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marchtothefuckingsea · 2 years

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Trust - John Wick

My Masterlist.

Hurt/comfort, angst, uhh lovers to enemies to lovers kind of?? , x gender neutral reader, x assassin reader

Word count: 3.8k (I got REALLY carried away lmao sorry)

Warnings: Injury, injured reader, blood, canon violence. Not proofread.

Summary: Prompted by the classic "I didn't know where else to go" trope.

I stumbled down the sidewalk like a zombie, leaning heavily on the buildings as I passed by. I clutched my arm to my bleeding side, favoring my ankle that I was pretty sure had been broken. My matted hair clung to the edges of my face, both my hair and my clothes drenched by the steady fall of rain. I shivered uncontrollably, frozen to the bone; a combination of blood loss and the cold rain that soaked into every inch of my skin. I stopped suddenly, breathing heavily. Pain washed over me and I grunted, hunching over and pressing my palm into the steadily bleeding wound.

I straightened up as much as I could before quickly ducking into an alley, allowing myself to sink down to the cold pavement with another shiver. My teeth chattered slightly and I clenched my jaw.

I recognized the area as near the infamous assassin's retirement home, John Wick. My former 'co-worker' if you will. Before our agency had all but sold me off to another they were in debt to. Transfer, was the word they used. I had, against my will, gotten passed around between agencies, somehow ended up at an enemy agency. Every time I tried to get out of it though, I was reminded of my numerous outside debts. The agencies I worked for were the only thing keeping them off of my back.

By then, John and I had both made multiple attempts at killing each other for our conflicting agencies. He seemed to ruthlessly carry out their orders, uncaring that I was his former ally. I was nothing but an enemy, now; and soon, he became the same to me.

After he nearly killed me once, it seemed to dawn on him just what he was doing. He had dropped the fight and spared me, but I didn't know just how long this 'truce' would last. I had been careful to avoid him after that, knowing that crossing his path purposely would only be tempting fate even more.

As I considered the idea of showing up at his doorstep foggily, my hand dropped from the bullet wound in my abdomen, alerting me to the fact I was starting to lose consciousness. I took a deep breath, attempting to bring myself back. I knew going to him would most likely be a death sentence, especially in my current state. He'd finish me off, I knew that much. There was no way in hell the heartless boogeyman would tend to the wounds of someone who had tried to kill him. Former ally or not.

But I was across the city from my apartment, and I also knew if I didn't get help soon I wouldn't make it to see morning. I weakly raised my hand back up to my stomach, barely able to put any pressure on the injury. I leaned my head back against the cold brick, my head swimming, and suddenly felt warm. I closed my eyes, sighing.

The hospital wasn't an option, not for people like me. They would ask too many questions. My apartment was more than a walk away, even uninjured, let alone the condition I was in now. A taxi was out of the question too. Weighing my options, it seemed I had no other choice. I knew it was a bad idea, but I was going to die anyway. If my memory served me right, his house was only a couple of blocks away.

If it didn't? I'd end up dying in some alleyway.

I staggered to my feet, gasping in pain and running straight into the wall, bracing myself against it. I doubled over, clutching my middle and panting as dots swam across my vision. I blinked over and over again, trying to clear them.

I walked unsteadily down the deserted street, keeping close to the building for support. My footsteps echoed in the silence, the busy sounds of the city now fading into the distance.

A few more twists and turns and the noisiness of cars and the wailing of sirens grew louder. I came out onto the sidewalk of a busy street, glancing around. I recognized a street sign. I stumbled to the curb, steadying myself on the light pole and not even bothering to look before I crossed the street.

A car roared up on me, the bright headlights making my head pound. The tires of the Toyota squealed as it came to a sudden stop. I heard cursing before the driver blared their horn. I hastily staggered to the other side of the street, unable to see. White hot pain filled my pounding head.

I stumbled on the curb, sticking my arms out in a last desperate (and stupid) attempt to break my fall. I couldn't muffle my cry of agony as my body came into contact with the unforgiving pavement. I rolled onto my side, clutching my side and balling up defensively. I whimpered pathetically when I felt the wound tear even more at the sudden movement.

Not allowing myself a moment of rest, I feebly pushed myself onto all fours before lurching to my feet. I leaned wearily against the building, gaining a fraction of my sight back. The dots had turned into entire dark spots and the edge of my vision had a sort of vignette to it.

Even through my blurry vision, I recognized his porch immediately. I stumbled unsteadily up the stairs, my head suddenly swimming with second thoughts. I immediately realized what a horrible, stupid idea this was. He would kill me on sight, no doubt about it.

I had been standing in front of the door, finger resting on the doorbell. I pulled away, swaying on my feet, and took a step away from the door. My legs buckled underneath me, unable to support me any longer. I barely had the energy to utter a quiet noise of pain. I squeezed my eyes shut.

The sound of a dog barking brought me back to reality seconds later, along with a man's voice. Both were faint but I was unsure if it was because I was on the verge of unconsciousness, or because they actually were further back in the house. I felt a pang of fear, struggling to my forearms. I fell back down to the porch, all my strength leaving me. I feebly curled into a loose ball in a last desperate attempt to protect myself. I fought to keep my eyes open.

The barking quieted before I heard heavy footsteps from inside the house. The door opened and I flinched, curling my arms around my abdomen.

I heard John's voice and I managed to turn my head slightly. "Are you being followed?" He repeated sharply, his eyes withdrawn and calculating.

"I don't know." I whimpered out pathetically. I coughed, the mere action of speaking irritating my lungs. I wheezed, curling into myself and tucking my chin to my chest.His body language was that of an assassin as his sharp eyes carefully took in his surroundings.

I heard his bare feet hit the floor as he took another step closer to me. A strangled, fearful noise escaped my throat, and one of my arms hastily unwound from my waist to shield my head, as if that would protect me. When nothing happened, I looked up carefully, my head pounding. He walked right past me, down off of the porch. I almost felt..afraid; but not of him. Afraid that he would just leave me here to die. That was somehow a worse scenario to me than if he just finished me off himself. I drifted in and out of consciousness, my eyes fluttering open and shut, watching the silhouettes of small insects flutter around the porchlight. His concerned face came into a blurry focus the next time I opened my eyes. He crouched beside me. I suddenly noticed him tucking something into his waistband, what I could only presume was a gun. I weakly pushed myself back with my arms, panic seizing my chest. I panted, my eyes wide in fear.

"I'm going to help you. Don't worry." His voice was softer now; it had lost its harsh edge from before. That still wasn't enough to reassure me though, and as he reached for me, I flinched back.

"I'm sorry I- I didn't know where else to go." I choked out painfully. I struggled onto my forearms, adrenaline flooding into my veins and giving me the little bit of strength I needed to brace myself up. I somehow managed to push myself into a sitting position. He hovered over me, reaching out as if to help me but not quite touching me. I leaned against the wall, slumping against it in exhaustion. I instinctively crossed my arms over my torso, weakly pressing a hand to my wound. All the energy seemed to drain from my body at once, and my eyes tried to shut against my will. I shivered. My body began to tilt to the side. I made no attempt to brace myself against the concrete, instead embracing it and slowly lying down, curling into a wheezing, miserable ball.

I watched wearily as John hesitantly reached for me again. I flinched slightly when his large hand rested carefully on my waist. I tightened my grip around my wounded stomach, using the last bit of energy I had. His eyes were trained on my face, gauging my reaction. My vision blurred and darkened dangerously around the edges.

"It's okay. You're okay." He promised when I shrank further into myself.

"What happened?" He questioned. I felt his hands begin prying my arms from my middle. I whimpered in protest but I was too weak to fight him. A faint wave of panic washed over me. I choked out a cry of pain when I felt an agonizing pressure on my stomach. I clawed feebly at his hands, blood bubbling in my throat. I coughed.

"Stop." I begged, my legs kicking uselessly. This was it. "Please." I gasped out.

"Sorry, sorry. " He apologized breathlessly. A hand reached up to stroke my cheek for a brief moment before returning to my stomach. I choked out a sob. I stilled reluctantly, my breaths shallow and painful. I knew there was no getting out of this now; I was at his mercy.

"Who did this to you?" He asked harshly, his voice faint. I tried to mumble out an answer but my lips wouldn't part and my tongue swelled in my mouth. My shallow breaths slowed, my eyes fluttering shut. I let myself drift off.

I groaned, rolling onto my side and clutching an arm to my torso. The blankets entangled me, causing me to panic as everything came back to me. I bolted up, immediately regretting it and falling onto my back with a choked whimper.

I heard the door open. I weakly shuffled over to the far side of bed, my face screwed up in pain and my breath hitching in my throat. John rounded to the other side, already seeing what I was trying to do. My pulse quickened, panic clawing up my throat as he neared. I pushed myself back with a weak cough.

His hand rested firmly on my shoulder as I braced myself on my elbows, my body shaking pathetically with each cough.

"Get away from me." I choked out, still attempting to shuffle away from him. I turned onto my side, grasping my stomach in pain with one arm. I fell back on the pillows weakly, winded. I noticed he had sat in a chair by the bedside, reaching for a glass on the nightstand.

I watched him wearily as he offered me the glass of water, my throat raspy and begging for relief.

He sighed. "If I wanted to hurt you in any way, I would have already. Drink. It's just water, I promise."

I couldn't argue with that, though I wanted to. I took the glass from him, sipping at first, hesitant of any weird tastes, before gulping it down. He hastily pried the glass from my hands.

"You're going to make yourself sick." He explained.

"I'm thirsty." I protested weakly.

"I know. Slowly." He said carefully, handing the glass back to me. I took slow sips this time, even though all I wanted to do was chug it all down. My entire body ached and throbbed as I handed him the glass back, falling onto my side in exhaustion. I wrapped my arms around myself and buried my face into the pillow. I let out a shallow sigh.

“How are you feeling?” He inquired, his eyes glancing over my form.

“It hurts.” I mumbled into the pillow.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized. I raised my head suddenly, propping my upper half on my elbow.

“It’s not your fault.” I said. “I should be the one apologizing-”

“No.” He cut me off. “No, I mean..I scared you. You were scared of me. You shouldn’t have been, you came to me for help.”

“We weren’t exactly on best of terms the last time we saw each other.” I reminded him, unsure how else to reply. The man I had worked with years ago - the assassin - hadn’t been this apologetic or caring. He had his moments, but nothing like this. It surprised me.

“I know. I regret that.” He sighed, scrubbing his face and leaning forward. He hung his head, his long hair covering his face. He was quiet, but I could hear the gears turning in his head as he thought of what to say. He never had been a man of many words, but I had known him better than anyone.

“I regret allowing you to continue this..this way of life.” He admitted quietly, raising his head to meet my eyes again and slightly gesturing over to me. I could see guilt in his eyes, and pain. Too much pain. So much that it hurt me, too.

“John, it’s not your fault. It’s not like you could have really stopped me anyway.” I gave him a half smile. We both knew how stubborn I could be. I reached over to place my hand over his in a comforting gesture. I let my instincts guide me, unsure how else to act. I had never had to comfort anyone in my life, let alone the formerly stoic and withdrawn assassin.

He flipped his hand over, capturing my cold fingers in his warm palm. I sighed. "You have no idea. I hated leaving you behind.I hated myself for getting out of that life and not taking you with me. You don't deserve it." He said, sucking in a shaky breath. He averted his eyes from mine, staring at our intertwined hands.

"I was too caught up in that world, you know that. I still am. The normal world just isn't for me." I said quietly.

"So was I. I got out of it, so can you. Let me help you." He pleaded. The vulnerable, caring man in front of me was nothing like the one I had worked with years ago.

"I can't. I can't involve you in any of this, you know that as well as I do, John. You're going to get dragged back in." I shook my head. I suddenly winced, inhaling sharply. I laid back down on the mattress, my energy drained. He hovered over me in concern.

"I'm fine." I tried to reassure him. I broke off with a cough, a sharp pang irritating my lungs. I felt the mattress dip with his weight as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. I erupted into a coughing fit. Tears of pain welled up in my eyes. I shifted onto my side, then onto my forearms, resting my forehead on the pillow as my body shook with each cough. I felt his hand rubbing gentle circles on my back. He said soothing words that I couldn't make out.

As the coughing fit subsided, I relaxed limply into the mattress. I felt him slide his arm across my chest, gently pulling me up against him. I leaned into him, sighing. His body radiated heat compared to my own.

"Thank you." I slumped against him completely, exhausted. I closed my eyes, a feeling of safety washing over me, with his arms wrapped protectively around my injured body.

"I missed you." He said softly, resting his chin on the top of my head. I felt him dip his head down, pressing his lips to my hair.

"I missed you too." I murmured, beginning to nod off. He must have sensed my exhaustion. Still holding me to his chest, he shifted, lying sideways and carefully pulling me down with him. The movement startled me at first, but I quickly settled down, pressing myself closer to him. He laid still as I drifted off my hand falling away from his. Right before I fell asleep, I felt him untangle himself from me, pulling away. I whined in protest.

"Stay here." I mumbled.

"Are you sure?" He asked hesitantly. He may have been a killer before, but he had always been a gentleman, and apparently he had never stopped.

"Please." I turned onto my back, my arm draping across my stomach. Wordlessly, he settled back down beside me, carefully resting his arm over my own and entwining his fingers with mine. I hummed contentedly, falling asleep.

"It's too soon for you to be up and walking around!" John ordered as I limped into the kitchen.

"John, I'm fine. I'm feeling better, I'm healing! It wasn't that bad." I argued, sitting at the island with a wince.

"You showed up on my doorstep nearly dead less than three days ago, scared shitless. Don't tell me it wasn't that bad." He said lowly, turning away from the coffee maker. His face was hard as he sat across the island from me.

"I can't keep taking up your bed forever."

"You're not." I couldn't argue with that. He had slept by my side the past few nights, and they had been the best nights I sleep I had had in years. No night terrors. It helped my healing immensely.

I sighed in frustration. "I have a life to get back to."

"That's not a life." He frowned.

"I know. I don't have a choice." I said softly, looking down at the table.

"You do. Stay with me." He was serious.

"I already told you; I'm not dragging you into this. This is my problem. You're retired, old man." I added jokingly, trying to lighten the mood. In reality, there wasn't a big age difference between us. Life just had different plans. He was smarter with his, while I had gotten too caught up in the underground world; and now, it had caught up to me, and I was going to be forced to pay the price.

"Who's after you?" He asked suddenly, ignoring my attempt to clear the tense atmosphere.

"I can't tell you that." I argued.

"Yes you can."

"...My company." I sighed in defeat.

"Why?" He pried.

"I owe a lot of people, you know that." He nodded, his frown deepening. "Well..that's why I had no choice but to be passed around. That's why I had to leave. Believe me when I say I wouldn't have left you if I had a choice. You were the one person in that world I felt I could trust." I admitted quietly before continuing.

"These people I always worked for, they were the only thing keeping these other people I owed off my ass. If it weren't for their protection, they would have collected their debt a long time ago." I didn't elaborate; I didn't have to. He knew exactly what I meant. "I fucked up on an assignment. Bad. I cost them big time. That's why they want me. My own company is on my ass now." I laughed humorlessly.

"Do you still work for…." He trailed off, not daring to say the name aloud.

"Yeah."

"They're ruthless."

"I know."

"They're ruthless." He repeated. "They're not going to stop looking for you until you're dead."

"I know." I repeated in irritation.

"You can't go back out there." He said softly.

"I told you, I don't have a choice. If I don't, they're going to come looking for me. They're going to come here. I don't want that."

"That's not your decision to make."

"What, do you want them to come here? Do you want to get involved in this?" I spat at him, standing abruptly. I doubled over, gripping the countertop with paper white knuckles. I hissed in pain, curling an arm around my stomach. He was quick to round the island, coming over to me. I ducked away from him.

"I'm fine."

"You're not. Sit." He ordered. I backed away from him, stubbornly refusing to follow his orders. I was still swaying on my feet, having just evaded death mere days ago. My body ached, begging for rest.

"Listen." He sighed, softening his tone. "I don't want you going out there. It's not safe. You know what they're going to do."

"I know exactly what they want to do, and I'm not letting it happen. I've evaded all those assholes I owe for the better part of my life. I'm still here."

"You've had people helping you. Covering for you." He pointed out.

"Not always." I argued, slowly straightening up. "And I never trusted them."

"Is that really how you want to live the rest of your life?" He asked. I didn't miss the slow, deliberate steps he took towards me, but I didn't back away.

"It's a little too late for second chances, John." I laughed dryly. "I'm knee deep in all this bullshit. More than that, actually."

"It's never too late." He told me quietly, placing his hands on my shoulders. I looked up at him, meeting his sincere gaze.

"You said I was the one person you could trust?" I nodded wordlessly. "Then trust me. Let me help you. Please."

"Okay." I agreed softly.

I trusted him. I had never stopped.

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greenglowinspooks · 6 months

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To be honest. DCxDP where the reason Danny meets the bats is Ace the Bat-hound

Like, just think about it for a second. Danny is in Gotham for college, or maybe he just moved out to find a city where having mad scientist parents isn’t actually that unusual.

He can see ghosts.

The ghosts know this.

Now he’s getting harassed left and right by spirits trying to get closure. Fine, whatever, most of them are a one-and-done type deal, and the amount of ghosts trying to get his help steadily decreases.

Except for this one very stubborn dog.

It just keeps showing up and leading him to crime scenes! He doesn’t know how many “anonymous tips” he can call in to the cops before they trace his phone! And this dog, this incredibly good boy, will not stop trying to help the city. He’s never met anyone with such a strong sense of justice, let alone a dog. Can dogs even have a moral compass?

And so Danny just accepts the fact that Ace isn’t going anywhere and becomes his reluctant sidekick/dedicated medium. He leans into the whole thing, dressing up in a mix of traditional magic-user attire and accessories that pay homage to the ghost dog.

He becomes somewhat well known. The psychopomp detective following around the shadowy figure of a German Shepard? That’s unusual! That’s weird! I mean, it’s not the weirdest thing in Gotham, sure, but he’s a new vigilante and he’s got a ghost dog that people can only see when it’s around him. Someone’s gonna notice.

Damian, as Robin, is the first to reach out to him.

Ace doesn’t know Damian but he does know a Robin, and while this isn’t his Robin, he’s still friendlier than usual. Danny’s panicking because oh god the bats are here and also is this kid gonna steal my ghost dog, Damian is absolutely delighted by Ace, and Ace is just happy to see a Robin again.

Damian decides that the psychopomp isn’t a danger to anyone, and there’s no reason to put this encounter into his reports, really, and perhaps Danny can help with some of his cases in the future.

Danny is sweating bullets because Damian basically tells him that he’ll keep him secret as long as he gets to play with Ace. Ace is happy that he’s finally getting some bat affiliated crime-fighting assistance.

And so, Danny is now both Ace AND Damian’s reluctant assistant. At least whenever he’s in trouble, he can always call a middle schooler to help him.

(Is Robin even in school? He’s out patrolling damn near every night, and he stays out late as hell. Does he have a bedtime? He should.)

Eventually it gets to the point where Damian is going over to Danny’s house. When he first sees it, he has a damn bitch you live like this moment, to which Danny responds that not everyone has the money to afford a nice place. Damian counters that he could at least take the time to clean up, and Danny replies that he’s working, going to school, and being a vigilante assistant to a ghost dog, something’s got to give.

Danny nearly has a heart attack when he checks his bank account the next day and sees that someone transferred him 10,000 dollars.

And so they get into a routine. Danny and Damian fight crime with Ace at night, and occasionally Damian stops by during the day to play with Ace and have Danny help with his homework.

(Damian is smart enough to do it on his own, but some of the instructions are written incredibly confusingly, and he would never admit to needing help to his family. Danny is just glad that the kid is in school and cares about his education, blissfully unaware that he’s basically emotionally adopted him.)

Damian is used to being in Danny’s company.

Eventually, when going over a case with the family, Damian absentmindedly remarks that he’ll have to ask Danny about some of the clues that they might be missing. Nightwing asks who he means and Damian makes a face like he just swallowed a lemon.

Cue shitstorm.

Who is “Danny?” Why is Damian willing to ask for help from anyone, much less someone outside of the family? Does he know who Damian is? Has Damian been compromised? What the hell is going on?

Damian now has to explain that Danny is the psychopomp with the ghost dog who he might have met hunted down while on patrol and conveniently not mentioned, but he’s not a bad person, really, and he lets him play with Ace, and he’s been quite helpful on certain cases due to his ability to talk to ghosts.

Bruce insists that the family meet Danny. Damian, hoping that he won’t just skip town the second he hears the news, relents.

Danny is surprisingly eager to meet the bats, considering his earlier fears.

Damian, blissfully unaware of what’s coming, sets a time and place to meet.

Once everyone is there, he gives Bruce the earful of a lifetime.

Robin is in middle school! Danny knows that there’s no way to stop the boy from going on patrol, but you could at least shift his schedule so he gets enough sleep on school nights! Does the Bat even know where he is half the time?! (No) And why isn’t he comfortable asking his family for help with both cases and homework? Did they ever even notice how much time he was spending at Danny’s house? If Danny was a bad person, he could have seriously hurt the poor boy! Shame on you!

Nightwing is mortified that Damian didn’t trust him enough to tell him about any of this. Red Hood is laughing his ass off, because yeah Danny is making good points but he’s also chewing out the literal Batman. Tim is recording the whole thing. Steph is delighted by the absolute gall of this Danger Twink™️, and already planning to add him to several groupchats. Damian is more embarrassed than he’s ever been in his entire life.

You, he points to Nightwing, did your academic life feel supported when you were a Robin? Nightwing is too stunned to speak. Red Hood, eternal shit-stirrer, says that oh, we all prioritized patrol over our education, that’s just how it is. Red Robin actually dropped out of high school to avoid distractions, did you know that?

Danny honest-to-god shrieks at this.

He finishes his angry rant and leaves, everyone too stunned to stop him.

And as it turns out, Tim wasn’t the only person recording the whole thing.

The entire internet is blowing up with Psychopomp The Danger Twink™️’s rant. People are taking sides. Things are getting messy. Red Hood literally admitting on-camera to previously being a Robin is somehow not the main focus here.

Eventually someone connects some dots from the video, as well as stories circling the internet about the psychopomp. A ghost dog named Ace, who is the literal only reason that the psychopomp is fighting crime at all, which seems incredibly fond of Nightwing and Robin.

A crime-fighting dog who wants constant attention from both the current and original Robin.

Oh my god, Ace the Bat-hound died and became a crime-fighting ghost.

And, somehow, that’s still not the strangest thing going on in Gotham.

#dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp prompt #literally Ace is too good a boy to pass on #this veered wildly into ‘Danny emotionally adopts Damian’ but really it’s what he deserves #sometimes family is an ex child assassin an undead college student and a ghost dog #also Danny gives literally no shits during investigations because he Cannot Die #he will just casually take 40 bullets to the chest like it’s nothing #if he encounters a rogue he will beat the everloving hell out of them and then give them Jazz’s card #(she’s doing confidential therapy for vigilantes and rogues)#except for the ones who are too far gone. like the joker #he’s a bitch and Danny hates him #if given the opportunity Danny would gladly kill him but Clockwork says he’s not allowed to do that #so he settles with beating the hell out of him and then covering all his stuff in glue #and of course alerting the authorities

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