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emotionalcello-makefanfics · 3 months

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Chapters: 1/5 Rating: Explicit (for graphic violence) Warnings: MCD and Temporary MCD. Graphic violence. Murder. Suicidal Thoughts. Suicidal Ideation. Implied Alcohol Abuse. Graphic description of Death.

Summary: Todoroki Shouto dies at the age of 27 under a rubble. Last year, Shouto lost everything he had to a massacre, including the two loves of his life. Shouto welcomes his death with peace, but instead of joining Izuku and Katsuki in the afterlife, Shouto travels back ten years earlier in his 17-year-old body.

Blessed with a second chance, Shouto is determined to change the future and keep his loved ones safe.

Shouto will do whatever it takes.

Chapter 1 (4.3k words)

No matter how strong Shouto has become, he never fools himself that he’ll dodge death forever after so many close calls in the nine years of his career as a Pro-Hero. Shouto can already hear what they’ll say: ‘he’s too young to die’ and ‘he has so much potential’. He can already hear Natsu and Yumi wailing over him.

In these last seconds of his life, Shouto can finally be honest with himself that he has been waiting for this day to come. Half of the people he knew were killed last year because of the massacre, including the two loves of his life.

He had been pretending too well, thanks to his stoic and inexpressive face. No one found out that he’d been drinking every night and drank an expensive hangover medicine to cover it all. His heart has been through the ringer, it hurts to just breathe. All they knew was that Shouto had toughened up, and had been the first person in line to avenge them. As much as it’s true, vengeance can only go so far, and it gets old so fast the moment you realize that vengeance doesn’t bring your loved ones back.

Well, not that any of it matters anymore. He’s already 27 years old, both his legs are pinned under the rubble, and he’s tired. He’s looking up at the piles of concrete pieces that are barely leaning onto themselves, forming a dome-shaped deathtrap over Shouto’s body. It’s dark except for the small opening right at the top, just perfectly wide enough to cater to the full moon. If the moon is out, then he's been here for two hours.

Shouto had been feeling and hearing a lot of rumbling around him. The last contact he made was with Detective Tsukauchi –officer turned emergency Hero in these tough times– but that was two hours ago and he hadn’t heard from him since. Perhaps he died already, joining his husband in the afterlife, how enviable. Maybe Shouto can finally join Izuku and Katsuki too.

If the tremors didn’t put Shouto under the rubble, then blood loss would be the one to off him. Shouto doesn’t want to care about his life, but things are never straightforward like that.

It’s bittersweet whenever Shouto thinks about his life and thinks about giving up on it. He’s glad that the pain is over, but deep inside he immensely regrets not spending more time with his loved ones. He was so idealistic when he was young, back when he believed that they were invincible, and when he believed that he’d have more time with Izuku and Katsuki.

He regrets not spending more time to love them and more time with his family.

Most of all, he regrets not spending more time just doing things that would make him happy.

Another tremor, distant screams. The war is still ongoing outside. The rubble finally closed in on him. He’ll be lying if death doesn’t scare him just a tiny bit, but once his consciousness is gone, all he can think of is: Finally, peace.

---

Shouto doesn’t believe in the afterlife. He wishes it exists, but believing in it isn’t the same thing. Hence, when he wakes up to a familiar ceiling after remembering the dark rubble over him, he begins to feel hopeful.

He rises from his futon. It’s dark, but the curtain is drawn from the windows. He always closes the curtains at night, preferring complete darkness when he sleeps. One thing he realized immediately was the lack of pain in his right knee, he tore his ligament on the day he lost everything, and it never healed right because he kept working.

He walked to the window and eerily found the same full moon shining brightly in the sky. The second thing that takes him by surprise is the view. This is Yuuei.

After withholding a wave of shock and nausea, he finds strenght in his body and mind to find a mirror which he remembers is located inside the door of his cupboard.

The person looking back is himself, –still Shouto Todoroki– back when he was still seventeen. He inspects his uniform, the one that has a dot of stain on the shirt, it means he’s still in his second grade. It’s a stain that Katsuki made after exploding teriyaki sauce everywhere when they were cooking in the celebration of their first year’s final exams.

Shouto wastes no time to do what his heart has been yearning to. He marches towards Izuku’s room and knocks haphazardly, his hands shaking and his heart racing.

“I’m up I’m up, hold on…” Izuku says. It’s his voice, languid and dragged with sleep.

The door opens and Shouto almost dropped to his knees. It’s Izuku, alive and young, adorably wiping his eyes from sleep. Both his eyes are open, still that lively forest green that took his breath away.

“Shouto, what’s wrong?” Izuku says after taking in Shouto fully. He will misunderstand the reason Shouto’s hands are shaking, but Shouto uses it to his advantage, “I had a nightmare… May I…” it’s odd that Shouto still finds it difficult to ask, but he will not let it stop him anymore. “Can I have a hug?”

Izuku flushes slightly and smiles acceptingly, he always does, now and far in the future. So kind and giving, Shouto always feels grounded with the weight of Izuku’s gentleness, “Of course, do you want to- Oh.”

Shouto engulfs him in a hug and Izuku quickly puts his arms around Shouto, his wide hands rubbing his back languidly. Shouto can’t believe that Izuku is living and breathing in his arms again. The last time he ever held Izuku was when he brought his mangled dead body to the rows of others.

“Was it really bad?” Izuku asks, noticing how Shouto’s breath starts to quicken. Shouto only nods, not trusting his voice. “Alright, I think we need to bring out the big guns.”

Shouto’s heart jumped again, his stupid mouth almost said not to bother on instinct. No more waiting, no more pushing away.

The big guns are of course Katsuki –or more accurately, his teas. Shouto remembers clear as day how angry Katsuki was when their classmates kept stealing Katsuki’s teas off the pantry, but Katsuki is softer hearted than he lets on, telling class 1-A to get it from him in his room if any of them wants on. Depending on the reason, Katsuki would accompany the person as he begrudgingly insists on brewing the tea the right way. Shouto is one of the people who seeks excuses to have Katsuki’s company as he asks for oolong tea until Shouto feels bad about waking Katsuki and stops.

Shouto won't stop this time, that’s why he lets Izuku knock on Katsuki’s door, baring themselves to Katsuki’s epic scowl. Katsuki looks like he wants to bite their heads off, Shouto wants nothing more than to kiss him, yet this is the one desire he holds back. Perhaps that’s why Katsuki has yet to explode him, Shouto is visibly shaking from holding himself back.

“Tea alone can’t fix this,” Katsuki grumbles, “Get to the sofa.”

Before he knows it, he’s standing idly like a loon as Izuku sets up the blankets on the sofa and looking for a movie to watch and Katsuki is preparing a bowl of chips and salsa while boiling water in a pot for three mugs of chamomile tea.

“Anything I can help you with?” Shouto asks.

“Sit your ass down and don’t get in my way, icy hot!” Katsuki glares at him, and though Shouto knows that his expression is stoic as always, these two can always tell. It’s both hell and heaven, something he misses like a dying fish misses the water. Katsuki’s glare softens and Shouto hates how he’s instead reminded of the last time he saw Katsuki, two cloudy eyes on a charred face.

“Which dream is it?” Katsuki asks, knowing that Shouto has few consistent bad dreams.

Shouto finds it hard to lie, “A new one this time… something from the future.”

“How far?” Izuku asks, joining them.

“Ten years… I lost everyone and everything. I lost both of you.”

Shouto used to be such a crybaby after his mom left, but somewhere along his childhood he had stopped crying, yet that urge to cry is still there. Shouto wants nothing more than to break down in tears wailing, screaming, and holding onto the two people who eased the pain he can never express, but he can’t. Instead, the two of them held him. Izuku on his left, Katsuki on his right. Both of them are not yet dating this year, but they’ve been getting closer. So close that Katsuki also holds on to Izuku as he does Shouto and Izuku lets himself melt into Katsuki’s touch as he hangs onto Shouto.

Shouto still wants to cry –though for a different reason– yet his eyes never stung. So, he holds them instead. Being the tallest of the two, Shouto tucks their heads into the curve of his neck.

They sit on the sofa with Shouto in the middle. The movie is Frozen, which hadn’t been his comfort movie for a year, but he can’t tell Izuku that watching Frozen had morphed from comfort to a crowbar that pry open bad memories of them. Shouto doesn’t touch the snack, both his hands find theirs under the blanket. Both of them are tightening their hold on Shouto’s hands at the same time and Shouto wants to cry again, but nothing comes out.

Just like that, watching Frozen is rewritten yet again, as easy as that, as long as he has them.

The window is open, and the moon is there again as if it’s following him, watching and judging how he reacts.

Shouto doesn’t know if this is the afterlife or whether he just traveled back in time to his old body. But if it’s truly the latter, if he’s truly being gifted a miracle of a second chance, Shouto will not waste it.

Shouto will do what’s right.

++++

“Aren’t you worried about him?”

“Half’n’half? Nah.” Katsuki continues reading his textbook on Izuku’s desk while Izuku is lounging on his bed.

Both of them are studying instead of going home for the weekend. A few weeks ago, Shouto had said that he wouldn't go home for a few months until he changed his mind a few days ago.

“Last time Shouto’s home, he fought with his dad again and he didn’t look like he was ready to forgive him anytime soon.”

“That was weeks ago, chill the fuck out you’re ruining my study vibes.”

“You can’t tell me it doesn’t bother you!”

“Of course it fucking does, I’m not that dense, but it’s none of our business what the poker-faced koala is up to!”

Izuku’s eyes widen and then he frowns, that frown that shows how disappointed he is. Katsuki hates how it affects him. “Shouto is our best friend.”

Katsuki tightens his fists holding back the tiny explosive just at the tip of his fingers, “Does he think the same of us?” It’s a loaded question for the two. Something has been brewing between them though they had never pointed it out before. There’s been nothing but the back of their hands brushing and small glances that end up with an embarrassing blush.

Then there’s Shouto who always seems indifferent.

Izuku flushes a shade of pretty pink, damn him, “I don’t know! Does it matter at all? I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Don’t fucking say it, Deku! Every time you said that there’s always crazy shit that actually happened,” Katsuki hisses.

“That’s not my fault,” Izuku waves at him, one of the downsides of them getting closer is that Izuku does not mind Katsuki’s temper anymore. It’s both a relief and an annoyance. “We should call him, just in case.”

“Do whatever you want,” Katsuki throws his hands up, not seeming to care, but he’s leaning onto Izuku’s phone when he speed-dials Shouto and says, “Put it on speaker phone.”

Izuku does and they wait. Each second passes their tension grows.

Shouto didn’t pick up, and Izuku looked panicked.

Katsuki curses, “You fucking idiot, it’s 12 AM! I missed my bedtime because of you!”

“But Kacchan! You’re the one who barged inside my room to do our homework!”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Izuku stares at him, “You’re worried too.”

“I told you to-!” Katsuki scratches his head, sighing, “Something was wrong last week.”

“When he called us after a nightmare? I think so too.”

“Did you ever realize that he never cried?” Katsuki said, “Damn, every single one of us had cried at least once thanks to all the shit happening in first year, but I never once see him cry, not even on the brink of one.”

“I don’t think he can,” Izuku adds. “Shouto has a unique response to his childhood trauma which was an ongoing occurrence even after he got into Yuuei until Endeavor had a change of heart after Dabi’s revelation. From the surface, Shouto seems like he isn’t too affected by Enji’s abuse, but that isn’t telling what’s going on in Shouto’s psyche. I think the amount of things SHouto had to go through made him unable to respond to pain by crying like most kids would. Though that doesn’t mean Shouto never feels pain, on the contrary, without proper emotional response, I think Shouto must’ve been feeling pain more intensely… but that’s just my theory.”

Katsuki blinks, “Right, thanks for the unsolicited armchair psychology, but how the fuck would any of your ramblings could help us help him.”

Izuku grins, and Katsuki looks away with gritted teeth, yet he doesn’t take back his words, “I knew you’re a softy inside,” Izuku lightly punches Katsuki’s shoulder.

“All of our insides are soft, technically.” Katsuki is scowling at the floor, folded arms tighten, “I think we just need to go to his house, right now.”

Izuku startles, “Well, who panicked now!”

“Shut up! It’s because you said you had a bad feeling and now I can’t get it out of my head!”

“Aw, you trust my instinct.”

Katsuki watches him for a second too long. His hand is ruffling and pushing Izuku’s head, “Yeah, I fucking do. I’m gonna go get my jacket.”

Izuku is holding his head where Katsuki’s hand was, watching Katsuki walk away with the tips of his ears red. Izuku sighs, whatever it is that they have, it’s not a bad feeling at all.

Sneaking out is easy, too easy.

“Fuck…” Katsuki stops, and Izuku halts beside him.

“What?”

“Aizawa’s car isn’t here. We need to see Shouto, now!”

“Wait, Kacchan!” Izuku says when Katsuki starts speedwalking.

“Every time Aizawa is out on nights like this, it’s always because shit happens, shits with us. Last time it was getting me out of my house, the day before that was to talk Zombie-face out of a bridge.”

Izuku grabs Katsuki’s arm, but they don’t stop, “We’ll get to see Shoucchan. It’ll be alright.”

“For his sake, I hope you’re right, broccoli head.”

They didn’t need to see Shouto’s house to know that they were too late. They saw the red and blue lights before making a turn. They run and find police cars right outside Shouto’s house along with Aizawa’s. Their homeroom teacher is speaking with Detective Tsukauchi over something that makes Aizawa’s face twist unpleasantly.

Then Aizawa finds them, and it looks like Aizawa ages for a decade in one look, “Go home.”

“Not until you tell us what happened, stinky old man!”

“Is Shouto safe?” Izuku asks, eyes gleaming with tears.

“He’s fine, but you two shouldn’t be here,” The detective says.

“We’re not budging until we see half-n-half!” Katsuki barks.

Like a prayer granted, Shouto exits his house, thankfully harmless and with the same aloofness on his face. He’s being accompanied by the police on each side, a quirk-neutralizing cuffs on his wrists.

“Shoucchan!”

“What the fuck! You’re arresting him?!”

“Shouto would never do anything harmful! He’s as harmless as a small kitten!”

“He’s a fucking minor for fuck’s sake.”

“Bakugo, Midoriya,” Aizawa scolds, standing between them and Shouto. “I need both of you to calm down and let the police do their job.”

“I’m okay,” Shouto’s voice is soft as always, it sounded like he just woke up.

“Shoucchan, what happened!?” Izuku and Katsuki push through the adults.

“Um…” Shouto looks at the two adults, “I don’t think I can say, but don’t worry.” Shouto holds Izuku’s hand and passes a rare smile to them both. “Aizawa says it’ll be okay.”

Katsuki and Izuku are stunned in place as Shouto is led to a police car. Shouto rarely ever smiles, and even rarer like that.

Aizawa takes them back to the dorm, half of the ride is silent until Aizawa finally breaks it with, “You two are quiet. I thought you would be asking questions by now.”

Katsuki and Izuku shares a look.

“It’s not like you’ll tell us anything,” Katsuki sulks.

“That’s right,” Aizawa sighs. “Why did you go to Todoroki’s house in the first place?”

“The nerd’s trouble senses were tingling, keeps bugging me until we see icy hot ourselves.”

“He didn’t answer my call!”

“It’s in the middle of the night, Midoriya.”

“It doesn’t matter, I was right anyway!” Izuku bites his lips, hands clutched on his lap. “You really can’t tell us anything?”

“I can’t, but this will blow over quietly. Todoroki is a minor, if it truly involves him, then nothing will come to the surface. This is all stupid, but Todoroki will be fine.”

“And yet another trauma buried under,” Katsuki spat.

“He’ll tell us,” Izuku ensures.

The rest of the ride is quiet.

Once they’re finally in the dorm, Katsuki says, “We had our answer.”

“I think so. What do we do now?”

“What we always have been doing. Be wherever that two-toned dolt is once everything blows over. What did you say earlier? He’s probably so miserable because he can’t cry?”

“Not exactly my words but… it was just a theory… we didn’t really know him, did we?”

“We know him enough.” Katsuki sighs, “Once he’s back, we’ll fix that.”

Izuku smiles a little and takes courage. The main room is dark, and there are only the two of them. A sneaky hand slipped past Katsuki’s palm and held tight.

“Ye-yes, I agree.”

Katsuki says nothing else but clasps Izuku’s warm hands, the tips of his ears red, hidden by the dark.

When Shouto didn’t come to school on Monday, they knew something was wrong. Aizawa told the class that Shouto had called in sick and resting at home while glancing toward Katsuki and Izuku. It wasn’t until lunch break that the news broke.

The current number 1 Hero –Endeavor– is murdered in cold blood in his own house, and Shouto is the main suspect.

++++

As soon as Aizawa got the emergency call to the Todoroki residence, he thought he’d be neutralizing Todoroki Senior’s quirk, not Todoroki his student. Detective Tsukauchi gives him a ridiculous rundown, pointing towards Todoroki Fuyumi, the one who called the police. She’s shrinking onto herself in the ambulance car, eyes hauntingly looking down.

“There has got to be a mistake,” Aizawa says. “Todoroki Shouto isn’t that type of child, he has no aggression tendency whatsoever.”

“Do you think his sister is the type to lie then?” the Detective rebutes.

“She must’ve seen a clone or even a doppelganger.” Aizawa is a little surprised that Fuyumi didn’t come to this conclusion right away.

“Look, I don’t want to believe this either, but this isn’t petty crime. This is a precaution.”

Tsukauchi is just as surprised as Aizawa is at Todoroki Fuyumi’s testimony. She called 110 in a panic, she testified that he found Shouto walking out of the training room bleeding. He didn’t respond when she called for him and slammed the bedroom door behind him. Angry at her dad, she marched to the training room and found Endeavor dead, an ice spike through the heart. The training room is in a rough state, signs say that an intense battle happened there. Jury is still out on whether this is a sparring gone wrong or an attack. If this is an attack, it’s obvious that Enji is the perpetrator and Shouto fought back in self-defense. It’s one big ‘if’ as well.

“Whatever happened to innocent before proven guilty?”

“We have a witness, Aizawa.”

Aizawa clicks his tongue, “Fine, I wouldn’t even need my quirk.”

The door to Todoroki's estate is open, Aizawa had been here before but he doesn’t know where Todoroki’s room is. He doesn’t bother looking. He waits in the genkan and calls Shouto.

“Hn, Aizawa? What is it?” Shouto answers, voice rough with sleep.

Aizawa sighs. How do you politely and calmly tell a minor that they’re arrested? “I want you to hear me calmly, alright? I have something to tell you that could probably shock you.”

“… Does it have something to do with the red and blue light that I can see from my windows?”

Aizawa pinches the bridge of his nose, “Yes, I’m at your front door, can you come here?”

“Ok.” A door open and shut. Soft steps grow closer. and Aizawa finds him at the front door, still in his PJs. Shouto doesn’t look upset nor agitated in any way, then again, Shouto never seems like anything. “Hello, sensei. Can I help you with anything?”

“Have you seen your father?”

“We had dinner together. That’s about it.”

“Right. Well, I’m sorry to tell you this, Todoroki, but your father has been murdered.”

Todoroki widens his eyes and pauses, “Oh… who murdered him?”

“We don’t know yet, but your sister saw you did it. His body is in the training room.”

“Ah… I’m a suspect. You came to get me because they thought I’d fight back.” Todoroki emits no other emotions other than pressing his lips and looking down.

Aizawa nods, “I know it's not you,” His hand on Todoroki’s shoulder. “But you had to come to the police station right now.”

“Okay.”

Todoroki exits side by side with Aizawa, facing police officers behind car doors, pointing their guns on him. Aizawa openly scowls at them. One officer comes forward to put the fortified quirk-neutralizing cuffs, it takes up his whole forearms. Fuyumi is in their sight, Todoroki glances at her only to have his sister ignoring him.

“Everything will be okay,” Aizawa says.

“No, it’s not. It’s always like this…” Todoroki’s breath hitched, “I appreciate your efforts though.”

Aizawa knows that Todoroki is a particularly strong child both mentally and physically. He wonders how much of it is just Todoroki’s incapability of expressing himself rather than strenght itself.

Detective Tsukaichi promises that the press will not catch a whiff of it. All cases involving a minor are always kept off from the public, but a high-profile one like this is exceptionally difficult to keep quiet.

But, detective Tsukauchi and Aizawa go way back, and Aizawa trusts him.

He drove Bakugou and Midoriya back thinking the misunderstanding would be cleared as soon as they got the camera footage in the training room and Todoroki would be back on Sunday.

+++++

“What fucking psycho put a surveillance camera inside their house?”

“Rich people, man. They’re on another level of crazy.”

“Didn’t you see the Todoroki smear campaign last year? One of the Todorokis is a villain called Dabi, plastered whole lots of shit Endeavor did-”

“If you had the time to gossip like prepubescent teens, I suggest you use the time to search the recordings.”

The officers snap their heads to their head Detective and scurry along. Tsukauchi sighs and rubs his short hair. He gets his shitty coffee and leaves. Looking for the footage that records the crime scene had been proving harder to do when Endeavor was using wireless cameras and hiding his computer better than they thought.

Just because they put Shouto on quirk-neutralizing cuffs, they feel safe enough to leave Shouto alone most of the time. Equipped with the knowledge of the future, Shouto knows someone who will be famous for their exposure will be hiding in the precinct’s back door to hear police officers talk over smoke breaks. Shouto finds him lurking behind the dumpster using their dissolution quirk that makes them blend with the surroundings. Shouto parted the door only slightly, enough that his voice would be heard.

“I see that you’re here as always, Mister Koff.”

The trash rustles, “And seeing that you didn’t immediately arrest me, there must be something you need from me. We can strike a deal that benefits both of us.”

“Straight to business, I like that Mr. Koff. The youngest of the Todorokis is arrested for the murder of Endeavor.”

“Allegedly, I need proof.”

“And you’ll have it. A footage of Endeavor’s murder exists. Enter his office, twist the resin figurine of an Atlas and you’ll have access to the secret room, there’s a computer there. It holds the recorded footage of every camera in the household. The password is 17042118.” Rei’s birthday.

Koff hums, “How can I trust you?”

“Do you have anything to lose? It’s not like you can get any lower in your position.”

“Touche, what’s in it for you?”

“A personal grudge. I want you to leak the raw footage uncensored and anonymously. Make sure to emphasize that Shouto Todoroki has no remorse.”

“Heh, you got it pal.”

With that, Koff leaves and Shouto returns to the hallways.

“What are you doing here?” Detective Tsukauchi finds him.

“I’m looking for the restroom.”

“You could’ve asked the nearest officer.”

Shouto looks down, “They didn’t seem to like me.”

The detective sighs exasperatedly, “Don’t loiter around unsupervised like this ever again, this is the police station for fuck’s sake.”

“Okay,” Shouto lies, easily.

The raw footage went online on Sunday night before any of the police officers could even find the computer. An expose article follows soon after. Shouto is quickly marked as a psychopath with a grudge.

#todobakudeku #bakudeku #todobaku #tododeku #todobakudeku fanfic #todobakudeku fanfiction #mha #mha fanfic #mha fanfiction #emocel's #bnha #bnha fanfic #bnha fanfiction #TMI: I'm on prescribed meds for the past few months #meaning the fics i'll be publishing will be a lil bit of a head-scratcher #i also have no idea what's going on and why lol

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emotionalcello-makefanfics · 3 months

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7 YEARS.

63 WORKS.

FINALLY.

#i do know that you can go dark mode on AO3 #but the instruction made it look like i need to do actual coding #i am not STEM gifted at all up there on my dingdong lol

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emotionalcello-makefanfics · 3 months

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and the scenes I needed to write ended up being a trilogy.

I'm fine

#i'm not lol

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emotionalcello-makefanfics · 4 months

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A wee update for those who looks up my tumblr for info

I haven't been posting a lot of fanfics in 2023 because I'm in my final years of college and I'm trying to focus with the few handfuls brain cells that i have lol.

I'm still writing though! I haven't post them because:

it's a draft

unfinished

unedited

But! after i graduate, i'll be back on my bs in no time! I have a lot of finished but unedited fics and will be posting in no time. Fics such as:

The final fic of the SasuNeji Series.

Epic Fantasy AU BakuTodo Omegaverse (Questionable on Epic, and barely a Fantasy genre tho). It's a trilogy, and only finished 2/3 of it.

The last chapters of Larry Days

MidoTodoBaku Mystery/Tragedy (one main fic and one epilogue fic)

Even though i've been less active lately, i keep receiving a lot of support from everyone that comes across my fics!

I try to reply to every single one of them, I've read all your comments and tags both here and on AO3!

I just wanna say thank you from the bottom of my heart to all of you for your encouraging and kind support!

EDIT Jan 30 2024: I'll still publish some fics, but not as oftennn

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emotionalcello-makefanfics · 10 months

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WHAT DO I DO NOW??

#YOU DONT UNDERSTAND #AO3 is my mental crutch #my psyche crutch

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emotionalcello-makefanfics · 10 months

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Just sos you knows, AO3 is down under a DDOS attack right now. They’ve been coming back in little blips and then disappearing again. It’s been several hours. (For reference, it’s currently 3 p.m. eastern, July 10, 2023.)

https://twitter.com/AO3_Status/status/1678468065070030856

The culprit (as with a few other DDOS attacks recently) is Anonymous Sudan, a group that is likely Russian, not Sudanese. The ‘reason’ they gave–that AO3 is “full of disgusting smuts and other LGBTQ+ and NSFW things,” is thin and probably not completely legit, though still legitimately concerning.

The AS claim: https://twitter.com/FalconFeedsio/status/1678397195039526912

Reporting on AS: https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2023-06-28/anonymous-sudan-does-group-behind-microsoft-cyberattack-have-ties-to-russia (you can use archive.ph to get this one, 12ft doesn’t seem to work)

As noted here, https://twitter.com/honeyskeleton/status/1678449598703050769:

DDOS protection is expensive especially for a high traffic site like ao3. And it’s uniquely vulnerable as an independent site without ads or other corporate support. SPECIFICALLY targeted bc of its queer works and yet ppl will still complain every time they ask for donations lmao

So, again, when AO3 comes back online, please don’t go hard with refreshing all your tabs. Please do remember to download fics you love early and often as you continue in your whole ~reading journey~. And please do support AO3 through a dono or becoming a donating member, if it is possible for you to do so.

#ao3 #please support ao3!!!#thank you AO3 #i was in the middle of reading something when this happen #literally in suspense :“”)

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emotionalcello-makefanfics · 1 year

Link

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Tags: Sad bittersweet ending. Non-Pairing. Jason-centric story from Tim's POV.

Summary:

Tim finds a letter from Jason a year after he beats Tim half to death and dipped from the radar. Tim opens the letter six years later, it contains Jason's heartfelt apology and an offer to meet if Tim so needs it. At this point, Red Hood had never resurfaced after the explosion he set off with Joker and Batman.

Tim takes up Jason's offer to meet. Jason had become a completely changed man. Jason's eyes are blue instead of teal, he has a peaceful smile that he gives freely. Jason Todd seems happy at the Red Poppy Orphanage that he built.

After further research so that Tim can slide in an 'anonymous donation', things unravel, casting doubts at everything Tim saw.

This is Jason's story, told from Tim's perspective.

+++++

Tim found a letter from Jason a year after he beats Tim half to death and dipped from the radar. Tim isn’t in a habit of going through his mails, who even still sends physical mail nowadays anyway?

The letter comes in a commercial white envelope, the address is to Tim’s old house, the Drake household. Tim goes there once a year to clean it up and get the mail. That’s when Tim finds the white unassuming envelope. It’s completely blank aside from the writing that says,

“To: Tim

From: Jason”

Simple and neat. It doesn’t have a send date, nor any other details written on the plain white paper envelope, just those four words.

From the looks of it, the letter couldn’t have been sent via postal service. So, Jason must’ve hand delivered this himself or had someone do it. Tim scans the dates of the mails that came before and after it. After doing simple calculations and predictions, the letter must’ve been placed after Jason had almost killed him. Huh.

Tim doesn’t open it right away, but he keeps it.

The letter is kept in a box where Tim stores his lowest-priority documents. At some point, Tim ran out of space in his room and then declutter his room where he puts even more stuff in his low priority. That box had become a junk box where he puts away things that he doesn’t know what to do with yet doesn’t want to throw away… just in case.

The box follows him when Tim moves out of the manor into the newly renovated Drake household. By accident, the letter slips between the pages of a book. It’s a book that Tim had been wanting to read but never ended up reading. The book ended up at the bottom of the moving box and never got unpacked. Alas, the letter is no longer in plain sight and Tim completely forgot about it.

Until 5 years later, he finds it as he was rummaging his attic for an old phone he had for the parts he needed for a prototype UV gun. His old phone is right on top of a book he had wanted to read years ago. It has a slight tilt upwards as if there’s something inside that prevents it from closing all the way flat. It couldn’t be anything important, but Tim checks it just to be thorough. It’s an envelope. Tim didn’t even connect the dots yet by then, not until he flipped the envelop and read what’s written on the cover of it,

“To: Tim

From: Jason”

It’s been years since then. Whatever Tim felt that made him put it away had long gone, not even remembered. Tim opens the envelope without hesitation or lingering feeling to see a short letter.

“For all my words are worth, I’m sorry. For hurting you, for almost killing you. You didn’t deserve any of that. I’m sorry that I’m doing this by letter. I figured my face would be the least of things you wanted to see right now. I’m not asking you to forgive me, but you deserve closure as much as you need to. To heal from what I had inflicted on you. I know what dying felt like. I regret ever making you feel closely that way, especially when you didn’t deserve it, closely aged as I had died. You’re not a replacement, you’re the successor of the Robin mantle, and you’re so much better than me that I couldn’t handle it. So, I took it out on you. I’m so sorry, you didn’t deserve to be treated that way. If you need anything from me, my number is at the back of the page.”

Tim turns the paper that seems to be torn from a ring-bound book, and there it is, a series of numbers.

Sighing, Tim is at loss for what he reads. Jason’s words are short, but so sincere that Tim was dumbfounded. These are not the words of the man that had him on the floor half-dead, screaming bloody murder at him, trying to kill Tim in earnest as if Tim is the devil on earth, the mastermind of all Jason’s misfortune. To think, that this letter is sent so quickly after that moment too…

Tim doesn’t need any closure, but he is so awfully curious.

The last time Jason was spotted by accountable eyes was in that apartment where he withheld Joker and lured Batman into a room full of explosives for an ‘intervention’ or three-way murder-suicide explosion, no one could decide what Jason had truly wanted back then. When Bruce came back barely scratched dragging an unconscious Joker, they all expected Jason had also gotten away from it. For the first year after that explosion, they’re all too busy with the following explosion in Bludhaven, but they’ve been gearing up for Jason to come back guns blazing with revenge.

Then a couple of years go by and Jason doesn’t show up. Not even a glimpse of his face pinged on the satellites. No shiny red helmet nor a six foot 225 lbs of a blue-eyed black-haired man in sight.

They had a lot of theories regarding it.

Jason could’ve been stewing for an ever bigger and worse plan. The anger he showed was proof enough that Jason could go that far. Perhaps Jason got the bad end of the explosion and is still healing from an injury. A wishful hope from them all is that he’s laying low to live a normal life, whatever that normal life is.

They don’t talk about Jason out in the open, not in Bruce's presence who growingly goes tense at the mention of the name. Whenever they talk about it, they say ‘him’ in a certain way, and ‘he’ is talked far away from Bruce and always in vague sentences. Tim is rarely part of this conversation. The other bats use what little sensitivities they have for each other to have the sense not to talk about Tim’s abuser right in his face.

Not that Tim is bothered by talking about Jason, it’s just that Tim doesn’t have any opinion of Jason for him to talk about. The man almost killed him in a blind rage, then never talked to him again, that’s hardly the making of an opinion. Tim’s busy schedule also prevents Tim from reading the letter. Tim was reminded about the letter from time to time, but when the whispers about Jason stopped, Tim also stopped being reminded.

Years ticked by and the bats are focused on other more pressing things. Not even Alfred talked about Jason anymore, it’s why it’s so easy to forget Jason.

Until now, finding the letter by pure accident. Tim stares at the number, contemplating whether to call him. It’s been years since it happened, and it’s not like the first time Tim is beaten till his life hangs on a thread. Tim had let it go a long time ago.

Playing with the piece of paper, Tim rereads the yellowing letter.

Curiosity wins.

He dials the phone.

It rings and it rings.

Then it fell to voicemail.

“This is Jason Todd, leave a message.” beep

Tim stares and stills because what the fuck. Why did Jason from six years ago sent him a number with a voicemail that says his legal name? Coming from a vigilante that’s laying low, it doesn’t make sense. Unless this number is given for Jason’s closest contacts, the closest kept people that know Jason Todd isn’t really dead, trusted people. Tim doesn’t know what to think of that either, it makes him even more curious.

The curiosity bumps into his wariness though. It’s weird, Tim can feel it. There’s just something not normal about the whole thing with Jason’s letter and the phone and everything.

With that, Tim decides to follow through with it.

Tim leaves a message, “Hi, Jason? It’s Tim. Tim Drake. I just opened your letter…” Tim pauses, blanked. He should’ve thought more about what he was going to say. “Sorry it took so long? I didn’t see it for a while and…” Tim sighs, he knows he’s pathetically rambling. “Anyway, I’m open if you want to meet. I haven’t seen you around lately.” Tim curses himself, he didn’t need to say that. “Alright, hit me up when you’re free!” and he finally hangs up.

Well, that was awkward. Nothing to be done about it now.

All Tim can do is wait.

++++

Tim waited for a week without any correspondence. No callback, no text, not even a virus or any attempt at hacking his phone.

For the bats, a week is nothing. Jason could’ve been on a mission, deep in a no-signal zone. Hell, he could’ve been in space or between reality. Tim knows for a fact that this side gig can go crazy and beyond.

But Tim still has this unshakable feeling that something is wrong. Because though a week is nothing, the bats have each other to hold them accountable, to ping each other that they existed. Jason has no one. None that Tim knows.

Look, Tim had been Red Robin for years with a super-computer at the reach of his hands and hacking is just a casual Thursday activity. He didn’t even think of the morality of it all nor the outrageousness of tracking Jason’s phone.

The mystery continues when Tim finds the location of Jason’s phone in an orphanage… in Gotham.

Sure, it’s at the edge of the city of Gotham. If the slums in the middle of Gotham housed criminals and minorities, the edge of the city housed rejects and the weak, people that want to lay low. Ex-prisoners, criminals, older generations, mutants, the homeless, and other people that can’t assimilate into the harshness at the Heart of Gotham. It’s a dead land, barely safe, but only a tad better than the slums.

There’s no hustle and bustle there since most of the roads are ruined. A lot of abandoned buildings and half-done projects. There are some parts of the building that doesn’t even have electricity or running water. It had become that way because it was the area that got affected by an explosion from Bludhaven that happened the same night that Jason blipped out of the radar.

Since then, Gotham hadn’t rebuilt that part of the city. It’s no longer covered in soot and some of the destruction is fixed by desperate people needing a roof above their heads. It’s a total ghost town.

Tim tries to look up the orphanage, but there’s nothing about it. Not a website nor any contact information. Using google maps to look up the coordinates, the orphanage is standing in a decent area, though the photos taken in the area are way outdated.

Tim had thought that maybe it was Jason’s safe house, which coincidentally, Tim has one too around 600 meters from there, though it’s been years since Tim is there too, and he never bumped into Jason. Maybe Jason hadn’t been there in years too, but if he hadn’t, then why did Tim’s call connect to the phone in that area?

So here is Tim, disguised as a civilian so he can go strut the street unrecognized. Though he’s beginning to think that it’s not needed.

The edge of Gotham is a desolate land. It’s a shocking contrast to the bustling city. It’s so severely cut too. Because the forty-fifth avenue is packed with full apartments and the buildings across the street are abandoned, cracked, and empty. Thankfully Tim arrived at noon, there’s no doubt it’ll be way too dark to navigate at night.

He follows the direction on google maps to where the coordinates lead him.

There are a few people still living in this area. They had open doors with a fire pit in the middle of the building. People wash clothes in basins. Children running around and playing soccer with a crumpled-up plastic bottle. There are surprisingly a lot of gardens made at the front yards of the buildings. One of the parks in the area is repurposed as what seems to be a vegetable garden.

Tim is beyond surprised when he got to the coordinates because he had thought it would lead him to Jason’s safe house since the area is desolate. And yet, here it stands, the Red Poppy Orphanage, barely different than the picture. It’s a little cracked here and there with its paint chipping, but it’s a bright dot among ruins of grey. A metal plate engraved at the picket fence, the name of the orphanage in bright yellow adorned with red poppies.

The door is open but no one is inside. From the outside, the building is cracked and dusty like everything else despite its better state, but the insides are painted in cheerful pastel colors and are livable. There are some children’s drawings on the walls, crayons, and colorful papers on plastic low tables for children. Tim knocks on the open door. Yet, before he can say anything else, someone beats him to it.

“Who you’re looking for?” Says a teenager that suddenly materializes beside Tim.

Tim almost jumps, he didn’t hear the kid coming. It makes him more suspicious than necessary, though he shouldn’t, Tim’s head is just too preoccupied with something else. The teenager is dressed in all-black jeans and a hoodie, black bangs cover half his face.

“I’m looking for Jason.”

The teenager looks at him amusedly, though the expression is barely there. “He’s in there, at the room furthest in the building.”

“Okay, uh, thanks.”

Tim walks in and looks around. The building feels lived in, but Tim has yet to see anyone other than the teenager. Perhaps they’re all playing outside.

It’s not until he finally peeks into the furthest room in the building that he finally finds someone. A tall and lanky man in loose slacks, a white shirt, and a muted brick jumper rolled to his elbows to show slender forearms. The man is reading something in his hand, three-quarters of his back facing Tim. From the plaque on the door, the man must’ve been the warden of the orphanage.

“Excuse me,” Tim knocks on the door.

The man inside turns around, and Tim is frozen stiff on his feet as he recognizes the warden’s face.

The willowy man in civilian clothes is Jason fucking Todd. He lost a surmountable weight and muscles. His hair is completely black, and his eyes are fully blue instead of blue-green. His face is leaner and had lost its viciousness. The man is almost a different person entirely, but Tim knows this is Jason, there’s no fooling anybody.

“Tim…” and Jason’s voice is all the same. Only that he doesn’t scream or spat at Tim’s name this time.

“Hi, Jason.”

“I thought you didn’t want to see me,” Jason sounded constricted like he didn’t breathe.

“I called the number from your envelope.” Tim scratches the back of his head, “But you didn’t pick up.”

“Oh… Oh shit, yeah, that phone is- I put it in safekeeping and I hadn’t checked it in… Fuck I’m so sorry-”

“No no! It’s okay, I’m sorry I took so long. I, uh, forgot about the letter.”

“You shouldn’t be sorry, Tim- fuck- I-” Jason bites his lips, hands perched on the table, shaking. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about what I did to you, and everything I’ve said to you. You didn’t deserve any of it.” Jason’s honest words tumble out all too fast and too suddenly for Tim.

“I know,” Tim shrugs, like it’s nothing, because it’s nothing, truly. Also, Tim just didn’t know how to respond to Jason’s sudden heartfelt apology, Tim doesn’t have a lot of experience with that. Jason seems stupefied by Tim’s nonchalant behavior, wordless for a few seconds before he gathers himself.

“Please, sit down. Can I get you anything?”

“Coffee, if you have ‘em.”

“Yeah, I’ll be just a minute.”

Jason left the room and Tim immediately snoop around. What? He’s still vigilante/detective and Jason is an enigma, he can’t not.

The room has a couple of pictures around, mostly the kids and Jason. The pictures go back far enough that there’s Jason when he’s still big, tall, and menacing that the kids around him look like dwarves. The most recent picture has Jason with drastically less muscle mass, but he smiles brighter and happier. Another thing Tim noticed is that the kids are all the same with more added as they go. All of the kids grow up here, including the emo teen that talked to Tim.

“Learned a thing or two about me?”

Tim’s reflex doesn’t deign Jason with a jolt, but it does surprise him. Jason moves like a ghost. Seems that Jason’s skills hadn’t left him completely. And if Jason is in any way disturbed by Tim’s snooping, he didn’t show it.

“Just that you haven’t been Red Hood for years.”

“That’s true.”

“Why?”

A pair of mugs placed on top of the table with a deafening clink in total silence. Tim can’t even hear Jason breathe.

“Why should I?” Jason finally says, looking out the window.

The question throws Tim for a loop, “The same reason we all fight, isn’t it? Justice.”

Jason ducks, his hand going up to his neck where a calloused scar runs across it, touching it absently.

“No,” Jason says, lost in thought.

“No? Then what? Revenge?”

Jason shakes his head, “It was never about revenge…” Jason gulped, rubbing his hands, “I was angry, sure, but it was never about revenge, not even against Joker. I just wanted answers from my-… from Bruce. I wanted to know if I was ever his son instead of… a sidekick he pities.” Jason’s voice breaks in the end, the tall man looks away. “I got Joker in my arm, gun pointed to his head. I gave Bruce an ultimatum. Me or Joker. Well, he walked away with the clown, didn’t he? Even though I set up the explosion to take the Joker with me, both of them still walked out free. I watched them go, I let them go.”

Tim can’t see Jason’s face, the man looking out the window, to the bright light outside. Partially, Tim is glad, he doesn’t think he can handle looking at Jason with so much vulnerability. Tim wouldn’t know what to do, but he still wants to know… “Why didn’t you come back? Try again?”

“What’s the point? I got what I wanted,” Jason says weakly. Once again, Jason is rubbing his neck. “Bruce made his choice right in front of me and I… I’m tired.”

Tim stood there, shocked and paralyzed by Jason’s grief. Tim can’t believe that he feels pity for Jason. Tim had long forgiven Jason, but Tim had done it for himself. To move on and let go of the distracting anger and pain. He had never thought of Jason’s reasons nor his fate at all, Tim never thought to sympathize. Tim never thought to reflect. Bruce is a man with trauma piled as high as the Empire State building and handling it in the worst way possible, but Tim knows the man is kind in his own way.

Bruce cares about other people more than he did himself, compassionate in his own broken way. Tim believes that Bruce must’ve loved Jason as he did Tim and all the others. Tim understands why Bruce reacted the way he did when Jason’s deep sorrow is acted with genocidal anger. In one way you love your son, in another, that son is wreaking havoc on what you stand for, and Bruce is nothing if not a man that holds his morals like he’s Atlas holding the world on his back. Jason fell short of Bruce’s ideals because he was lashing out. Bruce didn’t see a poor sad boy, he saw a killer that needed to be stopped.

Tim held his tongue. What happened has happened, no turning things back.

And Tim is not here to bridge what’s between Jason and Bruce.

“That’s the truth of it all,” Jason said weakly, turning to face Tim with devastatingly sad glassy blue eyes. “Back then in my angry haze, I had felt that you replaced me. That you’re a better version of me, smarter, stronger, less damaged, morally better, better in everything…”

Tim rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a little awkward at the confession, “You know… I was scared of you for a while, but I never got really angry at you.”

Jason stiffens, “How?” he says quietly.

Tim shrugs, “Because I had an inkling you weren’t angry at me. You were lashing out, and I was the unlucky punching bag. Turns out I was right.”

Jason breaths for a few beats, lips parted, eyes unblinking, “…huh.”

“I do have a question though.”

“Yes?” Jason goes rigid, but he seems eager at the same time.

“The letter, when did you send it to me?”

Jason’s expression flinched, “Why does it matter?” Tim only stares at him and eventually, Jason gives in with a sigh, “A few days after I almost killed you.”

“That’s a rather quick discovery.”

“Hard not to, when I got back to hunting Joker, I was quickly reminded why I did in the first place. The thought that I did the same thing to you that he did to me… When I realized that I just… I almost became the monster I swore to slay. If you died, then it would’ve meant I stooped as low as Joker.”

A moment of awkward silence hung between them. Jason curled up on himself and seems to be deep in thought while Tim stands stiffly. He’s not equipped to handle Jason’s guilt. Tim would love to just get this all over with.

“Well, you didn’t kill me. So, water under the bridge?”

Jason’s eyes widen and chuckle mirthlessly, “If you’re sure…” Jason says awkwardly, though Tim doesn’t miss the relief in his expression, “Thank you.” Jason smiles, and the tenseness in his shoulders bleeds away.

The question is at the tip of his tongue, and Tim reconsiders how wise it will be to voice it. Jason seems at peace here, at peace without the Red Hood. Tim wants to get to know this Jason.

“So…” Tim says, sitting down and grabbing his mug of hot coffee. “What inspires you to open an orphanage?”

Tim doesn’t miss Jason’s surprise at his casualness, but Jason leans into it.

“I’ve always thought about it, actually,” Jason shrugs, sitting across the desk at the Warden's chair. “I was sent to one when my mom died and my dad bailed. I ended up running away because it was so horrible,” From that dark confession, Jason chuckles. “Since then, it’s always been my dream to build one.”

“And you did, this is a beautiful place by the way. Though a little hard to find.”

“I had to, the kids here are runaways.” Like Jason was. “They don’t come from a safe place.”

Tim has a lot of debating points. That it isn’t healthy for the kids, that the system could’ve found them proper parents, and that the government can easily tear down the orphanage if they knew how it works. Tim doubts that Jason has real legalized papers for the orphanage.

However, even though Tim had never been poor or lacking in parental figure, Tim isn’t that naïve. In the general case, the system is untrustworthy, and runaway kids are never the first pick of eligible decent parents.

“How about you?”

“Huh?”

“Ah, sorry, you don’t have to tell me anything classified,” Jason said, a little flustered.

“No, it’s okay! I was just thinking of something. I took over Drake Industries now. Been CEO since I was of legal age.”

Jason is giving him rapt attention of genuine interest, something Tim isn’t used to unless he’s in a suit or in a board room. “I know you’re a genius and all, but the company on top of doing your nightly job can’t be healthy.”

“Yeah,” Tim rubs the back of his head, he can’t believe he’s going to admit it to Jason. “To be honest, I’ve been doing more CEO rather than going out in the field. I find it actually more helpful to just donate a bunch of money and go hack people’s backgrounds to watch them for corruption, then play whistleblower if they do. I go down to the field only when all of the above failed, but it rarely does. It’s way easier to solve things with money and a little hacking.”

“Oh, just finding that out now, rich boy?” Jason smirks playfully, and Tim chuckles.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up. I admit, I was very sheltered. The vigilante works opened my eyes a ton.”

“Good then,” Jason softly smiles, “You’re doing good things.”

Tim –though touched– feels instantly awkward at the genuine praise, “Yeah, and the sleep is good too.”

Jason laughed, “I know right? I took a long sleep after I put down the helmet too.”

Then they talk. After they’ve passed the awkwardness of past wounds and scars, Jason finally eased up and shows his true self, a compassionate person with a sass and dark humor. It shows in how Jason’s eyes light up whenever he talks about his children, saddened at times whenever he talks about how they get there. There’s lingering sadness in his voice, yet he seems to be at peace with what he has now. “It works for us,” he says. “The children stay safe and I homeschool them myself. This is exactly how I always picture it.”

It's endearing how much Jason had changed. Beneath all that anger and bloody murder is this sweet gentle-hearted person, and Tim likes this person very much. Tim finds that he has a lot in common with Jason. Tim is surprised himself that he’s having fun talking to Jason. That’s why when Tim’s phone rang from a reminder, Tim cursed.

“What? What is it?” Jason asked worriedly.

“Nothing, just a meeting which I’m going to be late to.” It's an important meeting, one that Tam will nag him for if he’s late, but he doesn’t know why it’s so heavy to move, “I gotta go.”

Jason smiles and nods, “Yeah, you do. Thank you for coming, really,” he says earnestly, eyes so honest and intense that Tim paused for a while.

“Sure, uh- sorry for getting back at you so late.”

Jason shakes his head, “It was never too late, I’m just glad you came.”

Tim smiles, “I’m glad too, it’s good to see you. I’ll catch you around!” he waves and runs out of the building, rushing to the nearest main road for a taxi.

Jason watches Tim walks away from the window.

“Was it him that you’ve been waiting for?” says a voice behind him.

“No.”

A pause. “Your mind’s been made, then. Are you sure about this, Jason?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Someone needs to be there for the kids.” Jason turns around to face the voice. “Thank you, Osra.”

The teenager in all black looks at Jason with one eye, “Once they leave, what will you do then?”

Jason doesn’t reply.

“You can always change your mind,” Osra says and Jason only smiles at them.

The sound of children breaks his reverie. He returns to them.

++++

It takes Tim a full day until he realizes that he didn’t get any contact information on Jason’s orphanage. He was too absorbed in talking to him that he didn’t even snoop around the rest of Jason’s orphanage, not even on his way out! Not to mention that Tim only figured this out when he wanted to slide in some ‘anonymous donation’ to Jason’s orphanage.

Naturally, Tim digs deeper, only to hit a stump yet again. They did have a donation account, way back before the invention of credit cards. When Tim was meeting up with Jason thinking he was meeting him in a safe house, Tim didn’t bother to research the Red Poppy Orphanage. He should’ve. Damn.

Brushing away self-lament, Tim gets into it and found the previous warden of Red Poppy Orphanage. He built another orphanage in a better part of Gotham called The St. Nicholas Orphanage a year after the explosion. It’s a generational occupation. Currently, the warden of St. Nicholas Orphanage is the daughter of the first warden. Tim checks her background and finds that she has a few bank accounts, but none are wired nor connected to the Red Poppy Orphanage on the edge of Gotham.

This can only mean two things. Jason took over the Red Poppy Orphanage, or he was running it illegally once it was closed. The latter seems to be the most logical, Jason had been offline as Red Hood since facing off with Batman while withholding the Joker. Right after then, Bludhaven exploded, along with the edge of Gotham where The Red Poppy Orphanage was. Unless…

Tim raises up from his work desk and walks down to the basement of his house where he disguised his supercomputer behind a pretentious man cave. He goes through aerial scans of Gotham on the day of the explosions. They’re images from Watchtower’s satellite, it was old footage that only took a picture every five seconds.

Tim started to narrow his eyebrows when he puts up the aerial footage of the Red Poppy Orphanage before the explosion because it’s already abandoned even then.

Or it could be nothing, he just assumed that it was in ruins because of the explosion. The information hadn’t been relevant by then.

Tim goes through the frames, then lo and behold, Red Hood among the ruins, noticeably slow and limping towards the building that had used to be an orphanage. It’s a few hours after Jason’s explosion. Tim’s initial assumption was right, it was already Jason’s safe house. Tim continues to watch the building to spot Jason walking out of there. He watches until a year forward, but nothing. He even put the map up and try to see if there was any possible underground exit, but there was none. He could’ve built it, but the time frame doesn’t add up unless he has powered friends and meta-technology. Tim can’t find any of Red Hood’s associates that can build him an underground tunnel in a short time frame. The fact is solidified, that Jason didn’t go out for a year.

He could be laying low, or recovering from his injury… but a year?

Tim keeps going forward in time, trying to spot Jason ever going out of the building. He knows Jason must’ve been out at one point, but Tim had this sinking feeling…as he keeps going forward.

Two years.

Three years.

Four years.

Five years.

Six years.

Then finally to the recent time, just yesterday, Tim spots himself… leaving an abandoned building.

Tim pushed himself up so fast that his chair tipped backward. He touches his temple, massaging a pulse that’s gaining pain. Tim blinks, hoping he’s just hallucinating from the irresponsible caffeine intake. He blinks, looks away, paces, and takes deep breaths. Tim watches the footage again, it’s still the same.

It’s still Tim, coming in, then rushing out, out of a building that’s cracked and almost falling apart.

Tim whips out his phone and called Jason’s number. It rings and rings and once again, fell to voice mail.

“This is Jason Todd, leave a message.” beep

Tim can’t take this. There’s no way… No way!

In a rush and blind panic, Tim rushed out only with a jacket on top of his pajamas and his car key. He hissed and flinched as he stepped out of his room, a painful reminder that it’s day time as the sun shined right on his eyes. Blinking the white spots away, he goes to the parking lot with his exclusive lift access.

He speeds through the busy street and got a few curses but Tim didn’t care. Eventually, the road gets less busy the closer he got to the edge of Gotham, only to be met with a roadblock. Tim cursed at himself for forgetting why he had come in a taxi the previous time. He parked his car, towed be damned, and ran.

Tim heaves and gasps, standing there in front of an orphanage that had never been. The Red Poppy Orphanage, the metal plate said, right there on the barren land, bent and rusted.

“What… the actual fuck…” Tim gasped, looking at the half-destroyed building, no color left on its cracked wall. He walks inside, hesitant and in disbelieve at what he’s seeing.

He was here yesterday where it was brightly colored, filled with children’s drawings, and lots of small desks and chairs. Nothing now. The door is completely gone, broken at the hinge. The paints had chipped and scattered all over the floor. There are rotten papers on the corners and no sign of the desk and chairs that he had seen. Tim feels crazy when he enters the warden’s room and only sees a rotten office desk, and a single coffee mug.

Tim calls Jason’s number again. It rings in his ears.

Then faintly, a ringtone joins the dial.

Tim felt his heart skip a beat as he distances himself from his phone and hears the faint digital ringtone familiar of a burner phone’s. Tim follows it with all the keen sense he had honed as Red Robin.

The ringtone sounds muffled, but it couldn’t be far. Tim steps out of the warden's room and feels a loose plank right outside it. Tim pulls out a few planks that reveal a hinged door under them. There’s a ladder heading down, and the ringtone echoes from below. Wary, Tim descends.

The moment Tim sets foot on the floor, the corridor is lit up all the way to the parted door at the end. Sensors. As he suspected from the very beginning, it’s Jason’s safe house. The power reserve is not empty yet, meaning that Jason rarely stays here. He must have… what other explanation could it be?

The closer Tim walks towards the parted iron door, the louder the ringtone. Tim opens the door, the sensors automatically turn the light on.

“This is Jason Todd, leave a message.” beep

Tim’s phone slips from his hand, landing with a crisp crack on the concrete floor.

His eyes won’t leave the brown shirt under the leather jacket, the gun holster around the thigh, worn by a skeleton of what’s left of a human body, slumped on the floor by the cupboard. A red domino mask on its lap.

Tim looks away, trying to think… of something else, that it isn’t Jason, it can’t be. Even though at the furthest room there’s a board full of newspaper clippings of Batman and Joker, a red target circled at Tim in a Robin costume. Even though there are spare Red Hood helmets hung on the walls along with guns and ammo. Even though within the newspaper clipping, there’s a shot of Red Hood, wearing exactly what the skeleton is. No, it’s not Jason, Tim just saw Jason yesterday. Perhaps this is all a dream. Tim is having a very bad dream. Tim unclenches the fist that he didn’t realize had tightened so bad his nails dug into his palm, bloody and hurts, but he doesn’t wake up.

Tim picks up his cracked phone with numb hands and dials Jason’s phone again. Tim jolts when the ringtone sounds closer than he thought. There’s a glow and vibration in one of the corpse’s pockets.

The pocket stops glowing. “This is Jason Todd, leave a message.” beep

As if it’s not enough, Tim investigates further onto the desk. There’s an open notebook full of scribbles, numbers, plans, gut-wrenching confessions. Drafts to Tim’s letter.

I didn’t mean it I swear! I never wanted to be this-

This is not me. This is not me. This is not me anymore. Jason Todd had stayed dead I don’t know what I am. I don’t know what the Lazarus pit brought back to Jason Todd’s body-

Tim, I’m sorry. Please, live. God please-

You were barely older than I was when I almost fucking kill you. I had become the monster that killed me. I was so blind Tim, I couldn’t see past my rage. Even now-

He needs to pay, even if I’m going down with him- He needs to pay.

I’m sorry for dragging your dad to the crossfire but he was my dad too, and I need answers before I drag the monster down with me.

I’m sorry Tim, I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve any of it. I don’t know how to make it up to you, to all the pain I inflicted on you.

I wish I could-

Then on the last page, a few pieces of paper are left by the ring of the book. The torn page that was sent to Tim.

“You came back.”

Tim swiftly turns, flicking the switchblade disguised as the keychain of his car key. An unimpressed dark eye stares back at him.

“You!” Tim points at the emo teen standing by the doorframe. Tim chokes on his breath, overwhelmed by the letters, by the bones wrapped in thin dried flesh tissues, and the apparent hallucinations. “You’re not real either!” Because he didn’t see this person in the aerial footage too.

The person says nothing, and Tim is shaking with rage, “Who are you? What did you do to me?!”

“Ever heard of limbo?”

There’s a pregnant pause that follows, and Tim breaks it with a loud “WHAT?”

“Limbo, a place between-”

“I know what Limbo fucking is! It’s not real!”

“Is it?”

The teen lifts their hand, and in an instant, the place changes: cleaner, and the body is gone.

“What-”

The door slams open, Jason walks through the door, walks through the teen like they’re a ghost. Jason is walking towards Tim. Frozen in shock, Tim doesn’t move away, and Jason walks through him too. Jason, whose holding his bleeding neck, he's covered in soot. The explosion must’ve propelled a shrapnel to his neck. Jason is breathing hard, barely does, it sounds wet. Blood had gotten to his lungs. Tim watches horrifiedly as Jason scrambles to get a box under the bed, only to pause. Jason stared at the open med kit, hands trembling yet unmoving by the sides of the box, all while the deep cut in his neck is bleeding profusely.

“Jason?” Tim says, forgetting that Jason can’t hear him.

With one small gesture, Jason closed the med kit box with a deafening click.

Tim felt his heartbeat on his neck when Jason weakly pushed the box back under his bed.

“What are you doing… what is he doing!” Tim says to the other person in the room, who said nothing back.

Jason laid back against the cupboard, head lolled to the side as he lifts his hand to brush against the gash at his neck. Tim got a full view of it, it was deeper than he thought, and there are no shrapnel lodged in his throat. So Jason is either stupid enough to take out the shrapnel or he was attacked. Tim faintly remembers that Red Hood’s body armor under the leather jacket is white, not completely red nor glossy.

Jason did nothing. Just sitting there as his breathing becomes shallower by the second. His hand drops like a dead weight on his side. His gritted teeth loosened to parted lips, trying to breathe. Slowly, the domino mask peeled from his face, revealing teal eyes drenched in tears, turning blue and vacant.

“Wait… wait no!” Tim hurriedly grabs Jason’s shoulder. The image of Jason disperse, and the skull lolled toward Tim instead. Tim gasps, jerking away from Jason’s remains. This close, Tim can see faint traces of human tissue keeping the bones together.

Tim gulps, he’s stepping away, shellshocked. He met Jason yesterday, it had felt real. The memories in Tim’s head feel as real as any other day. Tim can still remember Jason telling him that the orphanage is his whole life’s dream.

When Tim spun around, the person that brought him to the past is still there, standing with one eye on Tim.

“Why… Why did you show me this?”

The teen darkens, becoming one shadow and one eye, “Because you’re the only one who came for him.”

Tim doesn’t understand what he’s seeing or who he’s seeing, but peculiarly, he doesn’t feel in danger, “Why did he do it?”

“I don’t know, maybe you can ask him yourself.”

All too sudden, in a blink, Tim is no longer in the bunker. The instant transition from the dusty dark and gloomy safe house to the brightly colored room and sunny light makes Tim feel dizzy. They’re at the back door of the orphanage. Lots of drawings on the walls, small tables and chairs placed around the room, and books and toys scattered everywhere. A couple of kids run toward them, they stop and stare at Tim.

“Hey! Are you a new soul?”

“How did you die?”

“How old are you?”

“Do you wanna go play hopscotch?”

Tim goes catatonically still, staring at them, processing their questions on top of everything.

“Osra, is he okay?” Says one of the children. Tim looks back to see the shadow is once again in their casual all-black get-up.

“He’s not a new soul, just someone to visit Jason,” Osra says.

“Oh! Finally! I’ve never seen a visitor before!”

“Come on! Jason is back here!”

They pull Tim’s hand to the field at the back of their orphanage, too luscious and green for anything from Gotham. Tim doesn’t know how the children (souls?) are able to touch him. Now that he thought of it, he never touched Jason. The moment the children see their friends running around in the fields, they let him go. Jason was in the middle of chaotic children, setting up a picnic. There’s a peaceful smile on Jason’s face, the same that Tim saw yesterday. The man looks happy, content. He’s looking at the dozens of children like they’re his own. He’s hugging a small toddler that he tried to put shoes on.

“What is this place?”

“I told you before,” Osra says from behind him.

Tim watches the children, “Then why are there kids here?”

“Restless souls know no age. Once upon a time, these kids were scared, angry, hungry, longing, hateful, sad. Their feelings are so strong that once they died all too sudden, they ended up in my domain.” Osra looks around, “Just an eternal place, alike the living but not quite.”

Before Tim can ask for more, Jason looks up from the toddler in his arms toward Tim. Jason seems as if he had seen a ghost. Jason approaches him, or maybe Tim does, but as soon as they're within talking distance, Tim blurts out:

“Why?”

Instinctually, Jason reached up to his neck while his eyes cast down as if remembering. Then he looks up at Tim, smiling somberly, “There’s no one else left to live for.”

It felt like someone sunk a knife into Tim’s chest and twists it, “What about your dream then? All this could’ve been a reality!” Tim shouts, he doesn’t know why his heart is pounding. “You could’ve lived for yourself!”

Jason shakes his head slightly, still with a smile, “That part of me never came back.”

This is not me anymore. Jason Todd had stayed dead I don’t know what I am. I don’t know what the Lazarus pit brought back to Jason Todd’s body-

“No… Jason, that’s not true. Do you hear me? That’s not true!”

“Your time is up, Timothy Jackson Drake,” Osra’s voice surrounds all.

The feeling of being pulled backward is all too sudden, but Jason is fading away, further, slowly.

“Wait! Wait, Jason! Why are you here?!” Tim clawed into the air, to the image of Jason far away, still holding his neck. Tim came to a realization too late, “Jason! Who did this to you?!”

Tim zoomed back, Jason is swallowed by a bright light and Tim fell hard on his back. Groaning, Tim raises by the elbows, and the white light slowly dissipates into the real world. A concrete broken building that once was the Red Poppy Orphanage. His feelings are disconnected, and Tim goes down the same corridor he had found out. It’s the same sensor automated lights, the same corridor, the same bunker, and the same corpse of who once was Jason Todd. Tim looks hard into the face that is no longer there. Eyes hollowed, teeth exposed, nose gone, only dried tissues sticking to bones.

With the professionalism of a vigilante that had seen too much, Tim picks up Jason’s body and lay him down on his bed. Tim rummages Jason’s notes for clues, finding only one hint inside the med kit box under Jason’s bed. As he slides out of the box, Tim notices a seam on the floor, it’s another hinged door that opens to a small and dead cooler. There are expired blood bags inside a pool of what once was ice. Jason could’ve lived, he could’ve saved himself.

Tim stops that train of thought –nothing to be done about it now, and he needs to move. Inside the medkit box –in between medicine and tools– is a photo of Jason as a child, smiling with a gap tooth in the arms of his mother, Catherine. On the back of the photo, there are words in two different handwriting.

‘My precious son, the light of my life. Remember that I will always love you, even when I can’t say it to you. I’m so sorry.’

‘I miss you every day that I’m awake. The only solace I have now is that I’ll finally meet you again, once I’m done.’

Right under is a name, Mnemosyne Cemetery.

Tim’s heart clenched, and his hands shake as he puts the picture in his pocket for safekeeping.

“I’ll be right back,” he says to Jason.

His car is towed, but that didn’t matter. Tim calls a funeral director he trusts with his secret life, and his voice sounds robotic. Tim waits by the street until she came. He lets her wait outside the building for Tim to come out with Jason’s body in his arms. The funeral director is a friend of Tim Drake and Red Robin. Tasya says nothing as she opened the casket.

The walk back to the car is silent, yet it’s heavy with the weight of Jason’s remains in a casket atop a gurney.

“Who is this person, Tim?” She asked.

Tim has no hesitation, “Family.”

He trusts Jason with Tasya as she hauls the casket containing Jason’s corpse into the van. Tim is staring ahead emptily while sitting in the passenger seat, still in his pajamas from the day before. Tim feels nothing, numb to his core, barely processing what he heard and saw. Whether he truly did.

Tasya slams the door of the driver’s seat, even then, Tim doesn’t flinch. She starts to drive “I found Catherine Todd in Mnemosyne Cemetery. I manage to reserve the spot beside her, it’s tight, but I keep it off the record as per your request. I’m afraid we’ll have to dig the earth ourselves.”

“I’ll help you.”

Since Tim is a special customer to a special request, things get hands-on. Tasya uses her inhuman strenght to carry Jason’s casket to the far part of the cemetery. Tim remembers that Bruce had arranged Catherine’s funeral himself, and now Tim is arranging their son’s funeral.

Tim and Tasya dug. Between the two of them, they got deep enough in less than an hour.

“Wait,” Tim says as she’s about to lower… to lower Jason to the ground. “Can you open the casket a moment?”

Tasya nods and does as he requests. Tim takes out the picture and put it on top of his chest, under the leather jacket. He can’t even put Jason in a funeral suit nor embalm him properly, not if he wants things off the record. Jason deserves so much better.

Tasya and Tim both lower Jason to the ground.

“Can I do this part by myself?” Tim says, his voice starting to break.

“Anything you need, Tim.” She paused for only a moment. “What is his name? For the tombstone.”

“Jason Todd. 1997 to 2016.” Tim gulps, his eyes stung. He’s older than Jason ever will be.

“What words do you want to engrave it with?”

It’s the first crack to his icy numbness, “I don’t know… I-I don’t know.”

“At peace, Tim. You can change your mind later. I’ll leave you alone now.”

He doesn’t hear her steps, but Tim starts to cover Jason as soon as he feels alone. His chest starts to hurt, and his head spins. His eyes blur more when Jason’s casket starts to disappear behind the dirt. Tim is fully crying when he finally put back all the ground that was dug out.

“You didn’t deserve this,” Tim whispered, weakened by the lump in his throat. The reality of what just happened finally dawned on Tim. How fucked up everything is, how fucking real the souls he just met. Jason’s soul is stuck forever in there, living in a constant dream that will never be real.

“You hear me, Jason!!?” Tim screamed, “You didn’t deserve this! You didn’t deserve to die alone in a bunker! I don’t fucking know what or who you think you are but you’re a real person. You’re Jason Todd and you’re alive!... You were alive.” Tim’s sobs break his screaming streak, “You deserve to live out that dream. You didn’t deserve to die like this.” Tim wipes his face from his tears, “I’m glad that I get to know you. I hope you find peace.

After Tim drained all his tears and mourned his share of grief, he walks away with heavy steps. Tim wonders if Tim hadn’t known Jason’s soul at all, would it still be this painful?

Tim doesn’t linger much at the thought, because no matter what, he doesn’t regret ever knowing Jason.

+++++

The rest of the family figured it out on their own without ever asking Tim firsthand. Not that Tim hid it anyway. Tim had Jason’s letter on his desk in his home office, his computer is partially sharing a server with Batcomputer and Oracle’s computer. Despite the breach of privacy, Tim is glad he didn’t need to say a thing to tell them. Even though half of a dozen people snuck into his home, they leave no trace so it’s easier to pretend that they didn’t. At some point, Jason’s grave is re-dug and reburied. Whoever one of them did it must’ve done it for confirmation, because there’s new DNA data logged into the shared server.

Confirmed Match: Jason Todd.

Tim doesn’t want to waste any energy to figure out who. It doesn’t matter anymore anyway, and perhaps, they needed the confirmation. A group of skeptics that they are.

Things did change though. The Wayne family of vigilantes isn’t known for healthy coping mechanisms. None of them talk about the elephant in the room, but it shows.

Alfred is quieter, but he never leaves any of them out of his sight for too long if they ever visit. Alfred will insist on having family dinners even more frequently, leaving one chair empty. Barbara seeks out Alfred to talk to him, but Tim never asked what they talked about. Dick is MIA from work and from being Nightwing for two weeks. When he re-emerges looking a little haunted when he smiles, with gaunter cheeks, and sunken eyes, no one asks where he has been nor what he’s been doing.

Bruce retracts, he doesn’t talk, and he takes solo missions without telling any of them except for Alfred. Little do they know, that they won’t see Bruce for months. Tim doesn’t come to the manor anymore, not until Alfred insists he comes for dinner, but Tim doesn't linger any longer than he should.

For those who never get to know Jason – Damian, Cassandra, Kate, Duke, and Stephanie– they gave the rest some space with silent support. Stephanie came to Tim’s house for a week straight just to hang out. Cassandra gives them all a hug out of nowhere, sometimes she lingers around one of them. Duke awkwardly hangs around them just to be around them. Kate caves to Alfred’s insistence on her joining dinner when she had never bothered to before. Damian is notably less prickly, and he adds Jason to the family painting, an adult Jason when he was last seen at 19.

One coping mechanism they all have in common is overworking themselves. Had it not for the family dinners insisted on them by Alfred, none of them would’ve seen each other for a long time.

No one asks Tim about Jason, despite all of them knowing that Tim is the one that discovered the body. The clues explained themselves. Jason’s old letter is newly opened. Tim tracks the number behind the letter and finds nothing the first time he checked the area. Then he finds him the second time after researching the place with better equipment. Though can't explain the panic of the second day, the ease of the first day, or why he doesn’t call any of them when he found Jason’s body. Despite so, no one asks. Tim never tells them what he saw, never told them that he had spoken to Jason. It's no use anyway, they'll either not believe him or they'll be even sadder than they already are and Jason stays dead. Tim also didn't tell them about his suspicion about the severe wound on Jason's neck, the one that kills him. Or, the wound that Jason let kill him. Though, from the way Bruce is behaving, at least he knows.

A few days after Tim buried Jason, he came back to Jason’s bunker to tidy up his stuff. There are a lot of Jason’s personal belongings there. Letters, diaries, books, murder plans, and a scarce collection of family photos. Including one with Bruce when Jason won a spelling bee contest. Stephanie helped him with Jason’s stuff even when Tim didn’t ask. Tim doesn’t know where to put them, but once he arrived at the manor, Alfred took them over and put them in Jason’s old room which is still untouched but kept clean. When Alfred broke down crying at the spelling bee picture he took, Stephanie and Tim stayed with him.

Jason’s grave is never lacking flowers, and no wild grass ever runs rampant. His and his mother’s.

A few weeks later, Tim noticed a different engraving on the plaque of Jason’s tombstone.

‘Beloved Son. Forever our Family.’

The words make Tim feel bittersweet about the whole thing, a little bit of anger too, things he has no right to have an opinion on. Tim only bitterly thought: Where was their love when Jason lived again? Sure, Jason got back screaming bloody murder, couldn’t there be any other way to talk him down? Use all of their skills combined to contain him and talk… just talk. Jason is nice and funny once you sit down and talk to him. Jason was.

Now Jason is in a plane of realm that none of them can reach. Jason who died alone and so unloved that his soul told Tim that he still believed that. Jason is going to believe he’s alone and unloved in a forever limbo.

Tim hopes –he even prays– that Jason knows now.

Tim hopes Jason is reunited with his mom, somehow.

Tim hopes that Jason finds the peace that was owed to him.

++++

Osra feels their world shift, as thus the peculiar world of lingering souls. All the souls feel it, but none of them know what it means, including Osra, the Guardian of the souls in the realm between worlds, or most souls taught them that it was called limbo. There are too many souls in limbo, Osra knows the story of every single one of them. A soul named Jason Todd of Gotham takes his interest the most.

Jason’s soul is unlike they’ve ever seen in all their existence. Jason’s death had been final, his resurrection had been an anomaly in the laws of the realms. Osra found Jason lingered around when he died at fifteen, the saddest little thing that was looking for his dad before Osra coax him to let go and pass to the afterlife where he’ll meet his mom instead. Some time passes before Jason lingered in limbo yet again, still Jason of Gotham but with a wreck of a soul.

Jason the restless soul, always moving, never resting, and broken apart to pieces that hover closely to each other. Not quite a whole soul, not truly scattered that he had lost himself. As if Jason is holding onto himself. Too scattered apart and restless to move further into the afterlife, nothing Osra does can fix Jason’s soul.

Osra watches as Jason tried to keep himself together, adopting a bunch of other restless souls of Gotham to live in this self-created fantasy. Jason’s illusion is so strong that it alters limbo. Alas, Osra lets him be, it is not their predicament whether limbo stays the same or not. Osra merely keeps an eye on the souls, that’s why when another new soul enters Jason’s pocket illusion of limbo, Osra knows.

The first one had been Tim. Tim’s desire to meet Jason and Jason’s restless soul calling for any closure pulls them together. It is not new for the soul of the living and the dead to meet in limbo, but Osra had been surprised. Those two never had a connection in the living world but they manage to reach each other and meet.

The second soul visiting Jason is less of a surprise, they came from the afterlife.

“Jason?” the new soul calls, stepping closer to where Jason is teaching the young souls about an education they’ll never need.

Jason crumbles when he looks at the source of the voice, “…mom?”

Catherine Todd of Gotham, whose soul had lingered in limbo before finally passing on after knowing her son had died at 15.

“Jason, my baby,” She sobbed, running towards her son with open arms as Jason met her in the middle. She cradles her son in her arms as Jason falls apart. She holds him tightly, preciously, kissing his temple, things that she wished she had done but was unable to because of her weakness. “My son, Jason…”

“Why did you leave me?” Jason sobbed. His soul becomes dimmer, “Was it because I’m not your blood son?”

“No!” Catherine pushes him, cradling her son’s face in her hands. “You’ve always been my son. I love you like my own. I’m sorry that I failed you,” Catherine breaks apart. “I’m sorry, my baby. Please forgive me.”

Slowly, as if moving in honey, Jason’s soul comes together and heals, once again becoming whole. For a long moment, the mother and child hold each other. Mending, intertwining.

“Come with me, Jason,” Catherine says to the top of her son’s head, kissing his temple. “You don’t need to stay here.”

“But…” Jason looks back to the lingering soul he had collected and found. The souls that he nurtured and soothed as much as he can.

“They can come too,” Catherine says with a smile, a proud look in her eyes.

Jason’s eyes find Osra’s being, trying to find confirmation. Osra – who in Jason’s eyes is a dark-haired teenager that had been the only one kind to him when he was in an orphanage – nods and smiles. Jason’s pursed lips frown and tremble, holding back feelings of relief and joy. He opens his arms to the young souls that ran to his embrace. Osra rarely hears laughter in their realm, but they cherish it each time. Jason’s soul had intertwined with the young souls, wherever he goes, they go.

“Thank you,” Catherine said to Osra, as Jason does as well, the young souls say goodbye to them as they all go to the light.

Osra knows that their gratitude is misplaced, but they’ll make sure to pass them on to the right person.

++++++

Despite the heavy mourning period, life goes on in the Wayne family household. The talking grievers leave the silent grievers alone. As the latter, Tim feels grateful for not being prodded.

Tim is cleaning his penthouse one day and finds the old phone that he had wanted to take apart for a prototype UV gun which he had abandoned when he found it on top of a book containing Jason’s letter. So much for that project. The phone could’ve still been useful though, you never know.

So, Tim goes to his attic to put back his old phone. Goes to the same box he picked it from where he also put back Jason’s letter.

Tim opened the box and froze. Red poppies in full bloom greet him, growing out of Jason’s letter. As impossible as it is, Tim knows what happened with a surprising certainty that Jason is finally at peace.

The tears in Tim’s eyes are from relief. This is the closest to justice that Jason can have.

Jason is finally at peace.

#sorry #i sincerely apologize for the sadness #but i tried to make it a not so sad ending!#jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fanfic #tim drake fanfic #tim drake fanfiction #batfam angst #emocel's

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Drama [Challenging: Success]: Pissing all by yourself handsome?

what to say when your bro needs to take a piss

#i'm playing disco elysium #Let's just say my playthrough had become a romantic comedy in my mind #disco elysium #kim kitsuragi

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emotionalcello-makefanfics · 1 year

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#old man yaoi is the only thing holding me together fr fr

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emotionalcello-makefanfics · 1 year

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Chapters: 1/4 (click EXPAND for 3k of Chapter 1) Fandom: 未定事件簿 | Tears of Themis (Video Game) Rating: Mature Relationships: Yan Wei | Darius Morgan/Zuo Ran | Artem Wing Additional Tags: Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Darius Morgan centric, Darius morgan POV, POV Zuo Ran | Artem Wing, but only a few of Artem's POV, Pining, and some of my Headcanon

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Summary:

Senior Attorney Wing and Captain Morgan have a professional working relationship that grants them to meet often, more than they meet their own friends. But Artem and Darius meet for the first time – five years later since they first met – in the cemetery.

It all started with an umbrella.

+++

Senior Attorney Wing and Captain Morgan have a professional working relationship that grants them to meet often, more than they meet their friends. But Artem and Darius meet for the first time – five years later since they first met – in the cemetery.

Artem is leaving, Morgan has just arrived. It’s a cloudy morning, Big Data lab predicts that it’s going to rain heavily come noon. Their eyes meet, equally feeling awkward at seeing each other without their uniform. Artem is clad in a cream sweater over a sky-blue turtleneck and gray slacks, shockingly different than the sharper-than-knives suit he wears that no matter what time of day always looks tidy and sharp on him. Artem’s hair is down and loose instead of swept to the sides. Artem looks soft, very out of character from the stiff and strict Senior Attorney that Darius comes to know for years.

Darius barely looks any different, still unkept and tired but in jeans, a t-shirt, and a leather jacket instead of the slacks, shirt, and trenchcoat. The bouquet of pink lilies and lilac looks off-putting in Darius’ hands as if something so delicate doesn’t belong in the hands of a brute that’s holding them.

“Hello,” Artem says, managing to look all kinds of awkward while saying one word.

Darius isn’t any better though, he’s just standing there staring, dumbfounded. “Hi,” he finally says flatly.

Aside from his looks, the second thing Darius thinks upon seeing Artem is ‘I didn’t know someone close to him recently died.’ He almost said his condolences but held back when he realizes that it was none of his business. Artem didn’t say anything, Darius deducts that perhaps a condolence from an acquaintance is the reason why. Even though they know each other for five years, they’re not close personally.

Darius nods and goes on his not-so-merry way. His destination is quite a hike and he takes his time. He had walked this path for twelve years. Everyone said that it gets better in time. Darius is still waiting for that time to come when the flowers in his hand will stop weighing a ton.

“Captain Morgan,” Calls a familiar voice. It makes Darius tense, and straightened his back, instinctually in work mode. Turning around and seeing Artem in his sweater send Darius on a whiplash, even more, when the man is handing him an umbrella. “I didn’t see any on you, it’s going to rain.” Darius looks to the sky, and it’s so dark it almost looks like it’s closer to the evening than noon, how come he didn’t notice?

Another thing Darius didn’t notice is how flustered Artem looks when the pause lingers too long. “I’m sorry if I’m being overfamiliar…”

“No no, you’re not,” Darius quickly says, eyes switching back and forth between Artem’s face and the umbrella in his hand. Darius decides to take it, he didn’t have an umbrella with him, and it’ll be bad if he’s sick around this time. He’d have to get sick leave and be alone in his apartment, alone with his thoughts at this time, that’d be nightmarish. “Thank you, I’ll give it back to you as soon as I can.”

“No rush,” Artem says, and he lingers a little before saying. “I hope I’m not crossing any lines, but I’m sorry for your loss.”

Darius doesn’t know what to say for a while. He feels nothing for Artem’s words, but he repeats robotically, “You too, my condolences.”

They exchange stiff nods and go separate ways. In the middle of the way, Darius notices the umbrella is as grey as the sky with a gunmetal sheen, it fits Artem’s personality perfectly. Darius was praying over their grave when the first drops of the rain fall. Darius opens the umbrella and was shocked when he sees the blue sky painted under the umbrella along with rainbows, pink and blue clouds, glittery sheen, and cutesy baby angel characters with harps, trumpets, cupids bow and… are those puppies and kittens they’re carrying in their baskets? Also, the illustration is very realistic and detailed, kind of like a Renaissance painting style.

“Huh.”

Never thought Artem to buy this kind of thing.

+++++

Captain Morgan: Cute umbrella.

Attorney Wing: Excuse me?

Captain Morgan: *Click to see the attached picture*

Attorney Wing: I assure you that I didn’t know that. I never use it since my colleagues gave it to me as a gift. I’m at loss as to why they gave me that.

Captain Morgan: I think you’ve been pranked.

Attorney Wing: Yes, I’ve realized that now.

Captain Morgan: Still want the umbrella back?

Attorney Wing: I’m not sure.

Captain Morgan: It’s a gift, so you should cherish it.

Attorney Wing: Are you pranking me too?

Captain Morgan: I plead not guilty.

Before he knows it, he’s texting back and forth with the attorney. Darius hates weekends, he never spent them doing anything of worth. He’d smoke, watch a movie he’s watched hundreds of times, and hang out with his cold girl Julia. If he’s lucky, he gets to work on these empty weekends. Alas, after pushing himself to those working weekends for a month, his supervisor noticed and kicks him to the curb and made him spend his weekend ‘relaxing’. Darius knows it’s just politics for ‘I’m not gonna grant you any more overtime money for this’. So, no, Darius isn’t relaxing. Or, wasn’t.

Darius doesn’t have any friends he can call close enough. He has drinking buddies but that’s an entirely different category of people than friends. Never in his wild imagination that he’d ever think that Artem can be his friend. They see each other almost every week strictly for work and it’s been five constant years of that so Darius never thought it was a possibility. Then there’s work, which they’re both too invested in whenever they met, socializing nor pandering didn’t come to mind.

And yet, the stupid umbrella is just so stupid that he can’t not bug Artem about it. He was supposed to be mourning that day, but the cupid babies loom at the corner of his eyes as the umbrella opens to dry. Darius could’ve sworn the inside of that umbrella is glowing like it has a light source. Where did Artem even find that thing?

++++

Darius never gets to return the umbrella, both of them are always too busy to remember. Darius often forgot his umbrella at home, then forgot them at the office. When he finally brings it into the glove box of his car, he forgot to mention it until Artem leaves in a hurry.

Two months later, the imprint of the ridiculous umbrella left his memory. His text with Artem bantering about the umbrella had been buried with texts about cases.

Then comes the rain.

Darius remembers to bring an umbrella today. He slips it inside this coat pocket. He’s assisting Artem and his partner, young Attorney Chris. They’re at the back garden of the victim’s mansion while Artem is inside the house investigating with one of Darius’ officers. The rain starts and he opens the umbrella to shield himself and Chris. She looks up at Darius, opening her mouth to say something until she sees the abomination that is under the umbrella. Darius even forgot that this umbrella was THAT umbrella until she was badly covering her smile and cupids dancing at the corner of his eyes.

“How come you have Artem’s umbrella?” Chris says.

“Ah, so you’re the one that gave it to him.”

At Darius' teasing smile, Chris blushes, “Uh, well, I was one of the people that suggest it, sure, but I’m not the one that constructs it.”

Darius’ eyebrows raise, “You’re saying you and another person custom-made this umbrella to prank Wing?”

“Me and three other people, yes. We just thought it was funny!” Chris says all of the sudden.

Darius can’t help the chuckle, “Yeah, it is, kinda.”

He walks Chris to Artem’s car and goes back to get Artem. Sure enough, the Attorney looks at him with wide eyes when he sees Darius with the umbrella.

“It really is offensively adorable, yet somehow artistic,” Artem says out of nowhere.

“If by artistic you mean uncanny-ly realistic, sure.”

To his surprise, Artem laughs, not noticing Darius having an internal 404 error. Had he ever seen Artem laugh? No, he had never even seen him crack a smile in all the five years they’d known each other.

Huh, so that’s what it looks like, Darius thinks, and he doesn’t look away. Not until Artem catches him staring and looks away almost sheepishly, which makes Darius thinks that he might’ve passed out at some point and dreamt all this.

“If you don’t mind,” Artem says after clearing his throat.

Darius flustered, much to his horror, “Ah, yes, let’s go.”

And it must’ve been a ridiculous sight for a gruff middle-aged man and another stiff-faced man nearing thirty to walk together in the rain under an umbrella that looks like a child’s bedsheet. Both of them can’t see how ridiculous they are, so the embarrassment doesn’t stop their conversation.

“Is this another case of a family fighting for inheritance gone bloody?” Darius asks.

“I won’t assume anything until I have all the evidence.”

Darius scoffs, “You say that, but every time they called the cops on an allegedly natural death of a rich guy, it’s always murder and it’s always about inheritance.”

“Not always,” Artem says airily.

“When? Wing, I assist you in every case you take, I know.” And doesn’t that take Darius back. He didn’t realize that yes, ever since Artem became an attorney in the city, Darius had always been the one that assist him, how did that happen?

“Premeditate opinion is a recipe for misinterpretation.”

“Ok Mr. Senior attorney, wanna bet?” Darius doesn’t know what possessed him to say that, but upon seeing Artem's playful smirk, everything is worth it.

“What would we even bet?”

Darius lits up. At some point, they stopped walking and had been standing face to face. Their chests almost touched under the umbrella too small for the two of them with the curtain of rain shutting the whole world from their private little circle. Darius looks at those dark blue eyes, mysterious like the ocean deep, they glint in mischief as if they’re hiding something. Looking at those eyes any longer, Darius would’ve drowned.

“The winner buys the other drinks,” Darius goes with the classic.

“You’re on,” Artem says with an amount of sass that Darius never knew he possessed.

Darius is completely mystified by what he just experienced. So much so that he kept looking at Artem as he steps into his car, said goodbye, and drives away into the road.

Only after a few seconds did he realize that Darius is still holding the blasted umbrella.

++++

It took a month for Artem to wrap up the case they’re betting on. The memory of the bet had been pushed to the back of Darius’ head by other responsibilities. Artem isn’t the only attorney he works with, and there’s more to police work than just investigating death and murder, there are also these damn reports.

So, it takes a few seconds to discern Artem’s text, which is a link to a news article.

‘The Evil Mistress of the Reindhart Patriarch declared Not Guilty! The shocking truth reveals a heartbreaking story of the Billionaire’s decades fight with illness.’

Attorney Wing: I win.

Darius laughs, shocking his coworkers that never once hear any joyous tone from their strict no-nonsense captain.

Captain Morgan: And I’m a man of my word. The winner picks the time and place.

Friday, 9 PM, at a place called Dionysus. It sounded posh, and honestly, what is it with this city and greek gods? They’re nowhere near Greece.

++++

The place isn’t as posh as it sounds. Darius was expecting to burn all his life savings because Artem seems like a wine guy. The name of the bar sounded like a wine place, and Darius knows wine can cost a liver and a limb.

The bar seems cozy. Earth tones, dim lighting, jazz music, couch seats. It’s getting crowded with office workers since it’s 7 PM on a Friday. Darius takes the bar seat where he can see both the emergency exit and the front entrance. Darius only waited for five minutes when Artem walks in through the door, his suit jacket in his arms.

Darius sips his whiskey to mask his instinctual gulp. This overreaction is pathetically caused by Artem without a layer of suit jacket. What is wrong with him lately? He looks at Artem and suddenly his composure takes a nosedive. He sees Artem often, sure this is the first time they meet up outside work hours –second if you count the cemetery– but Artem doesn’t look any different. Artem is Artem, which is exactly the problem now that Darius thinks of it. Artem had always been Senior Attorney Wing and he’s never just… Artem.

Hey, know what? Darius is an honest man. Artem is attractive, Darius had always found him attractive. This is only the first time that he lets himself react to it since he’s bound to his professional work ethic. There’s no harm in noticing that their colleague is attractive at the appropriate non-working hours, right?

“Sorry I’m late,” Artem says, taking the bar seat next to Darius. He smells like expensive perfume and rain.

“You’re not, hope you don’t mind me having a head start,” Darius motioned to his glass.

“I don’t mind.” Artem gestures to the bartender, “I’ll have what he’s having.”

“Oh, come on, Attorney Wing. Treat yourself to the top shelf, I’m a gracious loser.”

Artem sips on his quickly-served glass of two shots of whiskey, “Aren’t the winner able to get whatever they want?”

“Hey, suit yourself.”

“Artem.”

“Hm?”

“We’re off the clock. Isn’t it weird to be so formal?”

Darius disagrees, it’s weirder to call each other by their given name after years of calling their last names tightly knit to their title, and yet, “Artem,” he says, testing the sound of Artem’s name in his mouth. “Darius, then.”

“Darius,” Artem nods with a smile.

And it’s a little pathetic how the sound of his name in Artem’s voice sent shivers down his spine.

“Well,” Darius smiles and raises his glass to Artem, “For your win. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Artem toasts his glass with Darius’.

Even though both of them are outside work hours in a bar, they’re workaholics by nature and all they talk about is work. It started with Darius asking how the case wrapped up and they went deep into investigation talk.

Sober Darius would’ve panicked being so close to Artem, watching him talk and loosen up, his hair softly falling apart from the side-swept style he kept, seeing how delicate the white shirt on Artem’s body is. Pleasantly buzzed Darius, however, shamelessly enjoys the view.

Out of nowhere, Artem chuckle, and it makes Darius chuckle too.

“What?” Darius asks.

“We’re off the clock, yet I still talk about work,” Artem sighs dejectedly.

“We’re workaholics, and I don’t mind,” Darius shrugs like it’s nothing, hoping it’ll cheer him up. “Also, you’re not much of a drinker, are you?” Darius notices that in an hour and a half they’ve been here, Artem hadn’t finished his first glass while Darius is already on his third.

Artem chuckles mirthlessly, “You caught me.”

Darius watches Artem, finding a conclusion, “You didn’t have to agree to go drinking if you didn’t want to. We could’ve gone wherever you feel comfortable in.”

“That’s the problem though,” Artem says dejectedly, finally finishing the drink. “I don’t know where to go either. I work all the time, and the only thing I do outside of work are the necessities: Sleep, bathe, eat, and…” Artem pauses at the last point, something he can’t say in public then.

“Sex?”

Artem swings his head so fast Darius thought it would spin, eyes pop open so comically that Darius laughed.

“Don’t laugh at me, you caught me off guard,” Artem huffs, his face flushed with a pretty pink tone. “I was about to say I was doing… special cases.”

Ah yes, special cases, the NXX investigation team. Darius is partially let into the knowledge of their existence, though Darius knows he was only let in so the team can do under-the-table work with him. Darius had agreed with the condition that they do him a favor in similar weight. Three years after he works with Artem and gains respect towards each other, Artem finds him trustworthy enough to know their existence. Imagine his bewilderment when he’s faced with a team of a baby-faced super spy, an aloof prince-like psychologist that talks to him like he’s a lab rat, the youngest Senior Attorney in the city, and a 19-year-old Vice-CEO of the multi-billionaire company that runs half the world.

It worked out mutually beneficial. Darius gets to pull in reasonable favors, and they get fast help from the police force and confidential files.

“Sorry, sorry,” Darius says after he calms down. “We’re both adults and it was an honest question. Some argue that sex is a necessity.”

“Not to me,” Artem says carefully, watching Darius as he says it, “It’s… no, I don’t do that casually.”

Darius is pinned to the board with Artem’s strong gaze, enjoying every moment of it. “I get it.”

“You do?”

“Uh-uh,” he says, not willing to elaborate.

“If not the bar, where would you’ve suggested we go?” Artem asks, moving on.

“The workaholic with no life asks another workaholic with no life, I suggest you refer to a different source.”

Artem scoffs, his eyes glinting with amusement, Darius pats himself on the back for that.

“You don’t seem to be worse off than me.”

“It’s not a competition, Artem,” Darius’s heart has no business skipping at saying Artem’s name. “We can suffer in our lack of life together.”

To Darius’ dismay, Artem smiles at him and blushes, “It’s not so bad then.” Oh, and that one does a number on Darius.

“Are you already drunk?”

“Maybe. I don’t have the greatest tolerance for alcohol. The last time I got drunk was humiliating, I swore to never touch alcohol again, in public.”

Darius sighs, “And you still agree to my invitation.”

“Well, it was the first time you ask me to meet up, I couldn’t say no.”

“Why couldn’t you? It would’ve been fine.”

“It wouldn’t. I’d… never mind.” Artem slumps, dejected towards himself.

Darius knocks his knee with Artem’s, getting the younger man’s rapt attention, “If you have no idea where to go because you’ve never been there, then how about going to a place you’ve been wanting to go?”

Artem is holding his breath for whatever reason. He’s leaning his face on the palm of his hand, and he seems to be hiding behind said palm. To torture him, Artem starts biting his lips before blurting out, “Dinner?”

“Sure, we could’ve gone for that.”

“Could’ve,” Artem says wistfully, “Now I have to find an excuse to ask you.”

Darius chuckles, “You’re so drunk.”

“What is it?”

“You don’t need any excuse. We can just, go.”

“We can just go,” Artem repeats as if still not believing what he hears or say.

“Yes.”

“That easy?”

“Was it supposed to be hard?”

“I don’t know, but it felt like it. I never knew how to do… you know?”

“No, I don’t know. To do what?”

“Having a casual relationship.”