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marauderundercover · 3 years

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Taking Chances Ch. 23: Stealing the Batmobile (Alt Prompt Driving)

AO3

Marinette looks at her little brother with an amused expression before asking:

“He really stole the Batmobile?”

“Yup. Claimed he was a better driver than me.” Dick says with a snort. Marinette winces.

“To be fair, he’s probably right. You’re kind of an awful driver.” She says with an apologetic smile. Dick clutches his heart and sniffles loudly.

“My own flesh and blood!” He cries dramatically. Damian scoffs.

“Tt. She is on my side, Grayson. As she should be since she is <i>my<i> flesh and blood.” He says with a scowl.

“The pain!” Dick cries, throwing himself off the couch and onto the ground. Jason just sighs and shakes his head, while Tim looks on tiredly. The five of them had decided to hang out at the manor together earlier, which had somehow shifted into telling stories about each other and funny things that had happened. Marinette loved hearing stories about her brothers from when they were younger.

“Out of all of us, I am likely the most competent driver.” Damian says, glancing at Marinette before nodding once. “And I assume Marinette would be the second most competent.” He adds. Marinette’s face instantly turns red- she’d never driven before. Her little brother (who was two years younger) was already a great driver. And she…..was not.

“Oh, uh, I’ve actually never driven before.” She admits. Damian frowns.

“Wait, you’re almost fifteen and you’ve never driven before?” Jason asks, leaning forward. “Like, ever”

“Well, no. You can’t get a license in France until you’re eighteen. So no one in their right mind is going to let a fourteen year old drive around the city.” She explains. She watches as a thoughtful look crosses Damian’s face before settling back into a neutral mask.

“I require your assistance with something. Follow me.” He says, standing and walking out of the room.

“Er, okay.” She says, furrowing her eyebrows. “We’ll be right back.” She reassures her other brothers. She walks quicker, trying to catch up with Damian who was practically running at this point. He glances at her and raises an eyebrow.

“Did the others act as if they would follow?” He asks. She frowns, but shakes her head. “Excellent.” He says, opening one of the entrances to the Batcave. She follows him, but freezes as they walk in and she sees where he’s heading.

“Damian, we’d get into so much trouble.” She says, planting her feet and freezing in place.

“Not if we aren’t caught. Which we will be if we don’t leave soon.” He says, rushing into the changing room. She stays where she is, glancing down at Tikki peeking out of her purse.

“Marinette, your father would not like this.” She warns. Marinette bites her lip.

“I know, but Damian seemed so excited.” She counters, with a small smile. Tikki gives her an unimpressed look. Marinette watches as her little brother walks back out, dressed in his uniform. He nods at her once and then climbs into the driver’s side. She hesitates, weighing her options. She could go with and attempt to drive the Batmobile, or she could watch her little brother drive away and know that no one knew where he was. Crap. Pushing away every instinct telling her this is a horrible idea, she rushes after Damian and hops into the car, calling her transformation as she does. She grins at her brother, her Ladybird suit had started giving her more confidence than her Ladybug suit. It was odd, but she loved it. He immediately slams on the gas, driving out of the cave and into Gotham.

“Ukht, will you be driving as well?” He asks and she hesitates before nodding. It was the Batmobile, what could go wrong?

---

Okay apparently a lot could go wrong, she thinks, watching as the Batmobile slides into the Gotham river.

“How the fuck did you guys manage that?” A voice asks. She whirls around, wincing when she sees Jason, as Red Hood. She can’t see his face but she can just imagine the look he’s giving them.

“In my defense, we were left unsupervised.” She says. He scoffs.

“You little shits left us!” He reminds her.

“Ladybird had never had the chance to drive before. It made sense to make sure that she could drive and to train her in case she ever needs to utilize a vehicle on patrol.” Damian reasons. And yeah, the reasons are sound. But the Batmobile slowly sinking into the river kind of makes his reasons weak. Just a bit.

“And driving into the river was, what, to see if she could drive a boat?” Jason asks, crossing his arms.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hood. That’s a car.” She says, the words tumbling out of her mouth. She regrets it, but only for a second because then she hears Damian snort. Score! Every time she was able to make her angriest brother laugh, she gave herself a point. She was so close to double digits.

“Well B’s gonna be ready to go on patrol in less than an hour. Either of you two geniuses have any ideas on how to get the car out of the river and back to the cave?” Jason asks, pulling Marinette from her silent celebration.

“We could call a tow truck.” She suggests.

“Tt. That is unwise. The Batmobile is not a regular car.” Damian argues and she huffs.

“Okay well, last I checked you didn’t have any bright ideas either.” She quips, annoyed with him again. They were good at that. Laughing one minute, then annoying each other the next. She figured it just meant they were doing something right as siblings.

“Ladybird might actually have a good idea, Robin. Unless you want to call Superman here and have him rat you out to B.” Jason says. A devious smirk stretches onto Damian’s face and Marinette suppresses a shudder. She was definitely glad the kid was on her side. Most of the time, anyway.

“Excellent point, Hood.” He says, clearing his throat slightly before yelling. Well, not really yelling. Just talking slightly louder than normal. “Jon. I require your assistance.” A few moments later a boy flies down and lands in front of Damian. If she didn’t know any better, Marinette would assume the boy was another of her dad’s kids. Dark hair, blue eyes. But this kid had a huge smile stretched across his face. So maybe not.

“Hey Robin! I haven’t seen you in ages!” The boy says cheerfully before waving at Red Hood. He turns to her and his smile falters slightly before it’s back full blast. He sticks out his hand. “Nice to meet you! I’m Superboy.” He says. Marinette grins, shaking his hand back.

“Ladybird, and likewise.” She says.

“So what-” Jon (Superboy?) starts, glancing at the river, eyes widening at the car. “Did you steal the Batmobile again!?” He yelps, obviously shocked. And concerned. Which she understood. It’s not everyday you see the Batmobile slowly sinking into the Gotham river.

“Er, temporarily misappropriated.” Marinette says, glaring at Jason who snorts at her response.

“No, they definitely stole it. And Ladybird here decided she’d try to drive for the first time. What I’m not understanding is why you knuckleheads thought it’d be smart to drive so close to the river?” He says.

“Obviously I wasn’t thinking clearly, Hood. Can we please just focus on getting the car out of the river before I’m murdered by Batman?” Marinette rambles, looking pleadingly at Jon. It was odd, begging a little kid to drag her superhero dad’s super car out of a river, but it had to be done.

“Oh, yeah, of course!” Jon says, his earlier shock replaced with a wide smile once again. He flies over and grabs the car, gently pulling it up and placing it back on the road. Marinette winces at the water pouring out of the car. She was so grounded.

---

Walking into the Batcave, Bruce frowns at the lack of Batmobile. He’d passed Tim and Dick on his way to the Cave, so he knew they didn’t have it. Which left his two most mischievous sons and the daughter they had so easily corrupted. Hopefully they were just getting fast food or something again. Hopefully nothing bad was happening. He winces. That was unlikely with his children. He rushes over to the computer, tracking the Batmobile and accessing the cameras near the car. The image in front of him makes him pinch the bridge of his nose and grit his teeth.

“Just one day, one day is all I ask.” He mumbles under his breath. Because of course traffic cameras would catch Superboy lifting the Batmobile out of the river. Of course. He sits in his chair and watches as the kids argue for a few minutes before getting in the car and driving off. He tracks them all the way until they’re past cameras, and then he waits. Knowing it’ll only be moments until they’re in the Cave. He sits, silent as they get out of the car.

“No, seriously, he’s gonna know.” Marinette is saying, obviously looking nervous.

“Then beg Tikki to take all the water out or something. It’ll be fine, Pix.” Jason says.

“She’s gonna be so mad at me though. She warned me that it was a bad idea.” Marinette says, and Bruce decides to speak up.

“She was right.” He says, turning his chair to face them.

“SHIT! Goddamn you Bruce, why the hell would you sneak up on us like that?” Jason huffs out, glaring at him.

“Perhaps it’s the same reason that you three thought it was a good idea to steal the Batmobile.” Bruce says, crossing his arms.

“Uh, fuck that. I wasn’t in on it. I went out to try and find the little shits when I realized they were gone.” Jason argues, crossing his arms too.

“Ukht had never driven before. I believed it was a useful skill that she could utilize on future missions or patrols.” Damian says simply, his calm demeanor the complete opposite of Marinette’s current demeanor. She’s obviously panicked and anxious, avoiding looking at him. He feels his former resolve soften slightly. No one was hurt, they obviously felt bad. And Marinette obviously felt bad about it. But still….

“You’re benched for the night. Both of you.” He instructs. Damian grits his teeth but nods, while Marinette looks confused.

“But I’m not even-” She starts to say, stopping as Jason throws a hand over her mouth. “Well, well, look at the time. I’ll take them upstairs and tuck ‘em in before patrol.” Jason says, rushing away with Marinette and leaving Damian behind. Damian turns to Bruce and frowns.

“It did not go unnoticed by me, Father, that you benched the one child you do not allow to patrol. You may have done this in an attempt to not punish Marinette, but make no mistake she will remember this. And she will be on patrol later this week. After all, you only benched her for tonight.” Damian says, nodding at his father before walking away. Bruce sighs. He hadn’t thought this one through.

---

“What was that for?” Marinette asks, frowning at her brother as he drags her to the house. She drops her transformation as they walk, wincing slightly at the ‘we’ll talk later’ look from Tikki. Oh yeah, she was definitely getting lectured.

“He just benched you for tonight, right?” Jason asks, a smirk on his face. Marinette huffs.

“Yeah, but I’m not even technically allowed on patrols.” She reminds him.

“Except now, you’re technically allowed to come tomorrow. He said you were ‘benched for the night’.” Jason points out. Marinette opens her mouth to argue, then closes it. She blinks before a wide smile stretches across her face. Was she really gonna get to go back on patrol on a technicality? Suddenly, she no longer regretted driving the Batmobile into the river.

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crows-murder · 2 years

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reverse robin au?!? hmmmm yes please please give me more

BRO ABSOLUTELY

im actually gonna talk about duke and damian bc i love them and ive been working on them plus their relationship

okay so damian arrives at wayne manor first. talia sends him to train with his father like in canon to develop discipline when he's like 10. since he's the first he doesn't feel like he has anything to live up to (since robin doesnt exist yet) so it's easier for bruce to get him to not go out with him as his sidekick (basically bruce just promised to train him if damian promised he wouldn't sneak out to fight bad guys at night)

sure that doesn't stop damian for long (he DOES eventually become nightwing in this au) but he doesn't become robin.

then, when damian is 14, bruce takes in duke (11 at the time) as his ward when his parents are hospitalized from exposure to joker gas and bruce has a much harder time to get duke in line (he's not bruce's son and doesn't feel like he has anything to prove to him) so Bruce makes him his sidekick, Robin.

(by that time bruce and damian patrol together)

duke and damian DO NOT like each other. well, it's mostly damian who doesn't like duke. he doesn't like that duke gets to become batman's new sidekick or his father's ward and he is not shy about telling so to duke, which causes many arguments between them and their relationship is rocky until Duke becomes the Signal.

after steph shows up and becomes the new robin, their relationship improves slightly. duke unofficially becomes steph's mentor. when she dies, he's devastated. and then their tiny little fourteen year old neighbor comes knocking on their door with red puffy eyes and photographic proof that he knows batman's identity. he tries to blackmail them into making him the new robin and bruce, lost in grief, stupidly agrees. damian's the one who tries to bond with the kid and finds out that he was really close friends with steph before she died. damian finds his father's uncanny ability to collect stray children irritating, but he's growing to actually not mind them as much.

and then damian leaves gotham and when he returns he finds that joker got his hands on tim and he sees the haunted looks on everyone's faces when he enters the manor, the halls echoing with the sound of horrifying laughter.

duke and damian never agreed on much over the years, but they can agree on one thing, then. no more robins. no more kid vigilantes, chasing after batman in bright colors, because it is far, far too easy for them to get hurt. and bruce agrees with them.

for a while, at least.

until one night after patrol he comes back to the batcave later than usual and out the passenger seat hops out a tiny twelve year old with curly hair and a foul mouth and then there's a new robin. duke and damian are less than thrilled. damian has a terrible argument with bruce and leaves gotham. duke is mad at bruce, of course. robin is such a terrible, bloody title, and they've got two kids to prove it, but duke still manages to give Jason a smile and say that he'll absolutely help him with his math homework.

duke takes jason in under his wing for a while and though he patrols during the day he does stay down in the Batcave with Agent A, listening on the comms, mind constantly conjuring up worst case scenarios. every night, though, jason comes back and duke smiles, relieved.

when bruce comes back from the circus one fateful night with a traumatized nine year old, neither damian nor duke is surprised in the least. just another kid to the already extensive list.

to damian's surprise, though, dick is much angrier than he expected. he's grieving his parents' death, and grieving his old life that he'll never have back and he wants justice for it. he wants to hunt down the man who killed his parents and see him locked away for a long time. damian's the one who takes dick under his wing. he sees himself, back when he first left the league, angry and full of fire. damian teaches dick to use his anger-- to wield it not as a shield but rather as a deadly sword, sharp and precise.

damian practically adopts dick right from bruce and though duke argues with damian for teaching a nine-year-old how to swordfight but he's glad to see that finally (finally) he's getting around to the idea of having siblings.

(dick likes to spar with cass because since he trained as an acrobat and she takes ballet classes, they have a similar fighting style. babs is around dick's age and they become quick friends. tim is around, he is alive and as well as one can be when theyve been tortured to insanity. jason likes to hang out with him. when steph comes back, revived by the lazarus pit and ready to take her revenge and anger out on gotham, she encounters robin jason and they get on as well as fire and tissue paper. they are such obnoxious assholes to each other that most of the time the others sincerely wonder if they really do like each other. steph and tim bond over both of them getting tortured to insanity as one does yk.)

#reverse robins #that's all ive got right now #i should really start writing for this au asjfdkgdk

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theartisticintrovert · 4 years

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Case #0130403

Statement of Jason Gale, regarding the strange occurrences surrounding Daniel Fenton. Original statement given 3rd April, 2013. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins.

I wanna start this by saying that I barely knew Danny. I don’t know how he became what he is, but what I did see, well...I still have nightmares. I guess I should start at the beginning, though I’m not really sure how much of a beginning there is.

I never had the greatest home life. Pretty textbook, really. Shitty dad, dead mom, bad friends, the works. I ran away when I was fourteen, fell in with a real bad crowd. I’d been in and out of juvie every few months, but I didn’t meet Danny until I was sixteen. I’d been picked up at the scene of a robbery, don’t even remember where, and sent off to Amity Youth Detention Center. I’d been there for about three months when my old cellmate got released, so I was on my own for a bit. I didn’t mind, D Block wasn’t exactly the worst it could get.

Danny transferred in a few weeks later. At first, I didn’t think much of him. He was tiny, barely 5’4 I think, and he looked like a twig. His eyes, though.....his eyes were what scared me the most. They looked dead, like someone sucked all the life outta him, just leaving his corpse walkin’ around like some kinda zombie. They sent him in and he just.....stared, watching Officer McCarthy leave like he was already planning the poor bastard’s funeral. I freaked out a little. I’m not ashamed, kid was fuckin’ scary.

That’s when it happened. It’s like something snapped in him. The room got all cold, and the lights started flickering. He shoved me up against the wall and I dunno how but it felt like this.....predator staring at me. I don’t even remember what he said, but I just agreed to whatever it was so he’d stop staring at me. I swear his eyes were green, but it had to just be a trick of the light. It had to be, because I remember they were blue. I remember, because I remember thinking how weird it was for an Asian kid to have blue eyes.

Still, when he got mad......I swear to you, they were green.

Sorry, I got a little.....off track there. There were a few more weird things about him, but just little things. He never ate, and I know it wasn’t that he was eating when I couldn’t see him. AYDC has scheduled meal times for every block, and every single time it was D’s turn he just....stayed in bed. There’s no getting in or out once the door’s locked, so he wasn’t sneaking around. And yet, even after about a week and a half of this, he was fine. No complaining, no hunger pains, not even a little bit of nausea. Like.....like he didn’t need food. I asked him about it, but the answer, well.....I think he was a bit nutty. Everyone was in there.

I managed to get him into the cafeteria one time, though not for very long. I think Emily, that is, Emily Grey, scared him off, but I can’t be sure. I do remember though, that the others felt it too. Danny was.....he had this like, aura of despair. Like you get near him, and nothing you do will make you feel again. Owen Coulter said he “felt like depression, if depression was a person”. I only remember that because it was so strange to hear a twelve year old say that with the knowledge that only an old man has, but there it was anyway.

He got transferred a few days later, or....I assume he was transferred, anyway. I heard he’d finally gotten his trial, but he didn’t come back after. I can only assume they sent him to F, because I didn’t see him for several months after that. I’d honestly just been starting to feel okay again when he came back to D. I only really noticed him because we were in the yard at the same time, and something in me wanted to turn around and bolt the second I spotted him. Still, he seemed.....different. Less angry, less......snappish. I noticed a few new scars on him too, which was strange just because the inmates at AYDC aren’t allowed any electronics, so how the hell did he get electrocution scars?

The next big one happened after he was released. He’d been out for about a week when I got a visitor. This was news to me, since my old man doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me and my friends wouldn’t be caught dead in a juvie visitation room. Only visitors I really got were my lawyer and sometimes my stepmom, but she didn’t come often. She doesn’t like me much, but that’s beside the point. When I saw Danny on the other side of that glass window, I about turned around right there. Unfortunately for me, the door was already shut and I couldn’t get anyone to open it, not from my side. Fuckin’ bastards probably stepped out for a donut break, who knows. The point is, Danny was....different.

His scars curled up both of his cheeks now, pale and prominent against his sickly brown skin. His eyes seemed a little sharper now, a little more aware. I wasn’t entirely sure this was a good thing. We argued a bit, but....I think he was genuinely trying to help. I didn’t trust him a damn bit, but at least he was trying.

I’ve been dancing around the point long enough, I think. Sure, the kid’s weird, you’re thinking. He’s got scars, so what? He makes you miserable just being around him? Probably some emo bastard. The whole predator gaze? Well, he was in for assault. No, the thing I’ve been avoiding, the thing that I’ll never forget....it was his ghost.

Way back when we were still bunkmates, he’d told me about how he died. How his parents were some kind of Ghostbuster freaks, and they built a portal to Hell in his basement. Okay, well, he called it the “Ghost Zone”, but who gives a fuck, honestly. Then he told me he was stupid enough to go in the damn thing, and got zapped six ways to Sunday. He said he’d died in that portal, and I didn’t want to believe him. I couldn’t. When you die, you die. That’s it. Game over. Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars. The idea that he could be some sort of.....half-alive, half-dead.....thing, well....I didn’t want to think about it. I’d already come to terms with my own mortality, and I did not need it shoved back in my face by some freaky-ass kid.

But then he showed me. God, it was horrible. I was expecting him to fail, just the delusions of his poor fucked up scrambled brains, some side effect of getting zapped to hell and back. Maybe, if it were true, to just go a bit translucent. I didn’t expect the monster.

It came in a flash of light. Two sparking rings of bright white electricity, so bright they burned to look at. When I managed to blink the spots outta my eyes, I almost thought I’d hit my head. Where Danny had been standing, a floating, glowing thing stood in his place. It was pale, washed out, with only its acid green eyes and tongue giving it any color at all. It wore a jumpsuit of some sort, with thick gloves and attached boots, like the biohazard guys on TV. It still had the scars though, even if they were glowing an ominous neon green. It hissed at me, like it was trying to speak, but I didn’t understand a word it said. When it turned that empty, hungry gaze on me, I panicked. I shoved it back against the wall, where it connected with a sickening splat. Blood oozed on the concrete, or at least, I assume it was blood. It was red and green and sizzled, like it was eating away at the stone. I think there’s still marks there, where the acid ate away at the concrete.

The thing wanted to eat me, I’m sure of it, but it seemed too dizzy. I think shoving it only made it more angry, but at that point the light came back. I looked away just in time, and when the light died down Danny was back. Still scrawny, still fleshy, still alive. Only now, I wasn’t so sure.

I haven’t seen another ghost since, and I think it’s for the best. I’ve done my research, I’ve heard about these....mediums. I know I can’t see them, not on this plane. Honestly, I’m better off for it I think. I don’t want to see them, or hear them, or even think about them again.

I didn’t give you this statement to have you do something about it. I don’t even know if you have the ability to do anything, since all this happened in Illinois. I didn’t come all the way to some dingy spooky library in fucking London for a solution. I’ve made my peace. I just.....I needed to tell somebody. Not the cops, I don’t trust them as far as I could throw them. And not anyone else either, they’d think I’m a schizo freak, like that Weston kid. No, I’m perfectly happy laying low, and never thinking about Daniel Fenton again. And now that I have this off my chest and stored away in your freaky little library, I finally can.

Statement ends. Although he said he didn’t want us to do anything about his experience, we did reach out to Mr. Gale. He replied in no uncertain terms for us to leave him alone, and that he absolutely would not be giving a follow-up statement. I....can’t say I blame him, but really, half-dead? A teenager that could turn into some paranormal entity? It all seems rather....far fetched.

Still, we did do some basic follow-up research on what we could. The Fentons do exist, as well as the town of Amity Park. I’d like to take everything about said town with a hefty dose of salt however, as it claims to be “The Most Haunted Place in America”. Tourist trap nonsense, if you ask me. Daniel Fenton was arrested in late summer of 2010, though those records are obviously sealed. Emily Grey declined to give a follow-up statement as well, and Owen Coulter seems to have unfortunately passed away in the intervening years.

Still, I can’t help but think that Mr. Gale’s statement is....unusually detailed, especially as it concerns a boy he himself claims to have no close connection to.

End recording.

#the magnus archives #tma #danny phantom #pavii #ty writes #i had to get this out of my brain

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ddagent · 5 years

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Sneak Peek Sunday

Suggested by the amazing @sententiousandbellicose, I present Sneak Peek Sunday. Every week I shall post a snippet from one of my WIPs, whether it’s yet to be finished or just waiting to be edited.

So, last week, I posted the opening scene from (I’ll be your) Girl for All Seasons. Since then, I’ve cycled through several different openings. Finally, I think I’ve settled on the best one. I hope you enjoy!

Monday, 03 February 2020

Hi, Serena, it's Kirsten. I had a great time on Saturday. Really hope we can see each other again soon xx

"Someone's smiling. Good weekend?"

Serena tried to downplay her grin; tucking her phone away as she walked through the Wyvern entrance with Donna. "Yes, thank you. A rather good night indeed."

They shared a knowing smile – Serena's apprehension over her blind date being the focus of much conversation the previous Friday – and began the familiar walk to AAU. Whilst Donna was occupied with her own phone, Serena took another glance at hers, and the message Kirsten had sent. Really hope we can see each other again soon. Oh, Serena hoped they would. Conversation had been light, sparkling; the food and wine as rich as Kirsten's laugh. The entire evening had been intoxicating: a well-deserved paradigm shift from the previous year.

Serena had been glad to see the back of 2019. It had started horribly: Jason's wife, Greta, involved in a life-threatening accident, and the arrival of Bernie's son to Holby – a constant reminder of the woman she loved, yet could not be with. The year had not improved from there. Hospital drama by the bucket load; a never-ending series of bad dates and set ups. The final twist of the knife was an emotional telephone call from Edward, announcing he was to be a father again. His wife was carrying the sister their daughter would never know.

But 2020 had all the makings of a good year.

Smiling once more at the message, Serena tucked her phone back inside her bag. Donna beamed beside her. She nudged Serena's shoulder as they entered AAU. "It's just so wonderful to see you so happy. You should have let Fleur set you up sooner."

"Letting Fleur think she was right seems like setting a dangerous precedent, but she certainly did well with Kirsten. When it's a little quieter here, I'll go up and thank her."

By mid-morning, and with the help of yet another locum consultant, AAU was calm enough for Serena to pop up to Obs and Gynae. One of Fleur's previous attempts at matchmaking, Nurse Stewart, was at the desk sorting through paperwork. Two bright pink spots appeared on her cheeks as she saw Serena approaching. Their date had not gone well.

"She's just in with a patient, Ms Campbell," Nurse Stewart said, averting her gaze. Serena hadn't managed to get the wine stain out of that particular blouse; had to chuck it in the end. You certainly haven't had a perfect record, Fleur. "She won't be too long."

As Nurse Stewart shuffled far, far away, Serena hovered by the desk and awaited Fleur's return. A few minutes passed, and the door to a consultation room at the end of the corridor opened up. A flash of blonde hair; familiar thin nose. Serena's stomach somersaulted: her body so sure, for a single moment, that Bernie Wolfe was standing right in front of her. As the moment passed, and common sense took over, Serena realised that it wasn't Bernie, but her daughter, Charlotte. Similar hair, similar features. She was wrapped in a long coat and scarf; her eyes were puffy and red.

Charlotte moved to brush straight past Serena: heading for the exit and the lift doors beyond. Serena should let her past: they'd only met a handful of times, and she hadn't been with Charlotte's mother for well over a year. But Serena wanted to make sure she was alright. With Bernie in Nairobi, and Marcus in Edinburgh, that only left Cameron. Not much of a support system.

"Charlotte?" The young woman froze. Serena pressed her hand to Charlotte's arm; dark eyes (so much like her mother's) looking up at her. "Are you alright?"

"Mm-hmm." Charlotte fiddled with her long, blonde hair, tucking it behind one ear. Her hands wouldn't stop fidgeting. "I'm fine, Serena; honest."

From behind them, the door to the consulting room closed. Both watched Fleur approach, her expression filled with the same concern as Serena. Charlotte's head swivelled between them, unsure what was to come, what was to be said.

Fleur did her best to reassure her. "Charlotte, sweetheart, whatever we discussed will remain confidential. But if you need someone to talk to, you could do a lot worse than Serena Campbell."

Charlotte's gaze finally settled on her. She paused; no doubt thinking over her options. Bottle up what was troubling her, or be comforted by her mother's ex-girlfriend? Not a great choice. But after a moment, Charlotte asked: "Would that be okay?"

"Of course! How about we go grab a coffee downstairs?" Charlotte nodded. Serena put an arm on Charlotte's back, and gently steered the young woman towards the doors.

They didn't speak in the lift down to Pulses. There was not much to talk about, other than Charlotte's current predicament. During her relationship with Bernie, she'd only met Charlotte twice: one, at a coffee shop, where Bernie had introduced her to Charlotte over lattes and chocolate chip muffins; and again, on Christmas Day, the first and last Christmas they would ever spend with all their children together. No meetings, phone calls, and only a single Christmas card since.

At the counter, Serena ordered them both cups of tea and settled Charlotte in a nearby chair. Charlotte added milk and sugar, before taking a sip. "Thank you, Serena. You didn't have to do this."

"Nonsense. You need someone to talk to, and I could do with another caffeine fix. Two birds, one stone." Serena smiled, hoping to lighten the mood. It did not. "I have some idea of what's going on, but why don't you tell me?"

"I'm pregnant."

"I take it congratulations are not in order?"

Charlotte sighed, her body slumping in the chair; defeated. "I-I don't know, Serena. I've always wanted a family. Sometimes it was out of spite—" Ah. It seemed as if there were some wounds Bernie could not heal. "—but I knew I always wanted kids, eventually. I had it all planned out: get my degree, get a job, meet someone, start a family."

"No someone? Or are they someone you wouldn't want to start a family with." Serena took a mouthful of tea. "I loved Elinor deeply, but I always regretted her choice of father."

"No, no someone." Charlotte put her weight on her elbows, leaning over the table with her head in her hands. "Oh god, this is such a mess. Mum's going to go ballistic. I've never seen her disappointed in me; never wanted to see her disappointed in me. And then there's Dad—"

"—Charlotte." Serena reached across the table for her hand, hoping to stop Charlotte spiralling. "I can't speak to your father, but your mother will surprise you. She loves you; she'll support you in this…whatever you choose to do."

She had hoped her words would bring some comfort. But Charlotte just recoiled, drawing in on herself. "Support me? How's she going to support me from Nairobi? I can barely get a text replied to, let alone a sympathetic conversation. I really wish I'd met your Bernie: she sounds nice." The legs of Charlotte's chair scraped across the linoleum floor. She gathered her coat, and her bag, and stood up. "Thank you for listening, Serena; I do appreciate it. I would also appreciate your discretion: I will call my mother and let her know if there's anything to know. Probably around the kid's fifth birthday, when she gets interesting."

Serena didn't call after Charlotte as she stormed off towards the doors. Just sat, and sipped her tea, and thought about Bernie Wolfe. She lied whenever asked: I don't really think about her much anymore; she's just a memory now, albeit a pleasant one. Serena thought about Bernie Wolfe every single day. She thought about her in theatre, and in her home, and whenever she got really drunk and logged onto the Nairobi Trauma Centre website. They hadn't spoken since agreeing to part amicably almost fourteen months before.

She'd always liked Charlotte. But her loyalty, always, would be to her mother. Serena reached for her phone.

#berena #ship: berena #tv: holby city #mine: sneak peek sunday

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theacruzelle · 6 years

Text

Sharp panic, twisting, tangling my insides.

Melancholy song fills the air, lilting over the wind, like a freighter vessel crashing over heavy waves. The clouds roll in, little sneaks, tiptoeing over the sky, mischievous grins alighting their faces. Small blue wings beat up and down, my frantic fluttering drawing attention. It’s not every day a grown bird fails the flying test.

Meaningless drifting, fervent hope for a landing. Maple trees surround, wet leaves slapping against my body, throwing me further off course. Large droplets of water slide down my feathers, an odd, oily sensation.

I’m finally on the ground. Talons sink into the rocky earth, my beak snapping loudly.

Confusion. Gathering in a tangle, tugging the sides of my little bird stomach, gravel sanding down the lining.

I hop along the dirt. Squirming creatures traverse the blades of grass, numerous pairs of eyes blinking nervously in my direction.

“Hello.” I chirp, stopping in surprise. The intention had been for conversation, but speech capabilities were forgotten. They merely scatter, burrowing into the earth for fear of the danger I pose. It had been a loud squawk, certainly not attractive nor benign.

My journey continues, an astronaut bounding over the moon’s surface. Hollow bones—that’s why I’m so light. It’s a freedom, the desire tugging at my chest —try the skies again.

Five minutes ago I lived a different life. My worries included my grandmother’s cigarettes; Grady Pearson—who spent the majority of English class irritating from the desk behind mine; and Mr. Cosman, the reincarnation of Nero.

“Oh birdie!” A small blonde bounces up, not yet learned in the art of tiptoeing. “Mom look!”

“Mom” mutters a “that’s nice,” and continues to text, her cheetah thumbs bolting about the touchscreen.

The girl pouts, button nose scrunched, flipping her pigtails behind the puffed sleeves of her blue princess dress.

“Stupid bird.” She winds up, going to kick me, neglected eyes viewing a useless soccer ball.

Indignant squawking and screeching occurs, and I take to the overcast sky, my flight still awkward and off balance.

“Marissa!” Scolds the mother, curling her manicured fingers around the girl’s wrist and tugging the offender away.

The predators are different, but they exist all the same. Adrenaline courses through my veins, running a race that burns and excites.

A song passes my syrinx, pure instinct behind each sacred note. I glide on the wind, searching for something, though I know not yet what.

Up ahead is a tree, a poplar, taller than all the rest. The branches wind around the trunk—like a shield—whistling words of comfort and safety to the one it protects.

My talons clench around a green branch, head whipping this way and that. The eaves protect, sheltering from wind and rain. Shaking violently, I upset the gathering of water from my feathers, fluttering my wings in an attempt to become dry once again.

A screech startles me from my thoughts. This tree is not as empty as originally imagined. Flying down to my branch is large hawk, maliciously snapping his crooked beak. He outstretches his wings—showing the brown speckles of his feathers—an attempt to make a bigger impression.

I bow my head, keeping my eyes from meeting the predator’s. My goal—make it out alive. My exact size is not known, but I am aware of my low chances.

The branch shakes with the hawk’s weight. He tries to intimidate, screeching and flapping his wings madly in loud clamor—hopping closer, nearer...

Rolling my head and eyes to the side, I drop from the tree. It’s a free fall, and the hawk can only watch curiously as I get closer and closer to the ground. My fate is fast approaching.

An outstretch of wings, a frantic fluttering, and I pull a Wronski Feint, swerving up at the very last moment.

As swift as possible, I’m beating against the wind, wishing I didn’t hear that squawk of outrage, the takeoff.

I’m navigating unfamiliar suburbs, and the hawk is fast gaining. He hisses insults, mocking laughter curling from his throat.

There! A birdhouse. It’s newly painted, small, and the nearest shelter in sight. I duck inside, tucking myself in a ball.

Talons land on the roof, and he shakes the house vigorously. An earthquake rocks my only hope for survival, throwing me about, a little slip of fluff.

This is where I’ll die.

“Hey! Shoo!”

Hailstones pound against the box, an indignant screech from the hawk.

My ears echo with silence, ringing. I almost died byway of a hawk. It’s embarrassing how quickly this gift has gone to the dogs.

“Hello there.” A brown eye peeks through the door, long, black lashes blinking at me.

“Hello.” I chirp, shaking my tail feathers. The world won’t stop spinning.

“I’m not going to hurt you, my name’s Noah.”

I hop forward slowly, head cocked to the side. As my savior he’d be less likely to injure me, yes? One more bounce and I’ve planted myself on the soft, tender flesh of his hand. His skin is ghostly white, splattered with large brown freckles. On his head is a mop of red hair, from which two ears poke out obnoxiously.

“That was a nasty bird, wasn’t it.” Says the boy absentmindedly, stroking my back.

I nod, and he smiles, sitting down on a lawn chair with me in hand.

Noah hums, “I know lots of guys like that, just picking on anyone smaller.”

And that’s how our friendship begins. Every afternoon he arrives at my birdhouse, bearing seeds and fruit for me to partake in. Then he does his homework on the deck, or talks, or stares at the perfectly whitewashed fence.

Noah has a brother named Jason. He doesn’t talk much about him, but from his tone of voice I suspect the two have little to no respect for each other. Jason is in his early twenties and lives at home—without paying rent. He comes and goes as he pleases, often drunk. One night he managed to scale the fence and sneak in through the back. I’m the only one that saw.

It’s Saturday, and Noah is late. Or at least, I think it is a Saturday. As a canary I strongly doubt my sense of time.

I hop around in circles, keeping watch from the patio furniture, hoping for the moment the door would slide open.

“Hey Blue.”

A frantic fluttering of wings, I land on his shoulder, expectant eyes fixed on his freckled face.

“It hasn’t been that long.” He dimples, “I told you, I work on weekends.”

He’s only fourteen, yet Noah is the closest thing the Cohen family has to a responsible male figure. Jeanie, his mom, works all day, gone from 8-8. Noah does the shopping, the cleaning, spending the rest of his time in his room, never a word of complaint.

I admire him.

The sun sets over the horizon, and I stop a moment, giving it my full attention. The yard is small, nothing but my birdhouse within. We’re on the porch, the fresh wood smell prevalent. Noah’s father built it before he left.

Noah must be distracted too, because we both jerk when there’s a crash.

Again. Metal against metal, the sound similar to the crushing of a tin can. The fence gate cracked open, revealing Jason and a pretty blonde. They stumbled forwards, wrapped up in each other.

“Hem, hem.” Noah coughed, finally raising their attention.

“Hey look, it’s my little brother and his pet.” He spat the last word, making it seem stupid and immature.

“Jason,” Noah drooped, his hand coming up to stroke my back.

“Noah,” Jason sung, leading the intoxicated girl into the house, the two stumbling back and forth, walking over an earthquake only they could feel.

“So, that’s my brother.” He fished a graphic novel from his bag, embarrassed to admit it, even to a bird (or so he thought, anyway).

I desperately wanted to help, wished to be able to fix, yet what could I do? Even in my human form I had no power, and as a bird all that could be done was to bring comfort.

You’re not a superhero.

It isn’t some big moment. There isn’t flashing lights, screams, explosive emotions. There is no reason for it to happen—yet it does.

Noah is at the patio table, working away at his calculus homework. I bound away along the grass, searching for picky bits (aka creepy crawlies).

One moment I’m a blue canary, the next—I’m not.

I twitch, my hands digging into the soft, wet grass for the first time in weeks. Attired in human skin and clothes, I stand, legs wobbling.

“Blue?” Noah’s face is flushed of colour, his freckles popping more than ever. A galaxy traces over his cheeks and nose, a universe.

“Hi Noah.” His lips tremble, eyes flickering back and forth over my form.

“Please don’t hate me. I didn’t mean to—”

“Are you a human that turned into a bird? Or are you a bird that turned into a human.”

I giggle, finally figuring out how to sit up. “I’m human.”

“How?” He comes closer, plopping down beside me, but not too close.

“It just… happened.”

A squirrel bounds along the fence.

“You just magically morphed into a bird?”

I nod, grimacing at how stupid that sounds.

“Um,” I stick out my hand, “My name’s Emily.”

He grins, “Nice to meet you.” Noah clasps his hand around mine, hesitantly, covered in a cold sweat.

“Back at’ya.”

I don’t want to go back yet, and Noah can see that. Jeanie isn’t due to be home for a couple of hours, so he invites me onto the porch, thumbs twiddling.

“Blue—er—Emily?” His cheeks go red, “Aren’t your parents wondering where you are?”

Leaning back, my hand taps against my chin, face passive. “Probably not.”

He frowns, incredulous. “Wha—”

“They’re dead.”

“They’re dead?”

“I live with my grandma.”

“You were gone for over a week.”

“She doesn’t give a crap.”

Noah’s mouth nearly hits the ground. ��Is she… abusive?”

“Pft, no, no of course not. I should—I should’ve tried to go back, but... “

I wiggle my toes, having long freed them from their cages.

“No responsibilities.” He smiled.

“Yeah,” I scratch the back of my head.

“Ooh, lookie here! Noah has a girly friend!” Jason leans against the doorframe, mocking eyes, dancing eyebrows. “Does mom approve of you being alone with her?”

Red sweeps across Noah’s skin, the tips of his ears bright and glowing. “Piss off, Jason.”

“Jason Cohen, pleased to make your acquaintance.” he holds his hand out to me. I stare.

“Emily Desdale, decidedly not so.”

Jason bursts into loud guffaws. “She’s a proud one. Good job, little brother.”

He leaves.

I wish I was a superhero.

“Well look who’s back. How were the streets, kid?” Grandma takes a long drag of her cigarette, playing with her bleached blonde hair.

I merely stare. There’s nothing I can say. I hadn’t wanted to return.

The house is a mess, more than usual. Dishes are piled high in the sink, everything covered in a layer of dust, couches barely seen underneath piles of clothes. All is soaked with the smell of smoke—something I only notice because of the two weeks we spent apart.

I get to work, scrubbing, arranging, sweeping, mopping. Grandma grins whenever I pass, laughing more at the refusal to make eye contact.

“Looks like they made their mark.” She chortles.

Cleaning lasts for the day’s entirety, and at eight o’clock she leaves for her boyfriend’s place. The house is finally empty, finally clean. I lie on my dingy old cot, counting the cracks in the ceiling.

There’s 37.

Lights gleam over the streets, an illusion of their power created by way of the fog. Dilapidated sneakers flop over the sidewalks, slapping furiously. Breath wheezes from my throat, but I don’t slow the pace.

The air lies thick on my skin, it’s as if I’m swimming through a dream.

A stitch stabs at my side; I want to double over. I don’t.

There’s a bird sitting on the fence of his yard, head crooked to the side. Its feathers are a mottled grey, eye focused on me. A pigeon.

I don’t know how long we stay there, staring at each other. At one point, it shakes its head, furiously, as if sneezing.

“Emily?” Noah walks into view, fire blazing about his head, no it’s merely a trick of the light. “Are you okay?”

I smile small, “Not really. I’m sorry. It’s super late, I should just—”

A hand curls softly around my shoulder. Turning me back towards him, he awkwardly scratches the back of his neck.

“Do you want to stay for a bit? I don’t—it would be nicer with you here.”

“Okay,” I say softly, sticking my hand in his.

We lie on our backs, staring at the bright quarter moon, the soft grass whistling in the breeze.

“I wish I could be a bird again.” I whisper.

“I wish I was one too.” He squeezes my hand.

Dimpling, I turn to him, supporting my head on my palm. “Then we could fly off into a distance.”

“Never anything to bother us again.”

“No stupid family.”

“No obligations.”

“No age restrictions.”

We dream of a happier life that’ll never come. We’re safe, invisible, under the moon’s protection. Monsters don’t exist. They never did.

The sun begins to rise. The moon lowers, and with its disappearance goes our confidence. We look into each other’s eyes, knowing the world will soon need to be faced.

“Hey Casanova!”

The clink of a fence gate.

We jump up, our hands still entangled.

Jason is alone this time, his speech slurred and slow, yet his feet planted surely along the ground. He comes closer, closer—

SMACK! Jason’s fist collides with Noah’s freckled face.

“Jason! Jason stop! Why are you—?”

Noah tries to put up a fight, punching, but Jason merely catches his brother’s fist, socking him again.

“Stop, stop!” I screech, running forwards. Attempts to place myself between them only leads to my head slamming against the wooden fence.

The redheads continue the battle; Noah is on the ground now. Futile attempts are made to protect his face, his brother not listening to either of our pleads. Skin is breaking, each punch just as solid as the next, becoming more frenzied, stronger as Jason spirals.

He’s not fighting Noah anymore. No, he’s fighting his Dad—he’s fighting the one that left.

My head is pounding, consciousness slipping away with each second that passes. My limbs are numb, unattached. Do they really belong to me?

What is—oh right, they’re fighting. What was I—?

I need to stop them.

Shimmying myself back to standing, my hands slide along the wood, pinpricks piercing the soft flesh of my hand. I stumble forwards—

There’s darkness, pain everywhere, spreading from my head down.

My throat is desert dry, eyes stuck over with glue. Rhythmic beeps sound throughout the room—they belong to me. My hands slide along a coarse blanket. I’m dressed in a gown.

“Emily Ross?” A woman is at my side, dressed in an ill-fitting blue uniform.

“Ye—a?” I croak. The room closes in, yellow, peeling wallpaper looming over me. Something has happened.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” Her smile is fake, just like her ruby red lips. “You’ve suffered a mild concussion, are you able to answer some questions?”

I gulp down some water, then nod.

“Great!” She squeaks, “I’ll send him in.”

The nurse is gone before I can ask for—

“Miss. Ross?” A policeman enters the room, deep bags under his eyes, half bald.

“Um, hi?”

“How are you?”

“I’m fine, I mean—”

“That’s good,” he pushes on, taking out a notepad and a pen. “Now, what were you doing on Walnut Grove Street during the fight that took place between the two Cohen boys?”

“You call that a fight? Dude, Jason was beating on Noah for no reason.”

He gave me a smile, barely constraining his irritation, “Answer the question, miss.”

I sit up, eyebrows raising. “Well, sir, I was out for some air. Noah and I are friends.”

“You were out for some air.” He said in disbelief.

“Yes, look, what do you want?”

The policeman hesitated, leaning towards me. “Is your grandmother abusing you?”

“Is that what this is about? No! A thousand times no! Why are you concentrating on that? Noah is obviously the kid that needs help.”

“Miss. Ross, I think we should be the judge of that.”

“Like you know him at all!”

He threw his hand up, speaking with a patronizing tone, “I think that’ll be all today.”

“Wait! Is Noah alright?” I jump to my feet, tethered by the needle in my arm.

“Kid.” He turned around, meeting my eyes. “Noah’s dead.”

The policeman walked away, shoulders burdened, step heavy.

You’re not a superhero.

Inspired by

A Boy in Fiddler’s Green—The Tragically Hip

Birdhouse in Your Soul—They Might Be Giants

#writing shortstory

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