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sleepdeprivedandinsane · 1 year

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Love You Like I'm Never Gonna Love You Again

Evan 'Buck' Buckley x Fem!Reader

angst with a happy ending

summary: Reader gets shot on a job. When she flatlines on the way to the hospital, Buck is worried she won't make it out alive.

POTENTIAL TW : : mentions of gsw, blood, grief, guns? I think? If there's any I missed or should add lmk! Enjoy 🫡

I only have one thing to say for this... sorry 🥲

It was times like this that Buck wondered why he did what he did. Everyone was silent as they sat at the dinner table. No one bothered to try and say anything, and no one looked up either. They all focused on their polished black shoes, not having the stomach to look up and see her empty chair.

He hears people say, "it all happened so fast," but when the shot rang out and he watched the blood spread on her shirt, everything was in slow motion. The shot echoed in his ears. He was too shocked to scream as her body fell slowly to the ground. Realization hit when he felt her blood on his face, and everyone rushed to her aid. It was like someone shocked him, like he jolted awake from a nightmare. Only, when he woke up, she wasn't better.

"No..." He said. "No, no, no!" He screamed, rushing to her.

Bobby and Eddie held him back as he fought to get to her, Hen and Chim working with shaky hands.

"This can't be happening..." He whimpered.

She looked at him, a weak smile on her bloody face, blood pouring from her wound."It's okay. It'll be okay." She muttered fraily.

She nodded, as if trying to convince herself as well.

"Please- let me go!" He yelled desperately, "please! I need to go to her!" His eyes watered as he begged Bobby and Eddie to let him go.

They, too, were on the verge of tears, trying to hold them back for his sake. It wouldn't have made much of a difference, though. All his focus was on her.

Once they got her loaded into the ambulance, they let him go. He ran to her side and sat down. He took her hand, brushing the stray hairs that fell from her braid away from her eyes. She looked up at him with watery eyes, swallowing thickly because she knew it wasn't good. A bullet wound is supposed to hurt. It isn't good when it doesn't.

"Try not to move, okay?" He said shakily.

She nodded, squeezing his hand to assure him. She felt somewhat guilty that she was even trying when she knew she probably wouldn't make it to the hospital. She couldn't bring herself to lie to him. She couldn't find the words to tell him how much she loved him either.

"You're gonna be okay. You have to be." He said firmly, denial dripping from his tongue.

She shook her head. "No." She whimpered. "I'm not."

He shook his head defiantly. "Don't say that. Say anything but that." He said, his voice cracking.

Hen and Chim had to choke back the words 'she's right' because they themselves didn't want to believe she wasn't going to be okay. They wanted to believe she'd be okay like Buck did.

"Okay." She said. "Then I need to tell you something. Before I don't get the chance. I-" She started.

But he cut her off with a shake of his head. "No, you can tell me when you're better." He said.

They all knew what she was going to say, but no one said anything. Everyone, including each other, knew about their feelings for each other. Y/n was afraid of it all going sour, however, and she didn't have the courage to take the plunge and risk losing her best friend. Evan, he wanted to save them both the heartache in case it didn't last. Mostly himself, if he was honest. He knew they'd come back from it, but it'd never be the same. They didn't want to take that chance, and everyone thought it was stupid. Anyone with eyes could see they were crazy for each other. Absolutely head over heels.

"You can't leave me. Please don't leave me." He said desperately, tears streaming down his blood stained cheeks.

She reached up and wiped away his tears, her hand lingering when he leaned into her. "You'll be okay." She said sadly.

"No." He croaked. "I won't." He shook his head, placing his hand on hers.

"You'll have Maddie, Bobby, Chimney, Hen, Eddie, and Christopher. You'll be okay." She tried to convince him.

"But I won't have you." He whispered. "You can't give up yet. You have to fight." He said defeated.

"I'm so tired." She said weakly. "I'm sorry." She said, struggling to get the words out.

"I know it hurts-" He said, but she cut him off.

"It doesn't. It doesn't hurt." She whispered.

"Please, it's not supposed to end this way, I still need you. We still need you." He said.

She smiled weakly, wiping his tears once more. She gasped, her chest heaving, before she stilled, her eyes going blank. For a moment, her hand remained against his cheek, but he knew she was gone. Her smile faded, her mouth agape as blood spilled from the corners. Her hand fell, and Buck never knew silence could be so loud. The constant beep, the solid line, seemed to taunt them. Hen angrily shut it off. Chimney slowly took his hands from her wound where he attempted to stop the bleeding.

"No." Buck said, getting up and starting cpr.

He wasn't ready to give up on her. Henrietta shut her eyes tightly, fighting back tears of her own. Chimney shook his head, determined to see her smile again. To see them finally happy together. To see her in a white gown as he watched his best friends say their vows. To see little baby Buckleys running around with Jee-yun. He reached into her wound, closing off the source of the bleed. Hen sniffled as she turned the machine back on, the consistent beep sounding again. What was a taunt became motivation to them, and Buck continued to try recesutate her.

"C'mon..." He said. "C'mon!" He yelled desperately.

Tears mixed with the dried blood on his face, but he hardly noticed either. Hen tried not to look because seeing one of her best friends lay lifeless on the gurney, while another desperately tried to bring her back, would be too much. She knew that would break her. Break her faith in the job. She needed to try to remember why she did it instead of seeing a reason not to.

As Chimney ran beside the gurney, Hen filled in the doctors and nurses, but Buck didn't hear. He just heard a ringing in his ears, the gun shot echoing in his head. Her lifeless eyes stared back at him, the blood still spilling from her mouth. It gave him a little hope, though, because if she was totally gone she wouldn't be bleeding... right?

"Sir, we can take it from here." A nurse said, easing Buck from his position above her as he tried to get her heart beating again.

Chim was eased into paper blue covers as they rolled them into surgery.

They hadn't been ushered away yet. They could see nurses starting chest compressions and giving her O2. They could see the doctors gently ease Chim's hand from her wound. They could see the blood pour from the wound as a result. As the minutes droned on and her heart didn't start, he felt his own shatter.

It wasn't quick. It was slow. Painful.

Hen could see her blood spilling onto the floor. Her hope quickly diminished seeing the amount.

Finally, Buck could see her heart re-start and her chest rise, and he released a breath he wasn't aware he was holding.

Then, Buck finally broke down. He fell to his knees, sobbing. Hen knelt down with him, pulling him into her embrace, but it offered neither of them comfort. Bobby, Eddie, and Athena rushed to them.

Athena's face fell. "She flat lined. Didn't she?" She said sadly, defeated.

Hen nodded weakly. Eddie dropped to his knees, hugging Buck as well.

"I'm gonna get this son of a bitch." Athena growled, storming out of the trauma bay. "Call me when she's out of surgery." She said as she determinedly walked away.

Bobby hung his head, unwillingly letting the tears fall. None of them could bring themselves to leave. None of them wanted to.

It wasn't until Chim finally returned, covered in blood, and said they wouldn't know anything for several more hours.

It took some convincing, but they finally got Buck to leave to finish his shift. But none of them truly left the ER.

Buck had an empty plate in front of him, but he couldn't bring himself to eat. Not when he saw her blank expression every time he closed his eyes.

Their families all came out to support them, the community coming together to put out candles and figures of good luck and healing, hoping and praying for the firefighter and her family and team. Praying for good news. The sight was bittersweet.

Buck couldn't stand the silence. He stood abruptly and left, heading to the locker rooms.

He had to choke back a sob. He didn't want to live without her. He didn't want to love anyone else but her. He didn't want to do this job if she wasn't beside him.

"Evan, you were made to save a life."

His mother's voice rang out in his head.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to sob. He wanted her back.

He missed her smile, he missed her laugh, he missed the stupid jokes she'd tell to cheer everyone up on a hard day. He missed her warm hugs and how she smelled like roses and lillies: her favorite perfume. Her hair always smelled fruity, and her skin was always so soft. He missed her giggles and the way she'd gently caress his face. He wanted her back.

He wanted to hear from the damn hospital. Wanted to hear them say she made it through. It was nearing six hours after the shooting, and it felt like the longest six hours of his life.

He stood in the locker room, leaning against the metal doors of the lockers, his head down. He squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to think of her in any way that wasn't the lifeless look in her eyes. Even if she made it, that sight would haunt his nightmares. He mentally kicked himself for not telling her he loved her sooner. He knew she knew. Hell, everyone else did too. But he needed to know she heard it. And right now, he was praying for any miracle. He was praying that he'd get the chance to tell her, kiss her, hold her, anything.

He screamed and stood, hitting the lockers to try to ease the pain in any way. He punched and punched, angry and distraught and so many other things. He wanted order. He needed something to ground him. Right now, that was the stinging pain in his knuckles. He punched the doors again and again until his fist was as numb as he was inside. He fell to his knees, crying weakly.

Maddie came in, silently sitting next to him on the floor. She didn't try reassuring him that she'd be okay because truth be told, she was terrified too. She also knew nothing she said would help ease his pain. So she simply laid a gentle hand on his cheek, turning his face to her. She smiled softly, pulling his head forward and placing a gentle kiss to his forehead. He leaned on her, laying his head on her shoulder as he sobbed tiredly.

"I just need to know that she's okay." He croaked weakly. "I just need her to be okay." He sobbed.

"Shh," she cooed softly, "I know." She whispered. She held his shoulders, letting her own tears fall.

"I'm not going to lie to you and say it'll be okay. I don't know if she's going to make it, and I won't try to pretend that I do. But I know one thing: she is incredibly strong." She said, pulling him away just enough to look him in the eye.

"She's got a lot of fire left in her, still got a lot of fight left. She doesn't give up easily, and I refuse to believe that this time is going to be any different. She's too stubborn and bull headed to let someone else decide when it's her time to leave. And I have that to hold onto." She said.

He smiled faintly. "Thank you." He whispered. "That helps." He said, nodding as he closed his eyes.

"You need to go home and rest." She said concerned.

He shook his head. "I can't sleep without knowing she's okay." He said defiantly.

Just then, Chimney ran in, Jee on his hip. "It's the hospital." He panted. "They've got news on Y/n." He said.

Maddie and Buck shot up from the floor, running out to the main floor where Bobby was on the phone with the doctor.

"Here they are, I'm putting you on speaker." He said when Maddie and Buck approached.

"I'm relieved to call with good news. Ms Y/l/n made it." He said relieved.

A collection of cheers sounded throughout the firehouse. And for the first time since she was shot, Buck felt all the tension leave his body. "Thank god." He muttered to himself.

"She suffered slight head trauma when she fell, and with the pain medication she's on, she'll probably be out for a while." He said.

"When can we see her?" Hen asked antsy.

"You can come down now if you'd like. Visiting hours are over, but I'll make an exception this time." He said.

"Thank you. Thank you so much." Bobby said.

Before he even ended the call, Buck was running to his jeep. He sped to the hospital, probably breaking several traffic laws on the way, but at the moment, he could care less. All he could think was, 'She's alive. She's really alive. She's okay.' In that moment, nothing else mattered to him. She was alive. That's all that he cared about.

He ran up to the receptionist, and as soon as he had her room number, he was running up the stairs.

The elevator might've been quicker, but the burn in his legs and the sharp jab in his gut as he took the stairs two at a time reminded him that he was awake, that it was real. She was really okay.

He saw her through the large window in the wall, the door slightly ajar. All the air left his lungs. He couldn't describe the immense relief any other way.

He rushed to her side, dropping into the chair beside her bed. The back of her gown was open, the bandages peeking through. Before he even registered it, he was tucking the blanket over her exposed skin. He took her hand in his, feeling her warm skin against his. He sighed, leaning his forehead against their intertwined hands. Up until now, he hadn't realized just how tired he was. His face was probably all red and puffy from crying, but he didn't care all that much anymore. He'd hang the moon if it meant she would be okay. He'd hold the sky up for her if it meant he would see her smile again. He didn't care. All that mattered to him was that she was safe.

She groaned, squeezing his hand in hers. "Hey, Buckley." She croaked out with a dry throat.

He smiled, remembering when she would call him that when they first got to know each other. At first, it was because she was bad at remembering names and relied on the name tags. Then, it became a way for her to tease him because she knew he didn't like it. He would always respond with her last name, too, but it was only her and a few other people who were allowed to call him that. The few other people being Hen, Chim, Bobby, and Eddie. And of course, his sister, but she only really did when he was about to be reprimanded for something. Other than that, no one else was allowed to use his full name. She was even allowed to call him Evan, but she only used it when it was just them.

"Hey, Y/l/n." He responded softly. He gently handed her the cup of ice water from the table beside her bed, helping her sit up slightly so she could take a drink. She nodded when she was finished and he set it down.

She smiled at him fondly. "You were right." She said. "Maybe I was being a little dramatic." She joked lightheartedly.

Maybe he wasn't in the mood, but that struck a cord with him. "You weren't being dramatic, Y/n, you flatlined. You almost died." He said seriously.

Her eyes widened and she sat forward slightly. "I- what?" She asked shocked.

His eyes began to water, and his had shook slightly. "You were dead. I thought you were gone. I was so scared." He whispered meekly.

She frowned, pulling his face to hers. She rested her forehead against his, gently wiping his tears away. "Hey, I'm right here, okay? I'm not going anywhere anytime soon." She whispered.

"You almost died. I didn't know what I was going to do if you didn't make it. I wasn't sure I could live with myself." He said softly. "I need you here. I've never loved anyone the way I love you." He admitted. He wasn't too particularly happy with the time and place, but he couldn't wait any longer. He needed to know he told her. He needed to know he said it.

She kissed him deeply, putting everything she was trying to tell him in it. That she was real, and she was alive. She wasn't going anywhere. That she loved him too.

"I love you. God, I've wanted to tell you for so long but I was too scared." He said.

"What made you not be scared anymore?" She asked.

"Oh, I'm still scared. I'm scared if we go all in and it ends badly, that I'll lose my best friend and the best thing that's ever happened to me. But seeing you lay lifeless on the gurney scared me way more. I'm still scared, but not as scared as I was when I thought you died." He said.

Her face fell. "Oh, God, you saw me flatline?" She said, a mix of emotions crossing her face. He just nodded sadly.

"I saw through the window. There was so much blood. It's something that's going to haunt my nightmares for the foreseeable future." He said.

She stroked his cheek gently. "You said I could say it when I was better. Can I say it now?" She asked.

He closed his eyes and nodded. "Please."

"I love you, Evan Buckley." She said smiling.

He smiled relieved. She leaned her forehead against his again. "I love you so much." She whispered. "I love you, I love you, I love you." She said, peppering his face with kisses until he finally smiled. "There it is." She said softly.

"I'm never letting you go again." He said, gently pulling her into his chest to hug her, just wanted to hold her for a little while.

"Well, that's good, 'cus I'm never leaving your side." She said, sinking into his embrace.

Eventually, after a grueling 30 minutes of being stuck in traffic due to a pileup, the team finally made it to the hospital, only to find Y/n and Buck asleep.

Y/n lay back, the bed sitting up slightly, but not much. Buck lay right next to her chest, her arm over his shoulders, and their fingers entwined. It looked like they fell asleep talking and watching 'Gone With The Wind' on some channel. They all smiled at the sight, happy to see the two finally relaxed.

Each one took a seat somewhere and eventually fell asleep themselves. They weren't about to leave without giving Y/n a hug and reminding her how much they love her. Besides, they were all exhausted. Physically, emotionally, and mentally. The hospital wasn't the best place to sleep, but they weren't about to leave their youngest member alone in a hospital room, let alone let Buck be there by himself. And maybe it was to make themselves feel better because they were all worried sick about her. Or maybe it was for her and Buck. All they knew: they weren't leaving her alone again.

#angst prompt #writers on tumblr #911 on fox #911 one shot #evan 'buck' buckley #buck x reader #evan buckley x reader #this is some angst angst

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starry-bi-sky · 5 months

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There are two things that Damian knows that he knows Father doesn’t.

He has an older brother

He was dead

(And a secret third thing: Damian was glad he was dead. They did not get along.)

Well. No, correction, they were two things that Damian knew that Father didn't. Past tense. Strange magic swirled through the air and created a mirage before his eyes, and immediately a scowl forms across his face.

The mirage shifts and shimmers like the light hitting a slowly turning prism, and then it settles into a memory. One that Damian does not recall. Like looking into a tv screen, it shows, faintly, a room, with most of the magic going into the image of a crib.

His mother was standing on one side, and next to her, standing on his tiptoes was a small five year old boy looking up at her. With dark hair and skin that was only few shades lighter brown than Damian's, the little boy's resemblance to Damian was undeniable.

However, his eyes were blue. Not green. Damian's scowl deepens, and he sinks back. "Danyal." He mutters, and feels eyes turn on to him.

Danyal Al Ghul. Damian's older brother. A prodigal swordsman like Damian, and five years his senior. He'd be fifteen if he was still alive. His memory of the last time he saw his brother was still clear in his mind.

(A sword to Danyal's neck. Stars were glittering through his window. Damian was five, Danyal ten. He is not sure why Danyal had snuck into his room, all he remembers is hearing a sound and on instinct reaching for his sword.)

(His brother had intercepted easily. But had not shoved the sword away. Moonlight hit his blue eyes, and Damian remembers seeing the pupils shrink to let the light in. His eyes looked almost silver.)

(His brother bares his teeth at him. Damian wants to slice his neck more than anything, and he bares his teeth back. "Good." Danyal says, his voice low in a hiss, "Your reflexes are good, little brother.")

("Of course they are," Damian remembers snarling, and presses the sword closer. But it does not budge. "I am an Al Ghul.")

(Something unrecognizable passes through his brother's eyes, and his mouth twists into something like a smile. "I know." He says, and tilts his head downwards at him. "And you will be great.")

(His brother shoves the sword back, causing Damian to stumble. And like the wind, he is gone.)

(The next morning, he goes on a mission with mother and a few others. Mother is the only one to return with Danyal's sword, and a red-eyed look in her eyes. Damian does not mourn. Now there's only one of them.)

"Momma." The little Danyal-mirage speaks, a furrow between his childlike brows as mother lowers a bundle into the crib. His blue eyes watch her, and lifts onto his toes to peer into the crib as she sets the baby down. "Who is this?"

Their mother's hand comes to rest along his back. "This is Damian, my son." She murmurs, voice low. "He is your little brother. Protect him well."

Damian scoffs internally -- not likely. He remembers every spar he ever had with Danyal, every harsh word and insult. His pushing, pushing, pushing for Damian to get up. To try again. Do it again. The only kindness he ever showed him was when his fingers bled. And even that was harsh, firm. Rolling gauze around his wrist and scolding him, telling him how to wield his weapon better.

(It was the same as everyone else, but somehow it hurt worse coming from his own brother.)

But he watches his older brother's youngest self tilt his head to the side, and then reach his chubby hand through the crib's bars. He runs small, blunt fingers over the baby's arm, and the baby jerks. Through the crib's bars, Damian sees himself grab Danyal's fingers.

And he scowls even deeper.

And Danyal's eyes... widen. He lets out a little gasp, and a small smile Damian's never seen him wear tilts at the corner of his mouth as he looks up at their mother. "Mother," he whispers, "he grabbed me!"

Damian... his scowl falters, for a moment.

He doesn't wait for a response, he looks back to the baby with sparking eyes. His expression melts like sugar as he bounces the finger being gripped tight by the small hand. "Hello, little brother." His brother says, voice its of usual firmness, but there's more fondness underlying it than Damian's ever heard. "My name is Danyal."

The mirage shifts before Damian can comprehend his older brother's voice. It shows the crib again, appearing as if a few days had passed. There is night lilting through the nearby window, and a creek of the door. The baby doesn't stir.

Danyal sneaks in, still wearing his training clothes and a sword strapped to his side. Damian's scowl returns, watching him creep over to the crib. Of course -- the last night he saw his brother wasn't the only time he'd snuck into his room.

Would he go so low as to attack an infant? Damian wonders, watching his brother cross the room to his crib. But while his fingers rest against the hilt, they never curl to unsheathe.

His brother peers into the crib again, and there it is again, that smile wider in the corner of his mouth. It's not a full one, but its as uninhibited as it gets. Dripping honey-sweet with awe. "You are so tiny." Danyal whispers, and pokes a finger back through the crib. It wriggles, then pokes Damian's cheek gently. "Was I as small as you when mother gave birth to me?"

There is no response from the baby. Not a coherent one anyways, the little thing snuffles and turns his head, mouth open to latch. Danyal stills, his eyes grow ever wider again.

Danyal says nothing else, just rests his cheek against the crib and watches the baby sleep in silence. The affection never leaves his young face.

Damian feels unsettled. Off-foot. This Danyal is foreign to him... He wonders what happened to have changed his brother's mind on him.

There's a scuffle, quiet, but there. Danyal picks up on it just as Damian does, and his head pricks up like a deer, head already turning away from the crib. The affection leaves his face, falling away like water into something serious. His blade is already slightly unsheathed.

Two assassins, belonging to grandfather, burst out of the shadows. Their swords swinging into the air and ready to strike.

Danyal kills them both, his back to the crib. It's not without struggle, and when the two assassins lay dead on the floor, the baby is wailing at the top of his lungs. Danyal has a laceration cleaving down diagonal of his cheek. It's close to his eye, just barely missed blinding him.

Damian never knew how he got that scar. He does now. (He doesn't know how to feel about it.)

His brother clutches his bleeding face, sheathing his sword as tears well up onto his face. But he turns towards the crib, and hurries over. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay." He hushes rapidly, the League-drilled seriousness fallen away to reveal a panic-stricken five year old. He sticks one hand into the crib, the one not clutching anything, and grabs little Damian's hand.

Their mother comes bursting in that moment, and Danyal turns his head towards her. "Mother." He says, his voice cracks un-wantingly. Their mother steps over the bodies of the assassins easily. "They tried to kill Damian."

"But they did not." Talias says, kneeling down next to the crib to inspect Danyal's face and Damian's well-being. When she finds nothing of concern beyond the injury, she continues. "You killed them before they could, Danyal. Well done."

The mirage of his brother nods, his eyes teary and red.

Damian... is discomfited. he never thought Danyal would kill assassins for him. He would have thought his brother would sooner look the other way. The mirage shifts again, and it quickly shows time passing.

Danyal sits in Damian's nursery every night, after that. He lays at the foot of the crib with his sword, a pillow and a blanket with him. Some nights there is nothing but peace -- or as close to peace as a baby could achieve -- and some days assassins break in.

Danyal kills each one.

The mirage shifts again, and it shows more memories of Danyal interacting with Damian during his youth too young for him to remember. His first steps, his first words.

"Danya." The small toddler of Damian says, arms reaching for Danyal.

A frown curls across Danyal's face, and pulls Damian into his lap. "No, no, little brother." He scolds, voice firm but.. softer. "It is Danyal, Damian. Danyal."

"Danya!"

Damian's brother sighs, but there is that same-small tilt at the corner of his mouth. A glimmer in his eyes. A glimmer... that Damian is finding he recognizes.

(He always thought his brother got that look in his eyes when he was mocking him. Was he wrong?)

The mirage shifts again, and this time it shows only mother and Danyal, alone. Danyal is older, taller. Seven, if Damian had to guess. Mother has a stern look on her face, her hands tight on his shoulders. "Damian will be starting training soon, my son."

Ah, then close to eight then. Training starts, always, at three years old. He watches Danyal nod, his expression mimicking their mother's. His arms are folded, always folded, behind his back, always neat.

"You can no longer have the relationship with your brother as you did before." Mother says.

Danyal's expression... falters. It shifts, it fluctuates. He looks surprised, thrown off. Like he isn't quite sure he heard what mother just said. His brows furrow. "What... do you mean, mother?"

"I mean what I said, Danyal." Mother says, stern, "Ra's will be keeping a closer eye on Damian now that he is of age to begin his training. He will not like if he sees you both getting along."

"I am sorry, my child. But your relationship with Damian ends here. You are rivals now, not brothers." In a cruel form a gentleness, mother raises her hand and tucks a stray curl out of Danyal's face.

Of course. Damian never had a relationship with his brother because of Grandfather. Of course. No, he's not feeling a little bitter. No. There's not an inner child that still, like a candleflame, wishes that he'd had a bond with his only flesh and blood.

Danyal is dead now. So it's not like it matters. He's happy about this.

Danyal frowns, and he steps back. He looks lost in thought. "We are still brothers, mother," he says, argues, and looks up to meet mother's eyes. "Let me train him, I will make sure he gets the skill he needs. If we must be rivals, then I will teach him how to defeat me. If he can defeat me, he can defeat anybody."

Their mother, and Damian, both blink in unison. Then mother smiles something sharp, calculated. She folds her hands behind her back. "Then do it. But you will make him hate you."

"...So be it."

Damian.... Damian is silent. His world axis has been tilted on its head. He is sliding, and sliding, and sliding down. Spinning. Many things click into place at once.

More memories from the mirage show. It shows Danyal training Damian. It shows their arguing, their bickering. It shows Danyal going to their mother to praise Damian and his skills, how fast he is picking up on the sword. How one day he will surpass even him.

It shows Danyal sitting outside Damian's bedroom door every night, listening in for anyone who dares to break in. His knees drawn to his chest, his sword at his side. Sometimes he sneaks in, sword drawn, when he hears a sound.

Some nights, Damian wakes up. He remembers those nights. Danyal standing over his bed with his sword unsheathed and tight at his side. He remembers the instant terror as he immediately reached for his own weapon.

His brother always scolded him for his lack of vigilance. That had he been anyone else, Damian would have had his neck cut. He would've been dead already. It only made Damian's hatred of him grow.

But he understands now. Because there were assassins in the room that Damian, four years old, three, did not notice. Not until later. He always assumed the attacks on him after Danyal's death had been because now there was a new heir to target.

It had been the only lesson he'd been even somewhat grateful for.

Then finally the mirage shimmers, and it shows Danyal, ten years old, in one of the training rooms, mid-spar with Mother. It's fast, sharp, impressive and like a blur. Damian is unsure if at ten which one of them was the better swordsman. Some of the assassins who have never met Danyal said Damian was, but the ones who had said it was Danyal. He'll never know.

In a lull in the fight, when their swords are crossed, mother speaks. "Ra's wants you and Damian to fight." She says, teeth grit into a deep scowl. The cross breaks and Danyal jumps back, he frowns.

"We have fought, mother." He says, and dives in first, swinging for mother's feet. Mother dodges, and slices at his arm. He swerves out of the way, twisting on his feet like a dance. "We are always fighting, doesn't he see our spars?"

"Not a spar like that, my son." Mother says, a snarl in her voice. She lunges, and Danyal blocks her blade. "A fight to the death. Father has grown tired of having two heirs."

That gets Danyal's attention -- or, more accurately, it distracts it. His eyes widen, and his sword lowers for a single moment. A mistake. "What?" Is all he gets out before mother has him on his back, her blade pressed to his throat.

He freezes. As does Damian. Danyal's brows furrow, then unfurrow, only to knot up again. "Mother, what do you mean a fight to the death?" He flips to his feet when mother removes the sword. She walks over to grab her water.

"Must I repeat myself, Danyal?" Mother snaps, rubbing her forehead before swigging from her canteen. "Father wants to find out which one of you is the stronger heir, and so you will fight to the death after your training in a few days."

Danyal's tan face loses a shade of color, he looks ashy. "There must be some mistake!" He exclaims, his arms gesturing out as he peers around mother. "There is a five year disparity between us, Damian has only just started training two years ago. It would be an unfair fight!"

"Do you think me unaware?" Mother whirls on him, and there is a grief-stricken look on her face. Like she is already mourning Damian's death. Damian feels ill. "Your skill is far beyond what Damian can accomplish right now, and there is nothing that I say that can convince Father otherwise."

Danyal wears an expression like he is scrambling for answers. A white knuckle grip on his weapon. There is a long silence, and his lower lip curls up. His throat bobs, he swallows. "Is there really nothing we can do?"

Mother makes a frustrated sound, pushing her loose hairs out of her face. "Not unless Father changes his mind, or I send one of you away. But Father would surely send someone to look for you or Damian."

"What if one of us faked our death?"

Mother stills. As does Damian. No, he thinks, stiff as a rod, no way. These mirages were lying, nothing but figments of an imagination. Of some quiet what-if that Damian had not yet stomped out.

Mother's expression shifts, and then turns contemplative. Danyal notices, and keeps pushing, he looks as hopeful as he could get beyond his usual unwavering, stone-like expression. "One of us could go to father--"

"No." Mother cuts off, voice sharp. Danyal wilts, confusion flittering across his face. Damian, from the corner of his eye, sees Father tense as stone. His white-slit eyes have not left the mirage. Nobody's has.

"Father will undoubtedly check there first, it would not be a good idea. You or Damian will have to go somewhere where he would not think to look. Someone unaffiliated with the League."

Danyal's face falls, shutters, and then closes up again into stone. Mother begins to pace, and Danyal's blue eyes follow her. "So a stranger?" He asks, and there is disgust lilting into his voice.

Mother nods, and she looks just as offput as Danyal.

The mirage of Damian's brother rolls his shoulders back. "Then I will do it, mother." He says, voice unwavering. There is a stubborn note behind it all, one that Damian recognizes. "I will fake my death, and Damian will stay here."

Mother's eyes turn sharp on him, and she stops in her spot. She pivots. "Are you sure?" She asks, eyebrow raising, "There is a chance you will never meet your Father if you leave. Nor will you see I or Damian again, if you do this."

Something like fear flickers across Danyal's face, eyes widening momentarily -- as if that very thought had not crossed his mind. But then it smooths over to sharp determination. He nods. "It would be the same for Damian if it was him instead. I will do it, Mother."

Damian feels ill again. Father has a strong set in his jaw, his teeth grinding.

Mother stares at Danyal, and then her expression softens. And like before, it is grieving. "In a few days time, I and another member of the League will be going on a mission to the American States. I will tell Father that you will accompany me, once there we will dispose of the other member and then orchestrate your death."

The American States. Danyal was here, in the country. He was out there somewhere -- but no this was fake. It had to be. Danyal was dead. A fool who got himself killed on a mission with mother and left the title of Heir to Damian.

Or maybe it had been his plan all along. His and mother's both.

...Was mother ever going to tell him?

The mirage of Danyal nods, sharp. Understanding. There is a gleam in his eyes that is not pride, it is tears. And when Mother leaves the room and leaves him alone, the stone-like expression on his face crumbles and falls.

His brother, ten years old, curls up his lip in an ugly way. It wobbles as the tears in his eyes do, and he brings up his hand to slam it over his mouth. And sinks to his knees, a yell-like sob muffled behind the skin.

His brother, ten years old, looks smaller than Damian remembers him being, and cries.

Damian has never seen Danyal cry. Not once in the mirage of memories, nor in his own.

The memory holds for a minute, and then disappears. And no new one shows up. The magic is gone, and it leaves a silence in its wake. Heavy, staticky, and full of revelations.

So there are two things that Damian knows that his Father now knows too.

He has an older brother

His older brother is alive.

(And a new secret third thing: Damian wasn't sure how to feel about it.)

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc prompt #i promise this is a prompt #it just got very long #danyal al ghul au #my take on a danyal al ghul au #older brother danny #dpdc #dpxdc crossover #i know the usual gist is that danyal al ghul is a better knife thrower than he is a swordsman but hey #consider: phantom has a sword when he fights ghosts. how sick is that?#his ghost form having allusions to the LoA. its not obvious but its there #did i make danny brown skinned? yeah. because him being white or not is irrelevant to me and i wanted to make him darker skinned #thinking about the angst of bruce seeing his firstborn son going “i could stay with father!” and then said child being visibly crushed #when told no. and that he may never see his father ever. actually. if he fakes his death. and still doing it anyways for damian's sake #danny loves his little brother he just shows it in an unorthodox way. some of it is not his fault #also danny being an absolute grump in amity park is very funny to me. he's an arrogant little assassin child in AP who is only here for #his little brother's sake and safety. he loves his brother but that doesnt stop him from being an arrogant little brat #gremlin assassin child danny is so funny #i know this is very ironic for me to post after posting my thoughts on danyal al ghul aus and their missed potential #but actually this prompt is what spurred that post into creation in the first place actually.#because i was thinking about this au and then went “oh hey you know whats funny--” and then i #thought about it too much to the point where i had to make a post talking about it #tried to find a balance between danny being mature for his age and also still being a kid #like yeah he’s a trained assassin and has killed but also he’s a 10yo boy about to be separated - Assumingly permanently- from his family

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