry I did this for his birthday lmao I lied, this is longer than I thought it would be lol But I'm so sorry. I don't have anything else to say for myself besides canon made me do it and so did the comics lol I hope you guys like it!! If you want context from book 1, let me know and I’ll tell you!! You can add yourself to the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary and turn on notifications if you prefer that!! I love feedback, I swear it keeps me posting on a weekly basis 😭

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Over the next couple of weeks, Jason continues to go to therapy as directed by Bruce. To his surprise, it actually seems to be helping a little bit. He’s still having nightmares but they aren’t every night anymore. His hands aren’t shaking as badly either. He just feels a little bit better. Maybe Bruce and you were right about Leslie.

You and Jason are doing better, too. There have been moments where he’s gotten a little too frustrated but he remembers your talk and you give him a little bit of space until he’s ready to talk. It works for the both of you. You go on dates at least once a week and you both actually feel normal during the day. It’s not about being a vigilante and figuring out how to survive.

You go out on patrol three days a week instead of six. This is Jason’s thing and you know it bothers him. You can wait to patrol every night until he gets Robin back. It doesn’t bother you that much. And this way, you get to spend more time together and exist in a normal way that you desperately craved. You are a normal couple for once.

Above all of that, it’s been good. Things have been good. And while that is terrifying, you and Jason stick it out anyway. You don’t run or push. You both want to sometimes because it’s easier but you’re both fucking happy. So, you don’t. You don’t do it because losing each other is worse than anything the other could ever dish out. Running and pushing wouldn’t do either of you any good for the first time in your lives. So, you both enjoy the happiness together. Until things come to a screeching halt.

You're in the living room, having a FaceTime TV marathon with Gar when Bruce comes home. He offers a quick hello before trying to walk off but you call him anyway. He’s home a lot later than he should be since he went to pick up Jason. It was his request you stay back this time.

“Where’s Jason?” You question.

In all fairness, you wouldn’t be asking him normally but you also haven’t heard much from Jason since his therapy session ended. He said Bruce was taking him somewhere so he would be home later. And that was kind of the end of it. He’s been doing quite a bit better so you haven’t been as worried when he doesn’t text you back right away. But now Bruce is here without him.

“In the city.” Bruce answers plainly.

“Why? You went to pick him up?” You raise a brow and something happened. Jason texted you in the car. He was fine and with Bruce.

You look at the time and see that was a few hours ago.

“He’s upset. I’m giving him space. You should, too.” Bruce states.

“What did you do?” You deadpan, pulling up the text thread with Jason.

“I did not do anything.” Bruce defends. “He’ll be home soon.” Bruce states before he walks off.

“Everything okay?” Gar asks.

“Nope.” You shake your head. “I assume they got into some sort of fight again.” You roll your eyes. “Did he text you by chance?” You ask seeing the read receipt from a few hours ago.

Gar checks his phone and the last he heard from Jason was that morning. “No, he hasn’t texted me since this morning. What’s going on?”

You: you okay? Bruce said you’re upset what happened?

“I have no idea. He was fine earlier.” You let out a sigh, looking back at Gar through the tablet screen.

“You said he’s been better, right? Maybe he’s just blowing off steam from Bruce.” Gar suggests. Jason has shared some of the stuff that's happened and has complained a little about Bruce.

“Yeah, but if that’s the case, he usually comes to me to bitch about Bruce because I always agree with him.” You give Gar a grin just as your phone goes off.

Jaybird 🥰: fuck bruce I’m fine don’t worry

You: what happened? Do you want me to come get you?

“Well he texted me back and I was right, fight with Bruce.” You roll your eyes.

They fight sometimes, usually about Robin-related things or Jason wanting to do something reckless and Bruce putting a stop to it. Jason’s usually only a mad an hour or so before he’s fine and over it. Jason doesn’t hold very many grudges.

“Did he say about what?” Gar asks.

“Nope. Just said, fuck Bruce.”

Jaybird 🥰: no just wanna be alone still you and me love you ❤️

You: call or text every so often so I know you’re okay please I love you, too 🥰

“What’d he say?” Gar asks. He worries enough for the both of you/

“He wants to be alone and when Jason wants to be alone that is never good. But we have this thing where I let him be alone and then he tells me about it later. So, I guess I have to wait. If he isn’t home or texting me in a few hours, I’ll go look for him.” You reluctantly put your phone down. Giving Jason space is never easy.

“Think he’ll be alright?” Gar asks with worry in his voice.

“Yeah, him and Bruce fight sometimes. I’m sure it’s nothing too bad, Bruce probably just said something stupid and Jason was already in a mood.” You let out a sigh as the worry feeling gnaws at your stomach.

“Did you want to still—“

“Yeah, yeah, no. We can keep watching. He said he’ll text me.” You offer a soft smile while the two of you continue your show.

It’s not fair. It’s utter bullshit. Jason can’t help the way his blood is boiling and fuming while his hands shake. Bruce doesn’t think he’s good enough to be Robin. Bruce gave up on him. Jason is supposed to be his son and Bruce gave up on him anyway but he never gave up on Dick. If Jason weren’t so weak, this whole thing never would have happened. But he’s gonna prove to Bruce he can be Robin. He can be the best Robin and he can be a better Batman, too. He just needs a little help in the fear department.

He’s desperate. He tells himself this is a one-time thing. Fear creeps in his throat, grasping to be let out in the damp air. It’s a one-time thing, he tells himself. He’s out of options if he wants to be Robin. He’s out of options if he wants to keep the most important thing in his life. All he needs is a quick fix to fear and he’ll be back out there, better than he has ever been. He’ll prove it to Bruce. Bruce is wrong about him.

Bruce thinks he’s a mistake. He thinks Jason isn't worth the trouble just like everyone else. Bruce thinks Jason is weak. He thought Jason could replace Dick and he couldn’t. Not as Robin and not as Bruce’s son. But if he can get rid of his fear, he can show him how wrong he is. He isn’t just another mistake. He isn’t weak and he’s better than Dick. He swears this will be it. It won’t be bad. He can handle this. He swears it’ll all be fine. So, he hangs up on Leslie and heads inside the gates of Arkham Asylum as rain patters around him.

He’s a master manipulator. Jason knows that. It’s one of the things he’s best at. But the desperation for a cure to fear clouds every aspect of that. The desperation doesn’t let him see why Crane wants information for the cure. He can’t see Crane’s angel in his state of paralyzed desperation. And Jason has been manipulated before. He swears he’ll know if Crane is manipulating him because he knows what to look out for this time. But, desperation and the fear of being scared forever, go hand in hand. Fear and desperation cloud everything. He tosses his loyalty from the window as he gets closer to the formula. Crane gives him a piece of it with every piece of information Jason gives him.

“Tell me about the first Robin.” Crane offers this grin that sends a chill down Jason’s spine.

“Like what?” Jason huffs.

“His name, where he is, everything you know.”

“Dick Grayson. He’s in San Francisco and goes by Nightwing.” Jason explains, throwing Dick completely under the bus. He has a problem with Dick now anyway. Dick Grayson has always been the goody two shoes and Bruce’s favorite. Jason only got to be Robin because Dick abandoned Bruce. Jason was a filler. “He’s with the Titans. He got Deathstroke’s son killed and dropped me from a skyscraper.” Jason lets out a scoff.

“Interesting. Doesn’t seem to be the golden boy Bruce portrayed him as.” Crane grins and this is easier than he thought it would be. Jason has no problems rolling, apparently and Crane knows he’s going to use that to his advantage.

He’s broken. He’s desperate and Crane has the cure he wants. This is going to be easy and Crane gets all benefits. Jason lets him take down the Bat but in the best way. Crane is going to get the Bat’s son to turn on him and get rid of him. To break him. And then Dick Grayson and all of Gotham will follow. Crane finds the whole thing a little poetic. He can use him. And Jason will never see through it once he figures out the formula.

“Yep.” Jason answers simply, wanting to get this over with and Crane offers him a piece of the formula.

“The Titans. Who are they?” Crane asks, hiding the malicious intent behind curiosity.

Jason looks up to him and he doesn’t like to throw some of the others under the bus. But Crane is here. He can’t do anything. And most of them thought he was just Dick’s weaker replacement anyway. They gave up, too.

“Rachel Roth, Raven. Hank Hall, Hawk. Dawn Granger, Dove. Kory Anders, Starfire. Conner Kent, Superboy. Gar Logan, Beast Boy.” Jason pauses, waiting to see if Crane knows more.

Of course, he does. He’s in Arkham, not living under a rock. The Bat gains a new sidekick and everyone knows about it. Crane is only taking a guess the new sidekick also was a Titan based on when you showed up and your close proximity with Robin, himself. He saw Jason’s hesitance on his face. The fear.

Crane chuckles softly. “Aren’t you missing someone, pal?” Crane asks, almost a little too warmly. “Could have sworn there was one more.”

Jason grits his teeth and he’s so sorry.

When he came up with this plan, he had a feeling Crane would want information. He came prepared for it. Part of that preparation was leaving you the hell out of it. Not you. Crane can’t know about you. Anyone but you. But he does know. He already knows you're a Titan and he already knows you work for Bruce. Jason has no choice if he wants the formula. And he is so sorry.

Jason says your name with bitterness on his tongue. “Bluejay. She doesn't really like the name thing though.” Jason answers.

Crane has a soft smile. “She’s the new bird. So many of you are birds.” Crane chuckles. “I do find it interesting you would try to leave her out of it. She’s the new edition to Batman. Let me guess,” Crane boasts around his cell. “Your girlfriend.”

Not you. You've done everything you can to save him and help him. He loves you. Not you. Anyone but you.

“No.” Jason answers. “Just friends.” He bites the words because maybe Crane doesn’t know for sure you’re together and he wants you at arm's length.

“If you want the formula, you really shouldn’t lie to me.” Crane has a sinister smile. “You wouldn’t leave her out of it if you were just friends.” Crane lets the words fall with ease.

He’s so fucking sorry.

“Yeah, okay fine. Girlfriend.” Jason spits.

He knows you’ll never forgive him if you find out. You can’t tell Molly anything but he’s here telling Crane everything. You're going to hate him. But he needs a cure. He can’t feel this way forever. He can’t do it. He doesn't think he’ll be able to live like this anymore.

“Ah, young love.” Crane smiles with that shrug of his shoulders. You're going to be an interesting obstacle in this one. He’s already trying to protect you from this. Crane knows he needs to break that bond as fast as he can if he wants this plan to work. “I want to know about her.” There’s this look that crosses Crane’s eyes and Jason almost turns around.

But he doesn’t.

“Why? She’s not with the fucking Titans and she hates Bruce. She works with him because of me. That’s it. She got a suit out of it and a place to stay.”

“I’m a bit of a romantic, myself. Love stories are cute. Always having someone on your side, through thick and thin. It is quite romantic, don’t you think? If we’re going to work together, I want to know why she’s so important to you.” Crane grins. “You can trust me, boy. We want the same things and the way the Bat has treated you…it’s so cruel. But I, I believe in you. That’s why I’m helping you. You trust me, don’t you?”

You're going to kill him. Guilt chews at his limbs. His jaw squares and he thinks swallowing his own teeth would be easier than this. But he has to. Maybe Crane is being sincere. Jason thinks he is. At least enough. Maybe if Jason tells him enough, Crane will see you aren’t a problem. Maybe he’ll see you would side with them. You want Gotham to be better, you don’t agree with Bruce’s ways. Maybe Crane will understand. He’s helping Jason, maybe he can help you. You're scared, too.

“Dick found her.” Jason answers reluctantly. “She joined the Titans. We went after Deathstroke together. Got kidnapped and dropped from the skyscraper. Dick saved her. CADMUS attacked her, Gar, and Conner when I was gone. Dick left them alone when shit hit the fan. CADMUS left her for dead. So, she came back to Gotham.” Jason explains.

“She was there with Deathstroke.” Crane lets out a sigh and like Bruce, in a way, he can always tell when someone could need him. Someone who’s been traumatized. His intentions aren’t as pure as Bruce’s. “But Dick saved her and not you. Did you save her?”

“It wasn’t like that.” Jason shakes his head. “Dick tried to save me first and dropped me. Then he saved her. But yeah,” Jason nods. “I protected her and she did the same shit for me.”

“The two of you went through something so traumatic together. That really must have brought you closer. It’s not as romantic as I was hoping for but it is quite nice.” Crane grins. “She has powers, doesn’t she?”

“Acid generation.” Jason stares, leaving out the combat clairvoyance and the possibility of you having sharp shooting abilities. Two things Crane can’t prove Jason lied about.

“Now that is interesting. Does she know you’re here right now? Asking for my help?”

“No.” Jason shakes his head. “Look, she’s got nothing to with this shit. But, I can get her on our side. The other Titans targeted me for all types of shit I didn’t do and she was the only one on my side. She’s not a fucking problem. I can handle her.”

Crane grins and that’s all he needs. Jason is already hiding something huge from you. The distrust will be there and Jason doesn’t know Crane’s whole plan. If it goes the way he thinks it will, it’ll break your relationship. He will have no one left besides Crane. Exactly how he wants it. So, he decides he’ll let Jason think he believes this whole thing and moves back to the Titans.

“I do hope you’re right.” Crane sighs. “Tell me everything that happened in San Fransisco, with all of the Titans.”

Jason lets out a sigh before he spills every piece of information. He tells him everything from Trigon to Deathstroke to CADMUS. He tells him about the Titans turning on him for something he didn’t do, you talking him off the roof. Dick's confession and Donna’s death. Everything.

Then he tells Crane everything he knows about Bruce. The manor, the Batcave. Everything. He tells Crane about his training and the cabin, how Bruce found him and how Bruce found Dick. He spills and Crane lets him talk. Crane listens a lot but asks questions where he finds needed but he mostly just lets Jason talk as Jason keeps you out of it as much as he can. Jason is far more cooperative when it comes to everyone else.

Crane figures once he figures out the formula, he can get more information on you and use it against him if he needs to. He can’t have anyone if this is going to work and Crane knows exactly how he’ll be able to accomplish it. But for now, it’s about the Titans and Bruce. By the time Jason finishes, he’s got the formula tucked away in his pocket, ready to let fear go.

Jason pulls his phone from his pocket once he’s far enough away from Arkham. He’s spent the walk running over every lie he could tell you. Guilt eats at him with every step he takes. You're gonna kill him. He’s gonna lie to you because he knows for a fact, you’ll freak out. You’ll think he’s gone off the deep end and you’ll tell Dick. You’ll drag him kicking and screaming out of Gotham. You’ll tell Arkham and he won’t be able to see Crane again. It’s not fair and it’s not right. But you can’t know. And a part of him finds that to be unfair, too because he’s gonna fix his fear while you have to suffer with yours. That’s not fair to you. So, he thinks.

Maybe he can figure out a way to bring it up without bringing it up. Maybe he can try to see how you’d feel about a way to get rid of fear. If you seem for it, then he can tell you. He can see if you want to help. But the more he thinks about that, the more he thinks about Crane.

You’d have to be involved with him. Jason doesn’t want you involved with him. Not him. And he knows, the second he tells you about Crane, you’ll lose it. Even if you want a cure-all. You’ll bail the second you hear about Crane. You would never work with a guy like that. So, he has no choice. It’s that or end it and he doesn’t want to do that either.

“Hey.” Jason says as you pick up the phone.

“Jay? Where are you? I’ve been texting you to make sure you were okay.” He can hear your worry and he thinks maybe the anti-fear drug will make him not worry. Maybe you don’t want to worry so much.

“I’m sorry.” Jason clears his throat. “I needed to clear my damn head. I’m fine. Can you come get me, please?”

“Yeah, of course. Where are you?” You answer and Jason can hear you rustling on the other end.

“I’ll text you the address.” Jason states. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” You hang up and get to your feet while Jason texts you the address.

When you reach Jason, he’s soaked. Your heart aches, feeling like it’s being squeezed right through your rib cage at the sight of him. He looks exhausted and lost. He looks distant and he is drenched from the winter rain. Something bad happened and you have no idea how you're going to be able to help.

You take off your helmet, not getting off the bike. “Jay, are you okay?”

Jason gets up from the curb and walks up to you, offering you a fake smile. “Yeah.” His jaw clenches and he doesn’t even want to go home. He doesn’t want to see Bruce. He’d rather be outside in the cold. “All good.”

“What happened?” You reach out but Jason dodges you, reaching for his helmet. A lump grows in your throat. He doesn’t dodge you. Not like that.

“Bruce took Robin away.” Jason’s voice cracks as he shakes his head.

He dodges your stare. He doesn’t want to see the look you’ll give him. On the one hand, he’ll feel guilty. He’ll feel guilty for lying and talking to Crane. And on the other, you’ll give him a look that screams pity and that is the last thing he needs. Jason Todd doesn’t need anyone’s pity.

“What do you mean?” You question.

“Like fucking permanently. He said I can’t be Robin anymore.” Jason lets out a bitter scoff as he feels the anger come back to his bloodstream.

“Jay, I’m so sorry.” You say softly.

You never thought Bruce would take it away like that. Jason has been doing everything Bruce asked him to do. Ever since the Pete Hawkins thing, Jason has backed off entirely. He is putting a real effort into therapy, really trying to let the process help. Why would Bruce rip it away from him?

“Fuck him. I’m gonna fucking show him he’s wrong. He's fucking wrong about me.” Jason grits his teeth.

“He is.” You nod your head. “Come on. Let’s get you home and warm and we can talk more, okay?”

“Whatever.” Jason scoffs, popping his helmet on before he gets on the back and holds onto you while you drive back to the manor.

You get Jason back to the manor and into a warm shower. He says almost nothing. It’s as if he’s completely numb and it breaks you to see him like this. Jason is anything but quiet in a shower with you, usually. And he’s always handsy and cheeky. But, tonight, he’s just quiet, going through the motions, stuck on his own head.

You don’t understand how Bruce could take Robin away like that. It’s not fair. Jason does what Bruce asks him to and he messes up sometimes but that’s normal. How does he not see Robin is the most important thing to him? You even told him that. And he took Robin anyway. He never should have let him be Robin in the first place if this was something that could happen. Dick almost killed someone and he didn’t take Robin from Dick. Jason tries his best. Why isn’t that good enough for Bruce?

Dick was always right about him.

Jason plops onto your bed, his eyes red and puffy. His heart feels like it’s being crushed by cinderblocks. It all hurts. How did he really let another person down? How was he fooled into believing Bruce was different than everyone else? He thinks about his dad. His dad wasn’t a good person but Jason, sometimes, wonders if it was him. Maybe it was his fault his dad was like that. Maybe it was different before him. His dad didn’t choose to be his dad. But Bruce chose it. And still is giving up on him. Jason is Bruce’s son by choice, he thought the choice of picking a son, would make it different. But it’s the same old story Jason hates retelling.

He fucks up and people give up.

“Want me to rub your back while you tell me about it?” You offer as you stand in between his legs, looking down at him.

Jason looks up at you and you always worried so much. He wishes he could be better so you wouldn’t worry about him. He wonders why you choose him. You don’t have to, like Bruce. But you do. He wonders if one day you’ll stop. If his mom and his dad and his uncle and Dick and Bruce all chose other things over him, why wouldn't you? But he looks up at you and you give him this soft smile with your fingertips brushing his knees with care and he thinks you're still different than everyone else.

Jason cracks a soft smile. “Yeah, actually. Thank you.”

“Of course.” You smile softly.

Jason switches to his stomach, facing the TV just as you did the first day you started your friends-with-benefits situation. You sit on top of him and run your hands over his back. Your hands are cold, sending goosebumps up his spine. Your hands are always cold, something he always finds a bit ironic given the acid generation warms your hands. But your fingers are soft as you trace over the scars on his back. You do it every time and he always meant to ask.

“Why do you do that?” Jason asks, his eyes closed with his head on his hands.

“Do what?” You ask as you start rubbing his shoulders.

“Trace the scars.”

“I dunno.” You shake your head and you didn’t realize you did it often enough for him to notice.

You're not even sure why you do it. It’s something mindless. Maybe it’s your subconscious wishing if you trace them enough times, it’ll remove the damage the scars have caused him, like a magic eraser. Or maybe tracing the scars is confirmation he’s real.

Sometimes, you have a hard time believing he’s real. All of this is real. You used to dream of a life outside of the basement, sometimes they’d feel so real you could swear they were. Wishful thinking.

Maybe you trace them as confirmation that the raised and paled skin is real, Jason is here with you and you're not dreaming. Maybe you like the way the scars look on his skin but he managed to pull through all of his terrible shit and make it out the other end with a smart mouth and a heart of gold anyway. Maybe, you just do it because you care about him regardless of the scars and what made them.

“Does it bother you?” You ask softly.

“No.” Jason answers. “Just wondering.”

It always makes him feel vulnerable, a harsh reminder he is not invincible as much as he likes to believe he is sometimes. He might have survived those injuries but they’re there as harsh reminders. And you touch them and he thinks maybe you find comfort in them, because you have them, too. And that’s always enough for him. He thinks it makes him feel human and real and alive. He always feels a little exposed but it’s become comforting with you.

“What happened?”

He thinks he has his lies in order. He knows he might be sabotaging the relationship. Despite everything he thinks as you massage over the scar on his back, he knows. He knows you might not forgive him. There’s always a chance you won’t be so understanding when you inevitably find out because you always figure him out. But it's a risk he has to take.

He can’t keep doing this anymore. He can’t keep not sleeping. He can’t keep shaking and freezing. He can’t keep living like this. He knows he can’t. It’ll destroy him. It’ll be miserable. The idea of going back to being useless and not good enough and a disappointment, he can’t live like that. He needs help now, before Bruce finds his replacement. Maybe you’ll understand that part.

“He fucking said he made mistakes and I guess I’m fucking one of them.” Jason scoffs from under you.

You narrow your eyes thinking Bruce didn’t actually say that. You have no faith in Bruce to communicate worth a shit given your conversation with him and given Jason and Dick. And Bruce might be very good at hiding his emotions, but you know he actually cares about Jason. You don’t think Bruce would ever tell Jason he was a mistake, even if he thought it.

“He said that?” You ask, pausing for a few seconds.

“Basically!” Jason groans. “And he doesn’t want to make more mistakes and he said I can’t be Robin anymore. He thinks I’m a fucking mental case. He doesn’t care it’s important to me. He doesn’t care that I’m doing what he wants me to. It doesn’t matter to him. It’s fucking bullshit.” Jason’s voice shakes as his back tenses under your palms.

“That’s not fair. I don’t know why he would do that. You were always a great Robin.” You say softly.

You wish you could have heard the conversation so you would know better what to say. But, you also know, even if Bruce didn’t say any of that and it came out wrong, it wouldn’t change anything for you to decipher it for him. At the end of the day, Bruce could have outright told Jason he loves him and he doesn’t want him to die and Jason would still be absolutely crushed with Robin being ripped away from him. Bruce’s delivery of the message doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything.

“Just fucking tired of being scared.” Jason lets out a defeated sigh. “Fucking gave up on me. Ya know, thought he was fucking different.” His voice is etched in pain and you wish you could take it all away. He never deserves the pain he gets.

It’s honest. He can be honest with you about that. Maybe he wants you to figure it out.

“Yeah, I get it. Being scared really sucks. You’ll get better though. I know I keep saying it but it takes time, Jay. Bruce should be giving you more time.” You say. “I’m really sorry about him.” You lean down and press a kiss to his shoulder blade. “You still have me, okay?”

He knows. He’ll always have you. Somewhere inside of him, he knows. The anxiety of you freaking out and leaving when you figure it out is there, but he also knows he’s given you every opportunity to take off and run. And you never do. You’d understand his desperation. You'd understand why he lied. He knows he still has you.

“What if there were a cure for fear?” Jason asks and he’s glad you can’t see his face. You’d know.

“What do you mean?” Your brows furrow.

“What if there was a cure? Like we can just take it and not be scared anymore.” Jason listens carefully, feeling your hands pause on his back. He knows without looking that you've got your right eyebrow raised at him, your eyes narrowing at him as if you can’t decide if he’s joking or serious.

“I mean that’d be great, but there would be consequences, right?” You question.

You're a little concerned with the question. But, that’d be insane. It’d be insane for him to really look for a cure to fear. You swear he’s just talking, doing one of his hypothetical talks he does like you do about the zombie apocalypse.

“Like what? Being fearless sounds pretty fucking good right about now.” Jason scoffs.

“We’ll, fear is just adrenaline, right? But that fear also keeps you looking both ways before crossing the street, it alerts you when someone is following you home. Without fear, also means you won’t have excitement. You’ll probably be emotionally numb to a lot of things. Not having adrenaline is dangerous though.” You answer.

“Yeah, but isn’t that fucking better than being scared all the damn time? You’re afraid of everything, too and your nightmares are back. You wouldn’t want something to stop it?” Jason looks over his shoulder.

Your nightmares came back a week and a half ago. You and Molly were on a walk and ran into Jerry’s Gotham house. You still don’t know how you missed it, but you did. You were walking and having a good time and you saw the house and that was it. You broke and it’s like all of the progress you made over the last few months evaporated into the atmosphere. Molly had to call Jason because you were having a panic attack and couldn’t snap out of it. The nightmares came back that night.

“Of course, I would.” You shrug.

You think about it and maybe it would be nice. If nothing else, just so you could get some damn proper sleep. So, you both could get some proper sleep. Maybe if you both got some sleep, you’d be better. Maybe Jason makes a good point but then you think about how happy you are when you see him and when a new movie comes out and your marathons with Gar. You wouldn’t want to trade those feelings for being fearless.

“But not if it means getting rid of everything else. Adrenaline also keeps us alive. I’ve been numb and that’s worse than being scared. Why?” You ask. “You trying to find a cure to fear or something?”

“No.” Jason scoffs, letting out a fake laugh and he was really hoping you’d be on his side with this one. “Just fucking saying, wish there were a cure. At least so I can be Robin.”

“Look, it sucks, Jaybird. But I don’t think the answer to being Robin is being fearless. You had to use that fear to survive out there, too. You’re gonna be okay and then you can go out and be your own hero. You don’t have to be Robin. Dick quit and became Nightwing. You don’t need Bruce to help people.” You say. “And I still think you’re plenty good enough. I’m just saying, if Bruce won’t let you, do it yourself when you get better. You’re good enough.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Jason sighs. “Maybe you’re right but he doesn’t believe in me anymore.” Jason says and you know it’s never your approval he’ll need. And that’s okay but you wish sometimes, like tonight, it were enough. “I’m gonna prove him wrong.”

“Good, fuck Bruce.” You smile softly. “Just…give it a little bit, okay? Keep seeing Leslie, too. She’s been helping.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Jason huffs.

“I’m serious, Jason. You do sleep more now. Seeing her is helping, just keep up with it. And then we’ll go out together. Fuck Bruce. We’ll be our own team.” You let out a soft chuckle.

“Thanks.” Jason lets out a sigh.

You make good points but his mind is made up. He’s going to do this. He doesn’t have time to wait around and hope for the best. He isn’t going to Leslie. He’s going to make the anti-fear drug and he won’t be scared anymore. Maybe you're right. Maybe he’ll be numb to everything but he doesn’t care anymore. He is desperate for a cure. He needs it. Maybe he can only use it to be Robin, just to prove himself. It’ll be a quick fix and that’ll be the end of it. Just use it out there and to sleep. You make good points, but he has to do this. And he is so sorry he has to lie about it.

Jason turns from under you so he can face you and you place your hands on his chest. You have a soft smile and he feels so guilty but you’ll understand. You’ll get it when he can function better, it’s just until this whole shit wears off. You’ll get it. If anyone will, it’ll be you.

“Thanks for not giving up on me.” Jason places his hands on your thighs, his thumbs rubbing softly against your bare skin.

“You and me.” You smile softly.

“Yeah.” Jason smiles looking at the necklace hanging from your neck. You haven't taken it off since he gave it to you. “You and me.”

“You okay?” Your voice is filled with love as you ask. No one ever asked like that before.

“Yeah.” Jason answers simply. “Just glad you’re here.”

“You sure? I’m really worried about you.” Your brows knit together. “You know I’ll always be here. No matter what.”

“I’m not gonna walk off a roof, I swear.” Jason’s eyes widen as a grin tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Good. I just know this is bad for you. I just hope you believe me because I believe in you.”

Jason sits up and places his fingers under your chin. “Thanks. Look, I’ll be fucking fine. Trust me. I got a plan.” Jason offers you a grin.

“That’s still mildly unsettling coming from you.” You smile. “What’s the plan?” You widen your eyes as your hands come to his shoulders, a teasing smirk coming to your lips.

“You’ll see.” Jason drops his hand to your waist.

“Oh, you’re not gonna tell me?” You laugh.

“What’s that you always say?” Jason teases. “We don’t always get what we want.” And he says your name, it comes out a little groveled but his voice is teasing.

“Shut up.” You groan.

“Do you trust me?” Jason asks as his hands squeeze your hips softly.

“Of course, I do. You know I do.” You answer.

“Trust me then. I got a plan. I’ll be back out there and proving everyone else wrong.” Jason holds his head with confidence.

You raise a brow at him. “Why do I have a bad feeling about that?” Jason and plans aren’t always a bad combination but he is desperate and hurt right now. You remember the last plan he had when he felt this way.

“Don’t. I got this. Like you said, I’ll be fine.” Jason presses a kiss to your lips.

“Right yeah, you will be.” You let out a sigh and you think it can’t be that bad. He’d tell you. “Okay. You’ll tell me through, right?”

“Of course, you and me.” Jason gives you a wild grin.

He hopes you won’t be mad.

The next day, Jason rents an apartment and sets up to work on making the anti-fear drug. ?You had plans with Molly anyway and that was the perfect excuse for him to get here all by himself to get to work. Plus, Bruce had to go out of town so that's one less person he has to worry about.

He feels guilt gnawing at his stomach like a bad stomach ulcer. But he works anyway. He works through it because this is the only way. And even if he wanted to back out, he already told Crane everything. If he wanted to back out, Crane could use that information against him. But, he doesn’t want to back out anyway, so he pushes the guilt and anxiety away as he puts together a botched drug.

You grow suspicious over the next few days. Jason is making weird and random excuses not to hang out. He’s always trying to get you to hang out more with Molly or for you to head to Excellent Gotham and get to know Tim better. You always need more friends, apparently. Normally, you wouldn’t think too much of it. Or you’d be worried he was distancing himself to leave. But it’s Jason and he’s definitely hiding something, so you follow him one day.

Your phone rings as you hide in the alley beside the building Jason walked into.

“Hello?” You ask.

“Why are you following me?” Jason asks.

He caught onto you following him a few blocks from the apartment he’s been using. He was Robin and a street kid, he knows when someone is following him. And he feels bad about it. For you to follow him, you have to be really worried. He doesn’t track you unless you get kidnapped and you don’t track him on his phone. You don’t follow each other. But you are. And he needs to find a way to assure you.

“I—“ You pause. “I-I’m not following you.” You scoff.

“Yeah, you are.” Jason states as he walks through the opposite end of the alley.

“Why do you think that?” You raise, crossing your arm across your chest.

“I can see you.” Jason answers, pulling the phone away from his ear as you jump, turning around to see Jason.

To be fair, you should have known he'd figure it out. But, you tried to be subtle and keep a far enough distance away from him. You put in a lot of effort. He's just more vigilant than you are, apparently.

“Oh, hey, Jay.” You give him a cheeky smile with a nervous laugh. “Whatcha doing?”

You might be following him. You might be figuring it out a little sooner than he'd personally like. But, he does find it a little cute. And a little amusing you really thought Jason wouldn't figure it out.

“Walking, what’re you doing, babe?” Jason quips, closing the rest of the distance between you.

You sigh in defeat. “Following you.”

Jason lets out a hearty laugh. “No shit. Why?”

“You’ve been…weird, sneaking around. Worried about you.” You groan as you scrunch your nose.

He's really not trying to worry you. He doesn't want you to worry about him anymore. Even if you would be completely against an anti-fear drug, a part of him thinks maybe if he has it, you won't have too many reasons to worry about him anymore. The way Jason sees it, he was always better off with less fear. Maybe the drug helping him, will help you. In a roundabout way.

“You don’t have to worry. I’m just working on something, alright?” He’s giving you that toothy grin that is always trouble.

“Right…that’s not nearly as reassuring as you think it is.” You quip back, the smile falling short.

“It’s a surprise, alright? Don’t worry so much.”

“A surprise?” You raise a brow.

“A surprise.” Jason echoes and it’s not technically a lie. “You said you trust me.”

“I do.” You groan. “I’m sorry. You just never sneak around. It’s weird, even for you.”

You chew the inside of your cheek and maybe you're being paranoid. You've always been a little on the paranoid side, especially since Jerry. And the paranoia decided to come back in full force with the nightmares. Maybe you're just paranoid, more worried about losing him. Things have been good, between you at least, you always get scared when things are good for too long.

Jason puts his hands on your shoulders. “I’m fine, babe. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Promise?” You ask.

“Promise.” Jason nods.

“Fine.” You sigh, taking his arms off of your shoulders and holding his right hand. “Just…whatever you’re up to, be careful.”

“Always.” Jason beams, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll see you at home, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.” You sigh, kissing him softly.

“Love you.” Jason grins, walking past you.

“I love you, too.” You watch him walk off and you really have a bad feeling about this one. But you can’t follow him and you have no reason not to trust him. So, you let him walk as you head back the way you came.

The next day, Jason gets the formula right. He uses an inhaler to take it and every fear he has ever had, melts away. It works. He did it. He got his cure to fear. So, he heads back to Arkham, high on the drug to confirm to Crane he got it despite the shotty formula.

And Crane already had a plan in motion. He had a feeling Jason would figure it out. So, he set up a plan and it’s time for the plan to go into motion so they can make Gotham theirs. Crane needs Jason to prove it works. What better way than to have him face off with the Joker alone? That’ll surely prove it. But, what Jason doesn’t know, is that Crane knows the downside to life without fear. Of course, he does. He’s the expert in it. Crane already has someone on the outside ready to handle it when this does not go the way Jason thinks it will. But is it perfect for Crane, another thing to hold over Jason’s head to control him.

And Jason doesn’t see the motive. So, Crane tells him to go after the Joker to prove it works and prove to the Bat he can do this. Jason doesn’t need Bruce. He can take care of the Joker all by himself. Jason, lacking all apprehension and self-preservation thanks to the drug, agrees easily. He’s not scared of him.

That next night, Jason convinces you to run out to the store. You were talking about needing some supplies for your scrapbook. You're reluctant at first, but decide to go. It’ll be quick. And Jason gets to work tracking the Joker.

But, with Jason at home, something just does not feel right to you. You make it all the way to the store, hoping the feeling will it go away, but it doesn't. So, you decide to call Molly, maybe Molly can talk you down.

“Hey.” Molly chimes through the phone.

“Hey, you busy?” You ask as you sit on the bike outside of the store.

“No, what’s up?”

You pause. It’s eating at you. Jason was weird as fuck last night when he came home and he’s been weird today. Convincing you to go to the store was weird. Him not coming with is also weird. And you have that feeling in the pit of your stomach. You shouldn’t have left.

“You….uh, I don’t know. I think I’m having a bad feeling so I just…need to talk I think.” You shake your head, the helmet weighing on your head a bit.

“What’s going on? Where’s Jason?” Molly asks.

“Home.” You answer. “I went to the store, he didn’t wanna come.”

“Is everything okay with you guys?”

“Yeah, yeah, all good. Not, uh, not what I wanted to talk about actually.”

“What’s going on?”

“Uh…do you…you know when something bad is gonna happen like really bad and you just….get this feeling? Like…right in the center of your stomach?”

You think you're being paranoid. It only happened once when your mom died. But since Jerry, you're always paranoid and the feeling comes back. Sometimes it’s wrong. Sometimes, it’s just you being paranoid. And you know that’s what this has to be because what could possibly happen to Jason at the manor?

“Yeah.” Molly nods her head because it happened with her mom. She just knew. “You have that feeling?”

“Yeah…I don’t know. Sometimes it's wrong. But it just…I don’t know. Feels bad.” You let out a sigh.

“When did it start?”

“Right before I left. Like, I got on the bike and I just….I don’t know. I think I’m gonna go home.” You shake your head and you can go home. You can always come back tomorrow.

“Are you sure? I mean...what if it’s a coincidence? Two’s a coincidence.” Molly tries to assure you.

“Yeah, I know but….what if it’s not? Can you stay on the phone with me while I get back?” You just can’t do it. It’s not a big deal.

“Yeah, of course.” Molly nods her head and you start the bike, taking off back to the manor. “What do you think it is?” Molly asks, mostly to talk you down.

“I don’t know.” You answer. “Jason’s been acting weird lately. I don’t know. I can’t explain it. It’s not….he’s…something’s off with him and I don’t know why I came. He told me to and maybe I listen to him a little too much sometimes. He said he was fine but I don’t know. I got a real bad feeling.” You groan.

“How far are you from the manor?”

“Like twenty minutes.”

“Well, if something is going on, you’re not that far and you haven’t been gone long. He couldn’t have gotten into too much trouble.” Molly tries to assure you but it doesn’t work.

The more you talk, the more paranoid you get. You know Molly is right. He couldn’t have gotten into too much trouble in the last half hour. But you worry anyway.

“Yeah, hey, can you conference him in? Just…give me some piece of mind before I get back.”

“Yeah, of course.” Molly states as she pulls the phone away from her ear and adds Jason to the call. The two of you listen as the phone rings and rings and rings. And then goes to voicemail.

“Fuck.” You let out a scoff as panic starts to flood your system.

“Maybe he’s--”

“No, he’d answer if it were you while I’m out. Call again.” You state and Molly does as told, getting voicemail again. You shake your head and you pull the throttle back, kicking the bike into third.

“Slow down.” Molly urges. “I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe he’s just in the bathroom.” Molly says as she hears the bike rev further.

“He’d answer. I know he would. Double calls. He would because why would you call him twice in a row unless it were important?” You argue.

You're begging for you to be wrong. You hope against everything in your body you're wrong. This one time, you have to be wrong.

“Okay, so what do you think is going on?” Molly asks.

“I don’t know!” You groan. “That’s the problem. I have no idea what’s been going on with him. I followed him a few days ago and he brushed it off. Like it was no big deal but he was sneaking around behind my back. He said he was planning something or some shit. Whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean.”

“You don’t think he’s like cheating--”

“No! Of course, not. He would never. I….” You bite your tongue because Molly doesn’t know about Robin. “I don’t know what the fuck he’s been doing but now he’s not answering. And I got this feeling. Hold on I’m at a stop light.” You groan, quick-dialing Jason as you watch the red light. The two of you listen as it goes to voicemail. And you try again. Voicemail. “Something’s wrong.” You say as the light turns green and you start weaving between cars.

“Because he’s not answering and you have a feeling? You sound paranoid.”

“I know.” You grit your teeth. “But he’d answer for me. I know he would. Especially calling him twice. He’d answer. I just...remember a few weeks ago when he got his ass kicked?”

“Yeah.” Molly wishes she could forget.

“Okay, so what if he went out on his own to try that guy again or something?” You spit, avoiding details about Robin because you're thinking he’s out Robining alone for some sort of spite against Bruce. He’s still mad. And maybe he froze and it got bad.

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he’s Jason.” You let out a breath.

You get back to the manor, switching the call to your phone instead of your helmet. You make your way into the manor and call for Jason. The manor is silent. It’s not even like that’s abnormal. Jason isn’t really loud and neither is Bruce. But, the quiet and lack of Jason answering is eery and unsettling.

You search your rooms and living rooms and kitchens. He’s nowhere to be found and your heart sinks further. So, you go to the Batcave. Hoping maybe, he’s just training. Maybe Molly is right. Maybe he’s just busy. Maybe his phone died and he didn’t realize it. That’s possible. It’s Jason. He isn’t the type that’s glued to his phone. Maybe.

But that hope dies as you reach the Batcomputer, seeing Amusement Mile pulled up with the Joker’s location.

No, no, no, no.

“I’m sure he went out and he’ll be--”

“Fuck!” You yell as you look to the display case. The Robin suit is gone.

Molly calls your name and now she’s worried.

“What a fucking---” You cut yourself off as you grit your teeth. “Molly, I gotta go.”

“Molly yells your name, her voice now completely panicked.

“I can’t. I’m sorry. I’ll call you. I have to call Bruce.” You rush as you hang up, running over to your own display case holding your suit. You rip the case open and grab the suit as you put Bruce on speaker. “Bruce!?” You yell into the phone as you jump around, getting the suit on as fast as you can.

This can’t be happening. The Joker? Of all fucking people, that’s who he decides he’s going to go after to prove himself? Why the hell would he ever do that? You try your best not to focus on the millions of questions you have for him and the fact you're ready to scream at him for the twenty-four hours. You have to focus because it’s the fucking Joker. He’s taken too much from you.

Bruce can hear the absolute panic in your voice. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Jason! I fucking told you! He went after the fucking Joker!” You scream into the phone as you zip the front of your suit and put the mask over your mouth.

“I told him not to.” Bruce says calmly, but a part of him is panicking.

Bruce doesn’t panic but there is no way you would be calling him and telling him this if it weren’t true. Jason knows better. Why would he go after the Joker? On his own?

“Oh, because Jason is so fucking good at following instructions?!” You run over to the weapons once you're completely suited up.

On the one hand, Bruce could send you after him. That’s at least, two against one. But, it’s the Joker. And Bruce knows he’s more ruthless than anyone. It’s a fun game to him like whack-a-mole. And the prize is always bloodshed. He also knows how you feel and if he sends you, not only could you go out and get killed but you could kill him first. That’s a life on Bruce’s conscious.

“Do not go anywhere. I’m on a flight—“

“No! You don’t get to tell me to fucking sit here and hope for the fucking best. He is everything to me and I am not gonna sit here and let him get fucking killed, Bruce!” You seeth and the Joker should have been killed a long fucking time ago. You swear, if the Joker even lays a single finger on him, you’ll do it her damn self. Bruce is too much of a coward of what he could become if he did it. You don’t care. “The Robin suit is gone, the Joker is gonna fucking kill him and it’s all your fault!” You scream as you gather knives.

“Stay put.” Bruce is stern on the other line. “It will be dangerous and you aren’t prepared--”

“No! Fuck you!” You snip back, gathering as many knives as you can carry. “I’m gonna save him, kill the damn Joker since you’re too damn cowardly to do it and then I’m calling Dick.” You fume on the other end. “I’m gonna beg him if I have to to come and bring us back to San Franciso because fucking clearly, he’s worse off here!” You scream before hanging up the phone and heading towards the exit.

It’s not that he’s scared or even feeling uneasy. His head is clouded with a sense of nothing. Everything is just numb as he cuts the chain into the amusement park.

Jason should be scared and there’s a gnawing at the back of his head that is screaming and howling for him to be scared. To turn around. This is a bad idea. This is bad. There are red flashing lights begging him to turn around but that sense of adrenaline that would normally kick in and give him a little bit of common sense and self-preservation is being suppressed. It doesn’t exist. So, the normally loud and blinding lights that have been causing him so much pain over the last few months, aren’t loud enough. They’re useless.

As he walks further into the amusement park, he finds old and run-down games that grab his attention. This is the Joker’s hideout. It’s known. Of course, the maniac clown would like a closed amusement park. And Jason knows he should be hypervigilant. This is the Joker’s turf and he knows the Joker is here. But the drug keeps suppressing that, too.

He knows he should be more aware and more on guard but the drug gives him a false sense of confidence. He can do this. It’s the Joker. He’s just some crazy clown and if Bruce can take him down several times, Jason can do it. Bruce trained him, right? He knows better though. He should be scared and more aware. but then there’s a noise from behind him and he jumps anyway.

His heart skips before plummeting back into a resting rhythm as he spots a dead man with a creepy smile tugged on display. Jason’s eyes widen and there’s this small, tiny bit of fear that seems to bypass the anti-fear drug like a leaky faucet. And Jason starts to hear and see the red flashing lights in the back of his head in perfect color. But the point is that he isn’t supposed to feel fear at all.

Maybe his formula is a little off. How is he feeling any sense of fear? It’s barely there, barely even noticeable but it’s there enough where if he were in a normal state of mind, that alone would send him into a panic. He’d panic about being worried he’s going to panic. And that thought with the mixing of the drug, makes him miss the creeping steps of the Joker from behind him.

With a quick swing, a crowbar connects to Jason’s head and he’s sent right to the ground.

His head throbs and aches, a horrendous and shooting pain sending his head into a spin as his stomach turns. Blood drips down from his forehead, the warm liquid seeping down his cheek as he looks up to see the menacing and sadistic smile of the Joker looking down at him just as he pulls his arm back for another swing.

This swing connects with his jaw and Jason can hear the bone break. Jason’s mouth pools with blood, the taste of iron already becoming more nauseating. He groans out in agony as the Joker takes another hit to his head, his laugh echoing through the park.

His laugh rings through Jason’s ears with every blow and Jason thinks that laugh can penetrate any type of anti-fear drug. His hearing seems to get worse and worse but that laugh could pierce through solid steel. And he’s not supposed to be scared anymore.

But the Joker hits him again and Jason coughs up blood and fear starts to rush into his veins. Maybe it’s the overwhelming amount of adrenaline making the anti-fear drug wear off a lot sooner than it should. Maybe his formula needs to be tweaked. Maybe the anti-fear drug has a side effect, maybe it doesn’t work when he’s on the brink of death. Jason can’t think straight enough to figure it out. Instead, all he thinks is that he has never been more terrified than he is right now.

SMACK

WHACK

CRACK

Jason’s bones break as Joker takes a break from his face and works on his side and then his arms and legs. He swears this is the worst pain he has ever been in. The Joker hits him over and over and over again, the pain getting worse and worse as tears brim his eyes. He claws at the ground in desperation, a failing attempt to move away. But, the bones are being broken one by one and he can feel the shards with every movement. And he is so fucking sorry.

SMACK

He’s so sorry to Bruce because he should have listened. He should have been a better Robin. He should have listened. He’s so sorry he wasn’t better. He’s so sorry he wasn’t a better son. He tried his absolute best but he could have tried harder. Maybe he could have told Bruce what was going on. Maybe he could have told Bruce more about therapy. Maybe he could have explained anything that ever happened with him. Maybe he could have just tried to be a son. He’s so sorry and all he wants to do is tell Bruce he’s sorry. And thank you.

He wants to thank Bruce for trying. For taking him in. Letting him be his son and letting him be Robin. Bruce, in his weird way, cared about him and loved him. He tried even if he sucked at it sometimes. Jason wants to tell Bruce thank you.

SMACK

Jason screams as the crowbar finally shatters one of his ribs. His breathing is becoming ragged as the Joker takes another swing to Jason’s chest. The Robin suit offers a lot of protection but the Joker is relentless. He’s getting off on every scream and groan and gasp Jason lets out. It’s as if the sight of the blood seeping onto the ground and the backswing of splatter gets him off. He’s having the time of his life beating Jason to death. And Jason has never been more scared.

SMACK

He’s so scared and sorry. He’s so fucking sorry to you and he would give anything to tell you that right now. All he wants to do is call you. He wants to take it all back. He wants to go back home and crawl into your bed with you. He wants to hug you and kiss you and promise he’s doing okay and he’ll be okay. And you’ll be okay. He wants to promise you that it’ll all work out in the end, even if he doesn’t make it. He wants to tell you not to be mad or sad because he doesn’t deserve it. You don’t deserve to dwell on his inevitable death.

You both knew it was going to be him. You liked to fool yourself into thinking maybe it would be you but at the end of the day, you both knew it would always be him. Jason always knew it was gonna be him who died first. And he wants nothing more than to promise you it’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. He doesn’t want you to run yourself into the ground over him. But he knows you and he knows as the Joker takes another horrendous and agonizing hit to his skull, you’ll be miserable. This will be it for you. He’s not gonna make it and you're gonna lose your entire mind. You always said you would. And it’s all his fault.

SMACK

CRACK

He wants to shake you and tell you he’s so fucking sorry. He should have just told you what was going on. He should have told you. You would have helped him. You wouldn’t have been mad or yelled at him. Of all people, you would have understood why he went to Crane. You would have gotten it. You always understood him. And he should have told you.

He shouldn’t have lied to you. He’s so fucking sorry. And he’s so sorry for not loving you better, you deserve someone who’s not gonna do this. You deserve someone who’s not gonna get killed and didn’t even stand a damn chance. And he is so sorry he’s going to leave you alone.

He doesn’t think he’s gonna make it.

The Joker's laugh starts to sound further away as he takes another blow to the right side of his face, the crowbar connecting hard and steady against his ear. Then he can’t hear anything from that ear at all as blood starts to drip out. It’s the worst headache of Jason’s life. He can hear his skull cracking under the blows. He feels the blood seeping through his suit and onto the ground. There’s so much blood. He’s lightheaded and dizzy. It’s so hard to breathe.

SMACK

He’s not gonna make it.

And he finds himself, hoping against all odds, that someone will find him soon anyway. Maybe help will come just in time. Bruce is supposed to be the world’s greatest detective. Jason is his son. He’d figure it out. Maybe he already did and he’s actually close. Maybe he lied to Jason and he’s actually in Gotham and on his way. And maybe, you figured it out.

You're smart. You can fight off the Joker enough to get you both to safety. You were trained by Jason, Dick, Bruce. Jason believes you could do it. Maybe you're on your way. You're smart. You know Jason better than anyone. You’ll figure it out. You always figure it out. Maybe help is coming.

SMACK

Everything goes black for just a few seconds and then it’s blurry and shifted. He can’t see out of his right eye. Jason doesn’t know what’s going on as the Joker takes another smack. His laugh is just a reverberation now. The only sound he can even hear is the cracking of bones. Nothing else. And he doesn’t think he can breathe real well. He can’t move his jaw. He can’t even find the strength to try to move anymore. It all hurts and there’s so much blood.

Jason silently begs for the help he doesn’t realize will be too late just as the Joker takes a larger and harder blow to the front of his face.

He doesn’t think he’s gonna be able to hold on.

You drive to the abandoned carnival, coming up on one of the gates. Jason’s bike and helmet are right outside and the chain to the gate has been cut. You know. You know this isn’t good. It’s completely silent and you are terrified.

Silence can’t be good and a part of you hopes that maybe the Joker wants to play with Bruce. Maybe the Joker wants to kill Jason in front of him, to taunt him, that’ll give you some time to have a plan and get you both out of there, maybe. Or Bruce could make it in time to save you both.

But you creep around the grounds, cautiously but quickly. You're paying close attention to your head, making sure you don’t miss it if the throbbing you're certain will start. But, it doesn’t. Instead, you reach an open tunnel with carnival games and there’s someone lying on the ground.

It’s dark and despite you knowing damn well if it were the Joker on the ground, Jason would be over him bragging and cheering for himself, you hope it’s the Joker anyway. You hope against everything that the person laying on the ground is the Joker.

The closer you get though, the more you get the picture of the yellow and black cape.

Jason.

“No…” Your lip quivers as you pause. You're terrified to get any closer. It can’t be Jason. It can’t be. It can’t be. It can’t be. He’s strong and smart. He knows better. “No, no, no, no…” Your voice cracks as you start to walk closer and you can see him now.

There’s blood everywhere. He’s laying in a puddle of red and there’s blood splatter on the ground and the games. A bloody crowbar is tossed to the side and Jason is completely still. Your heart is in your throat as you close the distance, dropping to your knees.

“Jay…” Your voice is a whimpered whisper as you put your hand on his shoulder, pulling him to face you.

His body is completely limp and as he turns, you get the gruesome sight of what the Joker has done.

Jason’s face is mangled and unidentifiable. You can see his teeth through his jaw while there’s blood and bruising around the other side of his face. His face is swollen and paler than usual. There’s blood smeared across his face and on his lips. Some of his hair is wet with blood and sticking to his forehead. And his eyes are closed, not even trying to open.

Your heart shatters in that instant. The weight of the world has been on your shoulders for years and with the sight of his body, the world finally falls. It tumbles around you, breaking into unfixable pieces. The foundation keeping you steady is lifeless and cold and bloody.

Your lip quivers as tears start to trickle down your cheeks. Everything around you feels heavy and cold. The lump in your throat is so big and hard, you swear it’ll suffocate you finally and you’ll finally be out of this misery. The reaper creeps back from the shadow of your head, a smile similar to Joker’s shining back at you and he’s finally won. He won in a way you never thought he would.

Killing the last good parts of you, by killing him.

“Jason…” You whimper, one of your hands hesitantly going to his neck to check for a pulse. Nothing. There’s no pulse, just cold skin under the blood. “No…” You whine, tears now blurring your vision. You lean down, trying to hear him breathe and there’s nothing. He’s completely still. No breathing. Nothing. Just lifeless. “Jay, please, you can’t die.” You let out a sob, pulling Jason’s body into your lap. “I love you. You can’t die. I need you.” Your words are slurred as your nose runs and the cries grow louder.

You sob, rocking back and forth. You knew it would happen. You knew. And you should have known Jason was up to something when he didn’t go with you today. You should have known. He can’t be dead.

You swallow the lump in your throat, moving to rest Jason’s head flat on the ground while you pull out your phone, hands covered in blood. You call Bruce, putting the phone on speaker and then you start CPR. You swear it’ll be useless but you have to try anyway.

You swore every single day that you would never give up on him. And CPR isn’t going to help, but fuck it, you're not going to give up. So, you try anyway. You have to fucking try.

“Did you find him?” Bruce asks as soon as he answers.

Those words get you to let out another cry, your arms shaking as you push down on Jason’s chest. “Bruce!” You scream as your arms tremble.

Everything stops for Bruce. Pain shoots through his heart like a barbed wire arrow. He knows. He knows that cry because he’s let it out himself all those years ago. He’s heard other people. Babs. Dick. He knows and yet, it can’t be true. Not his son.

“What happened?” Bruce shakes his head, using all of his willpower not to let his voice shake.

“What do I do?” You cry, your cries are loud but there’s a weakness in your voice. “He’s not breathing and the Joker beat him with a fucking crowbar! Bruce, what do I do?” You beg Bruce to help. Your voice is slurred and panicked, pleading with all of the energy in you. He’s fucking Batman, he has to help. “What do I do? He’s not breathing. There’s so much blood, Bruce, help, please. You have to save him. Help me save him, please. Bruce, I can’t lose him, I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t.” You keep pumping on Jason’s chest but you swear it’s not working and not just because the Robin suit is so sturdy you're barely getting a compression in. You beg him and beg him, as if your pleas are enough to bring Jason back.

“I’ll send someone, keep doing CPR.” Bruce instructs with a square jaw.

“Bruce, I don’t…..I don’t think it’s helping.” You wail and you can’t breathe. It’s so hard to breathe. “I don’t think…..Bruce….” You let out a cough as your elbows shake and you're losing rhythm of the chest compressions.

“Keep going, don’t stop until they get there. I’m landing soon.” Bruce instructs and he never should have gone. He should have seen it. How the hell did he miss this?

“There’s so much blood…Bruce.”

Barbara Gordon and a few trusted people close to Bruce show up first. They find you still trying to perform CPR. You're slower now, and you're not getting the impact you need to make a difference. Your arms are weak and you're nearly hyperventilating and choking on your own tears.

The paramedics try their best to get you off of him but you scream and yell and cry for them to get off of you. You shove them off of you and you try and try and try. Bruce is still on the phone, telling you to let them do their job but you can’t. You can’t do it. You can’t because then you give up. You can’t give up on him. Not him.

“Hey.” Barabra wheels over a few feet away from you and she gets a look at the damage as her stomach turns and she knows he’s gone. “You need to stop.” Her voice is calm as she tries to keep it together.

“No!” You scream and you feel too weak to deal with any of it. He was your everything. “I can’t.”

The paramedics look at Babraba waiting to be told what to do and they know, too. His face is completely destroyed. He’s unrecognizable. The only reason Barabra even knows it’s Jason is because of the Robin suit. There’s brain matter on the ground. There’s more blood on the ground than there is in his body.

“Bluejay.” Barbara calls again, her voice cracking and this gets you to look at her. Even in the dark, Babara can see the redness of your eyes and the tears shining on the top half of your cheek above your mask. “He’s gone.” Babraba’s eyes go misty and you shake your head.

“No…” You whine and you finally stop but your hands stay on his chest. “No, not…no.” You let out a sob and you can’t even see Barbara anymore, the tears have blurred everything together. “I can’t.” You fall back, one of the paramedics catching you so you don’t hit the pavement too hard. The other paramedic jumps in and to Jason, just to be completely positive.

You shove the paramedic off of you and walk the few feet weakly to Barbara. “I-I…what--” You suck in a harsh breath, your breathing so rapid you feel like you're going to pass out.

“Sit down.” Barbara tries to keep her composure and you collapse with a loud sob, your entire chest feeling like it’s been set on fire with gasoline.

It can’t be him. Why him? He was good. He was a good person and funny and smart and kind. Jason had a heart of gold. Why did it have to be him? It never should have been him. He always deserved so much better. He never deserved this. This isn’t fair. It’s not right and it’s so fucking painful you wish the ground would just open up and swallow you whole.

“Babs!” You scream. “I-I-I don’t I don’t wanna do it anymore.” Your teeth grit together as your words are wet and slurred.

You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe. It’s hard to breathe and your chest feels like it’s all caving in under the pressure. Maybe putting your heart in a pressure cooker would be less painful than this. Everything fucking hurts.

Barbara rests a hand on your shoulder and she knew Jason was reckless but she didn’t think he’d ever actually get himself killed. He was smart. Smarter than this. You cover your face with your hands, not caring you're covered in Jason’s blood. You just want everything to stop. The pain and the world and time and everything. You want it all to be over.

“I’m so sorry.” Barbara offers and there is nothing she can say that’s going to make this better.

“I can’t.” You spit and push Barabra’s hand off you before getting to your feet.

You push through the pain, running away. Barbara yells after you but you do not care. You make yourself run through the pain and the weakness. If you can do anything, it’s run from it. You want to run as far as your legs will let you. To the bike where you can speed away from it all. Speed so fast the pain goes away. The agony will fade if you run. You can do it. You tell yourself you can as tears fall down your face. You toss the helmet on and hop on the bike, and leave. You've always been good at running. You can run from it.

You're in the bathroom back at the manor, scrubbing the blood off of your hands through tears. Everything is blurry and painful. It’s burning and agonizing and stabbing. It aches and throbs. Breathing is the hardest thing you've ever done. You try to get in a full breath but every time you do, a sob immediately follows and it’s like the wind is knocked out from your lungs all over again. Your head is spinning with a throbbing headache and your eyes are so puffy you can barely open them. But, there’s blood staining your hands, Jason’s blood, and you have to get it off. You have to get it off.

Get it off. Get it off. Get it off.

You grit your teeth so hard that your jaw starts to pulse and you hate it. You hate this so much. You hate it and you want him back. You need him. He is everything to you. He is your everything. He is your best friend and you love him more than you've ever loved anyone. And he’s supposed to take care of you and you're supposed to take care of him. And it’s not fair and it’s senseless and it was brutal and you scream at the top of your lungs before falling to the floor. You lean against the counter, pulling your legs to your chest as you put your hands on your face because you can’t do this anymore

You talked about what life you could have together. And you swear you saw it. For the first time, you were optimistic about a future. Because you had him. He gave you all of this hope for the future because Jason could survive anything. He was supposed to survive anything. He was good at it. Dodging whatever fucked up shit the world was going to throw at him. And now he’s not. He didn’t dodge fast enough. And you were supposed to have an apartment one day together. And make dinner together. And have a dog and a cat because Jason always really liked cats. He’d come home and you’d clean up the blood and he’d do the same for you when patrol got a little messy. You were supposed to have a life together.

You don’t know how you're supposed to get up again after this.

And then Molly walks in.

She’s been crying since Bruce called her and asked her to check on you. He’s worried about what you might do and seeing you on the floor absolutely hysterical, she knows why. Of course, she knew it would be bad. Her best friend just lost the person she loves. Of course, you're going to be a mess but….you're covered in blood and Bruce didn’t tell her what happened. And on top of that, you still have the suit on, minus the mask, which is another surprise Molly did not expect to get today.

Molly says your name with hesitance as she walks in, sitting on the floor in front of you.

You look up, moving your hands. “M-Molly.” You whine, your bottom lip trembling, the hood of your suit barely lets Molly get a glimpse of your face that’s covered in blood as well.

Molly nods. “Bruce called.” Her voice is just above a whisper.

“He….Molly…h-h-he…d-di-died..” You let out a sob as you shake your head and you just want it to be done. You're so fucking tired.

“I know.” Molly lets out a soft cry, sniffling softly.

“H-he’s dead.” Your entire body jerks with another cry as you hang your head. You're so fucking tired. Tired of all of it.

“I know.” Molly closes the distance between you, pulling you into a hug and allowing you to completely break against her. And then Molly starts crying because Jason was her best friend, too. “I’m so sorry.” Molly manages to get out.

“I can’t do it.” Your voice is weak against her.

“Can’t what?” Molly pulls away, her hands still on your shoulders as if trying to stabilize you.

Any of it. You can’t do any of it. You're covered in his blood and it all hurts. You're weak and tired and exhausted. It’s all agonizing and paralyzing and numb. It’s all too much. And you just cannot do any of it anymore.

“Blood and…” Your breathing is labored, your head swaying slightly. And you're so lightheaded and nauseous. “Do this.”

“One thing at a time.” Molly stands up and grabs a wash rag, wetting it with soap and water. Molly can break later. You need help. “Let me see.” You hand your hand to Molly and Molly starts cleaning.

Molly expects to find some sort of wound but she finds nothing. The more she scrubs, the more blood comes off and it’s just your skin under it. And she shakes her head because what the fuck happened to Jason that got you covered in his blood? A part of her almost doesn’t want to know. But, she has to ask anyway. Bruce was a little vague. So, after a few minutes, with your cries becoming quieter, Molly decides to ask.

“C-can I ask you what happened?” Molly is seeing that you're actually one of the suited vigilantes that roam Gotham so she’s guessing something with a bad guy went a little south.

And you don’t care anymore. None of it matters anymore. Jason is dead. It’s not his secret anymore. You're in your suit anyway and Bruce isn’t home. You're all alone anyway.

“Joker beat him to death with a crowbar.” You answer plainly Molly feels her stomach turn.

“What?” Molly’s heart stops in her chest.

You nod as you sniffle, watching Molly clean the remainder of Jason’s blood from your hands. “He was Robin.” Your voice is hoarse as you talk.

Molly pauses, blinking at you and she’s so confused. And this whole thing is growing more and more unsettling. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked.

“He…Jason was Robin?”

You nod again, sniffling. “Yeah.”

“You found him?” Molly asks. Why did you have to find him? Of all people, it just had to be you. Of course, it was you.

“Yeah.” More tears start to fall from your eyes and you can see him every time you blink. That’s going to be your last memory of him and it hurts so fucking bad you want to leave.

“I’m…I’m sorry. Is this all his?” Molly’s voice grows a little panicked. She can’t even imagine the sight you walked in on.

“There was a lot of blood. The head bleeds a lot.” You clear your throat before you sniffle again.

Molly is terrified you're going to start giving her gory details. Not on purpose but because you're too tired to care. The crying is slowing down and that always means you will talk. You stop caring and then you talk. Molly doesn’t want to know and you don’t need to relive the horror verbally.

“Okay, um…okay you stay here. I’m gonna get you some clothes.” Molly stands up quickly.

“C-can you…Jsaon’s room, there’s a…maroon hoodie. It was his favorite.” You look up at her as Molly heads to the doorway.

“Yeah, I’ll be back.” Molly nods quickly.

You let out another cry and you don’t think you’ll be able to survive this one. It’s too heavy. It’s too much. There’s only so much one person can take. And you swear as you shiver on the bathroom door with broken sobs tearing up your throat that Jason Todd was your breaking point. Jason Todd is dead and you swear you’ll never recover.

prev. chapter | next chapter

series masterlist | masterlist | tag list

A/n: So, this is what Jason looks like in his death scene and he looks scared. Which, is probably a plothole because Titans (or them trying to throw us off since it's episode 1 ?? idk) but I decided I was just gonna use that anyway for fun lol Also fun fact, I was originally not going to include his death scene since we saw it in the show but then I rewatched UTRH and was encouraged by my best friend to make it worse so I did. And I'm really glad I included it lol I'm sorry but I really like how it turned out lol

Tag list: @fairyofshampoo // @italiana-20 // @jasontoddsmentaldisorders // @purplerose291 // @lovelessamai // @makaelaseresin // @lenidaslenchen // @mayfieldss // @ghostkingblake // @im-done-with-this-im-out // @velvetskies // @lilylovelyxo // @cryinghotmess // @yesimwriting // @vivian-555 // @stainedstardom // @baebeepeach // @legend-o-zelda // @harleycao // @somehow-lovable-trash // @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx // @deyja-the-duck // @jasontoddslover // @captainmarvels-blog // @totallynotkaibiased // @scarlovesyou // @whydoyoucare866 // @littlemeowmeow1000

#jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x reader #red hood fanfic #red hood fanfiction #red hood x reader #titans fanfic #titans fanfiction #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction #petrichor

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fabuloustrash05 · 10 months

Note

rank the canon love interests for each turtle, gO (i can't remember if you have already lol)

*cracks knuckles* It’s time for a lightening round of ship ranking!

Disclaimer: I’m rating these girls based on their romantic relationships with the Turtle that crushed on them/had a relationship with. This is NOT a ranking of their individual characters.

Leonardo

Unnamed Women/Yumi’s Mother (Mirage)

2/10

She was just a figment of Leo’s imagination so does she even count?

They have a daughter together which is nice, but also HOW DID THAT WORK??

Raven Shadowheart (Mirage)

7/10

Seems like a good ship

F in the chat for Leo, even when he has a GOOD relationship it can’t last long.

Lotus Blossom (1987)

10/10

The overall BEST Leo love interest.

The fact she gave him a flower to remember her by <3

Lotus deserves to make a comeback!

Can’t believe Nickelodeon chose INCEST over her!!

Karai (2012)

-1000000000000000000000000/10

WHY DID THEY HAVE LEO PULL A LUKE SKYWALKER?!

Koya (IDW)

2/10

I can definitely see the appeal and aesthetically they look good together but the CONTEXT of their relationship is BAD.

LEO IS THE REASON SHE IS DISABLED!!

Lita confirms they get together in the future, but WHY?? They have no romantic chemistry or hints that they like each other romantically. Maybe SHOW us instead of TELLING us!!

Toxic 95% of the time

April (Mutant Mayhem)

7/10

I usually heavily dislike April x Turtle ships, but I can’t deny that they were cute.

Leo’s moment of falling for her was actually kinda cute and funny.

His crush on her is not shoved down our throats like OTHER April x Turtle ships *cough* 2012 Apritello *cough*

I like that they went to prom together <3

But again, I don’t think April should be shipped with any of the Turtles and I don’t see this ship lasting in the long term…

Seems like it’s a one sided crush like Dipper and Wendy from Gravity Falls, so I’m not convinced this will last in the upcoming show/sequel

Raphael

Ninjara (Archie Comics)

2/10

They’re cute but it’s not a really interesting ship

It looks too much like a cheap OC x Canon pairing

Mezcaal (Archie Comics)

7/10

The first and only time one of our Turtles boys have been married, congrats Raph!

A badass married couple

I hope her and Raph are forever happy together running that bar

Mona Lisa (1987)

10/10

Iconic!

Her kissing Raph then calling him “doll” is so cute!

She IS the ideal Raphael love interest. Her and this ship truly left a major impact on the fandom.

She is the go to Raph love interest people think of in any iteration (2003, Rise & MM fans all wanted and made their own version of her in the show)

Joi (2003)

1/10

Meh…

Idk if she counts but I added her cause some people shipped them

She is Raph’s only human "love interest" and it doesn’t feel right to me.

Out of all the Turtles, Raph being with a human feels weird, the other Turtles I’m fine with being with humans. Raph has always been known to date non human characters so this ship doesn’t look/sit right to me, and doesn’t feel like a relationship that would go anywhere.

Alopex (IDW)

2.5/10

I just don’t like it

I guess it’s because I was introduced to Alopex in the 2012 series where in that she’s a 30 year old woman and Raph is a teenager, so this relationship feels weird to me.

Kinda toxic at times tbh but still cute when they need to be (which is rare)

She’s 17 and Raph is 20… But that was apparently “retconned” so Idk what to think

Y’gythgba/Mona Lisa (2012)

10000000000000000000000000000000000/10

THE BEST LOVE INTEREST AND SHIP IN THE ENTIRE SHOW!!

The ONLY GOOD and HEALTHY relationship in the show!

“What a woman…” ICONIC!!

Raph was loyal and Mona was devoted to him!

He falls for her because she punched him in the face. That is both hilarious and very in character for Raph XD

She’s as much in love with him as he is with her!

Badass warrior power couple!

Short King x Girlboss

I LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!

Donatello

Jhanna (2003)

3/10

Another “Meh” ship to me.

Similar to Joi, does she even count?? Apparently she does to some people and its a ship for 03 fans.

Fan versions of her and this ship from different interactions (1987 & Rise) are more interesting than the actual canon version of them in 03 tbh

I guess I’m just not convinced of this ship and I don’t like how they look together. It’s hard to explain.

April (2012)

4/10

Could’ve worked with a cute “friends to lovers” story but the writers ruined it.

Kinda cute in season 1, got worse after that. Season 5 was them at their best but that’s only because it wasn’t shoved down our throats by that point.

The love triangle brought out the worst in them (and Casey).

I like them better as best friends.

Hottake: Donnie was more of the problem than April.

Like I said in Leo’s ranking, April should NOT be a love interest for any of the Turtles.

Big Foot (2012)

-1/10

Why did this happen??

Batgirl (Batman Crossover Comic)

2/10

Got a thing for redheads, huh Don?

Not a huge fan of big crossover shipping like this, but his crush on her was cute so I’ll admit that.

It was sweet she gave him a kiss on the cheek before leaving. So good for you Don!

Mona Lisa (IDW)

0/10

JUSTICE FOR RAPH X MONA LISA!!

Obviously not my cup of tea.

The Nerd x Nerd trope… wow, so original…

She’s a bitch to him at times and invalidates his trauma.

I really thought her and Jennika were gonna be a thing (which I would’ve preferred more tbh), so her with Donnie as a massive disappointing surprise and feels so forced.

Michelangelo

Princess Seri (Mirage)

2/10

Tragic. She betrayed him. That bitch.

WHAT HAPPENED TO THEIR BABIES??

Also… MIKEY FUCKS??!

Kala (1987)

9/10

UNDERRATED SHIP!!

Two party loving teens who just wanna skate and have fun!

They keep pictures of each other as mementoes. THAT’S ADORABLE!!

Much like Leo x Lotus, we need this ship to make a comeback.

Buffy (1987)

0/10

FUCK THAT BITCH!! SHE TREATED HIM LIKE TRASH!!

Sara Hill (Image Comics)

4.5/10

I’m a sucker for the Turtles dating alien lizard woman.

I like the “friends with benefits” relationship they have. Feels like a Mikey thing he would do regarding his love life.

I love how they bonded over their love of cartoons. Very cute.

She left him for another man though… WTF SARA?!?! YOU BROKE MIKEY’S AND MORE IMPORTANTLY MY HEART!!

Mitsu (TMNT III)

1/10

Bland and boring (Just like the movie!)

Princess Trib (IDW)

5/10

RESPECT TO MIKEY GETTING ALL THE PRINCESSES!! AND THE NEUTRINOS TOO??

Cute, but in the end I prefer him with Kala.

They are the only good Turtle ship (not counting Jennika and her girlfriend Sheena). But that ain’t saying much from me cause they’re still bland at times with little to go with.

How are they one of the better ships in IDW yet they are the most bland and uninteresting couple??

Renet (2012)

9/10

Very adorable!!

Works well romantically and platonically.

They’re both goofballs who are misunderstood by their peers.

Would be a 10 but Mikey was unfaithful...

Renet confirms they have some kind of future together.

I personally can’t see them staying together in the future, maybe having a friends with benefits relationship like him and Sara.

Shinigami (2012)

1/10

I like their dynamic, but not as a romantic one.

“Someone will die…” “OF FUN!” vibes.

Shini is obviously a lesbian and is dating Karai so…

Headcanon: They have playdates with their cats.

April (Bayverse)

0/10

WHAT DID I LITERALLY SAY IN LEO AND DONNIE’S RANKINGS??!!

The one Mikey crush that literally gives me the ick. I don’t like it.

C R I N G E

MIKEY SWEETIE SHE’S A FULL GROWN ADULT!! YOU ARE A CHILD!!

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thewertsearch · 1 year

Text

Asks Comp 5/6

Just like John Cusack, hoo hoo hoo is a universal constant.

I was so excited for her conversations :( And thank you very much! This comic's a slippery one, but that's part of the fun!

I do like the idea of pairing every Homestuck ship with a political ideology. It'd be the perfect storm of discourse, from about five directions at once!

Thank you! I don't think I'll even be in the country for my birthday this time around, so it'll be a quiet celebration.

I think it could still fit as a kismesissitude, even if they aren't all that unfriendly with each other. After all, Karkat's antagonism towards John is only skin-deep, and wears off fast.

FEFERI: There's no reason to be scared! They are not as terrible as they look. FEFERI: When Derse is destroyed, I am going to go to sleep and prove it. FEFERI: I will prove it to you, and to them as well. KARKAT: THEM? FEFERI: Our new friends! [...]

Oh, that does make more sense. Dang, I really liked the idea that the Horrorterrors were scared of Players.

Karkat made S-Tier for a reason. He's on fire this Act, and it's been great to watch!

You don't even get to examine your surroundings!!

I'm even more glad now that I'm using Homestuck Collection. It's clear that I'd have missed a lot without it, and it's a sad state of affairs that the comic's official website seems to butcher it so badly. Definitely recommend checking out the Collection, if just to play the walkarounds yourself!

Underutilized aspects of the trolls: Feferi Edition! [...] I do have to say that, when I think about her, I don't generally remember the Horrorterror connection. But Gl'bgolyb is a Horrorterror, after all. Feferi may be legitimately bubbly and sweet, but of the two races she is meant to unite, it might just be the Horrors and Humans. She's an eldritch Disney princess. Remember that now. ~LOSS (19/5/23)

Does that make Gl'bgolyb her Fairy Elder Godmother?

Ugh, tell me about it. It looks normal when the post is in my drafts, but breaks when I publish it.

I could go back and fix each post manually, but I don't have the time or the patience. Maybe I'll write a script to do it when I release Wertsearch: The Director's Cut.

Thanks! I've had Cat send a transcript over, and I've been copying it for quotes. There was a risk of mild spoilers if I accidentally read ahead, but if it means I can stop quoting entire conversations manually, I'll happily take that chance.

Damn it! There goes my Sollux Was Swapped At Birth theory.

I like these ideas! It's fun to speculate about what our species 'thing' would be, since we don't have any alien species to compare ourselves to IRL.

The idea of NPCs as Player templates is awesome, too. That implies an absolutely wild session in Sburb's past, featuring the Sleuths, the Midnight Crew and the Exile squad as Players.

What would Sburb even look like without Carapacians? Would the chess match in Skaia still exist, just without sentient pieces? I kind of love this idea.

Yeah, it's always nice when a story's really kicked into gear.

Beginnings and endings are difficult, and I usually enjoy the middle of a story more than either. By my count, we're about one-third of the way through Homestuck, and it's definitely found itself.

Thanks! I have a couple of ideas about which of my ships will be supported by canon, and which won't - but we shall see what develops. The comic might surprise me!

Canon Equius design.

It's a big question, and I don't know if I can fully answer this one, given how much of Sburb is still shrouded in mystery.

That said, the first thing I'd change is how Players are assigned. Instead of creating people who have no choice but to participate, I'd look for volunteers in the planets I've seeded. If Players have to be born in the Veil, then those volunteers would have their timelines rewritten, retroactively turning them into meteor babies - but only after they've volunteered for the role.

Also - does a session have to destroy the planet it's seeded on? If it was me in charge, I'd redirect the Reckoning's portals somewhere else. Literally anywhere else, actually. As far as I can tell, the only reason they were pointed towards Earth in the first place was for thematic reasons. The Sallyverse has different themes.

Yep. No special reason why - I've just been pretty busy lately, especially on the weekends. They've also been rolling over onto Mondays more often, too.

I get to 'em when I get to 'em - but I always get to them in the end.

Ooh, that's a deep cut. Possibly coincidental, but I wouldn't be too sure - I wouldn't put anything past Hussie.

I've heard of Higurashi, but I know very little about it. It is my tenuous understanding that it's a murder mystery starring several wealthy families - or is that its sister story, Umineko?

I don't want to look them up, because I might actually check them out at some point, and it is apparently very important to go in unspoiled. Potential future liveblog material, indeed.

I've speculated that the Knight is a protector class - and maybe Knights also protect themselves, hiding behind a particular trait or emotion which serves as their 'shield'.

Puréed puppet, unfortunately.

Now that I've seen all the troll typing quirks, I'm pretty sure I've actually encountered some of these people in the wild! I've definitely seen Terezi's leetspeak, or something very similar, on an anime forum or two.

#full liveblog #act 5.2 #asks

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leoruby-draws · 6 months

Note

in your training wheels AU w rose, jay, and eddie … i think it’s clear that eddie has a crush on rose, but who would end up being the pairing between the two boys with rose considering jason and rose are a “couple” in main continuity? also, love the au and amazing art! :)

Yes, there does seem to be something going on with all three of them, doesn't it? Atm, everyone's just kids, so romance won't really pop up (unless like, for a gag or whatever). Maybe as they hit their teens, there might be crazy love triangle drama going on. Its ok if it does, they are superheroes, dumb drama is the name of the game in DC comics lol. Lemme see if I can get my thoughts in order for this..

Your 100% correct that Eddie has an enormous crush on Rose, just like in canon. Also like canon, it was pretty much a love at first sight kinda thing. As for why, well there's the fact that he thinks Rose is very pretty and cute. But also he loves how skilled she is as a fighter and how dedicated she is to her craft. She can do anything according to him! Even as they grow older, that infatuation never really goes away. If anything, it grows stronger.

It's also extremely obvious to just about everyone on the team (and off!), only question is if Rose knows and just ignores it. Or if she's genuinely oblivious, she's pretty focused on protecting her mom and training her martial art skills.

As for Rose, she's not interested in romance at the moment (she is a kid after all), that might change as she gets older and gains more control over her life. And while she may or may not be aware of Eddie's crush on her, she might have a minor thing for Jason. It's not nearly as overt at Eddie's thing, so only some of the more perceptive team members might know. It's kinda of embarrassing for her to be all 'girly' like that.

As for why Jason, well not only is it a reference to canon JayRose, there's also the fact that in this au Jason was willing to help her out when he didn't even know who she was. He's a dedicated fighter like her, smart, and she thinks he's cute (at least once he reveals his secret id).

This crush is something that develops very slowly over the years, it kinda catches her off guard almost. I don't know if she ever tries to ask him out or anything, once Jason hits his fifteenth birthday, she might just miss her chance perhaps...

As for Jason, well that's just a mystery! But seriously, whatever his own opinions on all this, he seems to be keeping his cards close to his chest. Does he gain a crush on Rose too? Is it Eddie he has a crush on? Is he jealous of how easily Rose steal's Eddie's attention? Or does he see Eddie as competition for Rose? Every member of the Outlaws has a different idea on what's happening on Jason's end, and none of those idea's overlap lol. Just like in the fandom, every member of the team seems to read Jason differently (and for some, just straight up don't understand him).

It seems for now, Jason would rather not think about stuff like that and just concentrate on having fun with friends! He's just a kid you know!

Anyways here's a funny doodle that's just perfect for this question:

Thanks for the question, that was interesting to think about! Have a good day!

#ask #Rose Wilson #Eddie Bloomberg #Jason Todd #my art #sorry my thoughts are all jumbled up #was kinda spitballing there for a bit #also I just realized i fucked up on Jason's arm in that pic #sigh...#I suppose I should've also added that in the comics #Jason doesn't seem to have in interest in dating at all #but it's hard to tell if thats due to innate nature #or due to his traumatic life #so i'm not sure how to incorporate that into this carefree au Jason

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steviewashere · 3 months

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Lighthouse

Pairing: Platonic Steve Harrington & Robin Buckley Rating: General CW: None Apply! Tags: Post Canon, Post Season Four, Robin Buckley Has Nightmares, Steve Harrington Has Nightmares, Robin Buckley is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Platonic Cuddling & Snuggling, Mild Hurt/Comfort

🦦—————🦦

Being friends with Steve Harrington is one of Robin Buckley’s favorite pastimes.

It doesn’t matter where she is or what she’s doing, as long as Steve is by her side. She’d give up everything at the snap of fingers if it meant she still got to be friends with him. And, maybe that’s too clingy or co-dependent or what say you, but she thinks it’s the best thing in the world. To be his friend. She’s never been best friends with somebody like him, where she is chosen every time, and he makes sure she knows that.

He takes her on drives, long ones, short ones, ones that loop, ones that stretch. In turn, she has sizzling hot gossip about the ghosts of his past. “Did you hear that Tommy and Carol broke up? Yeah—His brother, you know him, he’s in my graduating class—Said that Tommy knocked some girl up. I know! It’s a whole thing.” Yeah, she’s really good at finding the stuff that riles him up and ruffles his feathers and blows the socks right off his feet. And he’s amazing to talk to. She’s usually not one for chats, considering how her mouth will wander, but something about him is able to keep up. He keys in with his own reactions or will mimic what she’s doing. Steve even prompts her by asking curious questions and getting facts wrong, which she knows that he knows what he’s talking about—he just seems to enjoy keeping her talking.

Steve is her favorite pastime because at every hangout and within every conversation, there’s something new to learn about him. He doesn’t like silence, it reminds him of his lonely growing up and his stupid absent parents. The pool is a sore spot and she joins him in solidarity, sneering at the cold blue water, nose upturned on the back porch. His interests are limited, but he loves to talk about them. Baseball cards, Sports Illustrated magazines, Archie comic books, car parts, and history are his favorites. He’s amazing at math, just hated how teachers droned. He’s so incredibly intelligent, but will act otherwise if it gives the people around him something to laugh about.

He is selfless.

He is lovely.

He is her best friend.

Tonight, Steve Harrington is also the beacon of light that douses the shadows of another Upside Down tinged nightmare. The lighthouse to her dangerous ocean. And she is the ship guided to safety.

They were having a sleepover for the one year anniversary of the day they didn’t die in that cold bunker. He had provided some food. Warm, bubbling, gooey lasagna. And he lent her a pair of industrial level earplugs. Even turned on a couple of box fans to drown out any other noise. His bed is big enough for the two of them, to share the same blanket, and wrap around each other like frightened kittens new to the world.

It all wasn’t enough, though, and she woke up sweating, gasping, and sobbing. Her body frozen and eyes darting. Tears flooding her vision. She couldn’t tell her reality from the nightmare, everything was dark and everything was loud and all of it was too cold. She couldn’t free herself, much like she couldn’t move on that chair, tied up to what she thought was a corpse. And for all she knows, the worlds bleeding together, Steve isn’t alive.

But where there are shadows, however bleak they may be, there is the sure tell of light. In the form of a comfortable weight brushing over her head. Combing through her tacky, knotted hair. Soothingly massaging in little circles over her scalp. A sound nestled in the chaos of it all. So quiet and hesitant and small. Like a breeze tickling through fallen leaves in dew wet grass. It is hushing, it is whispering, and overall it’s nurturing.

“‘Eve?” She mumbles. Her chest concave and her fingers trembling. Face wet with tears. Cheeks burning and lips chapped and mouth undeniably dry. “‘Eve, are you there?” She croaks.

“I’m here, Robbie,” he responds. Light on the rocks. There are rocks and they are wet. “I’m next to you, Robbie. Right next to you,” he murmurs, blanket soft and cushioned. The rocks are wet and they are jagged.

She steers her gaze, to the shoreline, to the beach. His face is mere inches away from hers. Eyes dark in the inky blackness of his bedroom, though shiny and large. Light towards the shoreline and she is veering, away from the rocks. From the shadows. The jagged lines and oncoming collision. Robin follows the darker parts of his face, more noticeable with the differences in shades. His moles are the first thing she finds, scattered and varying in shape. And then his eyelashes, fluttering on his cheeks every time he blinks. Steve’s eyebrows, dense towards the bridge of his nose, lighter near the outer corners of his eyes. He’s beautiful and here and alive. With that, she allows herself to break once more.

Silently, though. A wobbling smile. And she allows him to shift his palm to her face. Instead of petting her hair, he brushes the tears. Slow with his thumb. Barely pressing into her skin to collect the fat tear droplets. Swiping them towards her ear. She allows herself to breathe, to go boneless against the mattress again, head still lolled on her pillow. Face open and pleasant towards Steve.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Steve hesitates.

For how loud they can be, with gossiping and arguing over movies and butting in about each other’s dating lives, he is quiet when necessary. Always soft and welcoming in the darkness of it all. She knows it’s because he’s lived in this chaos for so long. He knows it. He’s breathed it. He is selfless.

“Scoops nightmare,” she whispers. Closes her eyes and swallows. The saliva clicking in her throat. She’ll ask for water later. “They—Those men killed you.”

His hand is still on her face, but it’s stilled. He tangles his other hand with one of hers. Their fingers bent in odd ways. Using his thumb to trace over her fingernails. Can probably tell, even in the dark, where she’s began to pick away at her nail polish. She thinks about letting him repaint them. About them wearing matching colors. Like temporary friendship bracelets. Something to show perseverance, willing to do over and over and over again. For however long they have left together. He is lovely.

Robin swallows heavily again. “Tied you to me. Your head kept rolling forward. You were limp,” she relays, voice cracking. “When I finally could get out, I went to check on you. Even though Dustin and Erica were screaming at me to leave. But I couldn’t.” Her eyes reopen, locked on with Steve’s. He has kind eyes. They’re expressive. And they are sad. “You were cold,” she whispers, “and you were a mess of loose limbs. And I couldn’t save you.”

She closes her eyes again and breathes deeply. His hands are warm and—in a tad disgusting way—sweaty on her skin. His breathing is loud, wheezing out of his nostrils. He’d broken his nose before, it never set quite right. He’ll always breathe awkwardly. Robin senses the way he swallows, like a lump is in his throat or maybe he needs water, too. He wraps his arms around her, one under her head and the other thrown over her shoulders. Tugging her in close. Against her forehead, where it falls in this crowded, warm embrace, his heart is beating. Thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump. He is alive.

“I’ve got you, Robbie. I’m here,” he mutters. She drapes a loose arm over his waist. Hand going to his back, the t-shirt tacky with sweat and clinging to his skin. He’s such a furnace. God, he’s warm and alive.

“I know,” she whispers. “And I love you for it.”

“Love you for it, too.” His breath shutters a little bit.

“Did you have a nightmare, too? Is that why you were already awake?” She finds herself asking. She doesn’t have a filter, not really. But he never seems to mind.

“Yeah,” he wetly murmurs, “like yours. You were dead.” He squeezes them impossibly closer. His whole body flexes with the movement. They are tangled from head to toe. A mess of muscles and warmth and shaking breaths. Of chipped nail polish and shared sweatpants. Earplugs and nightmares. Both alive. “But I have you. I have you.”

She nods, or at least moves her head like it. “I have you, too. We’ll be okay.” He nods back. And she holds on tighter. There’s the shoreline and the sun is bright and the water is warm. She is awake and alive and he is, too. “Wanna get some water?” She asks.

“Sure,” he answers, already detangling them. His hand stays wrapped in hers, though. She refuses to completely pull away. She thinks about otters. Of them floating on the water. Safely intertwined with one another, never drifting, always there.

“I have gossip about Tommy Hagan again, do you want to hear it?”

He snorts. “Of course I fucking do.”

They are alive. They are best friends.

And Steve Harrington is her favorite pastime because he refuses to let go.

🦦—————🦦

#stranger things #stobin #platonic stobin #platonic soulmates #stobin friendship #steve harrington #robin buckley #mild hurt/comfort

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ally-holmes · 1 year

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Lion and Fire | Fili x Original Character

My Fanfic Masterlist | Multifandom

Fandom: The Hobbit

Pairing: Fili x OC | Background Thorin x Bilbo

Rating: Mature (just in case).

Content Warnings: canon divergence, everybody lives/nobody dies, the Durins are bad at romance, fighting tournament, misogyny (we’ll fight against it).

Summary: When Thorin tells Fili that Dáin has offered to introduce him to his goddaughter Maen and that expects them to get on good terms and, maybe, end up married, Fili decides that he’s going to hate her. Little does he knows that she’s not only beautiful, but she’s also smart and strong. He expected to be the one with an opinion on the matter, yet she confessing that she won’t marry him hurt his pride deeply.

Word Count: 8012

Also available on AO3

This work was created to be part of the Deanobingo2023 event by @deanobingo It fills the Character Card with Fili and the General Prompt Card with Hurt/Comfort.

Lion and Fire | Oneshot

It's common knowledge among dwarfs that less than a third of their population are females and that pregnancies and deliveries are highly complicated and dangerous, therefore their children and dwarf ladies are cherished and cared for. However, a young dwarf lady in the Iron Hills turned the tables by giving birth eleven times, always quickly and powerfully. Among those eleven babies, seven of them were females. Those rarities gave the family high recognition among the population of the Iron Hills up to the point in which king Dáin pleaded for the couple to be the godfather of their youngest.

Their fame allowed them to marry their first daughter to a well-off smith. They loved each other, of course, but if the daughter hadn't been the first of eleven children the possibilities of marrying someone with a better position and income than them would've been remote at best. She gave the smith five children, four of them females, and two of them in one go. There was no such word in khuzdul for siblings that shared the womb although, in the common tongue, it was 'twins', apparently.

The success of that union helped the second daughter marry the son of the head of the guards. That was an impressive jump. Four wonderful daughters followed their marriage and the rumor of the magic of those dwarven ladies spread.

As the siblings of the youngster kept growing and marrying, she rolled her eyes with disgust and complained when her family insisted that because of the gift they obviously had she was meant to be kept indoors learning how to knit, sew, cook, and work in other small works like woodwork for tools or toys, and metalwork for jewels.

"Maen!" she heard her name being called and stopped in her tracks. Comically slowly, she turned her body to face the voice. King Dáin was looking at her with an arched brow. "What are you doing in the armory? Again."

"I rather not answer that, sire."

Shit. She shouldn't have said that because then the piercing look of Dáin noticed the axes she had tucked in a blanket. He sighed and approached the twenty-seven-year-old, "We've talked about this, Maen. You are a lady and–"

"I can fight as well as any other dwarf!"

"That's not the point. The point is that female dwarves are so scarce that the danger of the battle would reduce their number and it may cause our extinction."

Her frown and the fire in her eyes made Dáin smile. That young dwarf was like a daughter to him and he couldn't resist the pride swelling in his chest due to her determination.

"Very well. You'll be trained," her eyes lit up. "But do not expect any help just because you're the goddaughter of the king. You'll face the training like the others and if you fail you'll retreat."

"I won't fail!"

And she didn't. In fact, Maen became the best warrior of her generation. She was fast and strong with great coordination; her oldest brother-in-law forged her axes, sword, and knife with extra care. Maen's family had not taken greatly Dáin's decision to allow her to learn how to fight and smith among other things, but her bright smiles and good mood pushed them to accept it and help her the best they could.

Nevertheless, she grew up and the perspective of her marriage was smothering. Being the last of the sisters in line for marriage awakened a dark monster among the Iron Hills' population as every single male dwarf, despite their age, sent their intentions of courting the young dwarf once she was of age. Dáin cut that nonsense when the harassment became increasingly dangerous and he stated that whoever put his hands on his goddaughter without her proper consent would face a death sentence.

Kind of luckily for Maen, the year she became legally suitable for marriage was when the company of Thorin Oakenshield reclaimed Erebor successfully with the help of Dáin's army in their last moments. Not many people knew that Maen had an influence on Dáin's political decisions, but she did. When Thorin's letter begging for help arrived, she started thinking about the war machines they could carry to the Lonely Mountain to face the dragon, yet Dáin refused and put his foot down in that decision. She didn't let the topic drop, though, and thanks to her the Iron Hills' army was ready to part when Thorin's cry for help arrived. She had overpowered Dáin's stubbornness with her own.

The battle of the five armies was bloodshed. She fought back to back with Dáin and his second in command. Maen killed with both hands, not stopping until all their enemies were down, even if her arms were hurting badly or if her armor was soaked in blood. Once the battle had been won, Dáin looked at her across the battlefield and nodded highly pleased with her performance. Maen was a warrior and that day she proved to her fellow dwarfs that if they wanted to court her, they had a long battle ahead.

Prince Thorin and his nephews had been badly injured, but not deadly, which was great news for them. Winter was upon them and they had a decision to make: either they went back to the Iron Hills leaving the Oakenshield Company and the men of Laketown to their own volition, or they stayed trying to help and tending their own injured warriors.

Maen accompanied Dáin to the meeting with the elven king, Bard of Laketown, the wizard, Thorin, and a hobbit. While Dáin took a seat, she stood behind him with a hand carefully placed in the grip of her sword. She listened quietly while the discussions developed. The elven king was being a royal ass, Bard was a great leader, while Thorin and Dáin were being stubborn dwarves unable to see the privilege of a short alliance with the elves as they were able to provide them with food for the worst of the winter; no more than three months.

She cleared her throat when everything was starting to get ridiculous and Dáin closed his mouth immediately. Maen felt Thorin's eyes on her, but she didn't say anything, she didn't even move. Dáin sighed leaning back in his chair.

"Fine. Fine, you're right. Before the roads become intransitive, I'll send the healthiest injured dwarves back to the Iron Hills with word of sending back some of our resources for the winter. In doing that, we'll reduce the number of people in need in Erebor," Dáin conceded to everyone's surprise.

Gandalf studied Maen as if he was able to see through her soul.

"We need a place to stay as the dragon burned Laketown and Dale is inhabitable just yet. However, we understand that our number, although reduced after both the dragon attack and the battle, is still an inconvenience for Erebor and Mirkwood. I propose to divide our number and if you have room for us, king Thranduil, some of us would go with you, and the others would stay in Erebor, if possible." Bard was diplomatic and careful with his wording, but he wasn't giving any alternative. His people needed help and he was going to get it, he was willing to bend but not to break.

Maen fought her need to smile, but Dáin could sense her good mood and nodded to the man.

"Cousin, what are your thoughts? I haven't seen the mountain yet."

"I– I have not explored it in its whole. I do not know the extension of the dragon's damage," Thorin explained.

Bilbo, the hobbit, twisted his nose, looked around the table, and pressed his lips together before finally deciding to speak. "Um… I did. I came and went. Not much, really. I didn't want to get lost. The mountain is huge," that seemed to please Thorin. "There are a few large rooms whose structure is sturdy and it could keep all of us safe and such. Um… It might be like camping, but inside the mountain, though. We might need to build some tents inside to isolate and keep the warmth close to us because those rooms have very high ceilings."

"Huh… It can be done," said an old dwarf with red clothing and a white beard. Balin, if Maen remembered correctly, had been standing between Thorin and Bilbo's chairs, listening and not really talking, until now. "The forges were almost destroyed when we fought with the dragon inside, but the fire is still working and I'm thinking we might be able to use the old calefaction system. We can also get some fires in those rooms. And if some of the Iron Hills' dwarves are staying, they can guard the delicate parts of the mountain."

"My people would be under your orders, cousin, don't fret. I could go back if you don't need me here."

"We have a solution there. That's interesting," Gandalf noted with a controlled tone. "However, there's also the need for food. Even if Dáin gladly sends something from the Iron Hills, it wouldn't be sufficient."

"The lake is not incredibly far, but fishing can be dangerous depending on the weather," Bard explained.

"And Mirkwood is still dangerous to go hunting there. Plus, is farther than the lake," Bilbo pointed out.

"I guess there's no other option but to help you. However, if you expect this help to be–"

"It must be free or it wouldn't be 'help'," Bilbo spat with cold politeness.

Maen smiled then before biting her bottom lip. Thorin had seen her reaction and he looked at his cousin searching for answers as she had not been introduced at the beginning of the meeting.

"It's not like we can starve, and–"

"Then you must keep all the men in your realm," Maen cut him piercing his iced eyes with her own brown ones.

Dáin smiled smugly. "She's right, elven king. If you won't help the men that stay in Erebor, then you must take care of more of them. I'm sure I could take all my healthy dwarves and only leave here the badly injured ones, plus the company. It would be much easier for the Iron Hills to aid less than thirty people than three-hundred."

Thranduil was about to make a smart remark, but Gandalf's soft chuckle made him keep his mouth shut. His son, prince Legolas, accepted the previous conditions in his name. He was about to leave for the north, but he had stayed by Gandalf's plead to help with the negotiations.

"Beorn had offered to provide Erebor with flour and honey before the paths got cut due to the weather. If your majesty needs some aid with those ingredients, I'm sure he'll–" Gandalf was cut sharply by Thranduil dismissing the offering.

"We'll be ready to settle in half of the men. I'm sure some scouts would be able to hunt for the ones remaining in Erebor to survive the winter."

"Thank you, king Thranduil," Bard nodded to him.

With everything solved for the moment, the dwarves exited the tent with the hobbit. Bilbo seemed to have taken great interest in Maen, as he was glancing at her but trying to be subtle about it.

"May I help you, Master Hobbit?" She inquired with a playful smile.

"Oh! I'm… Uh… It's just, I…"

"The little guy must be intrigued about what's a dwarven lady doing here, are you not Mister Bilbo?"

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize. Most females don't do war, as it's supposed to be extremely dangerous."

Thorin arched an eyebrow at her, "It is extremely dangerous."

"Funnier than knitting."

"This is my goddaughter, Lady Maen, the Fire of the Iron Hills. I did not have time to introduce her before, cousin. She's responsible for our quick answer."

Confused, Thorin looked at her. "I kept pushing Dáin to come to Erebor and help you with the dragon. We were about to go out of the Iron Hills when the news arrived."

"She's a handful, cousin, a handful. Although, I have a proposal to make you," his tone and the fact that he was wrapping an arm around Thorin's shoulders made him tense.

"What proposal?"

"Are you interested in an alliance between Erebor and the Iron Hills? Stronger than the one we already have, of course."

"I won't be marrying her."

"Mahal, no! You're ancient for her!"

Bilbo snorted at that. Thorin shot him a look.

"Your nephews, on the other hand… Fili's the heir, is he not? Maen is Kili's age, so it wouldn't be such a difference between her and Fili. What do you think?"

"I won't impose a marriage upon my family."

Dáin laughed in good spirits, "If you believe I can make Maen do anything she's not comfortable with, you're highly mistaken. All I'm asking is if you think they could meet, and see what happens."

"Couldn't you have talked to me about it before?" Maen sighed.

"Now, where would the fun be in that?"

Things got settled then without any promises or concessions. Maen assisted Bilbo in tending the survivors and arranging the mountain for the winter. She wasn't as close-minded or prone to prejudice as her fellow dwarves, therefore she immediately took a liking to the hobbit which made Bilbo feel at ease in her presence. Before the worst of the winter fell upon them, and once the Iron Hills' supplies were well stoked in Erebor, Maen left with Dáin.

Five years later, Thorin reached out to Dáin accepting the proposition of having Maen and Fili meet, but he was clear enough that Fili had the final decision, not him.

That's how five years after the battle of the five armies, a caravan of dwarves from the Iron Hills closed the distance with Erebor once again. Rumors about Maen had been spread among the Ereborians; they knew about the good luck of the females in her family and that she was Dáin's goddaughter, yet even if they believed that they couldn't comprehend that she being a warrior was just as true as the other things. When she showed up in the throne room with a gorgeous magenta velvet dress with golden embroidery, intricate braids in her hairstyle, and beautiful jewelry designed for a princess more than for the youngest child of a poor family, the rumor spread that she was well educated, feminine, and, in no way, a warrior.

The throne room was occupied by king Thorin, his consort Bilbo, and his advisor Balin. Dáin stomped happily forgetting all about protocol much to Thorin's amusement.

"Cousin!! It's good to see you where you belong. Up and healthy, no less. Good. Good," he nodded vehemently.

"I hope the journey had not been too difficult for you, Dáin."

"Nothing can break us, Thorin. Ah! You better remember Lady Maen," with a gesture of his hand, she made a small bow.

"Impossible to forget. Welcome, Lady Maen. I hope your stay in Erebor would be pleasurable."

"If I may, sire, allow me to compliment the state of the mountain. In only five years, it has changed too much I can barely remember where all the debris was."

"Indeed. Time flies and we've been using it wisely. My consort has taken special care in the election of your rooms, and I've been warned that you would need free access to our library if you are to be happy under our roof," Thorin stated with a mischievous glint in his eyes that contrasted with the deepness of his voice.

Maen blushed violently as Dáin laughed, "There are two places that cannot be kept away from Maen, cousin, one of them is the library and the other is the arena. Don't let her fool you, she's as much of a handful as your nephews when she's determined. Not as mischievous, perhaps."

"I'm standing right here," she deadpanned.

She had been thinking about this meeting since Thorin's letter arrived at the Iron Hills, yet she never, in her wildest dreams, imagined Thorin Oakenshiel burst into laughter at something she'd said. Maen stopped breathing due to the surprise, and when she locked eyes with Bilbo, she relaxed as the consort had a familiar welcoming and caring air surrounding him.

"Well… Where's the lad?" Dáin asked then.

Thorin seemed nervous then, glancing at his consort. "We might have misplaced him," Bilbo pointed out.

"But don't fret, Dáin, Dwalin, and Dís are looking for him at this very moment," Balin added.

"He knew I was coming, didn't he?" She asked Bilbo directly.

The hobbit cleared his throat changing his weight anxiously. "Of course! We– Um… We told him this morning."

"This morning."

"Then we could prevent him from going out of the mountain," Thorin explained.

Before she could say anything else, the door burst open with amazing strength. A dwarf lady wearing a rich Durin's blue dress and an impressive braided upsweep, with mithril beads on her beard, appeared stomping in furiously; on one hand, she was carrying a heavy hammer while the other had a firm grip on the back of the clothes worn by a blond dwarf being dragged by her. A few steps behind them, a huge bald dwarf full of ink had another dwarf on his shoulders carrying it like a sack of coal. The dwarf lady didn't seem put off by the presence of the Iron Hills dwarves, it mostly fueled her anger if Maen had to go by the way her frown deepened.

She dropped the blond dwarf to the floor, right at Thorin's feet. The bald dwarf hadn't dropped the other dwarf that was fighting with all he had kicking and punching him without result. Thorin closed his eyes a moment before grunting an 'Up' full of ire.

The blond dwarf stumbled to get to his feet, when his blue eyes found his new audience, he ran a hand through his messy mane and stood excessively self-satisfied. Maen arched an eyebrow utterly unimpressed.

"Lady Maen, allow me to introduce you to my sister, Lady Dís. This is her son, and Crown Prince of Erebor, Fili," when Thorin noticed Maen's eyes glancing at the other two still struggling, he sighed. "And that's the chief of the guard, Dwalin, and Fili's brother, Kili."

"We do apologize for this terrible first encounter," Dís rapidly assured.

"Please, do not worry. I had been warned that he had been misplaced."

Fili rolled his eyes and Maen fought her urge to just push him. She had made a long journey to come and meet him!! The least he could do was behave like a proper dwarf.

"I was also told that I share a birth year with Kili," she looked pointedly at the dwarf on Dwalin's shoulder. The young dwarf stopped fighting to get free. "I must say I beg to differ."

Thorin snorted, "You and I, both."

"Why don't we show our guests their rooms?" Bilbo asked looking at Balin.

"Great idea! I'm sure you must want to rest before supper is ready," the advisor smiled at them.

"That'll be great, Master Balin," before following him and the others, Maen took Fili's look on with an enigmatic smile. The prince twitched under her scrutiny. "It would be impossible for us to get to know each other if you keep running away, prince Fili; and here I thought you were called Lion for a reason…"

As she left she could hear Dís loud laugh and a pleased, "I like her already!"

The quarters Maen was placed in were beautiful and cozy, they had a clear hobbit influence and she loved it. Bilbo had left a small stock of books in her room with a nice note. She felt moved by Bilbo's easy way of making people around him feel taken care of one way or another. Thorin's good humor was a total surprise, yet incredibly welcome. The brothers' stunt had hurt her, however. She couldn't understand how someone could just be so disrespectful to someone they didn't know. Maen understood that maybe Fili had already someone he wanted to court and he hadn't talked to his uncle about it, but they could've talked about it at least. There was no need to run away and reject her like that. Perhaps Fili had heard about her humble birth and that was a dealbreaker for him even though it didn't seem to be the case with Thorin or Dís.

As she considered the possibilities of the prince's behavior her mood soured. Something heavy sunk into her stomach.

When supper was ready, she walked to the dining room next to Dáin. Thorin's company was there, as they were now noblemen. Fili and Kili kept mostly for themselves although their mother confronted them with harsh whispers every now and then. Maen took this opportunity to get to know the others and she found herself charmed by Ori's shyness as he explained how he was now the head of the library and he'd been taking extra care of the books with Bilbo. Maen shared her love for books and complained about how scarce her library in the Iron Hills was compared to what she'd heard of the one in Erebor.

Ori's older brother, Dori, complimented her on her dress and she immediately explained that the intricate work had been made by one of her sisters.

"I'm not as good with fabrics and threats as I am with the sword, I'm afraid."

"The rumors are true, then?" Nori asked with a glint in his eyes. As far as she had been able to perceive, Nori loved all kinds of digressions of the norms. That included the fact that Maen was a warrior.

"Without having listened to the rumors myself I'm not able to confirm nor deny them, Master Nori. However, I am in fact a warrior. I came here five years ago a helped in the battle."

A snort made her turn her head sharply. Kili, bright red, was choking on his food.

"Seriously?" Bilbo muttered tiredly as he approached the young prince to clasp him in the back, "This is a divine punishment for trying to make fun of her. Just so you know," the hobbit whispered to him; it was so loud, however, that the whole room heard it.

Maen approached Dwalin after dessert had been eaten, and she started a conversation about axes and their different forms. It immediately engaged the warrior in an enjoyable chat about the advantages and disadvantages of long axes, short axes, extra curly axes, and so on. When Maen told him that his brother-in-law was the smith that made her weapons, Dwalin immediately showed interest in giving them a few blows and he even invited her to the arena.

Before the night was called off, she approached the princes. Without the ceremony and respect that she should show them due to their rank, she sat in front of them with an eyebrow arched and her arms crossed on her chest.

"Well? Anything you want to say to my face or you two rather whisper each other's ears off like a couple of grannies?"

"What are you doing here, exactly?" Kili wondered with a frown.

"I've been asked to come and meet with you guys. Dáin's idea is that, if Fili and I like each other we could get married."

"And if I don't want to marry you?" Fili spat straightening his back.

Maen snorted rolling her eyes, "Sweetheart, right now I'm the one who won't marry you. You haven't even been nice enough for me to be able to consider you a friend in the future. I'm going to stay here as long as Dáin wants, so you better grow up and face the fact that I'm not going anywhere anytime soon."

"What if we make you leave?" Kili whispered in a poor try at being menacing.

She giggled. "Ow, you're cute. I won't leave. It's refreshing being somewhere where I don't have to be looking over my shoulder for someone to shove courting gifts in my face."

"Are you that popular in the Iron Hills?" Fili seemed skeptical and Kili was blushing so hard that his brain was going to melt.

"Dáin had to make a decree for them to leave me alone. It worked… for the most part."

Two weeks after that terrible first day, the princes seemed less ridiculous around her, which was great, but they still treated her like a pest. When Dís or Thorin agreed that Fili would accompany Maen to the market, he made her wait for at least an hour before showing up sweaty and dirty from fighting in the arena, Kili close behind him; as might be expected, the fact that the brothers were together implied that they lead her to the market and then ignore her in favor to talk to each other, the shop owners, or cute lady dwarves that walked through the market.

Maen kept feeling unwanted, disrespected, and hurt. The murmurs around Erebor saying that there was no way she was a warrior because she was too delicate, too soft, too nice, too girly… didn't help to improve her mood at all.

On the second day of the third week, she was invited to witness the tournament between warriors from the Iron Hills and from Erebor in the arena. Apparently, Thorin and Dáin had decided to rescue that form of healthy entertainment in order to cheer her up. She, boldly, asked Thorin if Fili was going to participate, to which he assured her that he would.

The day of the tournament rolled by and Maen was nowhere to be found. The rules were simple: no biting, no hurting in extra sensitive areas, and no killing; the local fighters would walk to the center of the arena and a visitor fighter would decide to duel him. Usually, the best warrior or, in this case, the prince, was the last one in moving to the center of the arena as it was the big show to close the tournament. As the time to start came close and all the visitor fighters were in their place, Fili approached his uncle with a concerned frown.

"Where is she?"

"Clearly not here."

"Uncle, we're doing all of this for her entertainment," he complained.

"No. We're doing this because you begged for a chance to make it right with her."

"While showing off, of course," Bilbo chimed in.

"That too. However, we cannot force her to come and see you fight after how badly you've treated her."

"This is not fair!"

"Shut your mouth and go to your place. I didn't raise you to whine like this, Fili," Dís snarled.

Dáin had listened to the exchange with a pleased and smug smile on his face.

The tournament started strongly. Dwalin was one of the first participants and he demolished the Iron Hills' fighter in less than ten minutes without breaking a sweat. Fili paid half attention to the arena as his eyes kept searching in the audience for someone familiar hoping that Maen's curiosity pushed her to go down there even if it was camouflaging herself to blend with the Ereborians. Kili, who wasn't a participant in the tournament, approached his brother from behind the fighters' bench.

"Nervous? You're next."

"No. I don't care. She's not even here."

"Does that mean that you're going to perform badly because your girlfriend is not here to see you win? Pathetic."

"Oi! She's not my girlfriend."

"Of course not," he scoffed. "Maen said clearly that she wouldn't marry you if you keep being an ass, and you've been even worse than an ass. Now you like her, though, and you cannot stand the idea of her marrying one of his many, many, many, many–"

"Shut your mouth."

"–many, many, many suitors in the Iron Hills. Who knows? Maybe Dáin offers her to marry his son."

A spike of jealousy bloomed in Fili's eyes and Kili smirked.

"If you perform greatly I'm sure Ori would talk to her about it."

Kili was a mastermind… on occasion. He knew that Fili had grown wary of the little librarian due to the amount of time he spent with Maen talking about books, and it was the right amount of fuel needed for his brother to stomp to the middle of the arena when his turn came.

The visitor fighters looked directly at one of them, one who had stayed in full armor –helmet included– since the beginning; it seemed as if they knew that fighter wanted to destroy the heir of Erebor. What if he was one of Maen's suitors? Fili was screwed. Kili gave his brother a thumbs-up and ran to his mother.

"Fili's going to die."

"Perhaps," she smiled.

The fighter faced Fili with a long sword in hand, and a couple of axes stored on his back. He bowed to the prince as requited and then waited for the signal to begin.

Fili took the initiative of the first blow. They shared some tentative blows, not really revealing their strength, and suddenly Fili used all this strength on one blow that the fighter wisely dodged, he punched the prince in the face with the hand holding his sword and Fili stumbled to the side. Fili's helmet allowed me to see his face and hair, but the fighter's blow hurt nonetheless. Grunting, Fili charged against him and, this time, the fighter responded with similar strength pushing his body against Fili's not allowing him to take any advantaged position. When Fili punched the fighter in the guts he didn't emit a sound, the dwarf was tougher than expected.

The fighter gained an area against Fili. As their swords were pushing against each other, none of them ready to yield, the fighter crushed Fili's foot making him lose some strength in his attack which gave the fighter room to disarm him, go around him, and kick his back throwing the prince to the floor.

Instead of taking that point of advantage and winning the battle, the fighter receded, threw his sword to a corner of the arena far away from him, and pulled his axes from the back. He gave them a colorful twist in his hands before turning to the prince. Fili had taken off his helmet with fury, his hair was a mess, and his eyes were lit with determination and ferocity. He couldn't see the features of the fighter, but the small bow was mockingly enough to fuel the prince's anger.

Fili took his throwing knives from their hiding place and threw them in quick succession; the fighter hit every one of them with precise movements of his axe while approaching the prince. Without anything else to throw, Fili launched himself to the floor made a turn, and grabbed his sword just in time to block one of the axes. He rejected the attack and ran to where his discarded shield was; how had he been so cocky as to believe he wouldn't need it, he didn't know.

The audience held their breath, the arena was in complete silence apart from the fighters' weapons crashing. One of the axes got blocked by the sword for the seventh time, but this time the position prevented Fili from pushing it back; the other ax hit his shield repeatedly, over and over and over and over. The hits were fast and strong, never hesitating nor showing tiredness. Fili's shield arm felt every hit like a jolt until a particularly hard hit shocked him from the wrist to the shoulder provoking a spasm that made him drop the shield with a painful moan. The fighter then kneed him in the uncovered side throwing him onto the floor once again.

As the prince fought to stand up, the fighter kicked him again before throwing his sword far away from his reach. The fighter stood proudly next to the whining prince and slid his ax under the blond's chin waiting for him to admit his surrender.

"I yield. I yield!!"

Fili's words made the arena break to sound again. The fighter retreated his weapon, yet he didn't move and Fili was too tired to try to get up.

"That's my girl!!" Dáin's yell overpowered the other voices.

The fighter tilted his head to one side, still facing Fili. He put his axes on his back again before pulling the helmet off. Maen's face appeared then and Fili was unable to produce a word.

"Fili, the Lion of Erebor, had been defeated by Maen, the Fire of the Iron Hills. This tournament has been–" Thorin kept with his speech but Fili couldn't make sense of his words.

Maen nodded at him and turned leaving him on the floor of the arena.

Fili sat heavily in a chair by the fire. His body ached horribly after the fight, bruises had been blooming on his torso, and his shield arm was stiff. Kili handed him a mug of warm ale with a cheeky grin.

"She kicked your arse."

"Of course she did," Thorin claimed. "Lady Maen is one of the best warriors of the Iron Hills."

"But she's a lady!!" Fili complained.

"Excuse me?" Dís looked pointedly at her son, who immediately cowered in his chair.

"What I don't understand is why you don't just ask her to spend some time together. You clearly like her," Kili pressed.

"Durin's are bad at romance, lad," Dwalin laughed.

"What do you mean?" Kili was suddenly interested while Fili just sipped his cup.

"Do you remember how Thorin treated Bilbo during our journey?" Balin asked in his calmer voice. "He was insufferable just because he thought the hobbit was cute."

"I did not!"

Dwalin snorted at Thorin's outrage.

"It was sad to see."

"It happened the same with Dís. She made your poor father bleed and cry before accepting his proposal," Balin added.

"Why did you shove me into this mess?" She complained and punched her brother's arm when he laughed.

"I didn't treat Tauriel badly when I met her," Kili thought out loud.

"That's because you're more like your father," Balin explained, not allowing the others to jump at the mention of the elf.

"Well, what am I supposed to do now?" Fili claimed the attention was on him again.

"Stop being an ass to her would be a good start. Although if you really do not like her that much I could always ask her out–"

"Kili don't mess with your brother when he's clearly suffering."

"Yes, mother."

"I have to say you're quite lucky, lad. Maen's not like any other lass; not even like any other dwarf. She wouldn't hold a grudge for long. It's up to you."

Dwalin's words echoed in Fili's mind as his eyes looked over the flames.

Not far away from the royal quarters where they were having their little chat, were Maen's. She had taken a very long bath, and dried carefully her bushy mane of dark brown hair before tying it in a careful braid whose sole objective was to avoid it tangling in her sleep. She sat next to her own fire with a romance book in her hands. Her focus wasn't the best at that moment, hence her relieved sigh when her torture was cut short by a knock on her door.

Bilbo Baggings was on the other side of the door with understanding showering his features. Maen invited him to enter the living area, pleased by the tray with backed goods and tea that Bilbo placed carefully on a small table.

"I hope you like scones, Lady Maen."

"I cannot say I've had them before, Mister Bilbo, but please, call me Maen."

"Bilbo for me then." After taking a few bites with a meaningless conversation, Bilbo twisted his nose, cleared his throat, and brushed the crumbs away from his fingers. "I wanted to apologize."

Maen blinked in confusion, "Please no, do not do such a thing. You've been nothing but nice to me, Bilbo. There's nothing you should apologize about."

"I beg to differ. I– I presumed that because you're a dwarf you'll have it easier here, that you'll click with Fili faster than– Well… I'm a hobbit, not a dwarf, and you know how reserved dwarves could be; I had it hard with the company for a big part of our journey, and when Thorin confessed his feelings I could only think about the council opposing and the Ereborians just hating me.

"I'm not entirely sure how I managed to have the position that I have now, but I'm certain that I own the company a big deal of it. Especially to Thorin.

"I shouldn't have presumed that you wouldn't feel left out or unwanted by your fellow dwarves. I guess you and I are alike on that front as I had been pinned down as an oddity by my fellow hobbits back in The Shire. I didn't quite fit there."

"Female dwarves aren't meant to be warriors, there's too little of us and pregnancy is a deadly risk on its own. The armory called for me daily, nonetheless, and Dáin was kind enough to consent to my training instead of pushing me to the knitting room. Even if that can be seen as an oddity in the Iron Hills, my family is well-known there, and I received offerings for courting way before I was of age. It wasn't ideal, of course, but being here makes me miss it. At least there I'm not underestimated."

"Fili likes you. He really does, Maen. He's just as stubborn as his uncle when it comes to facing his feelings. Did I tell you that the first time Thorin saw me, after arriving late I may add, he looked at me, head to toe, and said 'so, this is the hobbit' as if making fun of me? The audacity!"

"I expect you've made him resent that, Bilbo."

"Why, of course!! Soft, he said. Me! Ha! You've been way too nice to Fili, never losing your temper or chewing his head off. It's time for you to put your foot down, and let me tell you that your performance today was spotless. Everyone in the mountain is talking about it. There are rumors about 'the Lion and the Fire of Erebor'."

Maen laughed anxiously, her face warm with blush.

Three days after the tournament Fili offered Maen to spend a morning in Dale as she hadn't seen it since the battle and their market was interesting. That led to her waiting at the front doors, as usual, two days later, although this time she had taken the precaution of inviting Ori with her. Nori was obviously close, but he appeared to be ignoring them.

Ori was explaining with great enthusiasm the rich quality of Dale's paper and ink when Fili approached them. Maen glanced at him with an arched brow.

"Are we in a rush?" She questioned in lieu of a greeting.

Fili hesitated in his septs frowning, "Not that I'm aware of. Why?"

"You're on time."

"Yes."

"You're never on time. Usually, I would have to wait for at least an hour for you to be here."

Fili cleared his throat lowing his face with shame, "Yeah. I apologize for that. Um… Shall we go now?"

"Aren't we waiting for Kili?" She looked around in confusion.

"He's not coming."

Maen stared at Fili as if he had just shaved his beard. "On time and without Kili. I'm afraid to ask if Lady Dís had some sort of conversation with you."

"She did not."

"Huh… Well, I appreciate the changes, of course, yet I had already taken the precaution of getting my own companion as I was expecting you and your brother to be busy with each other. Ori here is going with us."

"I'm sorry Fili, I would leave you two alone, but Dori has given me a list of things to purchase in Dale. And you know how Dori can be if he doesn't get what he wants."

"No. It's– It's fine, Ori. The more the merrier. Shall we go then?"

Maen shared a conspicuous look with Ori before following Fili and some guards toward the ponies. Ori had been her ally in the mountain as well as Bilbo, and when she voiced her worries about the journey to Dale becoming just another day of being mistreated, Bilbo had suggested bringing Ori with her and the little scribble had beamed with the prospect of visiting Dale's market again.

Tables had turned and Fili wasn't happy about it.

Dale was impressive and richly decorated, their buildings were colorful and stunning; some of them had kept most of their past structure and there were marks of orc weapons on some walls. Ori explained to an astonished Maen, that Bard had rebuilt the city wanting to keep the memory of past times; like a homage. She understood the sentiment, there were claw marks in Erebor still and she already assumed it was a reminder of what could happen if they weren't careful with their greed.

The market was crowded, full of men, but also a good amount of dwarves and elves. Maen was bouncing on her feet excited to see, touch, and buy whatever came across her. She did not ignore Fili on purpose, although she must admit that having been used to being ignored by him she stopped thinking about reaching for him long ago, therefore her mindset was sure that he was just ignoring her as usual. Ori and Maen enjoyed every second in the market, they bought some books, paper, ink, quills, fabric, yarn… It was ridiculous.

After long hours waiting in the market, the dwarves started to feel hungry and then Maen turned to look for Fili and found him frowning, his mouth pressed in a sad thing line.

"Should we come back to the mountain to eat, or should we find a tavern here?" She asked him.

Fili scowled. "Let's go back."

Ori gave Maen a guilty look.

It wasn't until they were back in Erebor that Maen approached Fili, she crossed his path impeding him to run to his quarters. She waited until he gathered the patience and courage needed to look her in the eyes.

"How does it feel?" To her question, Fili frowned deeper in confusion. "Did you enjoy being ignored? Did you feel unwanted? Disrespected? Hurt?" Fili's expression opened up with a glint of awareness in his blue eyes. "Yeah. Is not very nice, is it? I did not intend to ignore you today, yet I expect that with you discovering how that behavior of yours hurt me, you'd be more careful in the future."

Not waiting for an answer, Maen nodded to the prince and left.

He didn't ignore her again.

Fili was running but he was not advancing and right before his eyes, Azog stood fighting against Maen. The frustration built up inside of Fili, he needed to reach her before the pale orc hurt her, he had to– he had– he–

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO" he screamed as Azog skewered his spear across Maen's torso.

He woke up with a jolt of pain in his own wound. A sheet of cold sweat covered his skin. He traced the long scar from his chest to his belly with his fingers still in a daze when a hard knock on his quarters' door awakened him completely. It was the middle of the night, there probably were five hours before dawn. Fili put on a gown and padded towards the door, opening it with caution. A young guard stood there uncomfortable.

"Sire, my apologies for the disturbance."

"What's wrong?"

"It's Lady Maen, sire, she's in the arena and we don't know how to proceed. Master Nori order me to ask you."

The prince frowned registering the information, "Leave her alone. I'll– I'd be on my way. Do not disturb her."

"Aye, sire."

Fili got dressed faster than ever, he grabbed his sword and headed to the arena. He nodded to the guards and to Nori, but they didn't share a word. There, in the arena, was Maen training with her axes, only a couple of torches illuminating the room. Fili recognized the tension in her shoulders and the determination in her frown, she'd had a nightmare.

He approached her with determination. Maen glanced at him and stopped her movements, but she didn't say anything, nor did he. With a nod of acknowledgment, Fili and Maen started sparing although not as violently as in the tournament as neither of them was wearing armor.

Tired to the bone due to the exercise, Fili got himself stuck in the same position that pushed his defeat in the tournament. Instead of kneeing him in the side as she did that time, Maen swapped her foot under his forcing him to lose his balance and fall to the floor on his back. She smiled at him, openly and sincerely. Fili laughed, offering his hand for her to take expecting her to help him get up. Maen threw her axes to the side and grabbed his arm, yet before she could pull him, the prince pulled first, making her fall against his chest.

Maen let out a surprised gasp before laughing at the childish move. Fili pushed his luck just a little farther, turning them in the arena until she was under him. She stopped laughing and arched an eyebrow at him, challenging his next move. Fili blushed violently; his eyes darted from her eyes to her lips. Sighing, the prince rolled to his side until he was on his back looking at the ceiling next to Maen, who was now looking at him. Fili noticed the movement in the shadows in the corner of his eye and he was sure that Nori was ready to intervene if he had done what he really wanted to do.

Instead of that, Fili pulled out a richly decorated mithril bead and handed it to Maen.

"I, Fili son of Dís, Crown Prince of Erebor, solicit permission to court you, Maen, goddaughter of Dáin Ironfoot, with this courting bead I had made myself."

Maen burst into a childish laugh, "Only you could ask with such a posh manner while both of us are sweaty and tired from a spar session in the middle of the night."

"That's not an answer," Fili singsonged twisting the bead in his fingers.

"Yes, you idiot! But beware, if you behave like an arse again I can call it off anytime."

"I won't."

Their laughs echoed in the arena ignoring that they had Nori win a huge amount of money.

It wasn't until that night, at supper, when with all the company and their families reunited around the table, Fili approached Maen with a wooden box.

"This is the first courting gift of many. Although I'm aware of what tradition requires for me to give you, I expect to know you better than to gift you some expensive fabric for embroidery."

Maen pressed her lips to avoid smiling too soon and she opened the box. The typical courting gifts a dwarf lass received were focused on her alleged skills in textile matters, some woodwork, maybe jewels… Fili had gifted her a dagger whose grip and sheath were engraved with loving care and decorated with precious gems.

"Fili made it himself. All of it," Kili explained filling in the silence. "He had been a pain in the ass for the last three weeks because–"

Dís hit her son in the ribs to keep him quiet.

Maen looked at Fili, his smirk had become a shy little smile and his eyes were bright with nerves and hopes. A small movement of his brows made her understand that she hadn't accepted the gift properly yet.

"I accept the gift. It's perfect, Fili. Thank you."

The tension abandoned Fili's body to the point of him needing a chair before fainting.

At one point, in the future, people would remember Fili and Maen not as the King and Queen Under the Mountain, but as the Lion and the Fire of Erebor.

The End

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infinite-orangepeel · 1 year

Text

hi ! if you’re looking for young (pre-canon, freshman steve/sophomore eddie) slow burn steddie with lots of yearning & sexuality crisis—then i would love it if you’d read the excerpt down below :)

it’s one of my favorite things i’ve ever written (& happens to be ch. 1 of my ongoing ao3 fic that is currently sitting at 10 chapters)

fic title: i wore his jacket for the longest time (link to the full fic down below)

pairing: steve harrington x eddie munson (steddie)

ch. summary: steve harrington’s 15th birthday bash is the greatest night of everyone’s lives, except for the guest of honor himself (who is in the middle of a panic attack) & hawkins very own freak (who really wishes he didn’t need the extra money). as fate would have it, the two end up finding comfort in the most unexpected of places (each other) and spend the night hiding away from the rest of the world on steve’s rooftop. nothing is ever the same.

TW: panic attack, use of homophobic slurs to insult a character (brief), themes surrounding sexuality crisis

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Part 1, Chapter 1: the great abyss

July 28, 1982

Eddie Munson is playing God or The Devil. He can never be quite sure on nights like this. The longer he’s kept up the gig, the more the lines seem to blur. It’s an odd job, but one he takes a sweet, sadistic pleasure in. Okay, so maybe that does make him Satan’s understudy more than a devotee of the “big guy in the sky.” But, who can blame him for seizing the opportunity to supply forbidden fruit to the poor sinners down below? There is nothing more gratifying than watching his heartless classmates tear each other apart from the gorgeous view of his twisted throne. All the while, knowing that the ensuing madness is a direct result of the vice-inducing treasures he stashes away in his aluminum lunchbox. And, to think he gets paid for it? He’d be a fool to let his already gray tinged morals prevent his sole form of employment. Especially, when said employment puts food on the table and delays his uncle’s need to apply for food stamps.

Usually when he “caters” events like this, the time passes quickly. It passes really quickly if those he’s dealing to aren’t complete assholes and let him partake in the festivities. That being said, after two years of high school, it’s become increasingly rare that he interacts with anyone that doesn’t respond to his presence like he’s a gory creature that just slithered out of the sewer.

It’s nearly comical. The ones that torture him the most in the halls of Hawkins High are also the ones that plead to him late at night like he’s the Fairy Godfather of Teenage Substance Abuse. He didn’t sign up for it, but more often than not, one jock or another is on his knees begging Eddie for a better price and just a couple more ounces of his drug of choice.

Eddie would be lying if he claimed the switched power dynamic of those moments didn’t give him a head rush and a mouthful of sick satisfaction.

He discovered he could name pretty much any price. Hawkins had a limited number of dealers and even fewer that would risk dipping their toes into the murky waters of selling to such a young clientele.

In true Pavlovian manner, all it took was Eddie undoing the clasps on his lunchbox to lure his prey into the trap. Suddenly, they would be thrusting their hands desperately into the deep pockets of their letterman jackets, in search of Daddy’s money to offer up for the exchange. The high he got from it was better than any strain his pale fingers might have rolled into a sharp tipped joint. Pure heady intoxication.

He rides that feeling until he’s wrung it dry in a perfunctory attempt to make tonight bearable.

It might have even been an effective tactic if he hadn’t been knocked off his high horse by Tommy Hagan and his squad of goons.

Eddie had hardly stepped through the massive double doors of Steve Harrington’s Loch Nora manner before he found himself pinned to the wall of the entryway. Hagan primally leered over him like he was tomorrow’s mystery meat and spit directly into his left eye. Gross.

“We’ll take it from here, don’t want guests scared off by the town freak,” Hagan wrestled Eddie’s lunchbox free from his white knuckled grip and made a show of emptying out its plentiful contents onto the pristine floor.

Eddie should have been enraged, should have lunged forward and put up a fight. But, as Hagan sauntered off with the stolen loot in hand, he couldn’t lift his gaze from the dark wooden boards beneath his scuffed Reeboks. He had the half-complete thought of what it might be like to slip and slide across such floors in those fancy wool socks he was certain Harrington had drawers full of upstairs. Wondered further if Harrington had ever known the struggles of a shotty heater and the lack of circulation one got from wearing four pairs of cotton socks to cope. Doubtful, he had decided.

Hagan hadn’t actually paid Eddie yet. Based on his reaction to Eddie’s arrival, it was vastly unlikely that he would be doling out the cash any time soon, if at all .

In theory, Eddie could have strode right back out the doors from whence he came and retreated to his side of the tracks, but he was viciously stubborn and had a bad habit of letting it rule him. Plus, Hagan had stripped him of his entire stash, which was not going to bode well for Eddie when Rick eventually sought him out to reap his portion of the earnings.

So, Eddie stuck around in hopes that Hagan would draw upon the miniscule shred of goodness left gnarled within his frozen heart and listen to the little angel poised upon his freckled shoulder. Again, unlikely, but if DnD had taught him anything, it was that anyone’s luck was subject to change even in the eleventh hour.

As it turns out, Harrington’s party looks just as repulsive from a bird’s eye view as it did on the ground. Eddie’s rooftop throne is admittedly a bit uncomfortable, but it’ll have to suffice for the time being. He’s not going to wait for Hagan’s change of heart out in the open. Lurking down below would only heighten Eddie’s chances of a broken nose and empty pockets. Eddie may be hard headed at times, but he’s not an idiot. He’s smart enough to know the deck will only be stacked higher against him if he accidentally pokes one of Hagan’s overly sensitive buttons. It’s a tripwire he’s not willing to trifle with.

Guests are packed like sardines into every breathable corner of the house and somehow, a line is still queuing up near the entrance. Girls in neon mini-skirts and guys drenched in cologne elbow past each other, willing to do whatever it takes to solidify themselves as permanent members of King Steve’s guest list.

Ah, King Steve.

How a rising sophomore that looked like something straight out of a Gap catalog had become a local legend was still unclear to Eddie. Not only was the guy popular, he had earned himself a royal moniker that somehow wasn’t used to mock, ridicule, or disparage him. Rather, King Steve was widely respected, admired, and adored by his loyal subjects. People worshiped the squeaky clean ground he walked on. His peers would practically throw themselves at his feet just to get a closer glance at his golden-boy smile and a whiff of his signature hairspray. Eddie really didn’t see the appeal, but maybe that was because people like Steve Harrington weren’t trying to make people like Eddie Munson part of their target demographic.

Eddie’s trying not to burn his fingertips on his silver lighter, a birthday gift from Uncle Wayne that he has yet to master. He can roll identical sets of perfect joints that rival the uniform efficiency of factory machines, but struggles to not flinch at the sight of a blue lipped flame. The potential to burn makes his hands shake and forces his tongue to stick out between his front teeth in itchy concentration. He’d never have a great career as a surgeon, but that was obvious long before he started smoking a few years ago.

Head tipped skyward, Eddie exhales the remains of the first hit and his lungs warm with an earthy heat. The touch of mother nature is soothing and brings him out of the present moment enough that he can focus on internally whispering the names of the few constellations he can remember.

Orion, Cassiopeia, The Big Dipper, and its’ little counterpart.

The trash pop music dulls to a mindless artificial hum of drums and synth with each consecutive hit he takes. He slips off the protective armor of his leather jacket, feeling safe and hidden enough to reveal the bare expanse of his forearms. Goosebumps prickle to the surface of his skin in immediate response to the summer breeze, but Eddie finds it grounding and doesn’t jump to reverse the decision. It serves as a fresh reminder that he’s a real person and not an inanimate object that Hagan and his lackeys get to smack around like a punching bag.

The joint softens him around the edges, encourages him to lean back on his elbows, belly-up and unafraid of what exists out past the infinite blackness of the night sky.

He’s lost in thought. The voices in his head curving in snake-like switchbacks this way and that, so at first he thinks the quiet grumble of someone clearing their throat might be coming from him.

Then, it happens again. This time, it’s followed by unassuming footsteps that clamber down the slope of the roof until they pause somewhere over Eddie’s left shoulder. Like the person is desperate to fill in as Eddie’s shadow now that his actual one has disappeared with the fully set sun.

“Oh, shit. Sorry, man. Didn’t realize anyone else was out here,” his shadow says apologetically.

Eddie’s confused. He makes a mental note to ask Rick if this strain is laced with something else. He eyes the dying joint suspiciously from where it is pinched between his thumb and index fingers.

He must have accidentally taken a hallucinogen, because there’s no other explanation for the timid, anxious tone coming from Steve Harrington’s mouth. There’s no other explanation for the way Harrington cautiously lowers himself to a hunched seat. The way he chooses to sit beside Eddie, like they aren’t part of two entirely separate spheres of existence.

It feels forbidden, Eddie thinks, like wearing the patches of bands you don’t actually listen to.

“Unless I’m mistaken or this joint has me really fucked up, I’m pretty sure this is your house, Harrington,” Eddie remarks, keeping his gaze trained on an imaginary point beyond the treeline that surrounds the wealthy neighborhood.

They’ve never had any sort of verbal exchange, but Steve’s last name snaps from Eddie’s mouth like a biting insult. He won’t do him the favor of using his first name. Not when his henchmen were so eager to sharpen the blade of the guillotine for Eddie’s neck only a couple hours earlier. It’s too personal, reserved for those that get to bask in the King’s good graces. Eddie isn’t under the delusion that he could ever soak up such glory by association with the boy sitting beside him.

However, he’s only human, which means that he’s not immune to the magnetic pull of curiosity. It goes against every fiber of his carefully curated public persona to take any interest in what King Steve looks like up close, but he can’t stop his eyes from wandering. His peripheral vision working overtime to track Steve’s uncertain movements, to follow the shaking line of his body as he sinks further into himself. Seemingly weighed down by a crown that has become too heavy.

“Dude, I was trying to be polite. It looks like you’re having a private moment out here and I didn’t want to intrude on anything,” Steve’s sitting close enough that Eddie can smell the faint sour hint of alcohol lingering on his breath.

It’s no shocker that he’s had a few drinks. Eddie wasn’t exactly hired to supply gumdrops and candy hearts at this party. The buzz of alcohol must be clouding Steve’s mind enough that he doesn’t realize the implications of being seen in casual conversation with Eddie. Not that anyone else has thought to join them on the roof, but it would only take one or two guests looking upwards from the crowded backyard to see the odd pairing hiding in plain sight. How would Steve explain this away?

“Well, dude,” Eddie mimics Steve’s locker room-esque fraternal lingo, “Forgive me for being caught off guard, but you’ll have to fill in the blanks as to why the belle of the ball has chosen to grace me with his presence instead of holding court down below? No offense, Harrington, but you don’t seem like the type of guy to give his company to a lonely stoner like myself just because it’s the charitable thing to do.”

Eddie still hasn’t allowed himself to fully take in Steve’s image. The corner of his eye has provided a jumbled puzzle of how all the pieces fit together. Eddie can see that a picture will form there, but can’t yet imagine the final result, so he has to go off of the limited information he has gathered.

For now, that’s a dorky striped polo that calls to mind what a cartoon captain might wear aboard his ship. The nautical navy hues make Eddie feel a little nauseous as if he’s the one out at sea. The buttons are undone half-way, which makes it appear that Steve is trying to achieve some sort of Peter Parker effect. Like, revealing an inch or two more of his chest automatically transforms him into the version of himself that’s a known party animal. The guy that girls swoon over even though he offers no promise of calling them up in the morning.

Other than that, Eddie’s thrown off by the quivering lip and uneven breaths that are making Steve’s polo-clad chest rise and fall in an off-kilter pattern. He thinks he’s imagining it or projecting his own anxiety onto the boy, but Steve’s breaths get louder and less easy to ignore. It sounds like he’s choking on the warm July breeze, itself. The exact one that had made Eddie feel so at peace before Steve had interrupted his sanctitude.

He bites his tongue hard before he says it, but the words tumble out despite his efforts to threaten them with the stinging consequence of physical pain.

“Hey, I’m sorry if that came off harsher than it should have, I didn’t mean to make you all emotional,” Eddie awkwardly spews and hurriedly brings the joint back to his lips.

Mostly, so he can have something to do with his hands to distract from the growing tension between him and Steve. He’s never known what to do with them in instances like this. If he should keep them to himself or offer them up as comfort to the other person. Harrington would more than likely knock him off the roof if he tried to do something stupid like pat him on the back.

A few beats pass before Steve explains the catalyst behind the increasing volume of his strangled sounds. It’s what one might think would come out of a wounded woodland creature, not the guy who’s destined to win nine out of ten superlatives by the end of his senior year.

Luckily, someone has decided the already blaring music isn’t loud enough. The recent increase further lessening the chance that anyone else would hear Steve’s small cries.

“It’s not you, Munson,” Eddie jolts at the idea that Steve not only knows him by name, but has elected to use it instead of one of the jabbing insults the rest of his group has assigned.

“I’m being a little bitch because of this stupid party. I never wanted it in the first place. Would’ve much rather gone to dinner with my parents or something,” he finishes and Eddie hears a mumbling thought exit his lips, but can’t quite make out the sentiment.

The mention of wanting after his parents strikes a chord in Eddie. It rings out clearly in the space between his ribs, akin to the clarity that washes over him in the aftermath of nailing down a particularly tricky riff on his guitar.

“Hm, what do you mean? Thought parties were kind of your thing, certainly hear about them enough around school,” Eddie says, finding that he wants Steve to elaborate and open the door to his private trembling thoughts just a little more. Just so Eddie can get a glimpse inside and maybe locate the thing that’s unexpectedly drawing him into the conversation with sparking interest.

Steve wavers again before answering, like he has to sort through an unforeseen dilemma. Like he’s at war with himself over needing a shoulder to cry on and wanting to swallow it all down and run in the opposite direction.

“I’m, um, kind of panicking? I don’t know what to call it, man. It happens to me sometimes, like I just freak out and start breathing all weird. Uh, today’s actually my birthday and Tommy H. made me let him invite everyone over to my house, like we were all going to celebrate or whatever, but I don’t think a single person has even wished me a ‘Happy Birthday.’ My Mom and Dad are on one of his lame work trips, so she can make sure he doesn’t cheat on her like last time. They haven’t even called and it’s almost midnight, so it’s destined to be another year of late apology money stuffed in a card signed ‘from, Mom and Dad,’ not even ‘love, Mom and Dad.’”

Eddie pushes himself up from his reclined position and finally turns his head towards Steve. He looks at him, really looks at him for the first time.

Of course, he’s crossed paths with Steve many times before tonight. In the halls of Hawkins High and around town running errands. The closest look he’s gotten has been when he’s done a deal with Tommy H. and any combination of the nameless kingsmen that all blur together and flock to Steve like he’s their shepherd. Eddie doesn't try or care to tell them apart, has no reason to memorize the repetitive nature of their names when they’ll shuck out the cash regardless. All identified by a last initial or physical trait that sticks out to him.

Steve’s been in the background in some of those instances. Eddie’s watched him from afar as Steve has waited for his skeevy sidekick to finish up. He appears untouchable behind the manufactured cool of his Ray Bans. Even when the clouds wake from their months-long hibernation, it’s impossible to ever tell where Steve is looking or who he is looking at, because his overpriced shades never get a day off.

So, this is markedly the first time Eddie has ever made eye contact with Steve Harrington. He lets out a small gasp when they latch onto each other’s gaze. Hopes that Steve will assume he’s only exhaling another hit, regardless of the fact that there’s no telltale trail of smoke to elicit such a conclusion.

Steve’s eyes are honeyed. That’s the only way Eddie can think to describe them. They’re a warm amber color that pulls him in with a hypnotic sheen that may or may not be the result of leftover tears. Though, Eddie’s pretty sure, Steve would never claim them if they were.

The shape of Steve’s eyes is another thing entirely. They’re downturned just slightly and Eddie’s never come across someone that takes up so much space and also happens to be so soft beneath the mask of his commanding exterior. Without the shield of sunglasses and with his attention fully directed towards Eddie, Steve arrives at the destination of his own youth. He’s much younger than he often portrays himself as being. He’s not some larger than life thing of myths and fantasies. He’s just a freshly fifteen year-old boy who hasn’t yet learned to deny himself the dream of gaining his parents’ love and approval.

And, Eddie? He knows something about that. Much more than he’d like to share, but Steve has just put into words the feeling Eddie’s been trying and failing to kill off for quite some time.

“That’s super fucked up,” it’s all Eddie can say without dropping his hand of cards and revealing what he’s been keeping pressed hard against his chest.

A memory strikes him and he’s reminded of the few times in his life that he’s felt really taken care of. For some reason, he won’t allow himself to begin to investigate; he has the odd desire to make Steve feel that way.

“This might sound weird and if it does, just tell me. No need to punch me in the face or anything,” Eddie is well aware that it is going to sound weird and probably, come off as way too intimate of a proposition.

“Why would I punch you in the face? I’m not a total asshole, y’know,” Steve counters defensively, still gasping for air like a fish out of water.

“Because of them,” Eddie gestures generally in the direction of the ongoing festivities beneath the roof, “Because Tommy H. fucking hates me and he made that very clear when he stole all of my shit earlier without paying a dime for any of it.”

“He did what? Wait, did he do that here, like at my place?” Steve furrows his brow like the little people’s complaints could possibly matter to someone in his position.

He’s being political, Eddie thinks, he wants me to be fooled into thinking he’s so “different” than them, so I’ll stay on his side.

“Harrington, let’s not play games. It’s sweet of you, really, to put on a face like my problems mean something to you, but we both know they don’t. It’s not like I haven’t seen you laugh along with the rest at my misery,” Eddie points out bitterly.

Steve startles, but doesn’t break eye contact. He seems offended by Eddie’s suggestion that he could be so callous, when it’s clearly an undeniable fact. Some are predators, some are prey. Eddie has unfortunately fallen into the latter category for most of his young life. It’s just the way things are. He doesn’t see a reason to dance around and sing songs of unity like Steve’s never stomped on his toes. Maybe not deliberately, maybe not on his own accord, but Steve’s definitely never been one to stand up and stop it from happening.

Before Steve can jump to defend himself again and swear up and down that he’s “not like that,” Eddie backpedals to his initial goal, which was to play the hero to Steve’s damsel in distress.

“It doesn’t matter, dude. Shit like that happens all the time when you’re someone like me. I wouldn’t expect you to know much about it.”

Steve nods slowly like he’s accepting the fact that Eddie has caught him in the act of deceit.

“But, let bygones be bygones or whatever. I, um, I’ve had panic attacks, too. That’s what they’re called, by the way. Panic attacks,” he says it a second time, so it can sink into Steve’s brain for the inevitable next moment that he will have to face one.

Sometimes, Eddie has learned, labeling a scary thing with a name gives it less power over you. If you bring the thing into the light of day, it loses the cloak of mystery and obscurity. That’s why it hurts him so much that no one, except his uncle, calls him by his first name; as if it's more fun to keep him in the role of the unknowable monster.

“Panic attack. Okay, so this is a panic attack?” Steve tests out the term in his mouth like it’s a foreign dish from some place half-way across the globe. Like he’s trying to get his palate to adjust to the exotic flavor.

“As far as I can tell, that’s what you’re experiencing. The heavy breathing, the gasping for air, the racing thoughts, the shaky hands; all pretty common panic attack symptoms,” Eddie explains, reflecting upon the first time his mom had taught him about the psychology behind the inescapable anxiety he felt whenever his dad entered a room.

“It kind of feels like I’m dying. Is it-is it supposed to feel that way? Do you feel that way when you have them?” Steve’s eyes are blown wide and Eddie is suddenly convinced that none of the fear is fabricated.

This isn’t some elaborate prank or ruse to mess with the school freak and embarrass him in front of the entire student body. Or at least, the portion of it that has achieved a social status high enough to be here.

“Yeah, it sucks. It literally feels like I’m going to have a heart attack when it happens to me. Sometimes, I kind of wish I would have one, so I wouldn’t have to deal with them all the time,” Eddie admits and immediately pinches the inside of his elbow, because he knows he’s said too much about who he really is.

It’s more ammo than Steve should be allowed to have, but here Eddie is, willingly giving it up to the guy and practically begging him to utilize the information in future torture campaigns.

Then again, Steve has provided Eddie with an equal amount of weaponizable information. The only difference is that everyone takes Steve’s word as truth from a higher power. By comparison, Eddie’s word falls flat as mere sticks and stones that would only ricochet off Steve’s impalpable form and backfire against him.

“There’s this thing though that my mom taught me,” Eddie finds it unnecessary to add that the woman is no longer in the picture, would rather let Steve wonder.

“It’s called ‘The Great Abyss,’ which is a badass name considering what it actually is. It’s a pressure point,” Eddie explains and Steve cocks his head in a way that conveys he doesn’t quite understand yet.

“Pressure points. They’re these little places on your body that can be used to heal all sorts of things. The whole idea of it came from ancient China, I think. They discovered that certain points were associated with all this internal stuff. Like there’s ones for getting rid of headaches and sore throats and even hangovers.”

Steve laughs at the mention of a hangover cure and the lightness it carries encourages Eddie to keep talking. Makes him believe for a second that Steve Harrington isn’t as closed minded as he originally seemed.

“Anyways, ‘The Great Abyss’ is on the inside of your left wrist,” Eddie grinds the butt of the joint into the roof’s shingles and tosses it aside so he can properly demonstrate,“There’s this hollow part, right here,” he leans closer to Steve to show him the spot beneath his thumb, where his palm and bony wrist meet.

Steve’s listening intently, like Eddie’s teaching a seminar on all of his greatest interests. If he had a notepad and pen to spare, he’d hand them to Steve just so he could relieve the intense pursed focus that has taken over his face.

“It feels weird, at first, because you have to get the hang of pressing down hard enough that it works. It took me a while to figure it out, so don’t worry if it seems like it’s not working when you try it. You hold down for a few minutes, no longer than five or you might pass out and let’s be clear, I don’t have the money to pay for any medical damages you may inflict on yourself,” Eddie smirks, but simultaneously, presses down with a moderate amount of force on his own wrist.

“And, if I was having a panic attack, the healing magic of ‘The Great Abyss’ should kick in right about now. You’ll feel your breath slow down and go back to normal. Then, with it, your heart rate will chill out and your thoughts should get noticeably less catastrophic,” Eddie concludes and releases the hold, throwing his hands up in a “ta-da” motion like he’s a magician who just pulled off an awe-inspiring trick.

Steve doesn’t say anything, just sits there frozen, so Eddie takes this as his cue to leave. Figures Steve probably won’t want Eddie staring him down if he decides to give the ol’ Great Abyss a try. He knows he doesn’t have the world’s most calming effect on people, so he hops to his feet and faces the window that he had initially crawled out of.

But, as he begins to scale the sloped roof, Steve’s voice yanks him out of the thick concentration he’s in the middle of, not wanting to fall to his death in front of a crowd that would applaud such an occurrence.

“Where are you going? I can’t do this by myself. Can’t you show me?” Steve says in a frantic tone, shaking more than he had been when Eddie was beside him.

“You want me to do the pressure point on you ?” Eddie clarifies, shocked that Steve would suggest they touch in any capacity, when the rest of his peers avoid even brushing shoulders with him or passing him a pencil in the back of a classroom. Like they’ll catch a disease from simply breathing the same slice of air.

“That’s what I was getting at, yeah,” Steve confirms and is quick to amend his statement with, “Unless that makes you uncomfortable or you have somewhere else to be. I’ll be fine, really.”

The conundrum lies in that Steve doesn’t look fine, at all. He looks miles from it. Stuck out in the barren wasteland of conflated fear and self-loathing. Eddie hates that Steve’s looking at him like he’s an oasis in the desert, like he can wave a magic wand and cure him instantly.

He hates it even more that he finds himself under Steve’s own spell. The same one he seems to employ on a daily basis to woo the likes of peers, parents, and teachers. Eddie’s transfixed by his boy next door charm, struggles not to find his suburban helplessness endearing. Like this is the first real problem he’s ever faced.

“Okay, sure, I’ll do it. It’s not a big deal,” Eddie lies through his teeth. He knows before he’s even sat back down next to Steve that this moment will very much so be a big deal in the trajectory of his life. It carries an undeniable weight.

With feigned nonchalance and a grimace to hide his racing heart, Eddie settles back into the world he and Steve have created for the time being. Population of two, location unreachable by anyone not in their strange anxious little club.

“When do your parents get back?” Eddie asks, hoping small talk will prevent Steve from noticing the emotions that have to be incredibly obvious on his face. The heat rising up the line of his cheekbones tells him so and he can’t exactly blame it on the alcohol he hasn’t consumed a drop of.

“Don’t know,” Steve shrugs and his tense shoulders almost hit his ears, “They never really tell me. I just see the packed suitcases by the door and know that means I’ll have the house to myself for the next few days, sometimes a week or two.”

Eddie nods, imagines how empty the trailer would feel if Uncle Wayne left for more than a night or two at a time. How empty it would feel if it happened more than once or twice a year. Even more so, if he lived in a house with so many vacant rooms and no one to fill them but his selfish peers.

Eddie was starting to see why Steve was able to get away with having so many parties and more importantly, why Steve would want people over all the time in the first place.

“Can I see your left wrist?” Eddie implores, breaking away from his own thoughts and half- expecting Steve to laugh in his face, like the suggestion that they touch wasn’t his idea.

Steve obediently pushes up the sleeves of his heinous polo and presents Eddie with his right wrist.

“Your left one, dipshit,” Eddie laughs good-humoredly. It’s hearty and he finishes off with a goofy snort, but then, Steve’s cracking up alongside him, so he figures it’s okay.

“Wow, it’s my birthday and I’m in the middle of a panic attack,” Eddie takes pride in the fact that he taught Steve something new when he hears him use the term again, “And you’re making fun of me for not being able to tell my left from my right. Pretty dick move of you, Munson.”

He’s still laughing and clutching at his abdomen. When he leans back, an inch of his tan, well- defined stomach is revealed and Eddie tears his eyes away before he can begin to consider why he wants to touch the line of skin that sits below Steve’s navel. He shakes his head back and forth in hopes that the thought will fall right out of his ear and become a corpse beside him.

“Okay, sorry, sorry. I promise not to insult your less than optimal ability to follow directions. You have my word,” Eddie swears, theatrically waving an imaginary white flag in one hand, “Now, your left wrist, please.”

Steve calms his laughter and glows from the aftermath of their banter. His cheeks are flushed and pink near the apples, but Eddie knows the ruddy hue must have more to do with the beers he no doubt chugged earlier in the evening than it does with Eddie sitting so close to him.

The correct wrist is now within Eddie’s line of vision. He reaches down towards the place where Steve has it hovering over his criss-crossed lap. He tries to pay no attention to the smattering of moles and freckles that dot the inside of his arm like they belong somewhere up above next to Orion and Casseopia.

They’re not holding hands, but they might as well be as Eddie circles Steve’s wrist and begins to apply mild pressure to the hollow dent he had described before.

Steve lurches a little from the initial contact, but quickly self-corrects and lets his lids flutter closed after a second or two, providing Eddie with his trust. An innocence paints its way from his chin to his hairline, as if he’s never participated in even the slightest of sinful acts. As if the minute touch holding them together isn’t the very definition of sin, itself.

“Just keep breathing, slow and steady. Try not to think too much and just focus on the feeling of my hand on your wrist. I’m going to hold on for the next few minutes, but if it hurts or you want me to stop, just say so,” Eddie instructs, trying not to feel too foolish about the hippie dippy words coming out of his mouth.

Steve’s eyes remain shut, so Eddie helps himself to another lingering study at the enigma of the boy sitting only inches away from him. This time, he compares the open palm of Steve’s hand to his own.

Eddie’s fingers are longer and bonier, knuckles jutting up through the pale overlay of his skin. Yet, he still has trouble fully encircling Steve’s wrist in his hand despite the falsely perceived advantage of his lankiness.

Steve’s palms are wider. Flat, firm expanses covered with the rough spotty texture of calluses formed from years of playing a laundry list of sports. None of which Eddie knows or cares to know the rules of.

Eddie’s hands are made for stretching across the keys of a piano and skillfully painting the smallest details of the figurines that adorn his desk. Steve’s hands are made for exerting force on a grassy field and shoving his devoted followers into their assigned places in the pecking order.

“Okay, you can let go,” Steve says suddenly.

Eddie rips his hand away, worried that he had gotten too sidetracked by his analysis and hurt Steve in the process.

“Woah, man, it’s cool. You didn’t do anything wrong. Honestly, that really helped. I just told you to stop, because I feel much better now,” Steve explains kindly, but Eddie’s tuned him out, because now, Steve has his hand resting on the inside of Eddie’s nearest bicep.

He’s rubbing his palm back and forth like Eddie’s a spooked horse. He doesn’t move away, doesn’t rush out now that he’s gotten what he wanted out of their interaction. Not like Eddie’s used to people doing. No one ever sticks around on his account, certainly not to make sure he’s okay.

And,no one has touched him so gently since his mom died. He wants to cry, can feel tears prickling in the corners of his eyes, but can’t find the courage to let them out. Not here. Not when Steve’s just made the incomprehensible decision to give him the rare gifts of kindness and comfort. Not when he knows that this means much less to Steve than it does to him.

Eddie indulges in the feeling for a minute more and the two sit in a mutually agreed upon silence, like they’re old friends and don’t need to fill in the gaps all the time. Like they aren’t afraid of scaring the other off by not knowing how to put their thoughts into words.

He looks down at Steve’s hand on his arm one more time and commits it to memory. For what usage? He’s not sure, but it feels important.

Once it’s safely tucked away, Eddie shrugs out from under Steve’s hand and says, “If I had known this was technically your birthday party, I wouldn’t have shown up without a proper gift, but,” he digs around in the pocket of his discarded leather jacket, “I do have a few joints, rolled by yours truly, that I’d like to give you for keeping me company up here and not being a total dickhead to me.”

Steve breaks out into a huge lottery-winner’s grin and accepts the joints from Eddie’s hands, tucking them into the front of his light-washed Levi’s, “Thanks, dude. That, um, that’s really cool of you and probably the only birthday gift I’ll get until my parents get home with the apology money.”

“My pleasure. Happy Birthday, Harrington,” Eddie smiles genuinely at him and wants to say more, but can’t quite figure out how to escape the confines of needing to appear socially normal and at ease in front of Steve. He’s never been one to speak his mind without coming off as offensive or dramatic, so he keeps it simple.

Steve reaches across himself and looks like he’s considering drawing Eddie into a hug, but he lets his arm fall into his lap instead, having thought better of the idea. Halting himself from crossing into a territory that he can’t come back from.

“I don’t really know how to say this and I don’t want to make anything weird, but-” Steve hesitantly starts and Eddie feels his pulse lurch into the back of his throat. He thinks he might die from the way he’s hanging on Steve’s every word which is slowly knotting a noose around his neck.

What did Mrs. Douglas call it his freshman year when they were studying ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’? A dark comedy? Plays and stories defined by sharp ironic scenes and gutting satire.

That’s what this has to be, because the events that follow are nothing but a sick joke to Eddie and he never gets the chance to hear the end of Steve’s confession.

Because Tommy H. shows up leaning his head through Steve’s bedroom window, like he’s Rapunzel and Steve is the Prince on the verge of coming to his rescue. Eddie has to cough out a choked laugh. It’s humorless, awkward, and makes Tommy sneer in his direction, but he can’t hold himself back from the dark hilarity he finds in the unfolding scene. The tragic irony that has befallen him makes him sick and hopeless, anew and erases any progress he thought he had made in the last hour.

“Harrington, what the fuck are you doing hanging out with this fag ? I’ve been looking all over for you. Whaddya get too drunk and confused by the long hair? He’s a guy, at least I think, hard to be sure when no one would ever dare get in his pants,” Hagan spits out each word with increasing hatred, never taking his beady eyes off of Eddie. It’s vulturous, as if he might swoop down and tear into Eddie’s flesh any moment just to prove his loyalty to Steve.

For his part, Steve leans away from Eddie to scramble to his feet and it cuts him to the core.

Had he really thought their one interaction would change anything about their dynamic in the grand scheme of things? Had he really deluded himself into a hole so deep that he could imagine a world in which they waved hello to each other in the school hallways? A world in which they ate lunch together in the cafeteria and divulged petty secrets? A world in which they eventually dropped the act and attempted to master the commitment to each other’s first names?

No. Because, he wasn’t Eddie to Steve. He was never going to be Eddie to Steve. He was that other thing that lurked in the darkness, scared people’s children, and got maced in the face simply for walking down the sidewalk.

The Freak. The Fag. The Queer. The Monster.

“Let’s go, dude!” Tommy whines at Steve’s clear reluctance to return the weighty crown to his perfectly coiffed head of brown hair, “Tammy Thompson told me she’d give you a blowjob, if you came out of your hiding spot to take a shot with her. She’s waiting downstairs.”

“Gimme a second, I’ll be right there,” Steve swallows past a lump in his throat and doesn’t seem the slightest bit fazed by the opportunity Tommy has just thrown on the table. Doesn’t lunge at it like some of the more perverted guys they go to school with would. Treats it like Tommy just told him there’s a ham sandwich on the counter for when he’s hungry.

His demeanor shifts in the direction of apathy. Maybe, even disappointment. But, that’s likely, because he has to go back to socializing with the exact people he was trying to run away from, not because he has to leave Eddie’s side and abandon his confession to hang in the air of what could have been.

Tommy H. ducks his head back in through the window, leaving the boys with a translucent brand of privacy. He’s tapping his foot on the carpet just on the other side and has his freckled arms crossed so tight he could easily break apart a watermelon if it happened to tumble between his chest and forearms.

Steve makes up his mind, eventually. He’ll give in to his subjects' wishes, grant them the company of their beloved figurehead. He’ll put aside the gnawing feeling of his remaining anxiety and drown it in as much of his parents’ liquor as it takes. He’ll let Tammy Thompson have her way with him, let himself pretend any of her touches actually make him feel held.

So it will be, so it always has been.

This is what it takes to be the King, Eddie realizes, the throne is not always a comfortable place to sit.

Eddie’s ready to go home, no longer cares if Tommy H. pays him or not. He’ll bust his ass to scrounge up the money through other odd jobs, like mowing lawns and washing windows. He just can’t be in the vicinity of this mess for a minute more, because if he stays and watches Steve get drunker and sadder, he knows he might do something he’ll really regret.

As he slips on his leather jacket, he almost misses Steve’s final words, which might have prevented him from falling prey to Steve’s charm again and again in the coming months. Unfortunately, he hears him.

Steve clears his throat, like he did when he first came out here to alert Eddie of his arrival. It’s subtle, but just as effective as it originally was at grabbing his attention.

Eddie looks over from his crouched position and finds Steve with one foot through the window and the other still firmly planted on the gray shingles of the roof; divided between the two planes of being. The person he wants to be and the person he has to be.

“I, uh, I gotta go, but I’ll see you around?” Steve says with an awkward lilt at the end, solidifying the fact that it is very much a question and not an assured statement.

“Yeah, I’ll see you when we get back to school,” Eddie replies quickly, not wanting Steve to think that he had assumed their paths could cross anywhere but the halls of Hawkins High.

“Sounds good. Bye, Eddie,” Steve salutes him with an upward nod of his strong chin and disappears back into the world in which people like them never even think about touching beneath the moonlight of a warm, July night.

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